Dumbledore's Secret

Chapter 21

Percy gazed at the chandelier in awe. A dozen gilded candlesticks encircled a glossy blue globe. Hanging from the globe was a crystal bowl filled with shimmering water and dozens of tiny, frenetic goldfish. Too stupid to realize they were precariously suspended some twenty feet in the air, the goldfish zoomed merrily around the bowl, their orange gills iridescent in the flickering candlelight. "So this is what it's like to be rich," Percy murmured to himself, leaning across the railing to get a better look at the chandelier.

"Do you like it?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, though she sounded wholly uninterested in whatever answer Percy might give.

Still, he said, "It's exquisite. You have impeccable taste."

She warmed to his flattery. "Yes, it's an early 19^th century French piece. The wizard who created it tried to sell it to his Muggle king, but the stupid Mudblood didn't want it."

"All the better for you. I'm particularly fond of the globe," Percy added, wishing he could reach out and touch the little gold stars scattered across the lustrous blue sphere.

"Oh yes, I agree completely. Do you see that bronze band encircling the globe? It's inscribed with all the signs of the Zodiac," Narcissa said, a smile softening the hard lines of her face.

"Oh no, it's not the globe that makes this piece."

Percy shivered at the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's low, sultry voice. He'd almost managed to forget she was there. When he had discovered that it would be she who would accompany him to his new location, he had not been happy. Rich, of course, had complained bitterly at his bad attitude. "You get all the luck, you bastard. First a secret assignment, now the company of a sex goddess. I don't see why you're so upset." Percy could hardly disagree with Rich's description of her; everything about her, from her shapely form to the way she held her wand, exuded sex. But for every feeling of lust Bellatrix Lestrange inspired in Percy's young body, she stirred up an equal dose of fear and revulsion.

"No," Bellatrix continued in a purr, "the goldfish in the suspended bowl are what makes the chandelier so enthralling. One little wave of this," she flicked her wand playfully, "and the poor little fishes are flopping on the floor, drowning in poisonous air."

Narcissa sighed. "If you dare ruin my chandelier, I will not hesitate to scratch out your eyes, darling."

Bellatrix laughed and pocketed her wand. "Cissa, dear, you always have been terribly materialistic."

"And you, Bella, have always been terribly sadistic. Come along, I don't like that we're loitering in the entrance hall. What if someone should see us?" Narcissa's voice had risen to a whining pitch.

Bellatrix snorted. "Ashamed of your Death Eater relations? Besides, who's going to tell on us darling? The house elves?"

Narcissa pouted. "I used to have ever so many visitors! But ever since Lucius so stupidly got caught ..."

Bellatrix yanked her wand from her robes and thrust it against her sister's neck. "You should keep your mouth shut, darling."

Percy gaped at them, wondering if he should step in. Yet as he watched Bellatrix run the tip of her tongue over her bright red lips, he decided that backing away from them was perhaps the safer bet.

Narcissa, however, seemed unfazed by the attack. Shoving her sister's wand away from her face, she complained, "My whole life has been ruined by this mess!" Turning on her heel, she hurried down a corridor lined with life-sized portraits of what Percy assumed were generations and generations of wealthy, powerful Malfoys.

When Narcissa realized that neither Bellatrix nor Percy was following her, she looked over her shoulder and sighed. "Do you, or do you not, want me to get him settled? Personally, I'd be just as happy not to have this wretched excuse for a pureblood staying in my home, but I did tell Lucius ..."

"Are you really going to let her speak of you in that way?" Bellatrix asked Percy, coming up beside him and running a finger down his arm.

Percy shuddered. "Well, I..."

Suddenly, she yanked back the sleeve of his robe and pulled his arm in the air so that Narcissa could see it. "If Weasley here is still too much of a novice to make you aware of it, let me make sure you understand what's at stake here: You are not doing this for Lucius or for your darling little Draco. You are doing this for HIM!" she cried, pointing at the mark. "Is that clear?"

Narcissa stared at them for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Come along."

"Pathetic," Bellatrix muttered before dropping his arm and following her sister. Percy was uncertain if she was referring to him, Narcissa, or them both.

Making sure to keep several paces behind the sisters, he wondered yet again if this really was the best place for him. The home of an imprisoned Death Eater hardly seemed like the safest hideout, but then, as the Dark Lord had explained, "The best place to hide anything of importance is under the nose of the ministry fools." Having spent a year as a ministry fool himself, Percy had to agree with this rather brilliant logic. He only wished that, when the Dark Lord had spoken of hiding "anything of importance," he'd been referring to Percy and not simply the potion. Like a little boy, he found himself craving his master's approval, longing for any word of praise. That had been the only reason he had taken this near-impossible assignment. Well, that and a desire to save his own skin.

When the three of them began to climb the spiraled staircase of a turret, Percy asked, "The lab's not in the cellar?"

"In the cellar?" Narcissa asked disdainfully. "Why ever would you think that?"

"Well, a lab needs to be dark and cold and..."

But before Percy could finish, Bellatrix began to laugh.

"What do you find so amusing?" Narcissa demanded as she pulled out her wand to unlock the door at the top of the tower.

"Percy, Percy, Percy," Bellatrix cooed. "You are in trouble, young man. Let me guess," she said, as they made their way into the room, "your only experience with potions has been in the dungeons of Hogwarts."

No matter how frightening he found Bellatrix Lestrange, Percy Weasley was not a man to be mocked. "I know that potions should not be made in areas with a great deal of light and heat!" He was about to expound further on the subtle art of potions making (or at least what he could remember from Professor Sna... from the traitor's lectures), but the sights before him stunned him into silence.

He stood in a large, round room with books lining every inch of the high walls. In the center of the room there were supplies and equipment galore: the standard items, such as cauldrons, mortars and pestles, and stirring spoons; and the more exotic resources: cutting implements small enough to slice a fairy's wing and large enough to chop up a man; jars with blood red liquids, dried roots, and embalmed organs; and, perhaps most disturbing, a large metal examining table with what appeared to be spots of dried blood on its shiny surface.

"This," Narcissa announced, "is the best potions facility in all of England, if not the world."

Bellatrix chuckled. "Tell me, Cissa, what do you know about potions? Probably little more than our Mr. Weasley here. Do you really think," she asked, turning to him, "that because you got an O on your precious little exam that you can actually do this? My Lord was ever so amused by your very desperate attempt to make yourself useful. I would have simply killed you after you the mess you made in Germany."

Percy wanted nothing more than to turn and run away. He, with his measly Hogwarts education, he had promised to produce a potion that the world's most talented potions masters had failed to create. It was amazing what the Dark Lord's anger could make one agree to.

Summoning all his courage, Percy met Bellatrix's eyes. "I would not question My Lord's decisions, Bellatrix. I will succeed."

"Oh, well done, darling, well done!" Bellatrix laughed. "Spoken with such confidence. There is hope for you yet."

"You could hardly fail to succeed in a room like this," Narcissa crowed, moving around the circular space with a sort of possessiveness that Percy found oddly endearing. "All of the great Slytherin's papers are at your disposal," she said, waving a hand toward one of the bookshelves.

"Hmmm, yes," Bellatrix said, reaching for one of the books. "I can feel the dark magic in here, can't you?" Her eyes seemed to glow as she stroked the spine of the book.

Percy forced his hands not to shake as he went to the shelf and pulled one of the texts. "Very powerful," he agreed quietly. He gazed down at the spiky handwriting of Salazar Slytherin and shivered. The words were in Latin, so he'd have to brush up on his translation charms. But he didn't need to understand the words to feel the power that pulsated from the ancient black ink.

"Of course," Bellatrix said, "your predecessor had all these resources at his disposal, not to mention the title of a master, and yet he failed to accomplish anything."

"Well, he was a foreigner, darling, one of those Slavic type men," Narcissa said as if this explained everything. "Radu, Radu... what sort of name is that? I'm sure our own English stock will have a much better chance at the matter. Why, I remember, years ago, when Severus used this lab, he accomplished such great..."

"Do not," Bellatrix said, her voice low, "mention that name in my presence. That traitor's name should not grace your lips."

Narcissa pouted. "I still don't believe he turned. A pureblood from such an old, respected family, though they were quite poor..."

"Well, believe it," Bellatrix muttered. "He hexed me, disobeyed the Dark Lord, betrayed the cause ... and for what? All for the sake of some half blood bitch and her old fool of a grandfather. What a fucking waste."

"Darling, please, such language," Narcissa complained. "This is one of the reasons I won't allow you near Draco ... such a bad influence."

Bellatrix snorted. "Very well, I relinquish all rights as an aunt." She turned to Percy and whispered, "And thank the gods, too, that whiny brat is too much like his mother."

"He needs his father's influence," Narcissa moaned, unintentionally agreeing with her older sister's whispered aside. "Oh why couldn't your darling master" - the words positively dripped with sarcasm - "let him escape with the rest of the Death Eaters? To think of Lucius locked away in Azkaban..."

"You stupid twit," Bellatrix said, striding toward her sister. Again she pulled her wand on her sibling, and again, Narcissa seemed unconcerned by the threat. "How dare you talk about the Dark Lord so flippantly? How dare you question His Will?"

"Spare me your zealotry," Narcissa muttered.

"Lucius should have forced you to join, he should have forced you to take the mark," Bellatrix said angrily.

"There has to be someone respectable in the family," Narcissa countered.

"Respectable? You call your whiny, pathetic existence respectable? You're nothing but a parasite who feeds on the spoils of our struggle!"

This time Narcissa raised her own wand. "And you are nothing but a demented lunatic!"

Percy got the impression that these confrontations between the sisters were quite common; and as the two women had yet to kill each other, it was only with the tiniest bit of dread that he placed himself between the pair of angry, wand-waving witches.

"The Aurors never found this place?" he asked Narcissa. "It's practically reeking with Dark Magic."

She lowered her wand and smirked. "No, we keep our ... valuables... well protected. This tower is under a modified Fidelius charm that allows only a portion of the estate to be hidden. Lucius and I are the only secret keepers." Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "This means that should you dare leave this tower, you will not find it again, and I promise, I will not help you find it. I," she said with heavy emphasis, "have no public knowledge of Death Eater activity. Furthermore, should you be seen by anyone in my home, by my son especially, I would not hesitate to have you killed as an intruder." She pointed her wand at his chest. "Is that clear?"

Percy backed away from her, surprised by her vehemence.

Bellatrix laughed. "Cissa is quite protective of this heaping hunk of stone." She waved a derisive hand at the walls of the tower. "I think this place is all that she loves; well, this and her beloved progeny."

"And Lucius," Narcissa added with a sniff. "Who, need I remind you, is wasting away in Azkaban while you people run free..."

"Oh not this again," Bellatrix muttered. Then she slammed her fist on one of the lab tables. "How many times do I have to explain this to you? If Lucius had escaped with the rest of them, he'd never be able to regain his place in your precious little society, would he? He'd have no more power with your precious little Ministry. By remaining in Azkaban and awaiting a trial, he'll appear respectable in the eyes of the Ministry. And we all know how important it is to be respectable."

Narcissa sulked. "But I've read nothing of him in the papers, nothing about a trial. How do you know he'll be released? All the world thinks he escaped with the rest of the Death Eaters ... all the world thinks he's one of you!"

"He is one of us!" Bellatrix cried in exasperation. "I've never understood why he married you."

"Because, I'm much better in society than you could ever be!"

Bellatrix smiled. "Yes, but as I'm sure your husband has mentioned, I'm much better in bed."

Percy tensed, expecting Narcissa to explode. Instead, she smiled coldly. "Every man needs his whore, I suppose."

Bellatrix matched her sister's smile. "We are both whores, darling, in our own way."

As Narcissa's pale face flushed blood red, she let out a shriek that nearly burst Percy's eardrums. Suddenly weary at the prospect of another round of brutal bickering, he put a tentative hand on Narcissa's shoulder and said, "Mrs. Malfoy, where am I to sleep?"

For a moment, the blonde looked as if she were going to transfer her rage to him. But instead, her shoulders slumped, and she muttered only, "Vicious little tramp."

"Pathetic little bitch," her sister muttered in return.

Percy felt a flash of longing for his own siblings - even Fred and George - that he quickly squashed.

"Below this room," Narcissa said, her voice resuming its haughty tenor, "there is a small set of quarters." She pointed to a set of stairs at the far end of the room that Percy had not noticed. Then, she snapped her fingers. The sound of her snap was followed quickly by a popping noise. Percy blinked in surprise at the appearance of a house elf.

"You," she said with barely a glance at the creature, "will bring this man whatever he needs, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress, of course Mistress," the elf said, bobbing its head madly with every word it uttered. "As Mistress commands."

"And you are not to mention his presence to anyone, or else I shall delight in watching you take your own ears and wrap them around your scrawny little neck until you choke on your own, disgusting saliva," Bellatrix added with a grin.

The creature's eyes widened at her words, but its eyes never left the Narcissa's face.

"Do not tell anyone," Narcissa agreed with a sigh, and the elf bowed so low that its potentially life-threatening ears scraped the floor.

Narcissa and Bellatrix turned to leave, and Percy said, frantically, "Wait, what if I need to contact someone? What if ..."

Bellatrix looked back at him and laughed. "I'll be in touch, my darling little Weasel. And when I return, I expect to have some good news to tell My Lord."

Narcissa said only, "Remember, do not leave, or I will not be responsible for the consequences."

As Percy watched the two witches depart, he wondered if he'd ever see the outside of this room again.

*

Kingsley stood at the entrance to Grimmauld Place, his hand clutching the doorknob. "Just turn the damn thing," he muttered to himself, but he couldn't move. Staring dumbly at the cracked paint on the door panel, he tried to breathe slowly, evenly, just as the instructors had taught him during his Auror training years ago. "Yeah, like I'm ever going to use this muggle relaxation crap," he'd muttered to a friend in the same course. One, two, three, four - breathe in, Kings, breathe in. One, two, three, four - breathe out. Still, his hand, now sticky with sweat, would not turn the knob.

Paralyzed like a Boggart in a room full of laughing children, he continued to stare at the door. He - who had battled monsters, criminals, and Death Eaters alike - he - Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Senior Auror who had an Order of Merlin (Second Class) to his name and a shot at becoming the youngest Chief Auror since the legendary Mad Eye Moody - he was terrified of facing the Weasleys.

How does one tell a family - a perfectly happy, good, brave family - that one of their own had somehow become a killer? Or, as close to a killer as he possibly could without actually finishing the deed. There had been several moments over the last week when Kingsley wished Percy had finished him off. No stranger to pain, the Auror had once believed that he was brave, strong, stoic. But then, he had never experienced the aftereffects of the Cruciatus and Cruento curses combined. It had taken days for the taste of his own blood to leave his tongue; his nose still bled when he felt the slightest stress; and even now, he walked with a noticeable limp. But the worst of it was the memory of the smile on Percy Weasley's face as he'd called out the Unforgivable; it was a sight he couldn't get out of his head.

If it had been anyone else who had done this to him, Kingsley would have felt triumph at every ache, victory with every nosebleed; if it had been anyone else, Kingsley would have laughed at his pain. He had survived, he had made it, and he was going to kill the son of a bitch who did this to him. But the predatory instinct that had served him so well in his profession now failed him almost completely. How could he possibly hunt and kill the boy with Molly's hair and Arthur's eyes?

"Kingsley! It's great to see you up and about!"

Kingsely swung around, his right hand clutching his wand ... no, a new wand; his wand was probably still in the pocket of Percy's Death Eater robes.

"Whoa!" Bill Weasley held his hands in front of him. "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Kingsley stared at him for several seconds before lowering his wand. Even with the ponytail and the fang earring, Bill looked so much like Percy, so much like him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bill asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Kingsley jerked away. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, his voice hoarse. He hadn't spoken since he'd left the hospital the day before.

"Uh, are you headed inside?" Bill asked, his face now anxious.

Kingsley took a deep breath. Get a grip, man, get a grip! "Yeah," he said more steadily than before. Still, he couldn't make himself open the door.

"Uh, here, let me get that for you," Bill said with a noticeable gulp. He pushed open the door and tried to smile. "Bloody door is such a pain, it always gets stuck like this," he whispered as they entered the hall. "Someone needs to fix it."

"Hmmm." Kingsley followed him into the stairwell. "Bill ..."

The younger man turned and smiled. "Yeah?"

"Uh, thanks. I'm sorry, about the wand, the door, I'm a little on edge..."

Bill shook his head. "It was nothing," he said with a smile. "Like I said, that door needs to be fixed, and I did sneak up on you."

Kingsley stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, letting his eyes adjust the dimness of the cavernous room. He'd always hated the gloominess of Grimmauld Place; he'd found it somewhat ironic that the side of Light had to work in the dark. But tonight, he appreciated the shadows. He wanted to sink into one, to hide from the other members of the Order. They were mingling, chatting, laughing as if this were happy hour at the pub. Moving along the back wall of the room, he slid into a seat and kept his head bent, hoping that, somehow, the others would ignore his presence.

"Kingsley, dear! It's so good to see you!"

Kingsley looked up slowly, dreading what he knew was to come. He felt Molly's short, soft arms encircle him, and he had to resist the urge to flinch as she kissed his cheek.

The Weasley matron pulled back and gave him a stern look. "They've let you out of St. Mungo's too early. You're still looking a bit peaky to me. Would you like some tea? Or coffee?"

He could not meet her eye. "Uh, no, nothing, I'm fine," he muttered gruffly.

"Molly, give him some room to breathe, will you?"

Kingsley glanced up at Arthur, who smiled kindly at him. Quickly, Kingsley looked away.

"Glad to see you're out of the hospital, Kingsley," Arthur said quietly. "Uh, just let us know if there's anything we can do, okay?"

Kingsley nodded curtly. As the couple turned away, he heard Molly mutter, "I could just kill the Death Eaters who did this to him."

Kingsley closed his eyes. How was he ever going to do this?