World without End

Chapter Two

Awake and shaking from his morning nicotine rush, Harry looked up at the silvery horse in centre of his room, threatening to gallop though the floorboards.

"As you see, Harry," Kingsley's Patronus boomed. "The situation is dire. We have to move quickly. I have called an emergency meeting for 6 a.m. Do not be late. We also need to discuss the Malfoy boy."

Harry nodded, indicating that he understood. The horse then bowed low and dissipated.

Six o'clock in the bleeding morning? He glanced at the clock that lay on the table; he had only ten minutes to get ready. Great, just great. Why the hell did they need to talk about Malfoy? Harry was bloody sick of him.

It wasn't that Harry had noticed Malfoy's presence, in fact quite the opposite. The only clues Malfoy left to his existence were the floating silver hairs that graced the dull carpet on the stairs, and the sticky fingertip impressions he left on the tabletop that let Harry know he had been there just a spilt-second before him. A ghostly thumping he heard around the house when he himself was silent and still alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone in Grimmauld place.

They had avoided each other carefully ever since Harry had given Malfoy a long, threatening speech

Said speech had ended abruptly when Malfoy threw a smart retort, and Harry, a sharp punch, leaving Harry with a bruised ego and Malfoy, a bruised mouth. The single most annoying thing about Malfoy was his uncanny ability to pick and pull at Harry's deepest insecurities; nothing was sacred with Malfoy. It was bad enough that Malfoy was staying in his house for an indeterminable amount of time; that he was completely ungrateful about it threatened to push Harry over the edge.

He pulled his red jumper off the chair next to his bed and dragged it on over his pyjamas. He opened the bedroom door and his eyes fell on Malfoy's door. He hoped the bastard was sleeping; the last thing he wanted was Malfoy walking in on the Order meeting. He padded to the door silently and put his ear to the door. Silence. Malfoy was probably sleeping. Good, at least he wouldn't disturb the meeting. He glanced at his watch; he was late...again.

*

If Harry Potter was the wizarding world's only hope for survival, it was well and truly screwed. His idea of stealth was piss poor. Malfoy heard him clumping around his room at some unholy time of the morning, and listening at Draco's door. He could practically hear him breathing. He stayed silent until Harry trundled away from the door and down the stairs. Draco waited a spilt-second just to make sure he was truly gone and then slid silently out of bed. Harry never came in his room; this was lucky for Draco. It meant he never saw the items Draco had stolen away from various parts of the house, including a knife, a saucepan and various Dark books from the Black's vast library, one of which was entitled Magick Most Evile. It was a heavy book with yellowing pages. Draco had turned down one of the pages that began, "There are numerous spell for controlling one's enemies..."

*

At precisely six a.m. on Monday morning, Hermione yawned behind her hand as she waited patiently in the meeting room for the rest of the Order members to arrive and sit down. Slowly, members drifted into the hastily called meeting. Most did not acknowledge her; they did not seem to understand why, at her tender age and with her lowly status, they had to allow her to join the Order and meetings, let alone hear the sensitive information divulged within. They knew nothing of Harry's own private struggle, the search for the Horcruxes, or the role she would play in their discovery. She appreciated Ron's soothing influence next to her; he could offer her reassurance with nothing more than a squeeze of her hand.

"Blimey," Ron whispered into her ear, getting slightly closer than necessary. "There's tons of members here. Is this a full Order meeting? How many are there?"

"No. There are forty-two. This is just the inner circle," she whispered back, turning to face him and taking in his red ears and deep expression. She bit her lip as her wavy hair brushed his mouth. "More or less," she added nervously. Mr Weasley was in the room and was staring at them with a rather embarrassing look.

They pulled away from each other as banal underground chatter came to an abrupt close and Kingsley Shacklebolt walked purposefully into the room; following limply in his wake was Harry. They couldn't be more different. Kingsley, with dark, composed good looks, was immaculately dressed in his Ministry-style suit; he looked more like their leader that Harry ever would. Harry, who smelled of fags and coffee, and still had on his pyjama bottoms and tatty scarlet jumper, at probably the most important Order meeting they had ever had; this wasn't a good look.

It was no wonder they worried about his leadership.

"Hello, friends," Kingsley began in his deep, melodic tones. "I thank you for joining us so early today. I'm afraid the situation is grave. Harry, maybe you'd better explain this."

Harry got to his feet somewhat shakily, his face thin and grey, but when he spoke his voice was firm.

"Lord Voldemort's spies are burrowing deeper into the Ministry than ever before. The giants insurgence is rising. The Ministry has had reports of a massive culmination in Romania, which means that..."

"Voldemort is planning a full attack?" Hermione breathed out.

Harry looked at her grimly. "We believe so."

An electric buzz flickered around the room; most of Order looked worried, though some remained sceptical.

A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch that Hermione knew as Hestia Jones tutted loudly. "And what intelligence is the based on?"

Hermione felt her temper flare. They were too cautious, too difficult, always wanting more evidence. Beside her, Ron twitched, but they both remained silent, a huge feat for Ron, Hermione knew.

"As you know," answered Harry, in a decidedly tetchy manner, "all our current intelligent comes from Kingsley, Tonks, and Mr Weasley." He nodded in their direction. "As well as others we have strategically placed in the Ministry."

"No insider with You-Know-Who, then?" Hestia added.

"No," Harry muttered through his teeth. "And no plans to add any either."

"What about the Malfoy boy?" said a youngish looking wizard with a round, heavy face and dark blond hair that Hermione had never seen before. "He is living here, isn't he?"

Kingsley rolled his eyes, "I hardly think allowing a seventeen-year-old wanted criminal to act as a spy is the right course of action, Artemis."

"Well," Artemis said as he lifted his head languidly. "If we have a seventeen-year-old leading us, why not have a seventeen-year-old spying for us?"

Hermione bit her lip. She might have agreed with Artemis had she not known that Malfoy was nowhere near as trustworthy as Harry.

"Those are special circumstances," Harry hissed, slamming his palm on the table.

"If you've got a problem with me, perhaps you'd better talk to Albus Dumbledore. Oh, wait, you can't, because he trusted one of Voldemort's insiders and now he's dead. So from now on, the only plants we have are the ones on our side." There was silence. "Is that clear?" Artemis nodded.

Hermione lifted her chin and smiled slightly. She didn't like the look of this Artemis; there was something about the way he held himself and the contemptuous way he spoke to Harry, as if he couldn't bear to hear him.

Kingsley put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think we need to focus on the more pressing issue of You-Know-Who's plans."

The angry look passed from Harry's face. "Of course. For those of you that work at the Ministry, I want you to keep your eyes and ears open for the smallest amount of information. Odd occurrences that seem to mean nothing could mean everything. Report everything back to the Order. Mrs Figg should be able to keep watch on the Muggle side of things. The only thing is we need is a correspondent to keep watch over the main Wizarding sites." He began to reel off the sites. "Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and if possible, St Mungo's. Is there anybody that would be able to do that?"

Hermione followed Harry's gaze as he glanced around the table. She stifled a sigh when Artemis raised his hand.

"I could do Diagon Alley; I have family in the area."

Harry shot a look at Kingsley, who glanced around and said, "Anyone else?" Nobody answered and Kingsley sighed. "Okay, that will do for now, then. If there are no other pressing matters?" He turned to Harry, who shook his head.

"No. Anybody have anything they want to bring to attention?"

Hestia Jones raised her hand. "So, what exactly do you plan to do with the Malfoy child?"

"Yes, Harry?" said Mr Weasley. "Are you sure it's safe to have him here?"

Hermione watched several heads turn in Harry's direction; he didn't look too pleased.

"Well, I've discussed this at length with some of the other members, and he can't reveal our location, he can't spy on our meetings, and he can't even do magic; we've put a Ministry-strength charm on his wand, so essentially, he's harmless. The only problem is getting information out of him, if he has any at all."

"Veritaserum?" suggested Ron.

Hermione turned to Ron and smiled. "That's such a good idea," she said, just low enough for only Ron to hear. Then she raised her voice and asked, "Will that work?"

"It's possible," murmured Kingsley.

Lupin looked doubtful. "It's slightly amoral...."

"Not if he agrees to it," Kingsley answered. "We should start brewing as soon as possible. I'd rather not rouse suspicion at the Ministry by taking any of their supply." He turned to Harry. "Do you think you could convince him?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't know. We're not the best of friends."

Judging by the tired look on Harry's face, this was an understatement. "Maybe you can pretend to refuse him safe-keeping," Hermione said to Harry. "It might scare him into cooperating."

"That's a good idea," said Kingley. "Well, the potion takes a full moon cycle to mature, so you have twenty-eight days to convince him."

"I'll see what I can do."

Kingsley nodded. "We must get back to the Ministry. Scrimgeour is keeping very close tabs on us."

One by one, the Order members left, muttering to one another and shaking their heads, while Ron and Hermione followed Harry into the kitchen.

"Wow," breathed Ron. "That was heavy."

"Tell me about it." Hermione watched Harry run his fingers though his hair for the millionth time; it was a wonder he had any left.

"Have you thought about maybe coming to the Burrow for a few days?" said Hermione hopefully. "You know, just to take your mind off things. I'm sure Ginny would like to see you."

"I'd love to, but Voldemort doesn't take breaks and neither will I."

"Are you sure?" Ron chipped in. "I'm sure Mum's made a cracking breakfast."

"Honestly, Ron, I'm sure." Harry grimaced. "Maybe...maybe I'll come round for dinner sometime this week."

Ron nodded, although Hermione knew Harry didn't mean it.

"We better be off, then. I'm starving. Harry, if you need us..."

"There'll be a stag butting against your door," Harry grinned. "Don't worry. Stay safe."

Hermione smiled indulgently at him. "We always do."

Ron took Hermione by the hand and led her out of the kitchen and through the hallway.

"Ron, wait..." She stopped and cast an anxious look over her shoulder. "I'm worried about him. I think he's doing too much. Do you think we should try to help him?"

"The best way to help him is to be here whenever he needs us and back off when he needs some space."

She frowned. "I guess so."

He glanced down at her. "Hey, try not to worry so much." Ron smiled and pulled her close. "We have to live life while we can; you're never going to know what will happen tomorrow."

She looked up at Ron as he pulled her in a tight hug. Yes, he was right, she thought, smiling against his kiss; they definitely had to live life while they could.

*

Three minutes after Hermione and Ron left, there was a knock on the front door.

Five minutes after that, Hagrid was filling up the kitchen. In his hands was a large, brown paper package.

"Hiya, Harry," he said, beaming down at him. It was always a pleasure to see Hagrid. Harry had always felt Hagrid was his liberator, his first sight of the wizarding world he had come to love so much.

"Hello, Hagrid. You missed the meeting."

"Fer a good reason. I had special business, one last errand fer Dumbledore." He sniffed and tears swam in his eyes. "This is the last remaining contents of Gringotts vault 713. Professor McGonagall made sure it was delivered there and they were under strict orders ter keep it safe until I could deliver it to ter yeh."

"Dumbledore's vault?"

"Oh, yes, and there is a note." He reached into his many pockets and pulled out an envelope that read "For Harry".

He took the letter from Hagrid and began to read the note.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, then my worse fears are confirmed; I am, indeed, dead. Know this: the ways and means of my death are not important. Do not forget what you have to do; petty revenge would not be helpful.

There is no doubt in my mind that you are capable of doing what you need to, and more. Remember the last line of the prophesy: 'He will have power the Dark Lord knows not'. I hope that the contents of this package will assist you in your quest. Use it wisely.

Never forget, Harry, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

Good Luck,

A.D.

Harry was not completely comforted, but the pressing weight he felt lessened slightly, and he looked up at Hagrid, whose large eyes slowly filled with great wet tears as he handed Harry the package.

"Dumbledore was a great man," Hagrid sniffed. "Very kind ter me, he was, and now he's gone." He pulled a large tablecloth-sized hankie from his jacket and proceeded to burst into great, soppy tears, sounding so heartbroken that soon there was a heavy lump in Harry's throat.

"Er..." Harry was at loss for words.

What made matters worse was the appearance of Malfoy at the kitchen door. Harry could see how Malfoy's hand clung to the doorframe; its stark whiteness gleamed against the mahogany wood. Malfoy's eyes, dark and shadowed, skipped past Harry and focused on Hagrid, who was still taking up all the room in the kitchen. Harry could see he was scared

"YOU!" Hagrid trampled over to Malfoy, who stepped back sharply as Hagrid made to grab his collar. "Yeh filthy, dirty traitor. How can yeh show yer face in public?"

"Funny," said Malfoy, his voice so cold it could have frozen dragon's breath. "I was going to ask you the same thing-"

Before Malfoy could finish what he was saying, Hagrid grabbed him by the neck and arms, and as tall as he was, Malfoy's feet still dangled off the floor. Malfoy remained impudent; his body was completely still, his face was as smooth and composed as marble, and his long fingers dug tightly into his hands, which were balled into fists.

"How dare yeh!" Hagrid roared.

Harry held the package protectively in both hands, unable to move for fear of breaking it. He was also fully aware that his mouth was wide open.

"Hagrid!" Professor Lupin appeared from the depths of the hallway. "What are doing with him? Put him down!"

Lupin's deep voice seemed to wake Hagrid up, and he let Malfoy go as quickly as he had picked him up. Malfoy fell to the floor with a clatter; he winced for a spilt second and then he hastily composed himself. Only the two light pink spots on his cheeks revealed that what happened had he distressed him.

"I - I am sorry, Remus," said Hagrid, shaking his head. "I don't know what came over me."

"Come now, Hagrid," sighed Lupin. "Don't upset yourself; his passing has upset us all..."

Lupin led Hagrid down the hallway, away from Harry and Malfoy, leaving them alone.

Harry turned to Malfoy awkwardly. "Um, are you okay... Are you hurt?"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you, Potter." Malfoy pulled a chair away from the table and tossed himself into the seat. "Did you enjoy that? Me being hurt?"

"What?" Harry took the chair opposite him. "Of course not." As much as he hated Malfoy, his conscience got the better of him.

"I don't need your rancid pity, Potter."

"Good," Harry snarled back. "Because nobody was giving it to you!"

"Oh, I think you were. It's in your nature to be pitifully weak."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

"Likewise. I think I'll have some coffee. Do you have a mug?"

"Here, take it."

Harry often wondered how Malfoy was able to suppress practically all the good, moral side of him. Didn't it hurt him to remain completely impassive, bitter and frigid even in the face of someone like Hagrid?

It was only when Malfoy snatched the mug from Harry's hand, and he saw the half-moon imprints on Malfoy's palm and the bloody smear they left on the table, that he realised what his restraint must have cost him.

*

"Use it wisely."

When Harry finally opened the package, he found inside it a shallow stone basin with odd runes and symbols carved around the edge. Silvery light shone from its contents, which were bright, whitish and cloud-like; they moved ceaselessly. It was magnificent. It was the answer to Harry's prayers. It was Dumbledore's pensieve.