Unforgiven

"One day, I'll swim down to them..."

Draco woke with Helen's words circling around in his head. He was going insane, he reflected. He was going to end up in St Mungo's as a gibbering wreck, with his mother visiting from time to time to babble at him about the inane workings of distant relatives and bringing him grapes.

Blearily, he looked at his watch. It was three o'clock in the morning. Well, what a surprise, he thought sarcastically. God, that really was almost early for him, nowadays.

Sighing, Draco pulled back the curtains from the side of his bed and stood, stretching. Of course, excluding the scenario of him ending up in St Mungo's, if he didn't get some proper sleep soon, he was likely to become comatose anyway.

Draco staggered over to the picture-window, and looked at the darkened landscape through sleep-starved eyes. What the Hell was happening to him? he wondered. He would have asked a teacher to look at the parchment, but he didn't want an outsider prying into the dealings of the Malfoys, even if the Malfoy in question was a few hundred years old. Some things just weren't done.

He turned wearily back to face the room. He was tired, but he didn't much feel like going back to bed; he didn't want the dream to come back. Perhaps if he went down to the common room-? Rubbing his tired eyes, Draco made up his mind. There would probably still be a fire going, and he wouldn't have to stay so quiet, as it would be deserted. He quickly strode towards the door.

He was just reaching out a hand for the doorknob, when he froze. The door was already ajar.

Draco blinked at it in confusion, then turned to look back at the dormitory. In the dim light, he could just about make out the beds, but no detail. Still, if he applied logic...he could hear Crabbe and Goyle snoring still, and he knew where he was...which left Blaise. Blaise had left the room.

But did that matter? Draco considered. He didn't want to sleep right now. He could go and find out what Blaise was doing, and thereby keep himself awake. And who knew? It could be something interesting enough to block out his problems, maybe something that would be useful to know at some point...He ran the idea around his mind, and then decided. He pulled open the door.

He stepped out into the passageway, and found it was lit with the orange glow of a fire, coming from the common room. Draco made his way towards it hurriedly -

"You want to take me where?"

Draco stopped. The voice sounded as though it had been speaking quietly, but some strong emotion, like excitement, had pushed the volume up. It was a hoarse whisper, on the threshold of normal speech. It was Blaise's.

"Hush! Keep your voice down," another voice snapped. It was a deep voice, and harsh; Draco thought it could be an adult's. He moved forwards and crouched out of sight at the end of the passageway.

"Durmstrang, I'm sending you to Durmstrang," the voice said. "I have been contacted by the Dark Lord. I am needed in Bulgaria, fairly urgently. I don't want the Ministry getting their hands on you, however, so I'm taking you with me. You can pick up on a couple of real Dark Arts lessons out there while you're at it."

Despite himself, Draco did feel jealous. He had longed to go to Durmstrang, for as long as he could remember, and now here he was listening to Blaise Zabini being given the chance to go. Although, was it possible that Draco's father was also going to Bulgaria? Surely he would be - he was an important Death Eater, after all -

"Who else is going?" Blaise whispered eagerly.

Draco poked his head around the wall slightly, and saw that a man's head was nestled in the fire, flames licking up his ears and hair.

"Only a few others. It's a very important mission. You will, however, be accompanied by Vincent Crabbe, Selene Moon, Lucy Nott and Alexandra Rees, although I believe only three of them will actually be in your year."

"Hang on," Blaise whispered. He sounded confused. "What about Draco Malfoy? I would have thought -"

"The Dark Lord thought it might not be wise to entrust missions of too much importance to the Malfoys. Not after last time."

There was a pause. Draco felt every sense come alert. Last time?

"What happened last time?" Blaise asked breathlessly.

There was a dry, quiet chuckle. "This is a few years back," the voice responded. It seemed amused. Draco gritted his teeth. "Just before the fall of the Dark Lord, a - group - sprung up amongst the Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy. These individuals in question realised that although the Dark Lord could bring them power, they were in danger of being thrown into Azkaban if the Ministry caught them. To protect themselves from that, they turned spy against us."

"Like Pettigrew?"

"No, Pettigrew was a spy for us. Besides, this arrangement was different. The Dark Lord thought they were spying for us, and so they were excused for contacting the Ministry. The Ministry thought they were spying against us, and so they were excused for talking with Voldemort. Which meant they kept a respectable face in public, and reaped the rewards of affiliation with Voldemort."

"What happened to them?"

Again, the chuckle. Draco balled his hands into fists.

"One of them got scared and told Voldemort what was happening. As you can imagine, he wasn't too pleased. Most were tracked down and killed outright, by the Dark Lord himself, but before he found Lucius, Lucius found him."

There was a silence. Draco strained his ears, all traces of his previous exhaustion now forgotten. He tried to ignore his frantically pounding heart.

"They made a deal," said the voice at last. "I'm not sure what it was. But Lucius had to sacrifice something, something important to him, as a token of faith. Even so," a smile crept into the voice, " the Malfoys are not yet forgiven."

There was another pause, then the voice spoke again, now sounding brisk and efficient. "I will have to go, anyhow. Be at Hogsmeade station at four o'clock, tomorrow afternoon. I've already owled Dumbledore. Don't be late."

"Yes, father," Blaise's voice said, and then Draco heard a pop. Blaise's father had gone.

As the sounds of the other boy putting out the fire filtered through, Draco quickly stood and stole back to the dormitory. Without even being aware of his actions, he climbed back into bed, drew the curtains and pulled out the diary. Then he sat back against the headboard and thought.

Why would his father not tell him of this? Draco had always been lead to believe that his father was an influential member of the Dark Side, to the point of being welcomed into Voldemort's inner circle. But being a spy? And having to sacrifice -

"One day, I'll swim down to them..."

No.

Nonono.

That could not be. Lucius Malfoy might well have done a lot of low, underhand and evil things in his time, and he might be willing to do them all over again, but Draco could not believe that he would sacrifice his own child to make amends for his mistake. It just wasn't possible. Even if he didn't like the girl, family pride would never allow him to hand over a Malfoy.

But...

But it made sense. Draco had felt a connection with both Helen and her killer. Helen had been his sister, and his father's decayed Objectivity Spell had probably drawn him. And if Lucius Malfoy was faced with the choice of having his whole family destroyed, or just one member, Draco thought he knew which one he would choose. It would make sense.

But then why did Draco have no other memories of Helen? And why was the parchment so old?

Well...Draco thought about it, logically. The one memory he had had returned after prompting. He wondered if he had seen Helen being killed. That could have resulted in repression. As for the diary's age...

Well, he'd heard of an Ageing Potion although that wouldn't work on paper, but an Ageing Charm, maybe? He'd never heard of one, but that meant nothing, he was only seventeen after all. The problem was, he was crap at Renovation Charms, and he didn't know how else to uncover the diary.

Of course, he could always owl his father and ask him about Helen, but almost straightaway Draco shook his head. He still didn't know for certain it was his father, and if he was wrong, he didn't much fancy the idea of what Lucius' retribution would be.

In the darkness of the dormitory, Draco sat back against his pillows, and realised he didn't have a clue what to do.