Draco Sinister 2 Ink, Blood & Brotherhood

Title: Draco Sinister (02)
Author name: Cassandra Claire
Author email: epicyclical_girl@yahoo.com
Category: Drama
Sub Category: Action/Adventure
Keywords: draco harry hermione ginny ron charlie magid slytherin founders
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Summary: When Hermione is kidnapped, Harry and Draco must team up to rescue her from a thousand-year-old evil that threatens the entire wizarding world. Cursed demon swords, love potions, time travel, dementors, flying dragons, Draco wears leather, and everybody dies at least once. Except when they don’t.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco Sinister

Chapter Two – Ink, Blood & Brotherhood

**********

She’s breaking up with me,” said Harry.

“She’s what?”

“Breaking up with me,” said Harry again, still with the same look of utter, blank astonishment.

“She’s not,” said Draco, with conviction. “You’re reading the letter wrong. Give it to me.”

It was doubtless a mark of how very shocked Harry was that he did so, holding it out mutely for Draco to take. Draco snatched it, and read it quickly.

Dear Harry,

I saw Viktor this afternoon, and realized that I have really loved him all these years and still do. I am going with him to his home in Bulgaria where we can be together. You will always be a dear friend of mine, but I have realized that my heart belongs to Viktor alone. Please don’t try to contact me.

Hermione

“Not a lot of room for interpretation there,” said Harry in a doom-laden sort of voice. “Pretty straightforward.”

“She can’t be in love with Viktor Krum, she just can’t be,” protested Draco, scanning the letter again in an attempt to find some other analysis of Hermione’s short missive. “I mean, I always figured if she left you, it would be for me. Sorry,” he added, looking up at Harry. “But, really. Viktor Krum?”

Harry just looked at him blankly. “Why not Viktor Krum?”

“Because he’s a big stupid Neanderthal who can’t even pronounce her name!”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry hollowly. “She doesn’t love me. That’s what matters.” He took the letter back from Draco, looked at it as if it were a weird foreign object, and stuffed it in his pocket. “I guess we’d better go to class.”

“What?”

“Class,” said Harry. “We’ve got Lupin’s class at nine.”

“You mean you’re just going to go to class, as if…as if nothing…”

But Harry had already turned around and was wandering off down the hallway. Draco stared after him in disbelief. He couldn’t quite understand why Harry was acting like he’d just been given the Dementor’s Kiss. If it had been him, he’d be yelling and throwing heavy objects. Maybe Harry was in shock? Draco had read about people being in shock. You were supposed to make them lie down and cover them with a heavy blanket. However, knocking Harry down in the hallway and throwing a blanket on him seemed unfeasible.

“Ello, Draco!” said a voice at his elbow.

Fleur. Just who he didn’t want to see.

“Fleur, I’ve got to get to class right now…”

“You ‘ave class with Lupin, am I correct? I ‘ave the same class. We can go together!” she announced brightly, and took his arm as he started walking. Draco picked up his pace until he was walking alongside Harry, who was still looking expressionless.

“”Ello, ‘Arry!” chirped Fleur.

Harry said nothing.

“Is ‘Arry all right?” she said in an undertone to Draco.

He was spared replying as she spotted Professor Lupin coming around a bend in the hallway up ahead. He nodded a greeting as his eyes fell on them, then ducked into the classroom.

“Now ‘e is very good-looking,” said Fleur complacently. “Not like those other professors. This one, ‘e ‘as…”

“Animal magnetism?” suggested Draco.

“Yes,” said Fleur, and smiled.

Draco was relieved when she let go of his arm and dashed into the classroom after Lupin. He turned quickly to Harry. “Potter, are you sure…”

“I’m fine, Malfoy.”

Draco wanted to tell Harry that he didn’t look fine. He looked as if he were going to be sick, as a matter of fact. But there was no opportunity. Students had begun pouring into the classroom, and Harry went with them. Draco followed Harry, and sat down where he could keep an eye on him. He wasn’t sure what this weird calm of Harry’s betokened, but was sure it wasn’t good.

Draco himself felt fairly stunned. Hermione, running off with Viktor Krum? Being in love with Viktor Krum? It was about as in character for her as forgetting to study for final exams. Nobody knew Hermione like he did, watched her like he did, saw the way she looked at Harry like he did. So many times watching her watching Harry….she couldn’t possibly not be in love with Harry after all. His world might be built on some strange foundations, Draco thought grimly, but dammit they were foundations, and if Hermione ran off with Viktor Krum then it all came crashing down. What the hell was she thinking?

“…very pleased to be teaching this class.” Professor Lupin’s voice broke in on Draco’s thoughts, and he glanced up. Lupin was standing behind his desk, on which sat a large glass globe and a stack of books. He had just finished writing the title of the class on the board: FUNDAMENTALS OF MAGICAL TRANSFORMATION FOR MAGIDS.

Fleur was sitting in the front row, staring fixedly at Lupin. Draco began to wonder what might happen if Lupin noticed. Fleur’s direct stare had a tendency to cause males of almost any age to begin acting in an eccentric manner.

“Now,” Lupin went on, “you all know that as Magids, you have access to abilities that other wizards do not. Whether you choose to learn to utilize these powers to their fullest is up to you, but you all have the potential. First, however, you must learn what these abilities are.”

He turned again, and wrote another word on the board: TELEPATHIC MAGIC.

A faint whisper of surprise ran around the classroom. Reflexively, Draco turned and looked at Harry, who was staring fixedly at his quill as if it held all the secrets of the universe, and didn’t appear to have heard a word that Lupin had said.

“It used to be called the Art of Voiceless Speaking,” Lupin went on, “but for many years, it’s been considered a myth. For a Magid, however…”

Draco stopped listening to Lupin; he was looking at Harry again. Harry was still staring at his quill with a blank expression. Draco leaned sideways towards him and said, out of the side of his mouth, “I was just thinking about this Hermione thing, Potter, and I–“

Bang!

The glass bottle of ink on Harry’s desk exploded like a miniature bomb. Glass and ink flew in every direction, splattering an astonished Harry’s desk and clothes. Draco touched his hand to his face and it came away black and red: ink and blood. A flying shard of glass had cut his cheek.

Some of the people sitting near Harry and Draco started to mutter in surprise. Ignoring them, Draco looked at Harry with sudden alarm. Harry wasn’t any good at controlling his emotions, in fact he was terrible at it, and if the shock was starting to wear off, then…

BANG!

The glass globe on Lupin’s desk blew apart. Lupin jumped back, and several students ducked as fair-sized shards of glass flew over their heads and shattered against the opposite wall. Draco jumped to his feet and grabbed the back of Harry’s robes. “Come on, Potter,” he said.

“But I didn’t–“

“Come on!”

Half-dragging Harry, Draco backed out of the classroom as Lupin and the rest of the class stared at them in astonishment. Once out in the hallway, he kicked the classroom door shut and let go of Harry, who sat down hard on the floor and looked up at him with a dazed expression.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?” yelled Draco, fuming. He was covered in ink and bits of glass, and was fairly sure that his shirt was permanently ruined. “Get a grip on yourself!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Harry yelled back furiously.

CRASH!

One of the stained-glass windows set high in the wall above their heads shattered, raining down bright bits of glass.

“Stop it!” shouted Draco, covering his head. “D’you want to bring the whole school down around our ears, you stupid prat?”

Now Harry was starting to look worried. “But I don’t mean to be–” He broke off as a large, ominous crack appeared in another window.

Draco was now seriously alarmed. Given Harry’s already-proven abilities to conjure up hailstorms of owls and blue snow, he was afraid it might at any moment start raining toads. Or bricks. Or sharp, pointy objects.

“Potter,” he said,. “I want you to know something. Ultimately, this is for your own good.”

“What is?” said Harry, looking at him in bewilderment.

“This,” said Draco, and kicked Harry, hard, in the ribs.

“Uck!” said Harry, or something very like, doubling up and gasping. When he got his breath back, he looked up at Draco in fury. “You asshole, Malfoy,” he said, got to his feet, and punched Draco in the eye.

It was not in Draco’s nature to take a pummeling without fighting back. He swung at Harry and hit him in the jaw. It was ultimately, however, a losing proposition; Draco was taller and had the greater reach, but Harry had the strength born from blind fury-not just at Draco, but at life in general. By the time Lupin and the rest of the class had poured out of the room to see what was going on, Harry was sitting on top of Draco and hitting him with both fists.

“‘Arry!” squealed Fleur, who didn’t like to see boys fighting unless it was over her. “You will not ‘it Draco! You will ruin ‘is face!”

“HARRY!” bellowed Lupin, his voice dripping icicles. “DRACO. YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELVES.”

Harry stopped hitting Draco and stared from him to Lupin, looking dazed.

“IN MY OFFICE NOW!” said Lupin.

Harry got up, and so did Draco. Both of them were bleeding, although Draco looked a deal worse than Harry. They reluctantly followed Lupin down the hall to his office, aware of the curious stares of the other students at their backs. Lupin yanked the door of his office open, ushered them inside, hissed “SIT DOWN AND DON’T MOVE UNTIL I GET BACK,” and slammed the door.

It was suddenly very quiet, except for the gentle ticking of the clock on the office wall. Draco looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye. And saw that he was grinning.

“What’s funny, Malfoy?” he said with a mixture of curiosity and indignation.

“Kept you from burying us all in a mountain of shrapnel, didn’t I?” said Draco, who could only grin out of one side of his mouth, which gave him a lopsided and vaguely psychotic air. “Distracted you at the crucial moment. Feel better now?”

Harry, who did indeed feel better, looked down at his bleeding knuckles, then back up at Draco, and felt also suddenly guilty. “Malfoy,” he said haltingly, “I’m really, really sorry that I-“

“Forget it!” said Draco cheerfully. “The look on your face when I kicked you in the ribs, that was so worth it!”

Harry’s feeling of guilt vanished. “There’s just no point apologizing to you, is there?”

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t ever apologize, why should you?”

“You don’t apologize? Like you don’t faint?”

“Right,” said Draco.

“What else don’t you do?”

“I don’t cry,” said Draco. “And I don’t dance. Hate dancing.” He shuddered. “And I don’t think Hermione’s in love with Viktor Krum, either.”

Harry winced. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Come on, Potter!” said Draco, who had wandered over to Lupin’s desk and was casually examining the objects that lay on it. “Think about it. It makes no sense–” He broke off. “Hey, Potter, look at this.”

Harry came over to see what Draco was looking at, and glanced over his shoulder. A large and rather musty-looking book sat open on Lupin’s desk. Harry touched it gingerly; it had a thick leathery cover and the pages were old, yellowed and powdery. The book was open to a page which showed woodcut illustrations of various objects — something that looked like a gauntlet, then a rather nasty-looking skull, and underneath both those things, a drawing of a sword. It wasn’t detailed, but the jewels in the hilt were very definitely green.

The heading across the top of the page read: Daemonic Artifacts: A User’s Guide. The Living Blade. The writing beneath that was very hard to read, being splotched with bits of candle-wax and the occasional suspicious-looking brown stain.

…For which this blade was at one time or still is, any part or partition of the body or spirit of a demon… whosoever possesses such a blade must know its nature. Such a blade can be borne; but at great cost to the bearer, whether that cost be of body, or of soul in the nature of an Exchange. Whosoever comes across such an object must know that it is a Talisman of Purest Evil, and should only be dealt with in a manner pursuant to its destruction.

“Purest Evil,” said Harry thoughtfully. “That sounds bad.”

“What sounds bad is that he’s going to destroy my sword,” said Draco, looking furious. “I never should have lent it to him…what was I thinking?”

“You don’t know he’s going to destroy your sword,” said Harry reasonably. “It might not be one of these…Living Blade things.”

Draco looked at Harry. Harry looked sheepish. “Okay, okay. It probably is. But if it’s a Talisman of Purest Evil, do you really want to keep it?”

“Hell, yes,” said Draco.

Harry shook his head. “I do not understand you, Malfoy.”

The office door opened, and they both jumped back several feet. It was Lupin of course, looking very grave. He came into the office, shut the door behind him, and sat down behind his desk. He looked from Harry–who was cowering against one wall–to Draco, who was cowering against the wall opposite, and said, “I’m sorry I shouted at you. You…alarmed me. I’m not much of a fan of physical violence, and Harry, I rather thought you weren’t either.”

“Oh, he’s not usually,” said Draco cheerfully. “But Hermione stomped all over his heart with hobnailed boots, so he’s a bit edgy.”

“Hermione..?” Lupin echoed, looking astounded. Harry, who had gone red, scowled and said nothing. “All right,” said Lupin. “Never mind. I’ve always thought it was unfortunate,” he added, “that one’s Magid powers, which are so closely tuned to both one’s wizarding skills and one’s control over emotions, tend to kick in right around adolescence, when one had very little of either. Harry, stop scowling. I’m sure Hermione would never, er, do anything to…” He trailed off. “All right, that’s none of my business. But if you’re really upset, Harry, maybe you should talk to Sirius?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Actually, that’s not that bad of an idea,” said Draco. “He could beat up Viktor Krum for you, Potter.”

“Viktor Krum?” repeated Lupin, raising his eyebrows.

“Hermione went to Bulgaria with Viktor Krum last night,” said Draco, who seemed determined to act as Greek Chorus. “And she wrote Harry a letter, but I’ve been telling him I don’t think she meant it, because I mean if you’ve ever seen pictures of Krum he’s only got one eyebrow and Potter here might not be winning any beauty competitions, but–“

“That’s impossible!” said Lupin, who was looking both exasperated and amused.

“It isn’t,” said Draco. “He really only has the one eyebrow.”

“I meant,” said Lupin, “that Hermione er, running off with Viktor Krum to Bulgaria is impossible.”

Harry looked startled. “Why do you say that?”

“Because,” said Lupin, “Viktor Krum is in London. He led the Bulgarian Quidditch team to a stunning victory again Switzerland just this morning. I heard a play-by-play on the Wizarding Wireless. He is most definitely,” Lupin added, “and certainly, NOT in Bulgaria.”

***

“Percy, come on,” said Ron, exasperated. “Can’t you be helpful, just this once?”

“Percy, please,” added Ginny, looking entreatingly at her older brother, or at least all of him that was visible — which was his head, floating in the fireplace. Ron and Ginny were kneeling in front of the fireplace, trying very hard not to cough from the soot.

“No,” said Percy firmly, looking very cross. “I am NOT going to give you Viktor Krum’s home address in Bulgaria. Do you know what kind of trouble I could get into with the Department of Magical Games and Sports?”

“We’re not going to track him down and slaughter him, Perce,” said Ron irritably. “We just want to send a letter to Hermione, see if she’s all right.”

Percy made an irritated noise. “Look, Ron, I’m sorry your girlfriend ran off with Viktor Krum, but he is very famous and rich and you really can’t blame her. Just try to be a good sport about it, who don’t you?”

“Hermione is not my girlfriend,” said Ron, through gritted teeth. “She is Harry’s girlfriend.”

“Well,” said Percy, in a patronizing tone, “She’s Viktor’s girlfriend now, isn’t she?”

“That’s just it!” said Ron, pouncing on this statement like Pigwidgeon onto a tasty mouse. “I don’t think she is, at least not voluntarily. I think,” he said, dropping his voice, “that she was under some sort of Hex…or a love potion!”

“Ron!” Percy exclaimed, horrified. “Use of love potions is completely illegal, you know that! Viktor Krum would never do that, he’s…he’s…a famous international figure!”

“So is Voldemort,” said Ginny crankily.

Percy and Ron turned on her. “Don’t say the name!”

“Why not? Harry does.”

“You’re not Harry!” said Ron, unhelpfully, and turned back to Percy. “Percy, just because he’s a famous Quidditch player, that doesn’t mean anything. He was just obsessed with Hermione two years ago, it was really disgusting, he’s so much older than her–“

“Ron!” Percy interrupted. “Do you have any idea how busy I am right now? The Ministry is in an uproar! There’s chaos in the streets! This morning Minister Fudge got five hundred owls! Five hundred! And guess who has to answer them all? Me!”

Ron and Ginny stared at each other, then back at Percy. “Five hundred owls?” said Ron in surprise. “Why? What’s going on?”

Percy turned an apoplectic shade of purple. “Don’t you even read the paper anymore?” he shouted.

“We were too worried about Hermione,” said Ginny, looking startled.

“Well, go read it!” snapped Percy. “And don’t bother me again until you have!”

And he vanished.

Ginny and Ron stared at each other, then got to their feet. Without speaking, Ginny went to the front door, collected the Daily Prophet, and brought it inside, where she spread it out on the kitchen table. “Oh,” she said faintly, catching sight of the headline, “Ron…”

Ron crossed the room to stand next to her and looked down at the front page of the paper, which read, in huge letters:

DEMENTORS ABANDON AZKABAN.

The Ministry of Magic has confirmed at this time that the Dementors, longtime guards of wizard prison Azkaban, have abandoned their posts as the protectors of the over two hundred prisoners that Azkaban currently holds. There is no word as to where they might have gone, according to Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. “It appears that they simply vanished. We have no idea where they have gone; however, no prisoners have escaped and the Dementors have been replaced by fully trained and qualified wizards from the Agency for Magical Law Enforcement.” Fudge stressed that the magical community should remain calm; all prisoners remain safely in Azkaban and there have been no reported escapes. “We’ve been discussing the matter of replacing the Dementors with qualified wizards for a long time now within the Ministry,” adds Percy Weasley, Assistant to the Minister of Magic. “Really, this is all for the best as it gives us an opportunity to implement our new program.”

“Percy, you git,” said Ron, under his breath. “How is this a good thing? Dementors running rampant over the countryside…”

“But they’re not,” said Ginny. “It says they’ve just vanished.”

Ron was biting his knuckle thoughtfully. “Like Hermione,” he said.

“You don’t honestly think those two things are related, do you? Or do you think they all ran off with Viktor Krum?”

“Well, no obviously, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned being friends with Harry all these years, it’s that when weird things start happening all at the same time, they’re usually connected. That, and a big spider is nobody’s friend.”

Ginny shook her head, staring anxiously out at the Pigwidgeon-free sky. “I just wish we would hear from Harry,” she said fretfully. “I want to know what she told him.”

Ron looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “If she did really break up with Harry,” he said slowly, “would you be all that upset?”

Ginny didn’t answer.

***

“If you keep pacing like that, Potter,” said Draco, not opening his eyes, “I will nail your feet to the floor. And don’t think I won’t.”

Harry whirled and glared at Draco, who was lying on his bed, fully-dressed, in the position in which he normally slept – on his back, with his arms crossed over his chest. “How can you sleep like that?” Harry demanded, sounding aggrieved. “You sleep like a vampire bat. It’s…unnatural.”

“My mum used to say I slept like a little baby angel,” said Draco, unfazed.

Harry commenced pacing again. He had been pacing up and down the room since they had left Lupin’s office, and it was now five o’clock in the afternoon. Draco sighed, sat up, and unfolded his arms. He hadn’t really wanted to go to sleep anyway, he was frankly afraid that if he did, he would have another nightmare. “Potter…”

“I just can’t believe I haven’t heard from Ron yet. I mean, she was staying with them at the Burrow, if she’s gone off somewhere then he must know about it…”

“Well, that was his owl he sent this morning, maybe he hasn’t got another?”

Harry sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “It’s possible, I guess.” He looked up at Draco. “You know what? You’re right. Pacing is stupid. I’m not gonna pace any more.”

“Good,” said Draco, in relief.

“I’m going to fly to the Burrow instead.”

“What? That’s the most ridiculous-” Draco broke off. “Actually,” he said grudgingly, “that makes a lot of sense. We can’t be more than what, four hours from there by broomstick? If we leave now, we can be there at nine, and back here for breakfast. It’s a lot better than waiting around for some stupid owl.”

Harry was looking at him with a half-smile. “We?”

“I’m going with you,” said Draco, standing up, and pulling his black travelling cloak out of his trunk.

Harry reached for his own cloak. “Is this the part where you tell me that we’re a team now?”

“No,” said Draco, straightening up. “This is the part where I tell you that if you don’t bring me with you I’ll go right to Lupin and tell him you’ve flown to England, and when you get back, they’ll expell you.”

Harry reached for his broom. “You wouldn’t tell on me, would you, Malfoy?”

“I have made a long and brilliant career out of telling on you, Potter. Don’t’ think I’m going to stop now.”

***

When she heard the knock on the door, Ginny ran to answer it, half-hoping it would be Hermione, having seen sense and returned to the Burrow.

But it wasn’t Hermione.

She recognized the person at the door immediately. Hating someone as much as she hated him had branded a certain image of him into her mind. He looked different than he had a year ago – taller, much browner, and if possible, even blonder – but it was definitely Draco Malfoy, wearing a black travelling cloak and carrying a broomstick in one hand.

“Hallo,” he said, looking at her as if he didn’t quite remember who she was. “It’s Ginny, right? Is your brother home?”

She shut the door in his face and stood there, glaring at it.

There was a moment of stunned silence from the other side of the door. Then another voice spoke, a very familiar voice, causing Ginny to jump.

“Gin,” said Harry’s voice cautiously, “It’s me. I’m, um, out here with Malfoy. Would you mind letting us in?”

If Harry had asked Ginny to set the house on fire, she probably would have done it. She opened the door and looked mistrustfully at the two boys standing on the doorstep – Draco, looking startled, and Harry – tired and pale but so familiarly Harry, with the same green eyes and untidy hair and lightning-bolt scar. He was taller, too, and he was holding his Firebolt in one hand.

“It’s good to see you, Ginny,” he said, although he looked a little wary. “Everything all right?”

Ginny felt her lip trembling. “Harry,” she said. “Oh, Harry. We’ve been so worried. Hermione -“

Ron appeared behind Ginny, saw Harry, and then saw Draco. He didn’t smile, but said, “You two had better come in.”

Draco looked at Harry, who was looking startled at this unusually cold reception. Harry shrugged, and they both stepped over the threshold and followed Ron and Ginny into the kitchen.

***

“I bet you must have passed the owl we sent in midair on your way here,” said Ron. All four of them were sitting around the Weasley’s kitchen table, drinking tea. Draco was also methodically working his way through a jar of peanuts. Harry, who wasn’t hungry, had just finished exchanging information with Ron and Ginny regarding the events of the past two days, from the news in the Daily Prophet to the contents of Hermione’s letter to Harry. “Pig was too tired to go all the way back to Ireland again, so we had to get a municipal owl from the post office in town.”

Harry barely appeared to hear this; he seemed lost in thought. “So, when she left…she seemed odd to you?”

“I told you that already,” said Ron with a hint of impatience. “I mean, besides the sizeable weirdness involved in her going off with Krum in the first place yes, she seemed odd.”

“I think he used a love potion on her,” said Ginny firmly. “I know they’re illegal, but he’s got a lot of money and knows a lot of people, I bet he could get hold of one.”

“But if all he was trying to do was get her to fall in love with him, then what’s all this misdirection stuff about them going to Bulgaria, when he’s right there in London? And if he’s in London, then where is Hermione?” said Draco.

“Maybe she doesn’t want us to know where she is,” said Harry. “Maybe she wants us to leave her alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Draco. “Look, if she’s really been in love with Krum all this time, then-” He broke off. He had been about to say “then she would have seen Krum in the mirror of Erised and not you,” but he didn’t know if Ron and Ginny knew about the mirror, and it was rather personal to Harry. Odd to know something about Harry that they didn’t. “Well, then, why didn’t she stay with him in Bulgaria when she had the chance two years ago? Instead of having Ron come and retrieve her? She couldn’t have been having that great of a time.”

“She was only fourteen then,” said Harry quietly.

“Why is it,” said Draco, his voice rising impatiently, “that out of all of us, YOU are the only one who seems prepared to believe that she left here of her own free will?”

“I don’t,” said Harry irritably. “I’m just don’t think that haring after Viktor Krum in a mad jealous rage is going to -“

“Haring after Viktor Krum in a mad jealous rage is exactly what you should be doing!” retorted Draco. “The question remains: did she or did she not run off with Krum? And who’s going to know the answer to that better than the Man Himself? I suggest we find him, posthaste, and ask politely. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll hold him down and threaten to shave off his eyebrow.”

Ron cleared his throat. “I agree with Malfoy,” he said, looking slightly sick to his stomach, as if the words “I agree with Malfoy” agreed with him about as much as a double helping of Cockroach Clusters. “When we read in the paper that Viktor Krum was in London after all, we got right back in touch with Percy and he told us that all the international Quidditch players are staying at the World Quidditch Club off Diagon Alley. I think we should go there and talk to him -“

“I’ve been there,” said Draco. “With my father. There’s a lot of security, I mean those Quidditch stars, they’re real celebrities. We can’t just stroll in.”

“Well, I thought I could pretend to be Percy,” said Ron hopefully. “I mean, we do look a bit alike, and I could say I’m Percy Weasley and I need to see Viktor Krum -“

“Why?” interrupted Draco. He was looking at Ron with narrowed gray eyes. “Why do you need to see Viktor Krum?”

“Well,” said Ron, “I hadn’t worked that bit out yet, but -“

“This,” said Draco, “is why you should let me do the planning.”

“You?” said Ron, standing up and glaring at him.

“I’m the one in Slytherin,” said Draco coolly, standing up as well and returning the glare. “I’m the shrewd, underhanded one. I come up with the cunning plans around here, not you. You wouldn’t know a cunning plan if it painted itself blue and danced naked on a harpsichord singing ‘Cunning plans are here again’!”

“That is not true!” yelled Ron, losing his head somewhat. “I have come up with very cunning plans!”

“You’re in Gryffindor!” sneered Draco. “Your idea of a cunning plan is ‘Everybody on the count of three’!”

Ron lunged at Draco – just as Harry stepped between them. Ron collided with Harry, knocking him into the stove and bruising his own elbow in the process. A number of pots and pans clattered to the floor, and the mirror that hung over the stove shouted “Watch what you’re doing, clumsy!“

Ron rubbed his bruised elbow. “Damn it, Harry,” he said wrathfully. “Why’d you do that?”

Harry stood up, looking furious. “All right, Ron. We need to talk. Outside. Now.”

Still rubbing his elbow, Ron followed Harry out into the dark garden, leaving Ginny and Draco standing alone in the kitchen, looking nonplussed. Harry and Ron had walked about ten feet from the house when Harry whirled around and said angrily, “What the hell is up with you, Ron, letting Malfoy get to you like that? You know he’s just trying to annoy you! He probably doesn’t even have a plan!”

“What the hell is up with me?” Ron demanded. Usually when he was angry he flushed as red as his hair, but he seemed to have passed beyond mere anger into a livid state of fury in which each freckle stood out on his white face like an inkblot. “What the hell is up with you, Harry? Did I give you permission to bring Malfoy to my house? Did I? You know what his father did to my father! You know how my family feels about the Malfoys! What do you think my parents would say if they knew he was here?”

Some of the color had drained out of Harry’s face. “Ron, I didn’t think–“

“Yeah, that’s just it, you didn’t think! You don’t ever think any more! What’s happened to you, Harry?”

“Other than my girlfriend running off with a seven-foot Bulgarian Quidditch player?”

Ron threw up his hands. “Don’t even try to pass this off on Hermione running away,” he snapped. He was positively shaking with anger. “You show up here, all buddy-buddy with Malfoy, ‘Oh, Malfoy’s my roommate, Malfoy’s my bestest friend, Malfoy’s gonna be my brother, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.’ And you know what kind of person he is!”

“He saved my life,” said Harry.

“He just saved your life to get in Hermione’s pants,” said Ron in a cold voice.

“Didn’t work,” replied Harry, trying to grin.

“You don’t know that,” said Ron flatly.

Harry’s grin disappeared. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny!” yelled Ron. “I’m trying to make you wake up and see sense! He’s not your friend!”

“I know,” said Harry.

Ron paused and looked at him in surprise.

“He’s not my friend,” said Harry. “I don’t know what he is. I do know that I can trust him, at least where Hermione’s concerned. And where I’m concerned. He was willing to die for me. You can’t say that about a lot of people.” Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was already standing up in an alarmingly Gothic manner. “You’re my best friend,” he said. “You know why? Because I chose you to be my friend. I didn’t choose to have Malfoy in my life, but he is and not much I can do about it.”

Some of the anger had faded out of Ron’s expression. He looked tired now, leaning against the side of the house with his left hand cradling his bruised elbow. “I just don’t get where Malfoy’s trustworthy.”

“Two reasons,” said Harry. “One: Hermione loves him and as we all know, she is not stupid.”

“You’re losing me again,” said Ron. “Why is it okay that Hermione loves him?”

“I said she loved him, I didn’t say she was in love with him. She loves you, too, if it comes down to that, and I’m not beating the crap out of you, am I?”

Ron sighed. “You’re either hugely self-confident or woefully deluded,” he said, “and I’m not sure which.”

“The second reason,” said Harry, holding up a finger, “and the most important…” He pulled his jacket open, unzipped an inside pocket, and took out a very battered object, which he handed to Ron.

Ron stared. “The Sneakoscope….the one I bought for you in Cairo! I didn’t even know you still had it.”

Harry was smiling. “It never goes off when Malfoy’s around,” he said. “Ergo…he’s trustworthy.”

“Ergo….it’s broken,” said Ron, but smiled grudgingly back.

“Nuh-uh,” said Harry. “It’s gone off a couple other times. When Malfoy and I were talking to Lupin; and I’m pretty sure there was stuff he wasn’t telling us.”

“Really?” said Ron, interested. “Like what?”

“Well, different things. And when we went into his office he shoved his copy of the Daily Prophet into his desk. I think he didn’t want me reading about the Dementors vanishing.”

“Well, he knows you’re sort of…allergic to Dementors,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “But I can’t believe he thinks I’m as fragile as all that. I mean after everything I’ve been through -” He glanced at Ron. “Everything we’ve been through, I should say. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.” Harry looked faintly embarrassed now, but plowed ahead bravely. “When Sirius and Narcissa get married, Malfoy’ll be my brother, technically…but you’re my brother, really. I mean, if I could choose a brother, it’d be you.”

Ron was now slightly pink around the ears, but looked pleased. “Well,” he said. “I mean. Same here.”

Harry looked at him and grinned. “Now what? Do we share a manly embrace?”

“Nah. I think we’re too inhibited.” He hit Harry lightly on the shoulder. “I think we do that instead.”

“Right,” said Harry, and hit him back. “And then I think we’d better go back inside, before your sister eviscerates Malfoy with a toasting fork.”

***

In terms of his assessment of the success of Draco and Ginny’s interaction, Harry was not far off. As soon as Harry and her brother had left the kitchen, Ginny walked over to the table, sat down in a chair, crossed her arms, and glared at Draco.

He looked back at her, unfazed by her glare. He was used to being glared at. “You look different,” he said.

“Good different or bad different?” said Ginny, with unwilling curiosity.

“Good different,” said Draco. “You just got back from some foreign exchange program, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Ginny, playing absentmindedly with her tea saucer. “Have you traveled much?”

“Not unless you count the time my father tried to sell me to itinerant trolls.”

Ginny frowned at Draco, who was looking back at her with a look of bland amusement on his face. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“If I was trying to be funny,” Draco assured her, “you would be rolling around on the ground laughing.”

“Still think a lot of yourself, I see,” said Ginny. “Same old Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes flashed. “Still in love with Harry, I see,” he said with soft malice. “Same old Ginny.”

Going scarlet, Ginny slammed her tea saucer down on the table and stood up. “No wonder Hermione picked Harry over you,” she said as nastily as she possibly could. “You’re hateful.”

And she stormed off.

Draco watched her go. “Was it something I said?” he yelled after her, but she was out of earshot, so this was unsatisfying.

At that moment, the screen door opened, and Ron and Harry came in. Ron looked pointedly at the empty space where his sister had been sitting. “Where’s Ginny?”

Draco had wiped the look of anger off his face and was looking innocent. “She ran off,” he said.

“What did you do to scare her away, Malfoy?”

“Nothing,” said Draco blandly, “She is afraid of her love for me.”

Ron looked as if he were about to say something, but Harry interrupted him. “Can we return to the matter at hand?” he said. “As in Hermione, and where she’s got to?”

“Right,” said Ron and Draco together.

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay. We’re going to have to look through Hermione’s stuff. See if there’s any clue as to where she might be. But I, uh, don’t want to do it. Draco…how do you feel about going through her stuff without permission?”

“I feel pretty okay about it,” said Draco.

“Somehow this is not surprising,” said Harry.

“Right then,” said Draco, and got up. “I’m off,” and he took off running up the stairs. They heard him open the door to Hermione’s room, then close it behind him. Then there was silence.

Harry and Ron looked at one another. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Ron.

“Yeah,” said Harry, and got to his feet. They clattered up the stairs together and paused in front of the door to Hermione’s room. “Malfoy!” yelled Harry. “Did you find anything yet?”

“No!” Draco yelled back. “But I read her diary and tried on all her clothes.”

Rolling his eyes, Ron pushed the door open. Draco was standing in the center of Hermione’s room, his arms crossed over his chest and an odd expression on his face. The room was beautifully neat, as Hermione’s room always was. Her trunk lay, untouched, on her bed.

Harry grinned, he couldn’t help it. “You couldn’t do it!” he crowed.

Draco looked very cross indeed. “I tried,” he said. “I tried to go through her stuff, but I got these weird twisty feelings in my stomach.”

“On Earth, we call those scruples,” said Ron.

“Oh for goodness sake!” said an impatient voice. It was Ginny. She squeezed between Harry and Ron and stalked into the room. “Let me do it. I’m a girl, she’s a girl, it’s for her own good. Now back off, Malfoy,” she snapped, and Draco, to his own surprise, did so, giving Ginny space to unlock Hermione’s trunk and rifle through it. She did so, and, finding nothing, turned her attention to the desk, the drawers of which turned out to be mostly empty. Under the desk, however, she found a crumpled piece of paper, which she unfolded, read, and handed wordlessly to Harry.

He looked at it, and bit his lip. It was the letter that Hermione had started writing the day before and never finished, unable to find the right appellation for Harry. All it said was: dearest Harry…darling Harry…Harry, my love.

He looked up, and met Ginny’s eyes across the room. “You don’t really think there’s the slightest chance she went off with Viktor of her own free will, do you?” said Ginny, sounding tired. “Harry? Do you?”

He looked down at the paper again, then folded it up and put it in his pocket. “Let’s go talk to Viktor Krum,” he said.

“Hooray!” said Draco. “Let’s go kick Viktor Krum’s ass.”

“We are not going to kick his ass,” said Ron. “We are going to pump him for information.”

“Right,” agreed Draco cheerfully. “And if that doesn’t work, then ass-kicking makes a solid backup plan.”

“Speaking of plans,” said Harry, and turned to Draco, “What was your brilliant plan for getting us into the London Quidditch Club?”

***

“Er, hello,” said Harry to the security wizard at the front desk of the Quidditch Club, which turned out to be a large and extremely beautiful hotel-like building off of Diagon Alley. It was set back from the road, but they had recognized it immediately as they flew over it by the flag that fluttered from its roof : two crossed broomsticks on a red background, surrounded by a circle of golden stars. “I’m Harry Potter, and I want to see Viktor Krum.”

The security wizard snorted. “Get along with you,” he said, not looking up. Harry turned around and looked at Ron and Draco, who were standing behind him, looking encouraging. (Ginny had remained at the Burrow on the off chance that Hermione might try to contact them there.)

Harry turned back to the wizard. “I’m Harry Potter,” he said, again. “And I want to see Viktor Krum. He’s expecting me.”

“You’re not -” said the guard, looked up, and broke off, staring from Harry’s glasses to his lightning scar. “Cor,” he said. “You are Harry Potter, aren’t you?”

“For sixteen years now,” said Harry evenly.

“Is it true you might be playing Quidditch for England next year?” said the wizard, looking open-mouthed at Harry.

Harry winked at him. “It’s possible,” he said. “Viktor was going to introduce me to some of the English players, you know. Try to exert a little influence.”

The wizard looked ecstatic. “Harry Potter, playing Quidditch for England!” he exclaimed.

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” said Harry, leaning an elbow on the desk. “It’s meant to be a secret.”

“Oh, right, right,” said the security wizard hastily. “And I’ll ring up to Mr. Krum for you right away,” he added eagerly. “He left word he wasn’t to be disturbed, but seeing as it’s you, Harry — can I call you Harry?”

“Of course you can,” said Harry, smiling benignly. Usually he loathed everything having to do with his fame in the wizarding world, but at the moment he found himself enjoying it a bit.

The wizard turned to the wall behind him, on which was a panel displaying a row of numbered buttons. He tapped one with his wand, and said, “Mr. Krum? Are you there?”

A very tiny image of Viktor Krum’s face appeared on the smooth surface of the button. He looked cross. “Vot do you vant?”

“Harry Potter and -” He looked enquiringly at Draco and Ron.

“They’re friends of mine,” said Harry.

“-And his friends, are here to see you.”

There was a short silence. Then Krum said, “Very well. I vill see him,” and vanished.

Harry expelled his held breath as the wizard turned to him and smiled. “The Bulgarian team is upstairs on the second floor,” he said. “Krum’s is the first door on your right. And – can I have your autograph?”

***

“See,” said Draco, as they started up the staircase. “The best plans are the simplest ones, just like the best lies are founded on a grain of truth.”

“Is that a Malfoy family saying?” said Ron, acidly. “I’d like to hear the rest of them.”

“My favorite was always ‘You can get more with a kind word and a really big stick than you can with just a kind word,'” said Draco cheerfully. “My father used to say that. Oh look, here we are.”

Harry knocked on the door, which was opened a moment later by Viktor Krum, wearing his red Bulgarian Quidditch robes and looking irritable. “Harry,” he said, glanced with recognition at Ron, and blankly at Draco. “It’s good to see you, but it is rather late, is it not?”

“I need to ask you something, Viktor,” said Harry. “It’s – it’s about Hermione.”

Looking startled, Viktor stepped back and allowed all three of them to walk into his room, which, given the luxurious nature of the rest of the Club, was actually quite spartan. There was a simple bed as well as a table and some chairs, and Quidditch equipment everywhere.

Viktor did not suggest that they sit down, nor did he look particularly welcoming in any way. Instead he turned, crossed his arms over his chest, and growled, “Vell? Vot is this about?”

Looking at Krum standing in front of Harry and Draco, Ron began to see the foolhardiness inherent in their plan. For all Draco’s talk of kicking Viktor Krum’s ass, it was evident that this was an unlikely proposition. Both Harry and Draco were built along the same lines – wiry and slender. Viktor Krum, on the other hand, was both extremely tall and extremely wide — not fat, but burly. He could have bench-pressed Harry and had energy left over to toss Draco the length of an Olympic swimming pool.

Wordlessly, Harry reached into his pocket, extracted Hermione’s letter, and handed it to Viktor, who took it and read it. When he glanced up, there was obvious astonishment on his face. “This letter,” he said, “it is really from Herm-my-own-ninny?”

Harry nodded. “I’d know her writing anywhere.”

“It is a joke, then,” said Viktor, handing the letter back to Harry. “I haff not seen Her-my-own-ninny in two years. And I certainly haff not-I mean, I haff never-” He shrugged. “Well, as you can see, I am not in Bulgaria. I do not know the meaning of this letter.”

“Did you write to her and ask her to meet you at the Leaky Cauldron?” asked Draco.

Krum shook his head. “I did not.”

“I saw Hermione,” said Ron. “Last night. She said she was leaving with you, for Bulgaria. She got onto a broomstick with you–well, it was dark, but it looked a lot like you.”

Viktor was looking distinctly uneasy now. “I do not know where she is,” he said. “I tell you, I haff not seen Her-my-own-ninny – I haff no memory of seeing her -“

“Then if you don’t mind my asking,” said Harry, “where were you last night?”

Viktor opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked from Harry to Draco, to Ron, all of whom were staring at him. Then he said, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” echoed Ron.

“No,” said Krum, looking very unhappy now. “Yesterday, I have Quidditch practice in the morning. Then, I come back here. I think perhaps I go to sleep, because when I wake up this morning, I do not remember anything I did yesterday. I think perhaps I had the flu, or was overtired.”

“So you’re saying you just don’t remember anything from yesterday or last night?” said Harry in disbelief.

“That is correct,” said Krum.

“And on the day the words ‘flimsy excuse’ were reinvented,” said Draco, “we all stood around in awe and watched.”

“I tell you, it is the truth!” shouted Krum, looking agitated. “I haff no memory of yesterday! And when I wake up this morning I am very alarmed because -” He broke off.

“Because what?” said Harry, narrowing his eyes.

Krum’s expression of unhappiness deepened. It was evident he was fighting some sort of strong internal battle. Finally he sighed, and said, half to himself, “I suppose I must…I suppose I had better…”

“What?” prompted Harry, now nearly desperate with anxiety.

“When I wake up this morning, I see this,” said Krum, and pulled up his sleeves. He held out his arms for their inspection.

Deep scratches ran up Krum’s forearms and his left wrist was braceleted by five dark red, half-moon-shaped indentations. Harry knew immediately what they were. The marks of nails that had been driven into Krum’s wrist — driven by someone who was trying pull his hands away? He had a sudden image of Hermione, struggling as Krum clamped their hand over her mouth, and felt suddenly, violently ill.

But it was Draco who reacted first. He had his wand out and was pointing it at Krum before either Harry or Ron had moved.

“I am telling you,” said Krum, looking desperately unhappy and still holding his mangled wrists out in front of him. “I do not remember anything!”

“We’ll just see about that,” said Draco, shoving the tip of his wand into Krum’s sternum. “Veritas!”

***

Waking up was like rising slowly upward through dark, murky water. Hermione lay still for several moments, drifting in the inchoate gray space between sleeping and waking. Vague images passed before her closed eyelids — a plume of black smoke, a clearing between dark, wet trees, a train. Faces she didn’t recognize. Then Harry’s face, looking tired and worried. But why?

Hermione opened her eyes. It took a moment for them to focus on her surroundings. Then she sat up, and stared around her in astonishment.

She was lying on the floor of a small, circular room, no bigger than her room back at the Burrow, although the ceiling of this room was at least fifteen feet high. But this room was built out of stone blocks, blocks that looked very, very ancient. There was a door in one wall, made of oak and crisscrossed with strips of iron, that looked almost as old as the walls. One window, high above her head and shuttered with iron bars, let in a tiny amount of gray light. The room was completely unfurnished, except for a quantity of straw piled on the floor. It was this straw on which Hermione had been lying.

A sense of disorientation more intense then any she had ever experienced washed over her. These surroundings were not just unfamiliar but alien, and in no way corresponded to where she had expected to wake up — safely tucked in bed at the Burrow. Hermione cast her mind back desperately — where could she possibly be? The last thing she remembered was walking into the Leaky Cauldron with Ginny – seeing Viktor there – she had followed him into the back room, and then –

There was a loud rattling noise. Hermione looked up in panic, and saw the knob of the enormous door beginning to turn. She tried to stand up, but couldn’t – her legs were still too wobbly. Instead, she skittered backwards on her elbows, away from the door.

It opened slowly and a tall, hooded figure entered the room. He — if it was a he– wore a floor-length wizard’s robe of thick green velvet, banded with silver at the throat, and gloves of black satin.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask where she was, how she had gotten her, but her throat had closed up and no sound came out.

The wizard raised his hands very slowly, took hold of the hood of his cloak, and drew it back.

Hermione screamed.

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Author notes: References:

1) Whosoever comes across such an object must know that it is a Talisman of Purest Evil, and should only be dealt with in a manner pursuant to its destruction. The Evil Overlord List. Linked to from the end of Chapter Three.

2) You wouldn’t know a cunning plan if it painted itself blue and danced naked on a harpsichord singing ‘Cunning plans are here again’!” Blackadder.

3)”Right,” agreed Draco cheerfully. “And if that doesn’t work, then ass-kicking makes a solid backup plan.” — Buffy.

4) ‘You can get more with a kind word and a really big stick than you can with just a kind word.” Al Capone once said “‘You can get more with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word.”

All art by Starling.