Dark Lord's Little Helper

Dark Lord's Little Helper

Draco sat on the landing, shuffling his 'Diabolical Doses Deck' while he listened closely to the voices in the foyer. The landing was Draco's favorite haunt in Malfoy Manor, as it was ideally situated to overhear conversations in many other parts of the house, all without being seen.

"The Dark Lord, in his mercy and wisdom, saw fit to liberate you from Azkaban, and he expects your gratitude to be evident," the chilly tones of Rodolphus Lestrange noted.

Draco concentrated on the cards, putting them in alphabetical order. Deadly Nightshade. He catalogued its properties in his head. Also called Belladonna. He glanced briefly at the picture on the cardboard, barely taking in the familiar plant with purplish-black berries. All parts of the plant are highly toxic. Symptoms include...

"And how, exactly, does he expect my 'gratitude' to manifest itself?" Draco heard his father respond. It was the same bored tone, the same cool amusement; but perhaps, just perhaps, a tad less confident than his pre-Azkaban attitude. Draco noted this, and wondered.

"Your son is nearly of age; it's time he took the mark," Bellatrix broke in with her shudder-inspiring screech. "It's time he was made...useful." Draco paused, smoothing out a slight crease in one of the cards. They'd been a gift from Professor Snape a couple of years before he'd entered Hogwarts, and even though he had them memorized, they were comforting in their solidness and familiarity. Draco had always been slightly edgy, and it helped to have something to do with his hands.

"And is that...what my Lord requested?" Lucius responded slowly. Draco smiled slightly. His father wouldn't simply turn him over to the Dark Lord to be--to be...branded like cattle. Father had always said that he took the mark when he was young and foolish, and now didn't see why one's flesh should be marred just to show one's loyalty. Of course, he didn't say it loudly, and never in company, but Draco was certain his father would never allow them to do that to him.

"It is," Draco's uncle affirmed. "After your failure in the Department of Mysteries, you ought to be glad our Master saw fit to include Draco in the list of Chosen--and the first of his generation! You seem distinctly...ambivalent about the prospect. Are you not pleased?" His tones were amused, and held a dark undercurrent of challenge.

"Of course I'm pleased," Lucius responded, too hastily to sound casual to even the least perceptive listener.

Draco winced, shuffling. False hellebore. Reaction time within twenty minutes. "I shall send Draco tonight." Draco froze. Surely not. Surely his mother, if no one else, would not let them take him.

"Good--" Rodolphus began, but his wife interrupted.

"You should be honored, my dear brother-in-law, very honored. To give your child to the cause--we should have done the same, of course, but we were in Azkaban for far too long, and now we have passed the chance. Need I say that I find it a personal source of pride, that one with my bloodline shall be the next to give himself to my lord? It is good that he is not like that other, who died at my hand--the traitor. Murdering Sirius was amusing, but I should hate to have to kill my own nephew."

Perhaps Draco's mother wasn't even in the room. She hadn't said one word, all night. She might not even be in the house. Perhaps she'd gone--"Yes. Yes, my son is the first of his age to become worthy of the Dark Lord's notice," she abruptly said in a shaky voice.

Hidden in the shadows on the landing, Draco froze. Narcissus poeticus. Grown as a garden flower. Can cause paralysis, convulsions, collapse, and death...the bitch.

"I'm glad we are agreed," his aunt announced from below, much too sweetly in Draco's studied opinion. "We need not take the boy tonight. We might linger until the morning; after all, a long trip awaits us!" She cackled slightly, and Draco recoiled. And rumor had it that Potter thought his aunt was a trial.

Silently, Draco rose and clambered upstairs. When he was safely in his rooms, he called for his personal house elf. "Dixie!"

She popped into the room immediately, saluting and looking inappropriately cheerful as she squeaked, "Yes, Master! If Master will tell Dixie what to do, she will do it sir, yes, right away!"

Grunting as he threw clothes into a pack (well, throwing would be manual labor, so technically Draco was really using his wand to magic them folded and in), Draco didn't spare the elf a passing glance. Time was of the essence. No crocodile-eyed, snake-skinned megalomaniac was coming to burn Draco's beautiful skin with his stupid gang tag, or whatever it was called, nuh-uh.

"Get me my broom, some food that doesn't spoil easily and...and a map of England--a detailed map," he told her, and with another 'pop' she obeyed.

By the time she returned a few minutes later, Draco had most of his belongings packed and shrunk and ready to go. "Good, okay, great," he muttered, grabbing the food from her and shrinking it as well. Dixie immediately became hysterical with loud sobs, and Draco halted in mid wand-wave, horrified. He'd forgotten how badly house elves reacted to praise...and condemnation...and indifference...and sunlight. Basically, anyone who took any interest in a house elf had bought themselves an entertaining interlude of undiluted melodrama.

"Oh! Master is saying Dixie is good! And Dixie only brought Master Draco some oranges and smoked meat and--"

"Yes, Dixie!" he interrupted in a desperate hiss, hoping no one else was privy to her histrionics. Why the hell did they have to be so vocal about everything? "And it's good, it's all just fine, but now I need you to do something else for me! Right now!"

Dixie promptly stopped crying and looked up with an expectant, eager expression.

"Right now," he continued between clenched teeth, "Master Draco needs you to belt up, and stay that way until the coast is clear! So be quiet. Like a mouse! Like a snake! Like a venomous spider! Until I've got well away!"

Dixie nodded enthusiastically, and Draco whimpered continuously as he threw his belongings on the back of the broom. He quit as soon as he realized it. After all, he thought as he mounted his broom and aimed it out the window, Malfoys do not whimper. We may steal, and lie, and murder, and sell our precious firstborn sons to madmen and allow people to horribly mutilate their bodies, but we do not whimper. Much.

Ginny stared up at the sky, holding her cardigan around her against the cool evening air. It really was a beautiful night--she just wished...she wasn't sure what she wished, anymore. She'd like to have someone to share moments like these with. Someone to look up at the great, scintillating moon and say, 'Isn't that awesome?' or, 'The moon sure is big tonight.' Or even, 'It's a nice night out.'

Instead, what she heard was crashing and banging and 'Don't you dare do that to my cloak! I'll tell Mum!' as Ron, Harry, and the twins charged about the house like a bunch of elephants on the rampage. She hated it when her parents went out and left the twins in charge.

Finally, the back door opened, and Harry came out to join her. Feeling just a bit of a secret thrill, she turned to look at him. Harry gave her a lopsided grin, lifting a glass of butterbeer to his mouth and drinking deeply. He seemed to be covered in white dust. "Whoo!" he wheezed, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his hand, along with the white powder. "I think we've almost got all the brownies out of the cellar. It was actually kind of fun, but what a workout!"

Ginny managed a half smile at this, although it was really more of a grimace. "What did you get all over you?"

Harry shrugged. "I think there was an old can of pixie powder or something that Fred dropped on me. Doesn't hurt or anything. Just made me sort of dizzy." He took another sip of his drink and looked around. "Nice 'n cool out here," he commented. "Is that why you came out?"

Ginny shook her head. "No; it was a really clear night, so I thought I'd do some star gazing."

Harry squinted up at the heavens. "Sounds dull. Isn't that what Astronomy class is for? Waste of a summer, if you ask me."

Then Ron stuck his head outside. "Oi! You out here snogging Ginny or something? Come back downstairs--we found a bunch of Bill's old Playwizard under the stairs!"

Ginny gaped indignantly as Harry ambled back inside. Men. Huffing, she gathered her sweater a little more closely. Harry comes for a visit, and every single one of her brothers had turned into an idiot--correction, even more of an idiot than usual--and took turns showing off every dangerous, stupid thing they'd ever done, in the interest of acquainting Harry with the wizarding world.

Well, she'd had about enough of all of them for tonight. She buttoned her sweater and marched inside, ignoring the whistles, howls and various exclamations coming from the basement. Her mum was visiting Aunt Patches, so it was no use looking for her--anyway, she'd only get angry if Ginny left the house without permission, just to track her down and 'whine' about the boys. Still, there was no way she was going to hang about, bored out of her skull, and wait for Fred and George to decide to turn her hands into spatulas or something.

No. She was out of there. Now. There weren't many places she was allowed to go on her own, but she felt certain she couldn't get in too much trouble if she just visited her Dad at work. He was really having to stay late a lot recently, and almost never made it home in time for supper. That reminded her--she couldn't get in trouble if she brought along some of Mum's meatloaf. After all, Mum wouldn't want Dad to starve, would she?

Waiving her wand surreptitiously to bag the food, she listened at the top of the stairs for a few minutes. When she was sure the conversation was loud and intense and--above all--far more absorbing than anything a kid sister could say, she cleared her throat and called quickly, "I have to run an errand and bring Dad his dinner, be back in a couple of minutes!"

And she was greeted with a halfhearted chorus of 'Sures,' 'Yeahs,' 'All rights,' and 'Whatevers'. She knew that would do the trick--all she had to do was approach the subject when they were distracted, make it sound like she was doing something dull, and imply that one of her parent's had given their permission. Smiling grimly, she headed for the grate, where she grabbed some Floo powder from the mantle, leaned into the fire and said, "Ministry of Magic, employee's entrance," clearly.

When she stepped out of the flames, she was met by the Ministry's new Security Auror. He was a large, imposing man with a very red nose, who had a round desk in the middle of the hall. When she explained, sweetly and with as much innocence as she could muster, that she was only there to bring her father his supper, he scowled suspiciously at her for a long moment. "What's your father's name?" he finally asked in a gruff voice.

"Arthur Weasley," she responded readily, willing him to see her as a harmless little girl. "He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, level two."

"Well," he grumbled a bit, eyeing her speculatively. "Let me give a call down there and let him know." At this, he leaned over to his desk and pulled a golden switch. Instantly, it spun round and turned into what looked like a trumpet. "Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," he said.

Arthur Weasley's voice came out of the horn end. "Yes? What is it; I'm rather busy at the moment..." he trailed off.

"I've got a visitor for you at the security desk," the man said, "but if you're not expecting her--"

"It's me, Dad; Ginny," Ginny interrupted at the trumpet.

"Goodness! Ginny! Why aren't you at home with your brothers? There hasn't been--"

"No, nothing's wrong," she interrupted again. "I just had to bring you some supper." Once again, she'd been careful with her choice of words--had, rather than just 'wanted to.'

"Well, all right. You remember the way to my office, don't you?" her father's voice floated back to her.

"Oh, sure! I've been there loads of times--" she began, but the Security Auror cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Mister Weasley, but you'll have to come up and get her. She can't be allowed to wander 'round on her own at night, and I've got my hands full with other things, so I can't bring her down. Don't know what's wrong with this place; it isn't a playground. We can't have children roaming about, mucking things up and getting into mischief."

Ginny's father said something in response, but she missed it, because she happened to look where the Auror was carelessly gesturing while he spoke.

Standing against one wall, looking shaky, furious, and even more pale than usual, was Draco Malfoy.