The Cost of Redemption

Chapter Two

I made my bed, I'll lie in it

I made my bed, I'll die in it

-- Miss World, Hole

There really should be some kind of rule against letting ghosts teach. Or at least against letting Professor Binns teach. I've never had a class more mind-numbingly boring then History of Magic. And after taking Arithmancy, believe me, that's saying something. Binns' voice has this peculiar quality of lulling you to sleep within seconds. Honestly, it's instantaneous. My eye-lids start drooping the moment he opens his mouth, and I don't even attempt to fight it.

This is one of the only classes that I don't do my best to pay attention and actually learn the material. Generally, I usually put forth some type of effort to learn, to integrate the knowledge into my mind. You never know when the tiniest, most insignificant spell will give you the edge over your enemy. And in this world, especially as of late, that edge can make all the difference between life and death.

At the desk beside me, Crabbe and Goyle have obviously not put up any resistance at all to Binns' lullaby. Both of them are sleeping soundly, a puddle of drool is slowly spreading across Crabbe's parchment. I'm surprised he even pulled any out. Pansy yawns and continues tapping her wand against her fingernails. They turn a different shade of pink each time. It's the only color she'll wear. Draco's resting his head on his hand and I almost do a double take when I realize that he's reading a book. I have never seen that boy reading before. Not unless it was required for a class... and usually not even then. I mean, he's not stupid or anything, and you'd be a fool to think so. But you usually just don't see him, or many other Slytherins for that matter, reading. Especially voluntarily. Squinting, I try to figure out exactly what book it is that he's so preoccupied with.

For some obnoxious reason or another he looks up just at that moment, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me. Fabulous. I've just been caught twisted halfway around in my chair and stretching out my neck, to stare at Draco Malfoy. Or rather, what he was reading. But judging by the look on his face, I doubt he sees it that way. Ignoring him, I turn back around. Binns is still droning on about Ornog the Ornery, his back to us as he points at various maps.

I feel a sharp jab in my back and turning around I find Pansy glaring at me. "Just what exactly was that about?" Her words comes out in a whispered hiss, the suspicion in her voice is almost palpable.

"Oh, just practicing a new charm for x-ray vision. Don't bother asking how to do it, it's too complicated for little blonde fluffs." I smile briefly before turning around once more. That girl couldn't keep her nose out of everyone's business if her life depended on it. ...Pity it doesn't. I hear the intake of breath, but whatever she's about to say is interrupted by the sounding of the gongs that signal the end of class. Instead Pansy settles for knocking me with her elbow as she pushes by.

My hand is just itching to go for my wand, but before I can do anything someone grabs my arm. "Hey, what-ow!" Startled, I find Draco standing beside me. With a vice-like grip he's steering me out of the classroom and into the hallway. "Damnit, let go!" He ignores me for a moment, watching as the other students slowly drift down the hallway. When they're out of sight he turns back to me. He loosens his grip to the point where I can barely feel it, but he doesn't take his hand away.

There's a smirk playing on his lips. "So that's what you were doing?"

I blink, my eyebrows knitting in confusion. "What?"

He's grinning now, and it's an honest grin ...something I've rarely seen on him. "Using an x-ray vision charm."

"Oh, don't you wish." I can't help but snort in a very un-ladylike manner at that one. He doesn't say anything, just shrugs indifferently, but the grin has faded. "You can let go of my arm now." That was the wrong thing to say. What little humor he had, vanishes, and now there are glaciers in his eyes. But alongside the cold and the ice, something else flickers. Something familiar. Something that I had been noticing in my own reflection lately. I can feel it right on the tip of my tongue, but before I can say anything, complete the thought, he speaks, "What happened yesterday?"

My eyes narrow and I reply coldly, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no? Yes, I suppose it's possible that zoning out completely mid-sentence, letting a goblet spill to the floor, and running from the Great Hall with an absolutely petrified look on your face is perfectly normal behavior." He cocks his head to the side as if considering this. "But for some reason, I'm pretty sure that if it was, then I would've noticed by now." Petrified? I'd looked petrified? ....Damn. "Has something been troubling you Blaise?" His lip curls, "I mean, I'm just taking a wild guess here." That trademark Malfoy arrogance is turned up full-blast now.

"You think that just because our daddies are chums and we've gone on a couple of 'field trips' together, that you know a single thing about me?" I laugh, taunting him. I completely ignore the minor detail that my father and Lucius Malfoy are definitely not 'chums'. Lucius would never lower himself to the same level of my father. I'm just trying to get under Draco's skin. If I piss him off enough, maybe he'll just give up and leave me alone.

"Answer the question." His tone has changed ever so slightly and I can detect a slight edge in it.

"Eat shit, Draco."

He growls through clenched teeth, his usual composure lost. His grip tightens suddenly and he shoves me up against the wall. My head hits the stone none too lightly and anger washes through me. Ok, definitely starting to get ticked off. Some traitorous part of my mind can't help but be terribly aware of exactly how close his body is to mine. My hands are braced against his arms, and through his robe I can feel the muscles pulled taunt beneath my fingers. "Tell me the truth."

"I had a fucking headache, alright?" That was the truth. Kind of. "What do you care anyway? Merlin knows, you don't give a rat's ass about anyone other then yourself."

He smiles at that. An ugly and bitter smile, and I know that I'm not going to like what comes next. "As if you're any different."

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, and my breath hitches in my chest. I stare into those frosty gray eyes and I see that strange flicker again. But all of my strength is suddenly fading and I find myself unable to meet his eyes anymore; my gaze falls listlessly to the cold floor. Inside I can feel everything glazing over as if a shadow, like a plush black blanket, is slowly covering everything. As if switches are being turned off, one by one.

A hand comes up and pushes back a strand of black hair hanging in my eyes. His fingers travel along my cheek and follow the curve of my jaw. He tilts my chin up until I have no choice but to look at him. That cruel smile is gone, his voice stumbles out in a strangled whisper. "Blaise, what happened yesterday?"

Silence reigns for a second. We're so close, I can see his chest rise and fall as he breathes. And in that moment a fleeting thought races through my brain. What if I did tell him the truth? What if I told him of the nightmares that drive me from sleep, that leave me with trembling hands and cold sweat on my brow? In the back of my mind, a hollow voice answers me: He would know how weak you really are.

With one abrupt motion I smack his hand away. "I had a headache," I tell him evenly. "And keep your bloody hands off me." I jerk out of the circle of his arms and walk away, not letting myself look back.

****

I slip through the dungeon door and into the common room, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand wearily. A heaving sigh escapes as I kick the door shut, and then fall against it. I pause for a moment, head tipped back against the door, eyes closed. Detention with McGonagall officially sucks. Forcing myself to ignore the weights pulling down my eyelids, I push away from the door. My gaze travels across the green, silver and black bedecked room and falls on the sole person remaining in the common room. A skinny boy with pale brown hair. He's asleep at one of the tables, surrounded by teetering mounds of books and parchment. This isn't the first time I've found Teddy like this. For some people, school is a breeze. It doesn't take much effort to remember what you need to, and get by on little to no studying. Teddy's not one of those people. He's not always real quick on the uptake... but he's the sweetest boy you'll ever meet. My fingers itch with the sudden urge to reach over and tussle his hair, but I don't. Instead, I grab his cloak from a nearby chair and drape it over him.

Looking at him reminds me of the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. A ferocious wave of sheer emotion surges over me. He shouldn't have to be a part of this. He shouldn't have to face the things that I've faced. Do the things that I've done.

And in this moment I hate them all. Voldemort and Bellatrix. Dumbledore, Potter and all his bloody little friends. That stupid little girl, wandering around where she wasn't invited. But most of all, I hate my father. Fathers are supposed to look after their little girls, right? That's what they say anyway. Isn't that what Potter's parents died doing? Protecting their precious little child from the Dark Lord?

And what did my father do? He decided my fate before I even left the womb.

They tell me that my mother died during the birth. So there's always the possibility that she would've loved me in the way that my father never has. But somehow I doubt it. It's hard to put any faith in anyone who would willingly marry a man like my father.

A flash of movement in the corner of my eye makes me turn. Kali's stretching luxuriously on a plush green sofa. There's grey hair covering the black pillows that adorn it. I can't stop the weary smile tugging at the corner of my mouth at the sight of her tiny pink tongue as she yawns. Leaving Teddy's side, I slowly drift over to the feline, intent on burying my cheeks in her fuzzy, purring warmth. But as she moves, I notice the rectangular shape beneath her.

My eyes widen and I push her unceremoniously to the side. A protesting yowl and a swipe of a claw I discover my book, the one by that Muggle, lying on the emerald cushion. I can feel my eyebrows shoot up as I stare at the book for a moment. There's a little slip of parchment sticking out of the edge. I don't use bookmarks for books that I've read a hundred times over. So what the bloody hell is this little scrap?

"Kali... who touched my book?" I murmur absent-mindedly, and glance over at the cat. Her eyes stare back, reflecting the light like two amber-lit globes. My gaze slides back to

the book and I pick it up, careful not to let the paper fall out. Flipping through the pages suspiciously, I distractedly reach down to scratch Kali's chin. I reach the marked page, and scrutinize it. There's nothing different. Nothing out of place, just this little bookmark slipped in. I blink at the book. So confused. Who would just randomly pick this up and re-

Draco.

That's what he was reading in class today! Ha, I win! But... but why? Merlin's beard, that boy is odd sometimes. A slight pricking sensation on my hand makes me frown down at Kali. "Stop trying to eat me. Go find Pansy or someone." My attention shifts back to the book and I roll my eyes. I'm tired and this crap is just going to have to wait until tomorrow. I'm definitely not in the mood to talk to Draco right now. He has this funny habit of being able to get under your skin real easy. Probably got it from Lucius. And one day, when Draco has wee little Malfoys of his own... they'll all be wee little arseholes too. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Ok Blaise, this line of thinking is an obvious sign of sleep deprivation. Bed. Now.

And for once, I actually listen to that little voice of reason.

****

Macnair, Draco and I slide like shadows over the lawn. The fog is so dense we can hardly see more then fifteen yards ahead into the gloomy darkness. The burning street lamps fail miserably to illuminate the lane. Houses line the street, ominous in the shadows. A shiver crawls up my spine and I hug my cloak tight around me. Part of me is thankful for the fog. We may not be able to see very well, but no one can see the three of us either as we slip through the back gate of one of the quaint houses. With Macnair in the front, Draco and I follow silent as wraiths over the wet grass. My heart is running fast as a jackrabbit and I force my lungs to take slow, even breaths. Under the hood of his cloak I can see a glint in Macnair's eyes as he directs his wand to the backdoor.

"Alohomora."

The lock clicks, and he's able to push the door open easily. The house is darker then the streets outside and it takes a moment for our eyes to adjust before we proceed. My fingers itch with the urge to perform a lighting spell, but it might tip off the occupants of the house. We pass through the kitchen, Draco's boots clicking ever so softly on the tile, and into the living room. There's a set of stairs going up on one side of the room, next to a hearth. Moving portraits sit on the mantle above the fireplace. Squinting I'm able to make out four figures sleeping soundly: an older man and woman with two little boys in the front. A family of four. You couldn't tell it in the darkness, but the two boys were twins of eight years. Bella had given us the debriefing the night before.

The edge of Draco's cloak brushes my shoulder as he moves beside me. He looks at the pictures for a moment, darkness shrouding his expression. He whispers, his eyes still on the pictures, "C'mon," before stepping away. Turning, I follow him to the staircase; Macnair's already at the top.

I place one foot on the first stair and a drawn out creak emanates from the wood. Bollocks. Wincing, I ignore the others' glares and continue on. Somehow, I manage to reach the top without another sound. Under my breath I whisper a prayer of thanks and glance down the hallway. There are several doors on either side of the hall, plus one at the very end. The door at the end is shut, and one on the side is only slightly ajar. I peep through the crack and see two separate little beds. I catch Draco's eyes and jerk my head towards the door. Macnair will take care of parents.

Slowly, I push open the door and slip inside the room. Toys are scattered haphazardly across the floor. Miniscule Wimbourne Wasps action figures lie on a desk, half of them missing arms or legs. I eye the two sleeping figures and flick my wand, "Silencio."

Stepping around the toys carefully, I peer down over one of the boys. In the corner of my eye, Draco pushes back his hood, white-blonde hair catching what little light there is. One hand goes inside his cloak, for the dagger I know is sheathed at his waist, as he leans over the other child. Neither of us had been able to completely master the killing curse just yet.

Switching my wand to my other hand, I do the same; the silver-wrought blade slides from its sheath with a soft whisper. I bring the blade up and press the point just barely into one side of the boy's tender neck, just below his ear. He jerks in his sleep, and then brown eyes fly open, wide as saucers. Placing my left hand on his chest, I slip the blade across his throat and up to the other ear. The dagger's so sharp, there's no resistance. It's like dipping my fingers through water.

He's thrashing back and forth in the covers, but I keep him pressed firmly against the bed. His mouth, lips like a cupid, flops open and shut and I know my silence spell has worked. No half-formed screams of panic and fear escape, only a dim gurgle can be heard. Choking on his own blood.

After a moment, his twisting weakens, and then there's no struggle at all. Slowly, I remove the pressure on his chest, watching him carefully for any signs of movement. Satisfied, I wipe the sullied blade clean on a bedspread printed with little snitches, bludgers, and quaffles whizzing every which way. They must've liked sports, probably couldn't wait until the day they learned to fly on a broom. Rapidly, I push the thought away, into a dark corner of my mind.

I straighten and turn around to find Draco watching me, an odd expression on his face. Behind him, I can see the other twin, a dark stain is slowly spreading across the blankets. I meet Draco's eyes once more for a moment and then turn away. Sheathing the dagger, I go back out into the hallway.

Macnair is standing in the shadows, a pleased smirk under the growth of several days' stubble. The door to the master bedroom is still shut, but two wands snapped into halves lie at his feet. With a beckoning motion, he turns and goes back down the stairs. Draco and I follow him, just waiting for the word. He stops in the middle of the living room, glancing around once more and then nods to us, "Do it."

With a curt nod the two of us spread out. Purposefully ignoring the pictures above the fireplace, I turn to a window. The tip of my wand touches the curtains framing the window, "Incendio!" Flames instantly leap from my wand to the ruffled material. Flickering light washes the room in red, behind me comes another surge of light and a burst of heat. The two of us go over the walls of the room, catching everything a flame. The furniture, the portraits, the staircase. I reach the hearth and pause, looking into the family portrait. Decisively, I reach out and whisper the spell one more time. The fire quickly consumes the picture, licking the edges into black curls before engulfing the entire thing.

Swiftly the three of us go back through the kitchen and into the night. The moist air rushes over me, cooling my cheeks. The house is now burning cheerfully, casting light and shadows across the yard. I turn to go back through the gate but Macnair stops me, grinning, "Wait."

I cross my arms, one eyebrow arched expectantly, but stay where I am. I turn my gaze back to the house, vaguely admiring the dancing shadows thrown over the lawn. My mouth opens halfway, about to say something when we hear a yell and thud coming from inside the house. Another muffled scream sounds and I turn to Macnair, eyes wide. "You didn't kill them?"

He smirks, one hand scratching his chest. "Nope."

"Don't you think they'll get out? The orders were to kill them all."

Sneering he turns to me angrily, "Shut your bloody mouth, wench! You have no right to question me." His gaze shifts back to the house and the smirk emerges again. "Besides, I sealed off the door... They won't be going anywhere."

A piercing scream rips through the night.

With a violent jerk my eyes fly open, greeted by darkness. Beads of sweat slide down the side of my face and my heart beats against my ribcage like a wild animal. I press a hand to my forehead and my breath comes out in hiccups, "Just a dream, Blaise... just a dream. It's over, it's done with." My words stumble out in a feverish whisper and they do nothing to ease the panic clutching at my heart.

Because it wasn't just a dream. That was the night the Dark Lord had sent all of us out, divided into small groups. Four Muggle-born employees of the Ministry of Magic died that night. So did their families. And high above the pyres, hung a blazing emerald skull, a serpent twining through its jaws.