A Dish Best Served Cold

A Dish Best Served Cold

Chapter 5- An Eye for an Eye

July, 1998

"Ron," Hermione placed her hand on Ron's arm and stopped him just before they entered Mme. Marrielle's Baguette Magique.

"Oui, mademoiselle." Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. During their five-day cruise from London to Marseille, in the south of France, Ron had learned just enough French to make himself sound like a tourist learning French.

"Please, don't." Ron gave her a dramatically injured look. "Just let me do all the talking. We'll get out much faster that way. Then we can slip back down to that little café for lunch. Alright?"

"Oui, mademoiselle." He gave her a lopsided grin and pulled the door open for her. She shook her head and smiled at him. He could be so impossible sometimes, especially when he was in a good mood. Not that she hadn't given him every reason to be in such a good mood. The chateau where they had stayed the night before had been quite possibly the most romantic place she had ever been. A bottle of red wine, and a riverside walk under the full moon had all but guaranteed the outcome of the evening. She was still trying to figure out how it was that the two of them had spent every night for a week sleeping in the same bed on board the ship without anything happening. Yet one night in a French bed and breakfast and they couldn't keep their hands, or anything else, off of each other. "Are you on the menu?" he whispered in her ear as she walked by.

"Maybe," she answered without looking at him as she sashayed through the door and dodged his groping hand. Once inside though, she was all business again. The shop was nothing like Ollivander's. Whereas the shop in Diagon Alley was dark and cluttered by shelf upon shelf of wand boxes this one was considerably smaller, lighter, and neater. In fact, she realized that there were no wands in the main room, only a small table and a few chairs. A late-middle-aged woman in a beautiful robe of blue silk emerged from the back.

"Bonjour cher, recherchant une baguette magique?"

Her voice was soft and her smile pleasant. She motioned for them to sit down at the table.

"Oui, la mine était cassée,"

Hermione replied as she sat down. The woman down opposite her, she was frowning slightly.

"Your wand was broken?" questioned the woman, still speaking en français. "You realize that if it was broken by the order of the Premiere, I cannot help you." Hermione mulled over what the woman saying for a moment, then realized her error.

"I mis-spoke. My... ah..." she saw Ron out of the corner of her eye. His look was very serious, as though he was trying to translate the conversation. "My boyfriend... broke it when he was packing our bags. He's a little clumsy sometimes," she added with a laugh. She noticed the woman giving Ron a more-than-casual once over. He smiled at her and ran his fingers through his short, spiky strawberry-blonde hair.

"I hope for your sake he is not always so clumsy," the woman replied with a suggestive chuckle. Hermione blushed scarlet as she shook her head, thankful that Ron's French wasn't very good. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me, please accept my apologies." The woman extended her hand. "I am Serese Marrielle, and you are?"

"Beatrice," Hermione replied, taking the woman's hand.

"A pleasure. Now dear, would you be so kind as to shuffle these please?

" She set a deck of Tarot cards on the table between them. Hermione had to make a conscious effort not to sigh, she was in a foreign culture she reminded herself. Just go with it, and hope that your wand works. She picked up the deck and shuffled it three times.

The woman turned the top five cards face up on the table, and made several small noises of contemplation. Hermione glanced down and noticed that indeed, there were five cards on the table, all in a line. She didn't really care what they were but did look over and noticed that Ron was looking at the cards with a near studious expression. Wondering what could possibly be so interesting, she turned back to the cards just in time to see the woman pick them up. "Excuse me dear, I'll be right back with your wand."

"I'm sorry I'm so maladroit," Ron said as soon as it was just the two of them. She looked at him and saw that he was smiling.

"Wait a minute, how did you..." Hermione waved at the empty chair and the table.

"Why do you think I was always so tired during the cruise. I would stay up and study after you went to bed. You're a bad influence on me, Beatrice Austen. Making me miss my beauty rest so I can study."

"And God knows, you need beauty rest," Hermione teased him. "Seriously, you were having all kinds of problems with pronunciations, gender, conjugation; have you finally got it all?"

"No, I just pick out words and phrases and try and piece the rest of it together. Shh, she's coming back." Ron folded his hands on the table in front of him. Hermione cast a sidelong glance at him and then fixed a pleasant smile on her face as Mme. Marrielle came back in and sat down. She laid four wands on the table in front of them.

"Beatrice, one of these wands will be yours. Pick each one up and hold it for a few seconds, you will know which one it is."

"None of them look like my old wand though. Wouldn't my new wand be just like my old one?"

"Are you the same person you were when you got your first wand?"

Hermione considered that, and realized that it made perfect sense. She wasn't even the same person she had been a month ago; why wouldn't she use a different wand? Intrigued, she reached forward and picked up the first. It felt like a wand. It was a little like using Ron's though. The power was there, but it didn't feel like hers. She put the wand back and reached for the second.

The second wand burned her when it touched her hand. She quickly released it and blew on her hand, which wasn't really hot, but rather intensely cold. She looked at her hand; there was a small red spot where the wand had touched her hand. Ron reached over and took her hand. After examining it for a second, he kissed the spot where the wand had cold burned her palm. She looked at his face carefully as he did so. His eyes were unreadable, but his smile was sweet and caring.

"That is a relief,"

Serese said.

"Why?"

"I do not like that wand, and I do not want to meet the wizard or witch that wields it. It is an evil piece, with dark purpose and a dark origination."

Hermione translated for Ron.

"Can you tell us the story? Uh...l'histoire?" Ron asked.

"Yes, the story is based on much conjecture and legend, but I can tell it. In the seventeenth century, the last heiress of the deMedici family was betrothed to the heir of a wealthy family who sought the Medici family titles and treasures. On the wedding night an heir was conceived, and bestowed upon him was the name Cosimo Mortre Medici deMalfoise. On the night of his birth, his mother was slain in a dark ritual that granted dominion over all of the Medici family lands and holdings to his half-brother, born of a different woman. Cosimo was to be slain as well in the ritual, but the ghosts of his family spirited him away despite being unable to save his mother. The boy was hidden away in the city of Florence, where he spent his days studying dark lore in the apprenticeship of a vampire. On the night of his seventeenth birthday, when he rightfully came into his inheritance, he claimed the dark gift of his master and returned to the home of his father. He fell upon the entire household and inflicted them with his dark gift as well. He set them to feeding upon their servants and their subjects. For a week, the deMalfoise vampires desecrated and killed all within their lands. When at last this was complete Cosimo gathered each of the vampires unto himself, took their fangs, and sealed them in stone sarcophagi."

Serese paused and allowed Hermione to translate the story to Ron before continuing.

"However the deMalfoise family had long feared the return of the lost Medici heir, and had prepared for his return by sending their chosen heir abroad. The family's lands and holdings were assumed by the king of France after a year and a day with no heir to claim them. When the king went to claim the property of the family's Paris estate it was found to be empty, not so much as a candle stick remained. Cosimo was to be hunted down and slain at the order of Church Elders. However, he was no fool and knew that this would come. He also knew that the heart of the deMalfoise family still beat. So he took the fangs of vampires he had created and slain, and bound them up that one day his dark purpose would be fulfilled."

She indicated the wand in question. "This is the instrument of that dark purpose."

Hermione shivered as she looked at the wand, the idea of wielding such a thing made her cold all over. Telling Ron about it made it that much worse. Fortunately his hands and a gentle kiss to her forehead banished the cold. At his urging she reached for the next wand, though she was almost afraid to touch it. When she did though, it warmed her throughout.

"This one,"

she said without hesitation.

"An interesting choice. Tell me, do you intend to do much casting by moonlight?"

"Not necessarily."

"Well, don't use it at night for at least the next two days. The magic will be a little stronger than you might expect."

This didn't make any sense to Hermione. Her wand had never had fluctuations in relative power before. She communicated this to Serese, and asked what the wand was made of. "The wood is cypress, a tree that grows in swamps and quagmires. The core is the spinal chord of a werewolf, which can be harvested only under the light of the full moon."

Hermione's first reaction was that she was going to be sick. She had a friend that was a werewolf. It repulsed her that he might be hunted and turned into a wand. She wanted to put it down; she wanted her old Unicorn wand back. Then another thought occurred to her. Once a month werewolves became dark creatures capable of wanton killing and destruction; yet at other times, they could be normal, rational people. She was like that now. She was still Hermione, a smart witch travelling across Europe with a good friend. However, she knew that at some point they would pursue a darker course. Then she understood why the werewolf wand had come to her. It was a reflection of her own dark intention. Steeling her resolve, she put the wand in her pocket and paid Serese.

Just as soon as Hermione had released the money to the woman's hand, she dropped it. "Congé," the woman said in a terrified voice. With a shaking finger she pointed at the door, "partez de mon magasin." Hermione didn't understand why the woman was suddenly being so rude when she had been so friendly just a moment before. She followed the woman's eyes, then she understood. The black wand that had burned her was now in Ron's hand. His eyes were closed and he was muttering something quietly and quickly in Latin. She pointed her new wand at Ron. "Expelliarmus!"

The wand tore itself free from Ron's hand and flew toward Hermione. Not wanting a repeat of its earlier reaction, she ducked the wand as it flew toward her. She ran forward, grabbed Ron, and exited the shop into the street. Not knowing what else to do, she dragged him back to the car and sped through the streets back to the hotel. As she drove she looked at Ron's hands. They weren't marked in any way, yet her hand still bore a small red mark.

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Ron had to admit Paris really was nice this time of year. They had been here a week, and it was one continuous whirlwind. For a week, he and Hermione had been rediscovering what it was that clicked with them when they were young and stubborn and clueless. It felt odd to talk about himself as younger, but his fourth year might as well have been another lifetime as he looked back on it now.

He watched Hermione as she fiddled with a lock of her short blonde hair. It was so odd to see her without her bushy mane of walnut colored hair; but changing their names and hiding wouldn't do any good if they could be found by any of the handful of pictures of them that had appeared in The Daily Prophet or L'Oracle. Still fearing discovery, they spent very little time among the wizards of France, save for an hour or so every morning while they ate breakfast at a small café just up the way from Mme Marrielle's Baguette Magique. Ron snatched up a copy of The Daily Prophet that was left on the table next to their own and swore aloud.

"What is it?"

"French edition." Ron smacked the paper. "Why can't they have it in English?"

"Umm, because everybody here speaks French, except you?"

"Don't you get smart with me blondie." Ron tossed the paper to Hermione and pointed to the picture of Lucius Malfoy. After they exchanged a few good-natured barbs Ron finally gave in and set about butchering the article with grossly imperfect French. It was a calculated move, and after a few minutes Hermione snatched the paper back from him and began to translate.

"British Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy," Hermione read and stuck her finger in her mouth in a mock gagging expression, "will be visiting Paris in an effort to normalize relations between the two wizarding communities. Relations were strained under the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge due to his reluctance to commit resources to the eradication of the Dark Wizard Voldemort. Blah blah blah Premiere Bónnan looks forward to meeting yadda yadda. Will be in Paris the first week of September! He will be joined by his wife Narcissa, and his son Draco, who has recently been appointed Head of the Office of International Magic Co-op..."

"What?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up at him with doleful eyes. "No, Herm, it can't be." Ron snatched the paper out of her hands.

Hermione got up out her chair, moved around behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Honey. I'm so sorry." Ron stared at the paper trying to find where she had been reading. She pointed to a paragraph about two-thirds of the way down the page. He tried to plow his way through it, but couldn't. He could understand French reasonably well if it was spoken, but he still struggled with the written form. He knew the word mort though, and it was enough.

"What's it say?" He swallowed hard; choking on the lump that was building in his throat. Percy may have been an overbearing git, but he was still Ron's brother.

Hermione read the translated version for him. "Following the death of former head Percy Weasley following an extended battle to recover from serious injuries suffered during a Death Eater attack on Victory Day."

"He died a hero," Ron choked. Another of his brother's was dead, and he wouldn't be able to attend the funeral, wouldn't be able to comfort his mother, wouldn't be able to say good-bye. His eyes were burning now; his throat was tight, making it difficult to breathe. He could feel Hermione's warm wet tears against his neck. He grabbed the baguette knife off of the table in front of him and cut a slice in the palm of his left hand. He squeezed his fist, dripping blood on the picture of the Malfoys in all their smarmy posing.

"On the blood of my brothers," and Ron included Harry in this, "the Malfoys won't leave Paris intact. I am coming for you Draco Malfoy. By my blood I am coming for you." Savagely he swallowed his tears and watched as drops of blood splattered on the face of Draco Malfoy.

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September, 1998

Ron sat at the café watching the main entrance to the Gladrags designer boutique. For the third time that morning he checked his satchel. Within was the invisibility cloak and the ebony and dragon heartstring wand he had been carrying since the night Harry died. He took out the wand and ran his fingers over the sharpened tip. This would work just fine. He glanced up the street again looking for the flash of light that was Hermione's signal that Narcissa had been seen.

They didn't have any inside contacts at either ministry that could get them advance itineraries or inside information. So they'd done it the old fashioned way. They had tracked Narcissa's movements for five days, eaves dropped on conversations, and broken into stores to look at appointment books. Today she was to go in for second fittings on several designer gowns and would be the only person in the store. A flash of light from a second story window a block away struck him in the eye. He stuffed the wand into his pocket and left the café.

In the deep shadow of the café sign, Ron slipped on the invisibility cloak. Only one person accompanied Narcissa; a friend from her school days that served as her personal assistant. Ron hurried across the street and waited in the alcove next to the boutique's door for their arrival. As he crossed the street he saw Hermione's brilliant red hair slip down an alleyway behind the shop. They had figured out that there was a door there that led into a storage room that just happened to be the back wall of the changing room.

He held his breath as the door was opened for the approaching women. The shopkeeper followed the women in but did not pull the door shut behind her. Ron slipped through her opening and into the shop. The women exchanged pleasantries and within minutes Narcissa was being ushered into the expansive changing room to try on the first of a dozen gowns and robes.

Ron casually sauntered back to the changing rooms. Lying on the floor, unconscious and stiff as a board, was Narcissa's assistant. Ron glanced to his left and then to his right. Hermione stood pressed into the shadows of a storage area, her black slacks and shirt helping her meld with limited shadow in the soft light. "Nice work," he whispered to let her know he was there. She slipped out of her shadow and indicated the door he stood next to. His hand appeared from out of the cloak and indicated he was ready. Hermione brandished her wand in one hand and rested the other on the doorknob. She snapped the door open and Ron rushed in. Narcissa barely had to time to look up before Ron's invisible form shoved her up against the wall and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Bitch, don't even try to scream," Ron hissed in her ear. He saw her eyes go wide. "Is it done?" he asked over his shoulder.

"It is," Hermione responded.

"Now it won't matter if you scream, no one will hear you anyway." Ron still kept his hand firmly clamped over Narcissa's mouth. With his other hand he removed the invisibility cloak.

"Mrs. Malfoy." Hermione addressed her formally. "Do you know who we are?" She shook her head, then looked intently at Ron. He could feel her mouth moving, groping for purchase to bite his hand. With his free hand he slapped her.

"Look at me," Hermione commanded the older woman. "You know me. I spent two weeks in your home last summer, as a guest of your son." Ron watched as Narcissa seemed to rifle through her memory. "Maybe this will help." She pulled off the red wig she was wearing and shook out her own hair, which she had magically lengthened and returned to its natural color. The blood drained from Narcissa's face and her eyes went very wide.

"Your son isn't a hero," Hermione snarled at the frightened blonde woman. "He's a cold-blooded murder and a traitorous bastard. He killed Harry Potter. He destroyed my home and killed my parents." Ron could see fear taking over Narcissa's features. "He destroyed everything I loved and stole my life." Ron could hear the break in Hermione's voice. Ron glanced over at her and saw her swallow and shake her head. She snapped her wand back up and leveled it on Narcissa. "Now its time to return the favor. An eye for an eye."

Ron snapped the extra wand out of his pocket and brandished it like a knife. He brought it up over his shoulder. Narcissa began to whimper into his hand and tears were forming in her eyes. He watched as one pooled over and ran down her cheek. She was shaking beneath him and he could acutely feel her every movement. He smiled without mirth, and snapped his hand forward.

She convulsed several times after the sharpened wand pierced her eye and settled in her brain. Ron continued to hold her against the wall until she stopped. Once she was still, Ron dropped her to the floor. She landed in a heap staring up at the ceiling, the black wand now covered with blood. Ron reached into his pocket and removed a note, which he tied onto the wand handle.

On one side the note was addressed to Draco Malfoy. On the other it said simply, "Thought you might want this back."

Ron looked over to where Hermione was watching him. She was pale and visibly shaking. She looked like she was going to be sick. Ron stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, she flinched when his blood-covered hand touched her. "Hermione, you have to Apparate. You have to go now."

"Mme. Malfoy?"

came a voice from beyond the door. "Est-ce que tout est correct?" Hermione suddenly seemed to be very aware of her surroundings. She twisted her wand, and with a word she was gone. Ron heard a key in the lock on the dressing room door. With a motion of his own wand, he too was gone.