One Mistake

Chapter 2

Draco stepped forward and opened the black-draped front door for his mother. She walked past him and paused, her hand covering her swollen stomach. She looked at him strangely. She did that often of late. Ever since they had found out about her pregnancy they had danced around the issue. The Issue of Lucius' Issue, thought Draco wryly. Now that his father was dead, Draco felt there might be a chance to turn things around for himself. Might be.

"We don't have much time before the people arrive," she said. "Your father's wake must be perfect."

"I know what to do." There was not much, really. It was just checking food the house elves had prepared. He had already verified that the mirrors were each covered by shrouds of black silk according to the old wizarding custom. The windows were trimmed in swathes of black as well. He thought to himself once again, It's like decorating for Christmas, only it's sorrow we mark today. "Are you sure you're up to this? We can still cancel." Then I wouldn't have to pretend for the crowd.

"Thank you, son, but I am well enough. We must honor your father's memory. You have been such a help in all of this."

"Please, you just go and sit in the parlor, Mother. I'll take care of everything." He headed for the kitchens.

It had been Hermione of all people who had grasped the implications. It had been the briefest of moments, yet had set in motion a chain of events that had left six people dead.

He remembered getting the news. It was breakfast at Hogwarts just the spring before. An owl the color of midnight had stood out against the flock of brown and grey barn owls. It was rare that owls were completely black so it was that Draco knew instantly that his father had written him. It was strange, though, that Lucius Malfoy had used his personal owl rather than Draco's.

The owl swooped over the Slytherin table and dropped the letter from its talons before flying in a wide circle over the Great Hall and exiting. Draco picked up the letter from beside his plate and broke the Malfoy seal.

"What does it say?" Pansy asked, peering over his shoulder at the letter.

"Sod off," Draco snapped at her. "I don't read your post."

With a mixture of hurt and embarrassment she turned to her food, avoiding looking at the blond boy next to her.

Unfolding the parchment he began to read his father's small, cramped scrawl.

Draco,

Congratulations are in order. Your mother will be delivered of twins, a boy and a girl, by Christmas. Prepare yourself for this happy event.

Lucius Malfoy

The news had run like acid through his veins. Only too well did he realize the implications.

"What's wrong? Trouble at home?" Pansy inquired warily, noting his shocked features.

"Mother is pregnant with twins. There's one girl and a boy," he stated without inflection.

"OOOHHH! That's wonderful!" the girl had squealed. "Draco is going to get a brother and sister!" The whole Slytherin table had begun congratulating him. The girls had teased him about changing nappies. The boys had commiserated about all the maternal commotion he would endure over the year. And none of them, none of them had understood the implications to him.

He was preparing to get off the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 3/4 when he had bumped into Hermione, doing her Prefect duty in checking the compartments. He automatically pulled his wand but....

"Expelliarmus!" she caught his wand expertly. "Why do you insist on being such a prat?"

"Give me back my wand!"

"So you can curse me? No. I wanted to talk to you anyway."

"What about, Granger?"

"I heard your mother is pregnant, is that true?"

"None of your business, mudblood. Give me back my wand!"

"Not until you tell me, is she pregnant?"

He had hesitated but it was no secret. "Yes"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

He paused for a longer moment. "Twins, one of each."

Hermione had leaned in and spoken in a low intense whisper, "Is there any reason, any reason, to believe he would need a replacement heir?"

"He would never!" He wanted desperately to believe that.

"Are you positive?"

"Mother wouldn't let him!" he protested weakly. This was exactly what had troubled the edges of his mind. That the man whom he had idolized and imitated had never really cared about him or truly valued him, that the man he had loved so much might so easily discard him. It was like he was a thing and not a son. It had only taken a normal question any young man might ask. He had not realized how short his leash truly was when he had questioned casually why Lucius had elected to pursue some foolish little vendetta. It had been a waste of energy and resources better spent elsewhere. So small a thing.

Hermione asked him, "Does she have the influence to stop him, for certain?" A long pause, he had no answer. "If you need support or help...."

"From a mudblood?!?!"

"Can you trust your Slytherins? What would it cost them to help you, should you need it?"

"You think you're so smart! Don't you know how foolish your offer is?"

"Yes, you could use it to lure me out, then turn me over to Voldemort," she spoke calmly through his flinch. "It might buy you amnesty from whatever you did...or didn't do."

"Then why?" he asked, trying to work out her peculiar phrasing.

"I believe you might be worth it; your father clearly doesn't." He suddenly realized she thought he had gotten in trouble with the Dark Mark somehow. Malfoy family politics baffle even the smartest witch in school, he thought sardonically to himself. At least I won't have to worry about that decision until after graduation. "Betraying me would be easy, but it's a one-shot deal. I'll stand beside you, but if I'm gone, who will? Your decision." She had written some numbers on a piece of parchment then 'wiped' them from casual view. "This is a telephone number...."

"I know what it is, do you have an email address?" he asked irritably. Surprised, she had given that too. They had parted with no more words spoken.

He had never used the email or called. It had seemed like the last step over the line to true betrayal. He had not been raised to burn his bridges too soon. Perhaps that was why he didn't follow the logical step of entrapping Hermione to earn Voldemort's favor and protection.

Yet he had been comforted by the thought he could call should he need to. He had spent the summer compulsively brewing antidotes for various poisons. He didn't really think he needed to worry until after the babies had arrived hale and hearty. He had wavered on trying an arcane brew that would end the pregnancy, eventually deciding to put that off until he was sure about his father's intentions. And he spent a lot of time thinking about Hermione and her remarkable offer. His opinion vacillated on that front as well. Contempt, surprise, gratitude, cynicism and more passed through his heart. The whole situation had underlined to him just how strange it was that he felt he could count on this mudblood to be there for him when he knew that he could not count on his father at all. It seemed disloyal to think so, and suicidal not to. The end of summer had not seen the resolution of his feelings.

Then Lucius had heard about the Head Girl badge from his connections on the school board. Ranting about mudbloods and favoritism, he had been stunned when Draco had lost his temper completely and defended the choice. Draco had known he would never be forgiven for the defiance. He would never be forgiven for standing up to him, or for telling the truth. His father had stopped his harangue, but Draco had read death within his eyes.

And, indeed, death had come.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mad-eye Moody was deep into a description of one of the more gory murder scenes he had worked on. Hermione had made many promises to herself never to start him up on this subject again.

"Well, the surprising thing was where we found the heads, all lined up in a row like knickknacks! It was...Oh, professor Dumbledore! I didn't know you were on the roster."

"Yes, indeed I am, I wanted to see our patient." His eyes twinkled at her relief.

"Well, I'll be off then." A pat of the hand and he was gone leaving only the echo of his odd gait behind.

"I am sorry about that, I will have a little talk with him before his next visit," he said, taking his seat. An awkward pause gave her a moment to perceive the tension under his genial façade. "I-I am so sorry, Hermione," he began guiltily.

So it is to be a confession scene, she cynically thought to herself and then cursed her bad temper.

He continued, "I feel responsible for much of this." He looked old and worn with his head bowed in shame, and she could bear it no longer.

"And what percentage do you claim?" her voice cut in coldly. She was tired of it all herself. Some shriveled little part of her heart did blame Dumbledore. She resented being the one called to comfort, to heal. It made her approach cruel. Didn't I do enough already? self-pity murmured in her mind, but she refused to give in to it. Her task set out before her, she set her face against his gentle confusion.

"W-what?" his voice betrayed a touch of apprehension.

"Exactly how much do you blame yourself, what are the numbers?"

Dumbledore was clearly taken aback by the bizarre question, "You must know it doesn't work like that," he began gently. "I know you are hurting..."

She interrupted him, "Please, professor, humor me, very few here have been in a position to do so." She sent him a pathetic look through her lashes. Although he knew her trick he could not help but give in anyway.

"Oh, Hermione," the confession was drawn out of him like poison, "if I were to say, I might call it...70%, perhaps." The true absurdity of the exercise came home to him fully only after the words left his lips. Yet Hermione was not done.

"And who owns the other 30%?" she asked.

Dumbledore's face hardened and she continued quickly before she lost him. "Don't stop now! You must finish out the game. Please!" She tried the beseeching look that had worked before, wryly aware that she had used her feminine wiles more in this interview than with any other man in memory.

The headmaster spoke slowly this time. "I should say 25% to the ministry."

"And the last 5%?" she queried.

The old man had clearly had enough. He prepared to push out of the chair, unsuccessfully concealing his insulted feelings. She grasped his hand quickly.

"Hear me out! Just tell me, play it through."

It was the lack of manipulation this time that stopped him, and caused him to answer a question he knew to be futile. Some other resolution could be seen in her eyes, kinder and less wild yet powerful for all that.

"The Order. I am the head, but the others might have foreseen...." he trailed off as

Hermione caught his gaze and held it.

"I find it strange in the extreme that at no point did Voldemort figure in your hierarchy of blame," she said levelly.

Dumbledore began, "Well, of course he does!" but stopped. Understanding dawned across his weary soul. How much had he taken on himself that belonged to another!

Hermione spoke again, calmer and more kindly, "I understand because I blame myself."

"Oh, good lord, no!" he cried.

"Who else? It was their connection to me that brought him to their door. I threw off the Imperius Curse. I blocked the Helotry Runes. And more than any of those things, my parents and I had discussed this possibility often because of Harry. We saw this coming, yet I never asked for protection. Now, Headmaster, am I to blame?"

Dumbledore knelt by her bed and took her face between his hands. He kissed her forehead like a benediction. One solitary tear rolled down his cheek.

"You are a wise and knowing one, as well as intelligent and brave. I admire all you have done in this tragic situation," he paused sadly. "I only wish I had known your parents as well, they must have been remarkable people."

Oh, yes," she whispered, "they were."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The witch sat behind her desk at the Improper Use of Magic Office. She looked at the flashy reporter in front of her with distaste. Everyone at the Ministry was wary of Rita Skeeter, and with good reason. She had printed many specious 'exposes' of Ministry Departments and personnel over the years.

"I only agreed to meet with you because I've read your first articles on what happened that night. Fudge thinks that more publicity will help the cause. I'm just not sure how much more there is to say."

"Let me worry about that, Mafalda, can I call you Mafalda? You just tell me the story from your point of view as though I had never been there." Crimson claws dipped into a crocodile skin purse and pulled out an acid green quill.

Hopkirk watched as she sucked the quill and set it to parchment. She hated remembering that night. In her whole life she had never expected to witness such a nightmare. Telling the story would be hard, but she knew it served a purpose. She sent her mind back to that night when she had first started to get odd readings....

She had fired off warnings by owl for the first array of spells Hermione had cast, but the absurd number and worrisome nature of the spells had concerned her deeply. The first owls had barely left before she detected a powerful enchantment to prohibit Apparating. It was not fully realized and would surely fade with time, yet such a powerful enchantment in the hands of the under-aged was strictly regulated. This particular breed of spells was enforced with extra penalties, because any youth run amuck would certainly like to prevent the authorities from Apparating directly in. She meant to see those rules enforced, and that ploy brought to naught. The situation led her to quickly gather a few Aurors and Disapparate to the site nearest the activity. It was quite close, just at the front gate. She turned and assessed the location. The house had been billowing startling amounts of smoke.

"Not to worry boys, it's just a smoke screen charm. Nothing to worry about there," she had told them, and turned to the job of subduing some out-of-control teenager.

The south wall had suddenly glowed cherry red in a flash heat spell as she marched up the front walk. She fell back in shock, and the Aurors had pulled her quickly behind them before dashing forward themselves. There were more surprises when they met Crabbe and Goyle limping out.

"Those men are Death Eaters!" cried one quick-thinking man. The injured Death Eaters were paying more attention to what was behind than in front and they went down easily, taking a bite out of Voldemort's original circle.

"Hopkirk, get over here! You have to keep the holding spells on these ones while we go in." Terrified, she stepped forward, wand out and steady.

"What on earth is going on?" she whispered eyes wide.

"We are going to find out."

The second wave of officials began arriving in force to her everlasting relief. Dumbledore Apparated in soon after. Taking in the scene the old man was visibly shaken. Mafalda watched from the sidelines as Fudge arrived at the front gate. Wordlessly the man gazed at yet another prisoner exiting the house, then stepped inside. It was less than five minutes before he came back out to stand beside the Headmaster.

"I am sorry, Dumbledore. I've never seen anything like that."

"I failed her."

"No, if anyone did, it was me. I should have foreseen this. Harry's friends.... I gave Weasley's family home extra protections but nothing here. You've accused me of anti-muggle bias, perhaps you're right." He sighed heavily. "Smyth-Thorn from Wizengamot Administration and Tibbs in the Floo Network Authority were among the dead. I checked their forearms myself; they both carried the Dark Mark. There can be no doubt." He bowed his head. His companion patted his shoulder and said nothing. The night went on.

"Dumbledore, she's still locked in her room. I'd force the door, but I feel that might be dangerous," said Mad-eye Moody much later, looking around at the devastation.

A garish witch with green hair landed her broom. "I found her window all right, but she's not rational. Look what she did to my broom!" She held it up to reveal the smoldering twigs.

"We have to get her out somehow!" said the Minister of Magic "Somebody has to do something!" Tonks grimaced and took off again to guard the window from a safer distance.

"Professor Dumbledore! Over here! It's Rita Skeeter for the Daily Prophet and I'd like to ask..." the brazen journalist in unfashionably bright robes shouted.

"Please, not now, Rita." He sighed as she muscled her way through two Aurors and an Obliviator.

"It won't take but a minute. Why were you called to the scene?"

"One of my students lives here," he said wearily. "Really, I don't have time for you right now, owl my office..."

"Which student?"

"I cannot give out that information, you know that."

"Professor!" Tonks yelled from her broom, "Hermione opened her window. It's the oddest thing! You've got to see this." Everyone dashed to the back of the house. A long stream of strange green fairy lights floated out of the opening. "Hermione? It's Tonks. I need to talk to you." The only answer she got was a wickedly aimed curse.

"Hermione!" Dumbledore stepped forward. "You have to stop throwing spells. We are here to help you!"

"I needed your help when Voldemort was torturing my parents. He's killed them. Leave me alone!" The bushy head retreated as she prepared to close the window on the last of the flying sparks.

"Hermione, it's Rita Skeeter. Would you like to do an interview so people can know what the Dark Mark did here tonight?" Hands grabbed the reporter's arms but she kept her eyes fixed on the window. "Come on Hermione," she murmured under her breath.

"They wouldn't let me talk to you, I don't think."

"They would if you made them let me in the house and I came to you. I'm sure they would allow it if I was accompanied by a nurse. They are so worried about you they might agree to anything," concluded Rita shrewdly.

"Maybe, Professor, will you guarantee me an interview before they take me out?"

"If I may also join the party, yes."

Hermione thought for a moment. "O.K. come on up."

Hopkirk concluded her interview and watched Rita make a few last notations. "I have a last few questions about your interview, first that part about Fudge..."

"He gave the O.K. I think he is doing some penance in his own mind, but that I don't want you to quote me on." The two witches shared feral smiles.

"One more thing, 'brazen' and 'unfashionably bright'?" Rita raised an eyebrow.

"I call 'em like I see 'em."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Peter was the one who found himself caring for the wounded Lord Voldemort. At times he found himself wishing the battle had left him with a broken neck rather than just a concussion.

There had been a dozen Death Eaters at the muggles' house that night, each with his own reason for being there. Some wanted to prosecute their hatred of mudbloods. Some had been there at Voldemort's request as a test of their resolve. Some high ranking citizens of the wizarding world had been invited to cement their involvement with the Dark Mark. Nothing like a little blood on your own hands to make certain you hide the blood on your companions'.

Yet of the dozen people there, only four others had escaped. None of them were unscathed. Wormtail had escaped by means of Hermione's desperate defense. She had gripped him in a Wingardium Leviosa charm and hurled him through the front picture window. Passing through it had given him that concussion, and knocked him out for several minutes. It had probably saved his life. No other Death Eater had been treated so gently. He had regained consciousness just as the authorities had started Apparating in. He had quickly transformed into his animagus form and watched from under a thorny bush. Mangled bodies were pulled from under the heavy furniture which she had levitated as missiles to great effect in battle. He counted the dead. He watched as they removed injured prisoners.

Lestrange had also escaped, or rather her body had. She had been struck with some arcane curse none of them knew. It left her with palsy in her hands, and some kind of mental confusion. Any wandwork was unreliable. She mixed up words, and worse, she mixed up the letters of the spells she cast. A spell for pain relief had called forth a horrible banshee cry. A Repelling Charm for their new hideout had netted an enormous growth of out of season flowers. The frustrated woman had attacked the plants with a ferocity that chilled Wormtail, and he had avoided her ever since.

One of the new converts from the ministry had lost an arm at the elbow. Ironically, it had been his left arm, the one with the Dark Mark. Wormtail had patched the man up as best he could after attending to his Lord. When he had come in the room the next morning with a breakfast tray, the room had been empty. The papers had reported on this official's mysterious disappearance, but Peter knew the man had run. The last one of the group to escape had been Avery, who had suffered multiple breaks in almost every bone. Several of the bones had been missing altogether.

Voldemort himself had been pierced horribly by an improvised spear. A shearing charm had sliced a slender metal floor lamp in half at an angle, and then a Wingardium had sent the sharply cut metal shooting toward Voldemort. He had sensed the spear coming and pulled one of his compatriots before him. The spear had impaled them both, killing the man in front. Lucius Malfoy had died, but it had been just enough to save Lord Voldemort.

And these four had been the lucky ones.

Nott was in ministry hands again, Crabbe and Goyle also. Macnair had died at the scene. Four others, of varying importance were dead or captured as well. Every time he heard his master's voice bellowing for him, he envied the dead.

And if his life would not be miserable enough with all this there was another article in the Prophet. He scanned the print. Remembering all he had seen hidden in the bushes that night he searched the article for Rita's old lies and bias. He had witnessed most of the events detailed by Rita and he knew the woman was uncharacteristically accurate. Worse, she had retained her old ability to spin a story brilliantly.

He crumpled the paper in his fist in frustration. It had been Malfoy who had brought them to this. 'Strike at Potter by striking his allies' Lucius had argued. But now Voldemort was feeling that pain. Now Voldemort bled. How had that come to be? His master was the most powerful dark wizard in generations. It came down to Hermione. The hellcat had destroyed that wretched night's brutal company. And she would not be satisfied with that.

Wormtail had known the brilliant girl since she had entered the magical world that first year at Hogwarts, yet, for all he had known of her; he could not have predicted this. He very much feared that they had awakened a titan. He feared that the devastation the raid had left for the Death Eaters was only the beginning.