Threads

Threads

Chapter 6

Draco poked his head up through the hatch into Harry's room and for a moment was pretty sure that the other two inmates of the lighthouse were involved in something of a graphic nature. Hermione, pyjama top falling off her shoulders and hair flaming about her, had a white-knuckled grip on Harry's shoulders and her eyes were wide in her flushed little face. Draco briefly regretted that he could only see Harry's thin back in its worn jumper, but then it occurred to him that this was probably a good thing.

He had already taken a step down when he realised that Hermione was speaking, and they were not words of love.

"I won't let you," she exclaimed, and her voice was furious though the catch of tears was in it too.

Draco hurriedly reinstated himself in viewing position and saw Harry struggling to push Hermione off.

"Hermione, stop it," he begged rather ineffectually. "It's just Ron..."

"But it's so obvious, Harry, it's so obvious!" The tears were sliding down Hermione's face now, the second time Draco had seen her cry, both times about these two stupid, earnest, skinny boys. "It could be Ron, Peter could be Ron, Ron could be Peter, I mean..." she trailed off, confused, and then pulled herself together. "It's too much to risk."

Harry had gone still and was staring at her, and then with some sudden access of strength he wrenched her hands off him and she stumbled backwards, almost falling. Draco stared, mostly because Hermione's pyjama top was no longer covering anything to speak of, but also because this violent Harry was new to him. Briefly he remembered Harry in Dumbledore's office, face gleaming with the intent to kill Avery.

It was probably this thought that made Draco late to his next conclusion - too late, in fact, to act upon it. The only thing on the curving west wall towards which Harry was lurching was a magical fireplace which crackled with heatless green flame. Peter, James, Ron, Harry - the names of the dead and the living swung in Draco's head and he watched in mesmerised alarm as Harry bent to the fire and shouted Ron's name defiantly into it.

**

Molly Weasley ought to have been cross with her daughter. She was a busy witch with a family and a house to run and she didn't take kindly to being made to Apparate halfway across the country for nothing. She made a brave attempt at anger, usually something she did not find difficult, but this time she couldn't summon so much as a scowl at her empty butterbeer glass.

She was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder and looked up with a jolt of hope into the concerned face of Remus Lupin.

"Remus!" She blinked at him and then she smiled, but he had not missed the flicker of disappointment.

"Hello Molly, what brings you to Hogsmeade?" he asked kindly, and Molly was reminded of how he had been as a boy, just a year or two her senior, soft spoken and sharp eyed.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Ginny, but she's late," she explained unhappily. Lupin looked surprised.

"Meeting Ginny? In the middle of term? In Hogsmeade?"

Molly shrugged. "She wrote to ask, and she sounded a bit upset. You know how we always worry about her since, well, you know." She looked up at the older man just in time to see his face hurriedly realign itself from some expression she could not identify.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Lupin asked after a moment of silence, and Molly's unease began to multiply out of control.

**

"No!" shouted Draco reflexively, and sprang out of the stairwell, too late to do anything apart from knock Harry off balance so that he cracked his head on the mantel.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Harry straightened up and gave Draco an irritated look. "What, is it 'hit Harry' day now?" he muttered, rubbing his head balefully. "First her, now you..."

Draco ignored this. "You fool."

Harry looked mutinously at him, and then at Hermione. After a moment he leant across and pulled the sides of her shirt together, and she flushed furiously.

"So you're both cross," he said at last.

"Cross?" Draco stared at him in genuine amazement. "You could just have put all of our lives at risk, and you think we're cross?"

Hermione, clutching her clothes round herself, stepped in between them. "It's too late to argue," she said unevenly. "Don't bother. You probably couldn't help yourself."

"Oh, the bloody spell." Harry almost stamped in his fury. "I did it because I wanted to. Ron is our friend, at least he's mine, he's never let us down, no stupid spell can make him do that."

Draco looked nastily at him. "No, you're right, it's not the spell, it's your own plain stupidity."

Harry did something dangerously close to pouting. "It's my own plain loyalty," he said, raising his chin. "Not something I'd expect you to understand, Malfoy." He looked across at Hermione and the words were as plain as if he had spoken. But I thought you would.

"Took you long enough," said Ron's head from the fireplace at this choice moment. Hermione looked up and he added, astonished, looking at her messy face "Have you already heard?"

Hermione knew that bony good-natured face better than her own. She knew it angry and laughing and scared and hungry and bored and thoughtful, but she had never known it like this, pinched and sallow so that the freckles stood out glaring like a disease. She flung herself on her knees in front of the fire.

"Ron? Are you all right? You look awful." She reached out to touch him and remembered just in time that he was an illusion.

"How sweet," observed Draco, producing an acid tone of voice from sheer force of habit.

Hermione looked over her shoulder but she was looking for Harry, and Draco watched with interest as the great charge of rage between them seemed to dilute and dissolve in her worry. After a moment Harry went and crouched next to her, one hand absently on the nape of her neck.

Ron looked anxiously at the two of them, and then over Hermione's shoulder at Draco.

"Is everything OK?" persisted Hermione, so close to the fire that, were it real, she would have had very little hair left.

Ron's head turned on the fire, which meant he was shaking it. "Ginny's missing," he said, and with a jolt Hermione realised that the expression on his face was guilt.

**

"Yes?" Minerva McGonagall looked down the considerable length of her nose at the boy that stood in the doorway to her office.

"Sorry," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, craning his neck to peer over her shoulder at the small assembly of staff inside.

Professor McGonagall moved imperceptibly so that his view was blocked. "Can I help you?" she said without much enthusiasm.

Justin shifted from foot to foot. "Well. Yes. I mean, well, yes. Only, you see, um, I heard you were organising the search parties for Ginny Weasley."

McGonagall started. "Ginny W- you know about Ginny Weasley?"

Justin looked uncomfortable. "I think everyone knows," he said honestly, and could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile.

"I see. I can assure you everything possible is being done," she said, more kindly.

"Well, OK. Only, I thought maybe I could join in." Justin was rather red now and he shoved his hands defiantly into his pockets.

McGonagall looked at him in astonishment. "Er, that's very kind of you, Mr Finch-Fletchley, but I can't really see why-"

Justin broke the habit of a well-mannered lifetime and interrupted, "Well, you see, the thing is, um, I'd really like to because, well, she's my - my - um. You know."

There was a pause.

"My girlfriend," finished Justin desperately.

McGonagall looked at him for a long and thoughtful moment, and then, inexplicably, she shrugged to herself and smiled.

"Why don't you come in, Mr Finch-Fletchley," she said gently.

**

"I don't understand," said Harry. "Hogsmeade - why was she going to Hogsmeade?"

Ron rubbed uneasily at the Floo soot on his hands. It did not seem quite right to be here, even though Harry had Velloed him over. Draco's malevolent stare had made his position quite clear before the blond boy had retired downstairs in silent disgust. "Well, McGonagall said she'd given Ginny a pass so that she could go and meet Mum. But she never turned up. Mum's in a proper state as well."

"She went to meet your mum? In the middle of term? Why couldn't she just talk to her by Floo?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Well, the thing is, Floo's not that private, you know, we only have the common room fire. So McGonagall reckons Ginny had something private to say."

"About the spell, for example." Hermione sounded suddenly alert.

Ron shifted from foot to foot. "Probably," he agreed.

Hermione went to the window and looked out at the sea, her back to them. Ginny had been going to tell Mrs Weasley about the spell, and she had been captured. But there were plenty of people to fill the Weasleys in on the spell, even if Ginny didn't, so she wasn't removed to keep it secret. Either she knew something else - and Hermione for the first time realised that if she had, nobody would have noticed - or someone had simply taken advantage of the opportunity to catch her on her own. Someone who thought Ginny was important. But Ginny wasn't important, Ginny was young, moderately pretty and moderately intelligent and only relevant to anybody because -

"Somebody wants to know where we are."

Ron and Harry both blinked at her.

"Look, Ginny isn't important to capture, she's just a little girl."

Ron opened his eyes wide. "A little girl who's caused plenty of trouble in the past."

"I think that is in the past," said Hermione. "I think this time somebody has noticed we're not where we should be. Maybe it's Harry they're looking for, maybe it's me. Maybe it's Draco. But whatever the reason, somebody suspects there is something more to know about where we might be. Perhaps they even have wind of Ginny's....vision. So somebody takes her, so that they can find out at their liberty what exactly is going on. Even use her as a sort of hostage. And then somebody they can find us."

"Somebody," repeated Harry very quietly.

Hermione looked quickly at him. "It could be Lucius Malfoy looking for Draco. Or Avery looking for me. Or..."

"...or Voldemort," finished Harry.

"Or Voldemort," agreed Hermione tonelessly.

Ron stared at the pair of them. "My sister's with Voldemort?"

Neither of them could think of any answer.

**

Narcissa Malfoy had been in her time a very clever student and she had had, for the duration of a long and rather dull marriage, an exceptional library at her disposal. So now she was both a clever and a well read witch. She was hard working, because she had little else to do, and she was dedicated because she loved her awkward spiky child as she rather suspected nobody else had yet learned to. And despite this, she could not find him.

She tried Locator Charms and Mapping Charms, and she sent several expensive white carrier pigeons to untimely deaths with unsuccessful Homing Spells. She sent an owl to Draco and it returned three days later irritable and hungry still bearing her own letter. She called his name with a variety of rainbow-coloured Floo powders, and the lovely marble library fireplace remained empty.

There was somebody who might know where Draco was. He might know because he was a powerful and influential wizard and had a mastery of Dark Magic that Narcissa could only aspire to. On the other hand, he might know because he had hidden him, and this last possibility made Narcissa press her shapely lips till they were thin and bloodless.

She looked at herself in the mirror over the mantel, dissatisfied. Lucius had tried to keep Draco in the house - there was certainly further questioning to be done about that unsatisfactory incident with the Muggles - and Draco had left. Lucius must have found him and kept him somewhere safer and nastier; there was no other solution. Draco would not be stupid enough to try and hide, nor clever enough to hide so well as this. Therefore Narcissa had nothing but the one slender chance that Lucius might be induced to let something slip. She looked again at the great gilt mirror and reflected that, after all, she had one advantage that she had not yet used.

**

"I thought no owls could get here," said Hermione, looking speculatively at the small and elderly owl that was sitting on the windowsill.

"Off owl radar," agreed Harry, looking up from his essay.

"What's radar?" demanded Draco. "It must be from Dumbledore," he added in the next breath, "He's the only one who could send anything to us."

"And it's for you," said Hermione with interest, watching the owl hop arthritically on to the nearby table and make its way unsteadily to Draco. Draco put down his quill and parchment (seven scrolls on the social and economic significance of the Floo) and gave the owl a suspicious look. It looked resignedly back at him, and held out a leg that trembled slightly.

"Mangy old thing," said Draco irritably. "It'll probably give me fleas."

The owl withdrew its leg with some dignity.

"Oh all right, all right, I'm sorry," muttered Draco, and the owl allowed him to untie the letter before flapping rather lopsidedly off.

Hermione and Harry, who had been exchanging amused glances, looked back at Draco to find him staring at the parchment, still rolled and sealed.

"What?" demanded Harry. "Do you have X ray vision now or something?"

"What's X ray?" said Draco abstractedly.

Harry sighed. "Are you going to open it, Malfoy?"

"It's from the Ministry."

There was a moment' silence.

"The Ministry of Magic?"

Draco looked up for long enough to send Hermione a nasty look. "No, the Ministry for the Massacre of Muggleborns."

Hermione wisely ignored this.

"Well?" Harry prompted, watching Malfoy unroll the parchment and read it impassively.

But Draco just rolled it up firmly and said "Family business."

**

Lucius was silent for a long time. Narcissa, sitting at her dressing table in her slip so that the pale smooth neck and shoulders he loved were on display, watched him covertly in her mirror.

"I assumed he had run off back to Hogwarts," he said finally.

"It seems he isn't there anymore."

"And have you any idea where else he might be?" Lucius came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders, the thumbs rising to stroke her neck.

"You don't sound worried." She leant back against him.

Lucius snorted. "I wouldn't worry about Draco, he's a survivor." He bent down and kissed the top of her head, and then made his way down her temple past her ear to the soft blue shadowed hollow over her collarbone. "Luckily for him," he added meditatively, before bending again to concentrate on the task in hand.

Afterwards he lay quietly in her arms, his warm silky head on her shoulder, and Narcissa felt a wave of stupid pointless protectiveness. If it could have been just them, just the two of them and Draco in a small quiet house, she could have made them both happy. She knew now that that would never happen.

When Lucius' breathing had become slow and regular, she stretched one arm cautiously to the table at the bedside and closed her fingers around her wand. She watched him carefully for a moment but he did not stir. Narcissa had prepared for this moment and she visualised the page of the long incantation and took a deep breath. Because she was concentrating so hard on this it came as quite a surprise to her to feel the sharp prick of a wand end at her throat and to find her husband looking resignedly at her.

"You've been a fool, Narcissa," he said, rather sadly. "I had long suspected it but now I know it. And you know what happens to fools."

**

Molly Weasley was crying. She sat on a hard wooden chair in her own kitchen as the fireplace discharged son after son, pulled herself together briefly to hug each one and half-heartedly push a plate of cake at them. And then she sat down again because somehow her legs had rather lost the knack of keeping her up, and then there didn't seem to be anything else to do but cry. By the time the fireplace started popping for the seventh time, she didn't even bother to look up. "I thought everyone was here," she said indistinctly.

Remus Lupin dusted himself off and looked unhappily at Molly. "I don't want to intrude," he said awkwardly.

She started up, staring at him. "You've got news?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, Molly, I'm sorry, no news. But I did rather need to talk to you." He looked around at the tableful of silent Weasley brothers, all watching him back with grave faces. "Where's Ron?" he added after a moment.

"Visiting Harry, it seems." Molly scrubbed at her face with a crumpled handkerchief. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Lupin looked awkward. "In the Three Broomsticks, when we were waiting for Ginny, I was telling you about a spell," he began, and Molly's eyes widened.

"Why don't you come into the sitting room," she said hurriedly.

"Mum!" protested one of the twins. Lupin had no idea which. "We need to hear, if it's to do with Ginny, you can't just-"

"I can just," said Molly firmly. "Be quiet and stay here."

**

When Lupin had talked for a few minutes she was still.

"So that hiding place isn't really safe after all, I mean, only as safe as the Potters were safe in their time?"

Lupin nodded. For a moment he looked thoughtfully into the fire, and then he said, "What it comes down to is: what can we remember about Peter?"

Molly made a little sound of despair. "I can't believe any of those children could do that, Remus, are you sure? They're all like my own." She paused. "Well, maybe not the Malfoy boy," she amended scrupulously.

Lupin smiled a little.

"Well," she continued, "You know more about Peter than me."

"Yes," agreed Lupin, "I mean, I remember how he was as a boy. But there aren't obvious resemblances. I mean, to start with, he was a pureblood from quite an old wizarding family."

Molly looked at him. "Draco Malfoy is a pureblood," she said hopefully.

He looked compassionately at her. "Molly..."

"It wouldn't be Ron!" Molly said defiantly, flushing dangerously. "Don't you think he was brought up to be honourable? Hasn't he shown what he's made of? Did Peter ever do anything like-"

Lupin interrupted hastily, "No, no, Ron doesn't seem anything like Peter now Molly, but back then we didn't suspect Peter either, do you remember?" His face changed. "We were so sure of him that we even suspected Sirius."

Molly, still puce coloured, looked mutinous.

"You're saying it's Ron or Draco. What about Hermione?"

"Or Ginny?" suggested Lupin.

Molly thumped her fist on the arm of her chair. "Why are you so determined that it's one of mine? I tell you, none of them would dream of it!"

Lupin sighed. "I think we have to look for similarities. Peter was a pureblood, and that cuts out Hermione. He was a little bit shy and vulnerable, and that makes me think of Ginny -" he saw Molly's eyes narrow and hurried on, "but he was also a complainer and that makes me think of Draco Malfoy. But then he was the trusted one, the one who kept the secrets, James' right hand man, in the end, and that makes me think of Ron."

"Well, fat lot of use you are then," said Molly miserably.

**

"She's - what?"

"Dead," said Hermione quietly. "Narcissa Malfoy is dead. And nobody knows how."

There was a long silence. Ron stared at Hermione, Harry stared out of the window, and Hermione stared at the Saturday morning edition of The Prophet which Ron had brought her.

"It's not in the paper, " Ron said finally.

"Lucius Malfoy sent Draco an owl this morning."

"Lucius Malfoy - but - you can't get owls here! If Malfoy's sending you owls then..."

"It's OK," interrupted Harry. "Dumbledore's been intercepting our owls. Mostly he sends them back where they came from, but when he read this he sent it on. And came to see us."

"Dumbledore came to see you?"

"Well, he came to see Draco."

There was another silence and Hermione, watching Ron's face, knew he was struggling just has she and Harry had struggled.

"Well," he said, suddenly seeming tired and folding himself up on to a chair, "I suppose that's good. I mean, she is a Death Eater, right?" But he looked doubtfully at Hermione.

Harry turned round from the window. "From what Draco says she was more of a Death Eater's wife. But yeah, I mean, Dark."

"Where did they find her?"

"In the Leaky Cauldron. She'd been shoved through the Floo to one of the bedrooms there, apparently." Hermione shuddered.

"So she could have been killed anywhere? I mean, anyone could have done it?"

"Anyone could have," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Is there something you aren't telling me?" said Ron sharply, looking between his friends.

Harry looked surprised but Hermione looked uneasy. After a moment, both the boys turned and looked at her.

"I - well - Dumbledore was talking to Draco here," she said after a moment, waving her hand at the kitchen in which they sat. "And my room is just underneath, and I..."

"...eavesdropped," finished Ron with some admiration.

Harry blinked. "You eavesdropped?"

She gave him a steely glare. "We all need to know what is going on. I don't trust Draco - he'd lie to us if he felt like it."

"I can't believe you -" began Harry but Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Well, what did they say?"

Hermione fidgeted with the tablecloth. "Well. Dumbledore said Narcissa Malfoy had sent loads of owls for Draco. She'd found out he wasn't at Hogwarts and Dumbledore thought she was worried he'd been hidden away by the Death Eaters, you know, because of seeming to be not very loyal to Voldemort after - after that attack. I suppose she thought they might Veritas out of him what he was up to, or torture him, or something. Anyway Dumbledore said he'd stopped them all, they were just asking where he was, and could he contact her. And then - well then he just said she was dead, and I stopped listening after that," she ended hurriedly, blushing.

"Draco came and told us afterwards," added Harry, "Not that bit. Just that she was dead. All calm and weird. Then he went off downstairs and slammed the hatch."

Ron was looking thoughtful. "If she didn't know what the Death Eaters were doing she couldn't really have been in with them," he suggested. "I mean, she didn't even know if they had her own son or not!"

Hermione nodded. "I know. Unless it was all set up by Lucius Malfoy - you know, to find Draco's hiding place. Maybe he was getting Narcissa to write so as to find out...to find us. Or maybe she did it off her own bat. Maybe he found her at it and got angry and... "

"None of that really makes sense," Harry said finally

Ron sighed irritably and said, without particular malice, "One less Dark one to contend with, anyway."

**

Draco Malfoy knew exactly why his mother had died. He had always known it was true, he supposed. Betraying the Dark Lord meant death. Any hint, in fact, that you might harbour intent to betray him. Even for his mother, powerful witch that she was, beauty, socialite, protected by the ancient charms of the Blacks and the Malfoys. She had tried to find Draco and protect him and she would have been subtle and skilful and careful. She had even been clever enough to get something through Dumbledore's screen to him, even if it was some stupid official letter about him having accumulated three Muggle sightings on his broomstick and being due for a fine. Trust Dumbledore to let through a letter like that. Trust that stupid old man not to notice the seal, not the square Ministry seal but the oval stamped with a slender twisting fish, Narcissa's seal, although usually her letters ended these days with the great green complicated Malfoy crest. Narcissa had tried to contact him because she knew he had lied to his father, and she knew where that could lead. That made her a traitor too, and now she was dead.

Draco stood up slowly. He looked around his room, still so bare and unlived in, and then he went to the staircase and stood on the top step listening. Far above him he heard the clamour of voices; Harry's light and quick and Ron's deep one. After a moment he heard Hermione's join them and, satisfied, he closed the hatch above him and in the sudden quiet he went back down. His feet sounded very loud. He went firmly to stand in front of the magical fireplace and pointed his wand at it. For a moment he gritted his teeth, and then he opened his mouth and said a name he had never thought he would call again.

**

Next chapter: Resolutions are made. Hermione's is about Harry but Harry's is about dying. Ron's is about Being Good. Which would all be very well except that Draco's is about Being Bad. And the spell moves on...