Foolish Games

I.

It was with a heavy heart that Lucius Malfoy walked into the drawing room. His wife and son looked up expectantly at the sound of his footsteps.

"It is over," he told them in a bleak, hollow voice. "I have pleaded, but to no avail. Tomorrow they come for us. We will be taken before the Wizengamot only as a formality; the trial will be quick, the verdict already set. Azkaban waits."

Narcissa rose from her chair, pale features contorted in alarm. "Not--- not Draco, surely? He is too young---"

"He has come of age," said Lucius bitterly. "As far as the Wizengamot is concerned, he is old enough."

With a cry of despair, Narcissa fell to her knees, tremors wracking her slender frame. "Lucius... our son... it is not right that he should pay for our mistakes. There must be something--- I couldn't bear---" The sentence was choked off as the last shred of composure left her and she dissolved into agonized sobs.

Draco remained seated, looking terrified in the flickering firelight. "Perhaps we should make a run for it," he suggested. "We could escape to France---"

"The Ministry has disconnected our hearth from the Floo network and put up wards all around the manor," Lucius informed him. "Aurors are stationed at every exit, patrolling the grounds even as we speak. They have been ordered to kill on sight, so Fudge tells me."

"Dreadfully sorry, no help for it," Cornelius Fudge had said barely an hour ago, refusing to meet Lucius' eyes. "Too many people know of your family's involvement. They're crying out for blood. I shouldn't even be telling you this... highly confidential information... but I figured it was the least I could do. You should have been more careful, Malfoy."

"There must be a way," insisted Draco. "Wait--- Father, what about the secret passage? The one---"

"Under the cellar," breathed Narcissa, eyes widening. "The Ministry can't possibly know about that! It leads deep into the woods. Surely they have not extended the wards that far."

Hope stirred within Lucius as he considered the plan. It was risky, but it just might work. Once in the woods, they could Apparate to France. He had considerable connections in Paris. They could seek shelter there for a while and then flee the continent altogether, start anew somewhere far away, across the ocean...

"Very well," he said briskly. "Order the house-elves to pack our things. We leave in an hour."

II.

Who could that be? Hermione Granger wondered as she hurried downstairs at the sound of the insistently ringing doorbell. It was ten o'clock in the evening, hardly a time for any sane person to be making a social call. Maybe Ron had decided to surprise her... although, well, that wasn't a very Ron-ish thing to do.

She opened the door without unfastening the security chain, peeking through the gap, and immediately recognized the man standing on the front porch. Any disappointment she felt at him not being Ron soon gave way to a tingly mixture of anticipation and dread.

"Detective Farrowday!" she exclaimed, sliding the chain from its bolt and throwing the door open. "Do come in. I'm terribly sorry, I must not have gotten your message that you were on your way..."

"No, no," said the rail-thin, blond-haired young man, waving off her apology. "I sent no owl. Unforgivably rude of me but I have just discovered---" He hesitated, and fear stabbed at Hermione's heart before he continued. "---urgent news, which I felt best to relay to you as soon as possible."

This wasn't good. There was nothing good in Farrowday's strangely blank expression, in the way he shifted uncomfortably, hands in the pockets of his robes, refusing to meet her eyes.

Hermione shut the door, willing herself to remain calm. "Would you like a cup of tea, Detective?"

"I... yes... tea would be lovely. Thank you."

A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, solemnly regarding each other over steaming cups of Earl Grey.

"So... what have you got for me?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

Farrowday cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, a few weeks ago you hired me to find your parents, whose memories you had modified. You informed me that they believed themselves to be named Wendell and Monica Wilkins, respectively, and that they were on their way to Australia."

"Yes," said Hermione, uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach. Why was he telling her things she already knew? It seemed like he was stalling, trying to find the right words to... "Detective, do you mean to tell me they aren't in Australia?"

Farrowday's glance in her direction confirmed this; Hermione felt panic begin to build up. "But that's impossible--- I cast the spells perfectly, right by the book--- where could they have---?"

"Miss Granger." The private investigator's voice was unbearably gentle, its cadence knelling like funeral bells. "My search in Australia proved fruitless, therefore upon my return to Britain I inquired at the shipping companies and went through their registers. Wendell and Monica Wilkins were among the passengers onboard the Constance, which set sail for Australia in early August. Unfortunately..."

"What?" said Hermione when several heartbeats had passed and he still hadn't continued. "Unfortunately what, Detective?"

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger, the Constance sunk just off the coast. There were no survivors."

III.

Adrenaline pumped through Draco's body, causing the blood to rush in his veins. Each parent held one of his hands as they pulled him along the dark and winding underground tunnel, their only source of illumination the light glowing from the tips of their wands.

"We will go to the Le Fays," muttered Lucius, more to himself than to his family. "They swore the blood bond... They cannot turn us away..."

"Worry about that later," Narcissa advised him, slightly out of breath. "Right now the important thing is getting out of England."

The pack Draco had slung over his shoulder was starting to feel heavy. "We should've brought the house elves along so we wouldn't have to lug all this stuff around," he whined, earning a sharp glance from Lucius.

"Draco, now is hardly the time---"

"Lucius!" Narcissa said sharply. "Up ahead!"

For they had arrived at a dead end, where a wooden ladder sprouted from the ground and led to the faint outline of a trapdoor set in the roof of the tunnel.

"I will go first," said Lucius. "If you hear me cry out or any sort of commotion at all, run back to the house. Do not look back, do not slow down. Just run. Do you understand?"

Narcissa gazed at him with fearful eyes, teeth clamped on her bottom lip, and nodded slowly.

Trembling, Draco watched as his father ascended the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor, letting in a cool whisper of evening breeze. After poking his head out and looking around, Lucius eased himself onto the surface.

"Hurry," he urged his wife and son in a low hiss.

Once he had climbed out, followed by his mother, Draco took a deep breath of clear, chilly forest air that was welcome after the stale and musky odor in the tunnel. Trees surrounded them on all sides, their leaves gleaming ebony and silver, blocking huge portions of the sky from view.

"Draco, you have never Apparated at such a great distance before," said Lucius pragmatically, "so you had better take my hand---"

"Hold it right there, Malfoy."

At the sound of the strange voice, Draco and his parents froze. Tense silence descended like a cloud, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the cracking of twigs underfoot as what seemed like a battalion of Aurors emerged from the darkness, wands aimed, ready to kill.