"You're joking!"
Ginny popped another crisp into her mouth and turned a page of her book. "I'm deadly serious, Harry."
Harry moved his chair closer to hers. "Eloping? You're thinking of eloping with Malfoy?"
"It was just a suggestion. I mean, how else are we going to get married without our families interfering? You know what my dad and brothers are like with the Malfoys." She ate another crisp. "Unless something really big happened, they'd never give us permission. Same with his parents, I expect."
Harry stared at her, slack-jawed with a look of exasperation on his face. "I can't believe you're actually thinking about getting married to him!"
Ginny shut her book with a snap and a sigh. "You've already talked to me about this."
"But-but you're too young, for one thing!"
"Like I've said, we're not actually getting married for another two years, not until I'm out of school. Even so, I will decide whether I am too young or not, Harry, thanks for your concern." And she stalked off outside.
*
Harry continued to keep their secret, not only because of the fact that Ginny was keeping Harry's secret, but also because they did truly seem happy together. As much as Harry couldn't stand their dewy-eyes conversations and heated snogging sessions (that they managed to keep from everyone else, yet somehow it was he who always walked in on them), he couldn't deny they looked good together.
Also, Harry felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And, he thought, if he was so relieved at having made Voldemort mortal again, how great would he feel when he was finally rid of him?
But now he was really hungry for more, he wanted a bigger part. The only trouble was, no-one had any idea where the Death Eaters secret hideout was.
"Mr. Weasley," asked Harry over his sausage and eggs one breakfast, "what exactly is the Order doing?"
Mr. Weasley smiled. "Lots of things," he took a bite from his bacon, swallowed, and continued. "For a start, we're providing comfort and shelter for all the people whose lives the Death Eaters have corrupted. We all need to cop in; it's one for all out there. If only the Death Eaters could understand that." Harry noticed that Malfoy, who was sitting farthest away, not making eye contact, stopped chewing for a millisecond. "Plus, we're trying to free all the muggleborns they've captured." He sighed. "It's gotten hectic. People are lying about their heritage, and that causes so many problems in the ministry."
"People should be proud of being muggleborn!" said Hermione hotly, voicing what Harry was thinking. He smiled: he loved it when she was passionate about things. "I am. And if the Death Eaters don't like it, we'll just trace their family tree: see how much muggle blood they've got!" Oh man, he was falling face-first for her.
"Good for you, Hermione!" Mr. Weasley beamed. "Not only that, but we're doing Death Eater hunts."
"Huh?" said Harry, who was still gazing dreamily at Hermione "Death Eater hunts?"
"Yes. We're sending out little teams to capture Death Eaters. We need information, and no-one knows wherever they're keeping the captives, poor folk, not to mention where the secret hideout is." He took another bite. "If we knew that we could bring them down from inside. Only trouble is, the only Death Eaters we catch are junior ones, ones that have only just started or ones under the imperious curse. They hardly know anything useful, let alone where their headquarters is."
However, Mr Weasley was to be proven wrong only later that day. They were having tea, one of Mrs. Weasley's home-baked pies, and they were waiting for Fred and George, who had promised they'd come. Mr. Weasley was reading the paper while they sat, stomachs grumbling. Harry bit his lip as he saw one of the articles:
Break in at the DOM?
Inside reporters have confirmed that The Department of Mysteries was broken into a short while ago, and an old and valuable hat was destroyed, along with the fabled Archway of Death.
The Unspeakables, however, are determined not to give information on who was there or what happened.
"Mind your own business!" states Mr. Gerald Muntsley, 36, head of the Progressing Discoveries office in the Department of Mysteries. "You know we can't tell any one, that's why we're called Unspeakables! Honestly, can't you go and do a report on-"
But Harry didn't read the rest as the Weasley twins came rushing in.
"Dad! Dad!" Fred Weasley's excited voice greeted them.
"You'll never guess what, Dad! You'll never guess who they've caught!" George accompanied his brother.
"Caught? You mean they've got another Death Eater?"
"Yeah! Oh, this one's a good'un," George shook his head, grinning.
"Who? Who is it?"
"Only Mr. Muggle-hater himself! They've caught Lucius Malfoy!"
Mr. Weasley stood up so fast he knocked his plate off the table. Behind him, Draco Malfoy gasped and Ginny's arm twitched. Harry, who had ducked under the table to retrieve the knife that Mr. Weasley had knocked off, saw she had placed a hand upon his wrist.
"Molly, get my cloak, I'm going over there," Mr. Weasley said softly, a greedy, half-wild delight in his eyes. Harry frowned. This was a new side to Mr. Weasley.
"Where are they keeping the captured Death Eaters?" he asked.
"Uh… Grimmuald Place, hope you don't mind, Harry," Mr. Weasley smiled meekly.
"Not at all, but you're keeping Death Eaters in the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters?"
"Oh no, it's not Headquarters anymore, we changed location."
"Then where is Headquarters?"
"An old house Rebecca Black provided for us. Very useful, she is, knows plenty of secret houses and castles." He roughly tied his cloak around his neck, still brimming with that disturbing excitement.
"We're coming with you." Harry Ron and Hermione stood up.
"Err, I don't think that's a very good-"
"It's Harry's house, Dad!" said Ron indignantly.
"I- err, well, yes, I suppose- ok, fine." Kissing Mrs. Weasley, who looked disgruntled at having to waste all that food, goodbye, he led them outside a few yards, so they could apparate.
"Wait!" Malfoy had hurried out to join them.
"Oh, no," Mr. Weasley looked at Malfoy awkwardly. "You'd- you'd better stay here."
"I'm not allowed to visit my own Father?!"
"Oh, all right, you can come too, but you two," He pointed at Fred and George, who were dithering about hopefully "are definitely staying here."
"Awww!"
"We want to see you kick Lucius Malfoy's arse!" Malfoy let out a low hiss, his eyes narrowed, but stayed put. Harry frowned again.
They apparated to number 12 Grimmuald Place, Harry grasping Malfoy's shoulder as he didn't know where to go. When they landed, Harry walked right along side Mr. Weasley.
"Mr. Weasley," Harry whispered "How exactly are you going to get information out of him?"
"Just a little interrogation."
Harry didn't like the sound of that at all. "You mean, like," he gulped "torture?"
"Good heavens, no!" Mr. Weasley looked shocked. "No, we're not inhumane! No, we'll use a combination of vertaserum, occlumency and persuasion, no crucios or anything." Harry felt a little more relieved, but then looked anxiously to where Malfoy was walking.
"Do you think it was a good idea to bring him?" he whispered. "I mean, it is his Father…"
"Yes, well, it would have been more preferable if he hadn't known about this at all, really, but I can't stop the lad speaking to Malfoy if he really wants, just to make sure he's ok, you know… Poor kid, can't imagine what must be going through his head."
As they walked down the all too familiar corridor, Harry spotted a pair of greyish bat-like ears flapping around.
"Using this noble house as a place to imprison valiant purebloods such as Mr. Malfoy, oh, what would Mistress say if she knew?" Kreature muttered to himself as he polished the grimy frame of Mrs. Black's portrait.
"Oh, brother, Arthur," muttered a man with a short furry black beard, whom Harry guessed must have been a member of the Order. "I should have known you'd want to interrogate this one."
"Well, you know how far Lucius and I go back, Leopold," muttered Mr. Weasley darkly "he's had it coming for years."
Snickering, Leopold led them down to the cellars. Harry rarely went down there: it was dark and damp-smelling, and stacked wall to wall with bottles of dated beverage. Sirius's parents must have been alcoholics, or something.
Peering through the darkness, Harry saw that there were people walking around, muttering and writing on clipboards. There were three figures sitting on chairs, hands appearing to be cuffed, but the only one you could see was the figure of Lucius Malfoy, whose long white-blonde hair and pale skin almost glowed in the dark. It was hard to tell what he must have been thinking: He was sitting perfectly still, his face completely stripped of expression, staring straight ahead. If it hadn't been for the steady rise and fall of his chest that signified breathing he could have been mistaken for a wax statue.
Mr. Weasley ignored the two other captives and stepped over to Mr. Malfoy. He bent down so he was level with Mr. Malfoy, freckled nose to pointed nose. "Lucius, Lucius, Lucius," he muttered mockingly. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
Mr. Malfoy paused, glaring at Mr. Weasley hatefully. "Come to gloat, Arthur?" he said, his voice hoarse. He sneered at Mr. Weasley, but it did not contain his usual haughtiness.
"Is that it?" Harry thought. He had expected something a little more scornful.
Mr. Weasley seemed to think so too, as he smiled in ridicule. "Losing your nerve, Malfoy?"
Mr. Malfoy did not answer, however, but stayed still and looked over Mr. Weasley's shoulder. His eyes trailed along Harry, Ron and Hermione, but widened as he saw his son's pale face looming in the darkness. Draco and Lucius Malfoy stared at each other through identical grey eyes.
"Hello, son," Mr. Malfoy muttered softly. Draco flinched, looking sick.
"Arthur," the man named Leopold had joined them. "We're interrogating these others first."
"Well, if we must," sighed Mr. Weasley. Harry was finding Mr. Weasley's obvious happiness at Malfoy's capture pretty unnerving. But then again, Mr. Malfoy never missed an opportunity to degrade the Weasley's. If he was Mr. Weasley, he'd be happy to bring Malfoy off his high horse.
Mr. Malfoy had returned to his dead pan stare as he was led out of the cellar by his cuffed hands. Draco tried to catch his eye, but he was determinedly staring blankly straight ahead.
"Harry," whispered Hermione "I'm not sure I want to see this."
She pointed to the trembling Death Eater that was being led out by Mr. Weasley and another woman, Mr Weasley muttering, "It's ok, relax, we're not going to hurt you. We just want some information…"
He took her hand and they and Ron climbed the cellar stairs.
"Malfoy?" Harry called. Malfoy remained frozen to the spot, staring at the door his father had been taken through, a troubled expression on his face. He slowly turned and brushed past Harry, climbing the stairs in a hurry.
*
Draco rushed along the corridors of Number 12, desperately hoping none of the Order members saw him. He zig-zagged down the stairs and found himself in a dingy hallway, with a single torch lighting his way. He was on the floor just above the cellar, where they were keeping the Death Eaters.
He glanced at the row of blank brown doors and walked down the hall, peering through the small barred windows. His boots made a loud clumping noise as he strode along the dusty bare floorboards, and from the corner of his eye he saw a tiny rat scrabble into a chewed hole in the skirting board.
"Alohomora," he whispered, pointing his wand at the lock of one of the doors. A thin spark of light shot out and hit the keyhole, causing the door to click open. He swung it open easily.
On the small, rickety old bed sat a man with sleek white-blonde hair trailing to the small of his back. His waxy face appeared to be oblivious to Draco's entrance, but the way his pupils contracted into tiny black pinpricks told Draco he had indeed noticed his son, and was not a happy man. Not happy at all.
"I told you he'd lead you into trouble," Draco muttered softly "I told you that you should give it up."
Lucius did not respond, but stared through Draco as though through a pane of glass. Draco swallowed, and took a step closer. His Father's shoulders tensed, but he did nothing other than continue to stare in his dense manner, unblinking.
"I told you he'd make you go on some tedious mission when you were most vulnerable, and you'd get yourself captured or injured or- or killed: I told you to get as far away from his as possible, as fast as possible."
Lucius continued to stare straight through him, not reacting to anything he said. He was like a cat arching its back, the way his shoulders were all tensed up; Draco half expected him to start hissing any moment.
"He's gone power-crazy, Father. I don't know what he was like at first, but he's dangerous." Draco inched nearer to his father, who was still not speaking. He was very aware of Draco's presence, just chose to ignore it. He continued to stare blankly ahead as Draco sat next to him. Draco was beginning to find this silence unnerving. "I did tell you, Father. Right before I left, remember?"
Finally, Lucius moved. He gave a slow, barely noticeable nod. "You… left."
His words barely escaped his throat, chillingly quiet. He was staring directly at the lone torch just opposite his room, the flickering light dancing in his eyes and turning the usual silvery grey irises a blazing red colour. Draco swallowed again. Lucius had not blinked once in the time he had been in his room.
"You left, you ran away. To where, Draco? Please, elaborate. Some little hidey-hole the Order of the Phoenix set up for you, no doubt."
"Yes," Draco whispered, hanging his head. He wasn't going to say exactly where; if truth be told, his father looked on the brink of insanity; he might completely lose it if he knew his son had been staying at the Weasleys'. And if he ever knew about Ginny… Draco shuddered to think of it.
Lucius shook his head, still not taking his eyes from the torch. "I had no idea where you ran to. All these months… I've been so worried, not knowing whether you were being fed properly, not knowing if you had a roof over your head, not even knowing if you were alive. And it turns out you were foraging off the… the Order of the Phoenix." He gave a nervous, rather high pitched laugh, which unnerved Draco more than anything else that had happened that night. There was that prickling sense of guilt again.
Lucius stood up so suddenly it shocked Draco, started to walk to the closed door, and then paused in mid-step, suspended in thought. "What about the Dark Lord, Draco? What about the cause you swore to be loyal to?" He continued his walk to the door, never once removing his gaze from the dancing torch, which seemed to be mesmerising him. He seemed to be brooding as he leant against the wooden door, resting his forehead on the rusty iron bars at the top.
He suddenly broke from his trance and whipped his head round, his eyes no longer glassy and staring but narrowed and furious. "What about this?!" He thrust the sleeve of his robe up, revealing the Dark Mark etched across his forearm. The dark ink was made extra vibrant against his ghostly pale flesh. "You took an oath, Draco! You are a Death Eater; it's carved into your skin!"
"`Ere, `ere!" came the muffled grunt of the Death Eater next door.
"SHUT UP, O'NIEL!" Lucius roared at the wall, his icy gaze still fixed on Draco. He waved his left forearm in front of Draco's nose. "How can you dessert your beliefs, after everything I and your mother-" his breath seemed to catch in his throat, and he turned away.
"You should listen to your father, kid," O'Niel shouted roughly through the wall.
"Yeah, `e's right, y'know," yelled the Death Eater on the other side.
"BE QUIET!" Lucius screamed, thrashing his fists on the wall. "WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO GET A LITTLE PRIVACY?!"
Draco cast a silencing charm on the walls, but that wasn't what he was bothered about. He had noticed the way Lucius had stopped talking as soon as he mentioned Narcissa.
"What's wrong with Mother?" asked Draco sharply. "Why'd you stop talking?"
His Father was leaning against the wall, fists still raised in a pounding action. He turned his head slightly to look at him through one steely grey eye. "She's weak," he whispered, his voice muffled.
"What?" Draco narrowed his eyes "Weak? You think she's weak? Are you saying you're ashamed of her or something?"
"No…" Lucius dropped his arms, so Draco could see his face properly. He was wearing a very troubled expression, slightly fearful. "Her health is diminishing! She's been so ill… for so long…" his eyes snapped back to Draco "since you left…"
Draco felt slightly sick. "Why? What's wrong with her?"
"It's not a disease, it's just…" He leant his hand on the wall. "We've had no idea what happened to you, we've been so worried. Your Mother has been making herself ill."
It was Draco's turn to look away now.
"She's barely been eating. She's had countless sleepless nights. She hasn't been performing properly-"
"Urgh," muttered Draco. "I really didn't need to know about that."
"What?"
"Dad, don't ever talk about your sex life again."
Lucius spluttered. "I meant her performance with a wand! She's not doing magic properly!"
"Oh." Draco felt himself flush. He stared down at his shoes as Lucius glared at him in disgust.
There was an embarrassed silence for a moment, then, "That's why we need to get back. You have to help me escape." His tone was so commanding it was on the verge of desperation.
Draco shook his head. "No, Dad, you can't escape from here. There are all sorts of charms and rubbish. This house had Dumbledore's protection: it was headquarters to the Order once."
"Then how do you propose we get out of here?"
Draco shrugged and sat back on the bed, staring into nothing.
Lucius was clearly agitated. "Draco! Do you not understand what your mother must be thinking right now?! She probably believes I'm dead or horrifically injured, or worse- Oh, god, how's she going to cope without us?!" He started pacing around.
"Dad, she's not going to drop dead just because she thinks you have." Draco eyed his father carefully.
Lucius didn't seem to hear him. "She's known me since we were six years old and you since- well, since you were born,-"
"I think you're just saying this stuff because you can't cope without her," said Draco bluntly.
"What?" snapped Lucius "don't be ridiculous, Draco, I'm entirely independent- stop smirking, boy!"
"Ok, Ok," Draco straightened his face. There was a pause.
"Well?" Lucius breathed. "How am I going to get out of here?"
"I have a plan," said Draco quietly, "but you're not going to like it."
"Try me."
"You could switch sides."
It was worse than if he'd said "You could jump off a cliff".
While most people turn red when they're angry, Lucius turned drastically paler, as though all the blood was being drained out of him. He had returned to his wax-like state, frozen and unblinking. Draco could have sworn a dementor had replaced his father; all the warmth had been sucked out of the air by his icy, disbelieving glare.
"What?" his voice was dangerous, poisonous. If people's tones could kill, Draco would have been stone cold.
"It was just a suggestion," Draco muttered. "I really don't see any other way."
"Switch sides?" Lucius's pupils had become miniscule black dots again. "Join the Order of the Phoenix?" His hand shot out and clamped around Draco's left arm. "And what about-" he gasped. He had pulled Draco's sleeve up, not to find the Dark Mark, as he had obviously expected, but the patch of black, burnt skin. He stared at him, gaping, before letting go of Draco's arm as though it burnt him. He backed away, slamming into the wall.
"When?" he whispered.
"Ages ago." Draco shook his sleeve back down.
"You fool."
"I know. Professor Snape saved me."
"Snape? We thought he was dead!"
Draco shook his head. "No. He's in the Order of the Phoenix. He left the Death Eaters."
"He was a spy for us!"
"He was a spy, for them. Mother knew this."
"Your mother?"
"But he didn't know she knew. In fact, she told him to take me when he left."
Lucius stared at him for a moment, and then started laughing humourlessly. "Oh, this is rich!" he chuckled. "Your mother knew that Snape was in the Order, but nobody knew that she knew, until she asked Severus to hide you, and now you're in the Order?!"
"What? No! I haven't joined the Order, I've just un-joined the Death Eaters!"
"Who's side are you on?!" Lucius hissed, abruptly stopping his laughter and turning icy cold again.
"The one that's best for our family."
Lucius stared at him through observant eyes. His jaw was clenched, as though he wanted to say something but was holding it in. His eyes kept darting from one of Draco's eyes to the other. His hands curled into fists, and he took a few deep breaths, his chest heaving.
"I knew we should have sent you to Durmstrang," he hissed. "I told Narcissa, but she wasn't having any of it, oh no… Too far away, she said. Don't want him picking up any foreign habits, she said. Picked up some habits from that… school, didn't you? Under the guidance of that Headmaster." His voice was filled with venom. He shook his head in revulsion. "Consorting with blood-traitors and filth. I'd never have believed it of you, Draco."
"You don't get it, do you, Father?" Draco breathed, staring back at Lucius with as much venom. "That isn't relevant anymore, that's not what this war is about. It's about one murderous maniac, who will hurt and kill anyone to get power, and whether you're with him or against him."
Lucius hissed slightly, eyes flashing.
"Think about it, Father. Think about all those times the Dark Lord caused you trouble."
"There are no times! And I will not have you speak such ill of the-"
"How can you say that?!" Draco yelled. "How can you deny what he's done to us, blatantly?! Mother was tortured by him! He forced you to torture her! She was half dead by the time he'd finished with her." Lucius turned away, hiding his face. "You spent six months in Azkaban for him! Was he grateful? No! In fact, while you were away, he sent me on some dangerous mission to try and kill me, all to punish you!" Lucius flinched. "What about your back, Father? I've seen the scars."
"Scars?" Lucius croaked.
"Yeah, don't pretend you don't understand. There are scars stretching right across your back, Father, some of them eight inches long! I don't know what you did, Dad, but you must have upset him pretty badly!" Lucius flinched again, and shuddered. "And you… you weren't even there when I was born, because he'd called you." Lucius gasped and turned around, face to face with his son once more. Their eyes met, sharing the same sorrow. "You had to leave, right when Mum needed you most, because when you are called, you must go."
Lucius stared at him for a moment, and then swallowed hard. "You have no idea what it's like, not to see your only child being bought into the world. It's something I wouldn't deny any father." His eyes roamed across Draco's face, taking in the features that were so much like his own.
"I vowed not to let him get in the way of anything like that again. I vowed not to let him control me." He shook his head, his eyes misting over. He glanced down lazily at the Dark Mark on his forearm. "But I was tempted, by the sense of power this thing offers. We all were. When I first took it, I had no idea of the binding contract it carries."
"Take it off," Draco hissed, his eyes drawn to the hollow, staring eyes of the skull. "Cut it off. I'm ok aren't I?"
Lucius shot him a twisted grin. "Yours was only a year old. I've had this since I was seventeen, the same age you are now. The longer you leave the mark on, the more it becomes apart of you." Still smiling crookedly, he slowly pulled his sleeve down. "You are one of the extreme few that have rid themselves of He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named's mark, and lived to tell the tale. I will not be so lucky."
The grin slid off his face. "You knew how the mark binds itself to its wearer. How could you take that risk? You must have almost died." He was suddenly looking stricken. "I owe Severus Snape my son's life. Aargh, Draco, how could you do that to yourself?!"
Draco said nothing.
"You knew it had a powerful curse! What had I told you from a young age? What about all the "don't mess with Daddy's Dark Mark"s?! How could you even think of it?!"
"It's- well- I thought- I-"
"STOP BABBLING, BOY!" Lucius yelled over Draco's stutters. Then his expression softened, and his thin tongue snaked out to moisten his lips. He gazed thoughtfully at Draco. He seemed to be struggling with himself over something. "I'm just…" He sighed. "I'm just glad you're safe." He seemed to have wanted to say this for a long time, but held it in.
Then he did something he hadn't done in a long time. He embraced Draco.
Draco's eyes widened. It seemed kind of forced at first, as though Lucius didn't really know how to show his affection.
"Merlin's beard," came Lucius's muffled voice. "You're taller than me!"
"What?" Draco pulled away, smiling unsurely.
"You've grown! You're slightly taller than me!"
They both burst into laughter.
The laughter subsided, and again, Lucius's grin slid off his face. "How you've changed," he muttered. "The boy Draco I knew a few months ago would never have stood up to me like that. I suppose congratulations are in order. You've caused me to change my views on something, nobody's ever done that. Well, except Narcissa, of course. And the Dark L-" he stopped abruptly. "Tell me, is there a certain person who has caused this change in you?" Lucius raised a slender white-blonde eyebrow.
Draco felt his neck prickle. He couldn't know about Ginny, he couldn't know about Ginny…
"No- Not at all," he said, a little too quickly. His father looked suspicious. He needed to change the subject. "So are you going to give the Order information?"
Lucius hissed slightly, and sat down on his bunk again. "This is such a conflicting option, Draco."
"Huh?"
"If I were to tell them where they're keeping the mudbloods, and lead them there, that would be, as you say, the quickest and easiest way to get back to your mother. And," his eyes glinted mischievously. "I could get them to help me worm my way out of Azkaban. Oh, yes, what an idea! They'd have to help me if they want this information. However," he shuddered "to help the Order of the Phoenix would be to display feelings of sympathy towards mudbloods and blood- traitors, something that revolts me to the core. It's just everything I stand against."
"Well," Draco murmured softly, "You decide what's more important; your own pride, or Mum's health."
He got up, nodded to his father, and slowly walked towards the door.
"And how exactly am I supposed to get them to cooperate?" Lucius called, just as Draco was about to shut the door.
"You're a Slytherin," he replied coolly. "Use your initiative." And he shut the door on his father's smirking face.
*
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