The Road To Nowhere

Chapter Nine

Fog

"A foggy day in London town

It had me low and it had me down

I viewed the morning

With much alarm

The British Museum had lost its charm

How long, I wondered, could this thing last?

But the age of miracles it hadn´t passed

And suddenly I saw you standing right there

And in foggy London town

The sun was shining everywhere."

Frank Sinatra: `A Foggy Day´

Draco instructed the driver to take the car home. It was the perfect night for a stroll.

Ginny hugged her arms around her, wrapped in Draco´s coat. She smiled as she had been smiling all night long. She couldn´t stop. She´d learned a lot about the person she was strolling through the park with at this insanely early hour of the morning.

At the moment, he was railing on about his horse, Emile.

Ginny found everything about him charming. The way he´d casually shove his hands into his pockets, the way he sang, he was an excellent dancer. She even thought he was handsome when he was being an unforgivable prat.

She shook these thoughts from her mind. It was frivolous to feel this way about him. All things considered, he was the worst person possible for her. Her family was sure to hate him. His family hated her, well, what she´d met of his family anyway. His father had been the one to break her check bone last summer, she reminded herself. She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

Draco stopped and turned to her. "Are you still cold?" he asked. It was summer in Paris, but the nights could still be a bit breezy.

Ginny shook her head hurriedly. There was something that was still nagging at the back of her mind. She´d been wrestling with whether or not to tell him what she knew. He´d let quite a bit slip in the hospital wing when she was watching him and she´d been curious about him ever since. She would be mad at herself if she let the opportunity for him to explain it all slip away.

She sat on a nearby bench and curled her knees into her chest. Dracodid not sit, but stood staring at her, his hair was lit angelically by the moonlight.

"What´s bothering you, Ginny?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets in that way Ginny found adorable.

"Can you tell there´s something wrong?" she asked, disappointed that she was always so transparent. She bit her lip. If she brought up the subject, it could very well ruin this perfect evening. To hell with it, she told herself, she had to know.

"When you were unconscious in the hospital you said some curious things and I was wondering what you meant by them."

He sat down at this and smiled briefly. "I thought you might spill your secret tonight."

Ginny gave a start. "Was that the whole plan then? Lure me in to a confidence with you?" she looked every bit as disappointed as she felt, but reprimanded herself by remembering that she´d suspected his motives all along. She let herself be deceived.

"I thought so at first, yes. But I don´t think that´s why I asked you, really," he admitted, looking down at his feet.

Ginny smiled despite her earlier disappointment.

"So what did I say that was curious?" Draco asked.

"I know you were delirious and all, but-," Ginny began rambling. Dracoplaced a hand over hers and met her eyes, "What did I say?"

Ginny looked frightened by what she was about to admit, she knew, but she couldn´t help it, her heart raced. She thought she might actually have feelings for Draco Malfoy and the thought of what she had to say driving him away was almost too much.

"You said that your father had killed your mother," she choked out in one gasp.

"That´s what I feared," Draco closed his eyes and leaned back.

"I know head injuries can cause people to ramble on about nonsense things, but, I don´t know. You seemed sort of lucid at the same time. You grabbed my hand and you called me Lucy." Ginny elaborated and watched Draconervously. She seemed to be hurting him. She shouldn´t have brought it up.

"Go on," he prompted.

Ginny did reluctantly. "At first I thought you were just agitated. Professor Snape had come in just before I did, well, it was actually your father, as it turned out, you know. But you were unconscious during his visit. After he left you were pretty upset. I had to hold your head still. You were thrashing about so much. I was afraid you were going to cause further injury to yourself. That´s when you started speaking to me and calling me Lucy. Who is Lucy?" Ginny asked with wide eyes.

"My sister," Draco answered simply.

Ginny nodded, "That makes sense."

"So what was it that you found curious about my ranting?" Dracoasked finally, after the longest moment of silence between them.

"Did he really kill her? I mean, he´s your father, yes, but I know he´s capable of it. I thought he might-," Ginny started and then stopped suddenly.

Draco sat up and stared at her. She recoiled under his gaze and stared at her knees. "You thought he might what, Ginny?" Draco asked firmly, leveling a penetrating stare at her. He wanted an answer.

Her breath came in more labored gasps, memories flooded back in one giant wave overwhelming her. She should have never brought this up. It was almost more than she could handle, it was certainly more than Dracowould want to know.

"You can tell me," Dracoreassured her, squeezing her hand. It felt strange to him to be having this conversation. He was only an understanding person to his sister. With Ginny this was all knew, but it came naturally somehow.

"I thought he might kill me as well," she managed, feeling a warm tear stream down her face. She quickly wiped it away. She would waste no more tears on Tom Riddle or LuciusMalfoy, she was tired of being a victim. "When we were being held in Azkaban, when I was asked to see Voldemort," she stopped for air. Her chest felt heavy.

"I remember. I was in the next cell over," he added rubbing her arm comfortingly. "You don´t have to say anymore, Ginny. You´re safe now. No one is going to hurt you."

Ginny shook her head and continued, wishing those words could be true. "Voldemortcame at me with a knife, your father struck me and I fell. I thought I was never going to leave that awful place alive." Her words were coming in agonizing breaths. There were only a few people in his life that he felt compassion for, his mother who was dead, his sister and now Ginny.

He tried to suppress the anger that was welling up inside of him uncontrollably, but somehow he managed to keep it in check. He was good at hiding emotion.

They sat there for a while longer, Ginny´s hand in Draco´s. For the first time in a long time she felt safe from everything that was coming down around her. Tom or Voldemort or whatever he referred to himself as could not get to her where she was.

"Come on. I´ll walk you home, it´s nearly four in the morning," Dracosaid finally.

As they reached the door of Ginny´s apartment building, she turned on the step above him and apologized for the damper she´d placed on a really lovely evening.

Draco shook his head and smiled up at her from the sidewalk, "I wouldn´t call it a damper. The evening was perfect in my opinion." He took her hand and gallantly kissed it.

"Goodnight," Ginny offered timidly. She knew he´d seen her blush that time. There was no hiding it.

"Goodnight, Ginny," Draco answered before walking away.

"Wait," Ginny called after a moment, removing his coat. He turned and cocked his head. "What is it?" he asked.

"You´ve forgotten your coat," she held it out. He laughed slightly and turned, "Keep it for now. I´ll get it back later," he called over his shoulder and continued down the walk.

Ginny smiled after him as he left and then turned and entered the apartment building.

***

Ron watched from across the kitchen table as Hermione distractedly flipped through various books. Unaware of her new quest to find the Founder´s chosen ones, Ron merely assumed that she was working on her term paper.

He was almost regretting not going with Harry to help Fred and George out at the store. He had an ulterior motive for staying behind, however. He wanted to talk to Hermione. But, sitting there observing her attitude of extreme concentration, Ron realized that he would be wasting his time today. She was in a different zone and would not be too conducive to what Ron had to say.

As he got up to find a better way to employ his time than staring, Hermione stopped flipping pages and turned.

"Where are you going?"

"I don´t know exactly. Outside, maybe," Ron shrugged.

"No, you´re not," Hermione countered decidedly, "You´re coming with me to the Museum. There´s someone there I need to talk to."

"The Museum!"Ron whined. "It´s our bloody holiday, Hermione. I don´t want to go to the Museum. I want to sit around and do nothing, be lazy and unproductive. I don´t want to do school work or go to the Museum or research," Ron snapped.

Hermione remained un-phased. Ron would always be Ron. She shook her head, "Ron this is important. And besides, you´re not going to win. You´re coming to London with me and that´s the end of it."

"Why do I have to go?" Ron pouted.

Hermione smiled, "Because I don´t want to go alone. Come with me, please?" She knew that this would work. He wouldn´t say no to her.

He threw up his hands in resignation.

"Thank you," Hermione simpered, "Grab an umbrella or something. You know how London is in August." She collected her books and drug Ron to the fireplace. She was not yet old enough to Apparate. They would have to use the Floo Network, another thing Ron hated.

***

The dark path seemed interminable as the pair walked silently on, passing tomb after tomb, bodies in various, but in all cases, late stages of decay.

The scurrying of rats served as the only noise in the growing chill of the underground channels.

Severusnow had his wand out to provide as much light as possible to their path.

They came to a courtyard-like opening in the path--only it was dark, not opened to the sky outside. Instead of the view of the outside that most courtyards offered, this one was as black as pitch with an interminable, lofty ceiling. Looking up, he could not tell where the ceiling ended. The walls were painted with various biblical depictions, the life of Christ.

The wall nearest him, was displayed a fresco of the miracle of the loaves and fish. Christ´s hands outstretched, held bread and fish as his disciples distributed the otherworldly food to the masses.

Severusstepped closer to the figure and noted the measured indifference, which the ancient artist departed to his features. He looked cold and uncaring, exactly the way he would have imagined the deity to look. He stepped away and noted the figure no more. Instead, a movement on the other side of the chamber claimed his attention.

Arabellawas hungrily passing a finger over the image of Christ in the temple. She was looking for something in particular, or she was reading something. Her nose was inches from the painted wall. Coming closer to the place where she stood, he could just make out by the light of his wand Christ surrounded by Pharisees. Beyond this group there were evil looking cherubim like creatures, all considerably shorter than the main subjects.

"You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father´s desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies," Arabella whispered, stepping back from the wall to gain the full view of the fresco.

"And what´s that supposed to mean?" Severus prompted holding out a hand to block her progress backward before she ran into him.

Arabellaturned, reluctantly tearing her eyes from the wall and the evil glares of the painted pigmy figures. "John 8:44. Jesus Christ in the Temple at Mount of Olives and the Children of the Devil. If I were looking for a place to hide it, this would be as good a place as any." She turned again and began surveying the wall with both hands.

"Looking for what?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow at her behavior. If he hadn´t known her for all of these years, he would have thought that she was going rapidly insane. But that was just Arabella.

"Shhh!" she waved him over and pointed to one of the curious little figures. Unlike the rest of these children of the devil, this one had eyes of emerald--emerald, not just in color, but actually set with the precious stones. They both followed the tiny hand of the painted character as it indicated one of the niches on the next wall over.

"That´s it!" Arabellaexclaimed excitedly.

Severusgroaned. Her excitement was a good indicator that trouble was close at hand. If not, she had a way of looking for it and usually finding it.

"What is it?" he asked, almost not wanting a response.

"That?" Arabellapointed, "That´s a loculus, a niche to store the deceased."

He rolled his eyes. She was always this fecking literal minded when she was evading the truth. It was thoroughly annoying.

"And why do we care about this particular loculus? We passed a thousand loculi on the way here."

She did not answer. She was far too busy craning her head over the bones housed in the niche. She moved her hands to the inside walls of the resting place. Prodding with her fingers, where? Severus was sure he didn´t want to know. He cringed as he watched her brush the corpse aside. He muttered a slight apology to the detached skull as it stared at him with hollow eye sockets.

Arabella´shead reappeared with a smile plastered to it. "There´s an opening at the back. We´ll have to climb through. It´s a passage, I´m sure of it. There´s got to be a secret antechamber back there." She was breathless with excitement.

Severusshook his head. Climbing over a century´s worth of bodies. Saints martyred and persecuted, only to find two wannabe adventurers disturbing their rest by crawling over them in an already cramped and confined space didn´t´ exactly render him giddy with joy.

"Come on. This will be fun," Arabella prompted with bright eyes and a smile to match.

Severusshook his head, "I doubt it, but I´m right behind you all the same."

***

The British Museum was in fact the same one that has been a major tourist attraction for Mugglesof all nationalities for decades. But, for those witches and wizards who visit the Museum, another entirely separate place appeared where Muggleswere oblivious to its existence. Literally on top of the Museum was its wizarding counterpart.

Of course, in order to access this exclusive branch, one must know how to locate its entrance. Hermione, of course, knew this.

Ron shook his head in defeat as the looming building appeared through the rain and dense fog of London as they rounded the corner. He was in the last place in the world he wanted to be right now. Still adjusting his thoughts, he bit his lip thinking to himself that it would be difficult to get Hermione to concentrate on anything much other than schoolwork. But, he wondered, she´s got to be wondering what to make out of their bizarre relationship, he was puzzled as to the question himself. He wanted to know where they stood. To bring up the issue delicately was another matter all together.

He hardly even noticed the sign that changed color, indicating to him and the other pedestrians waiting on the street corner that traffic had cleared. Hermione gave him a nudge, shaking him from his thoughts, and smiled. He shifted her heavy load of books she´d brought with her and scurried to keep up. Hermione was holding the umbrella and he had no desire to be caught unguarded in this down poor. Not with Hermione´s books anyway.

Past the guards and inside the Muggle section of the Museum, Hermione made a direct route to a corner, Ron following closely behind, hefting her books in one arm. Under one nondescript staircase, a woman in a knee length skirt and jacket, accompanied by the orthopedic shoes and tight knotted hairdo of ladies her age smiled kindly and welcomed them into the dark under compartment of the stairs.

Here Hermione walked straight into the solid wall coming out clean on the other side into a vast corridor full of solemn portraits of great sorcerers and alchemists. Ron endeavored to keep up as Hermione walked pointedly toward the far end of the corridor.

A graying witch only slightly younger than the one they´d just encountered under the stairs smiled down at them from her lofty perch behind a receptionist´s desk.

"How may I be of service?" she asked hospitably.

"I would like to speak with Dr. Beckett, if I may," Hermione announced taking her books from Ron´s straining arms.

"Dr. Beckett is occupied this moment in a meeting, I´m afraid," the woman said, affecting a tone as if she were deeply hurt to have to impart such disappointing news.

Hermione was unaffected by the news and continued, "I´m a friend of Arthur Weasley´s. Mr. Beckett is expecting me. Hermione Granger, we´ve spoken before, he´ll recognize the name, I assure you." Her no nonsense tone was slightly off putting in one so young. The older woman´s surprise was evident as she sputtered and shuffled papers. "I´ll see what I can do, Ms. Granger, but he is rather busy."

"It would probably be worth his while to hear what I have to say." Hermione added in the same unaffected monotone.

The receptionist ushered Ron and Hermione into a small room filled to the ceiling with books were Hermione sat down immediately and began rereading her vast collection of notes.

Closing the door on the odd pair, the receptionist shook her head and started for the office of her superior, just two doors further down the hall. Knocking briefly, the woman waited for the sound of Dr. Beckett´s voice which came moments later to bid her come in.

She blushed slightly as Dr. Beckett´s guest stood and smiled at her.

"Well, I must be going anyway. I´ve got two other investors to fill in. They´ve been hasslingme for progress reports for weeks now," the dark haired man said shaking the hand of Dr. Beckett simultaneously.

"I suspect Dorothy was doing the majority of the hassling?" the worn historian smiled and shook his head. "I don´t see Ella kicking up much of a fuss, especially while in Paris. She´s probably out every night." He laughed at the thought of his elderly but wiry friend and her affinity for nightlife society. Ella was quite a lively woman for her age. "Ah, but don´t worry, Sirius," he joked, "she always holds a special place for you in her heart, she adores you, those Frenchmen don´t have a chance."

"Very funny, Grayson.You´d think I was some sort of widow hunter the way you talk." As he said this he smirked slyly and winked in the receptionistsdirection. "I´ll keep in touch," he added shrugging on his black leather jacket in a way that caused a second wave of blushing on the part of the receptionist who watched after the dark, leather clad man until he´d disappeared around the corner and into the long corridor.

"What can I do for you, Emily?" Dr. Beckett chuckled, observing the altered behavior of his receptionist whenever Sirius Black was in his office. She was a different woman around him. Tongue-tied, always blushing, that was the way Sirius usually rendered women.

"A Hermione Granger is waiting for you in the reference hall."

"Ah, perfect. Please tell the young lady I will be with her shortly," Dr. Beckett smiled. Emily nodded and retreated to carry out the order.