Title: Shades of Surrender--Chapter 6
Author: Wandwaver
Rating: PG
Summary: It's been years since the diary of Tom Riddle has been seen, but the memory of it and its owner's voice have never stopped haunting young Ginny Weasley. Her determination to move on with her life is weighted down by her fear for her family as rumors of the Dark Lord's whereabouts spread about like fire. Yet no one knows for sure where the evil Lord is, and Ginny feels helpless as she watches Harry struggle to hold in his burdens and keep his friends safe. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is discovering that the discontent that has followed him all of his life can, indeed, give him impetus to question the established rules he's been raised under. But will he have the courage to cut the ties that bind him and set adrift, especially when it seems he's preordained to follow the family? And what does the Dark Lord want with some moldy old book that's been damged seemingly beyond repair?
Author's Note: The ideas for the Weasley inventions stem from a random Book Five website which made predictions regarding the content of Book Six and the concept of the patronage networks was sparked by an essay on Live Journal. I'd considered the idea before but not in as great detail. Let me know what you think!
Chapter Six- Consequences
"As I cross the boundary
Unwilling to wait"
Gred and Forge's Industrious Enterprises
The weekend for the Hogsmeade visit dawned clear and fine. There was, however, a slight shadow cast over the usual excitement due to the fact that the students were to be accompanied by carriages lead by Thestrals and certain members of staff and students who had been designated to oversee the occasion. There had been suggestions that Harry merited his own guard, which he had promptly sought to veto by agreeing, somewhat reluctantly, to remain underneath his invisibility cloak for the majority of the duration of the trip. This had the added advantage of ensuring to some extent that they would not be missed when they Apparated to Diagon Alley. Hermione had given repeated instructions from her manual in the privacy of the Room of Requirement to guard against the possibility of Splinching until Ron had forcibly removed it from her. By that stage they had been able to repeat Steps One through to Six in unison - and had in fact done so to prove the point. Hermione had been less than impressed.
***
The doorbell to No.93, Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, gave a loud clang! as Harry, Hermione and Ron hurried through, accompanied by Ginny. Ginny had insisted upon seeing her brothers and Ron had been incapable of dissuading her in light of the fact that she had been somewhat vocal in her protests. Neville had remained behind in order to cultivate the impression that Harry was in Hogsmeade as opposed to in fact within his current location.
"Harry, mate! Good to see you!" Fred exclaimed as they ushered though the door. He moved in between haphazardly stocked shelves featuring Model 2 Wildfire Whiz-bangs and Skiving Snackboxes amongst other intriguing packages to greet them.
"Glad you could make it, old bean," George added, grinning good naturedly. Ginny rushed forward to give both of her brothers an affectionate hug, whilst Ron indulged in brotherly slaps on the back.
"Looks like you're pretty busy here," Ron commented, moving out of the way as a couple of customers perused the shelves for Instant Beard Growth.
"We're doing all right," Fred said.
"Definitely all right," George added.
"Bill told me you wanted to see us," Harry interjected quietly.
"We did," Fred said. "See, we had something we wanted to show you. You'll have to come through to the back room for that though. Not in here." George held open a door and ushered them through one by one.
"We've been working on a few ideas," Fred began.
"We can see that," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows slightly. The small workshop was crammed with ingredients and materials. A cock eyed version of what looked very much like the Sorting Hat hung precariously from a giant rocket leaning in a corner, whilst a rectangular tub contained remnants of the swamp which was also gracing the corridors of Hogwarts in honour of the twins' rebellion against Umbridge.
"How did you get hold of that?" Ron asked, gesturing at the tub.
"You didn't think we'd used it all last year, did you?" Fred said. "Much too good an opportunity to miss."
"We wanted to make a few adjustments to the formula though." George added.
"Like what?" Ginny inquired, grinning slightly.
"For a start, this one's portable," Freed explained.
"Plus it expands," George said.
"How do you mean expands?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Exactly what he said," Fred continued. "It multiplies itself once placed within a specific location until it extends to depths of up to 30 feet."
"Nice one!" Ginny murmured. "Do the Order know yet?"
"Is the Muggle Pope Catholic?" Fred countered.
Ron was looking slightly bemused. Clearly he hadn't quite cottoned on yet. Hermione gave him a slight nudge and the cogs began to turn. Gradually, realisation dawned.
"Oh!" he said. It clearly hadn't hit him before that Fred or George would put their ingenuity and inventive energies into preparations for the fight against Voldemort.
"What are these then?" Ginny asked. She had moved towards the rocket on its launcher and was casting a professional eye over it.
"The Disarming Firework," Fred said. "Careful with it. It's still a bit temperamental. We haven't worked out all the kinks in the system yet."
"A headless hat," George said, nodding his head in the direction of the headwear which bore a similarity to the Sorting Hat. He gave a quick demonstration. Sure enough, as the apparel covered his face, his visage also disappeared from view. It became impossible to tell precisely who he was.
"Can you even see in that?" Hermione asked sceptically. George immediately removed the hat from his head to display a couple of cleverly hidden eyeholes.
"Ta da!" he exclaimed triumphantly. Hermione nodded slowly.
"These are just the first set of ideas. There are bound to be loads more," Fred said. "We just haven't thought of them yet."
"We also wanted to give you an update on the Ministry situation," Fred said. "Too risky to communicate by any other means."
"What's new?" Hermione asked, a small frown appearing between her brows.
"Following on from the Umbridge atrocities Fudge has been officially exposed," Fred explained. "They're calling for a replacement."
"Has Fudge been found yet?" Harry inquired.
"No such luck," George said. "They're not holding out much hope though. Everything's going through in his absence."
"Makes sense, I suppose," Ginny said. "Can't have a Ministry without a Minister of Magic."
"Who are they suggesting?" Hermione asked sharply.
"You'll never guess!" Fred laughed.
"Go on!" said George.
"Your father," Hermione said.
"Well . . . yes," said Fred, shrugging.
"Amongst others," George clarified.
"Mum's so not going to be happy about that!" Ron exclaimed. Catapulting the family into the wizarding spotlight solely by reason of their association with the Ministry . . . .Never mind to mention the potential danger of accepting the job . . . After all, they still hadn't found whatever might remain of the last Minister. . .
"He won't accept," Ginny said. The others looked at her. "He won't!" Ginny protested. "He's far too junior within the Ministry."
Hermione was already nodding her agreement with the bald statement whilst Ron shot her daggers. "He's a good man, Ron, he works hard and he's earned a great deal of respect for his work to campaign for greater recognition of Muggle kind within the wizarding world but he's too kind hearted for the wider world of politics. Be realistic! Dumbledore will make a good choice."
"Dumbledore?" he echoed.
"That's what he's been called away for, remember?" Hermione explained impatiently.
"Why doesn't Dumbledore just do the job himself?" Ron asked.
"I doubt he'd want to," Hermione said doubtfully. "I'm sure he's busy trying to rebuild the Ministry and influence the development of the justice system as it stands as well as oversee Hogwarts to even have the time." Ron kind of got the point. "Amos Diggory might stand," she suggested.
"We'd better be getting back before we're missed," Harry said. He nodded to the others and they exited hastily to Apparate back to Hogsmeade in time for the Thestral ride to the grounds of Hogwarts.
******
In Dreams
She was walking down a long, winding corridor. It stretched before her with no foreseeable end. She walked along its meandering length, conscious that there was somewhere she needed to be, something she needed to do. Her pace quickened slightly, almost without her noticing. It was dark but yet she could still see her way. She didn't question the fact. This wasn't the time. Nor, somehow, she suspected, the place.
She was there. Before him. The old feelings of helplessness and insecurity threatened to overwhelm her once more in deference to the tall, sloe haired figure before her. "Tom," she whispered. How was it possible that he could be surrounded by light, consumed by the darkness as he was? He was watching her intently, eyes narrowed. Observing the changes in her expression. First shock, then fear, carefully and quickly masked by bravado.
"Virginia." Just the one word. Her name. He raised his hand towards her, passing a small object across. Of her own volition, her hand stretched across the void between them to take it. It was a rose. Yellow in colour. As she removed it from Tom's misty aura the petals curled upon themselves, withered and died. Ginny dropped it hastily.
"Virginia," Tom said again, the word almost seeming to form an audible caress. "So keen to spill your blood for me? How times have changed."
Ginny looked hastily towards her hands. Sure enough, one of the thorns from the rose had pricked her finger and a few drops of the bright red liquid stained her skin. She wiped them away, attempting to refrain from shivering. Chills, real or imagined, were running up and down her spine.
"You betrayed me," Tom said calmly. "Tried to destroy me. Don't you know you can't escape me, Ginny? You can't ever escape. You've tried." He was staring at her, taking strength from her silence, her lack of protest. Ginny hesitated. What to say to make him go away?
"You think you know me. You don't."
"I know every syllable of you," Tom said.
"I don't believe anyone knows anyone else like that. There's always something kept back. Otherwise where's the sense of self preservation? We all have secrets. You taught me that."
He inclined his head graciously.
"You don't own me, Tom. You never did," she stated clearly. "I'm not your possession to pick up and discard at will."
"Oh, but you are," Tom Riddle returned. "You all are. Pawns in my game. My playing pieces." His eyes were feline. He said, "Do you love me?"
Ginny longed to say that what she had once thought love had been something else entirely, an unhealthy cancour which had eaten away at her until there was little else left . . . but that was the wrong move to make. Instinctively, she knew that. She was older now, perhaps a modicum wiser. The silence stretched until she could no longer avoid giving an answer and, when she was forced to it, it had the ring of truth. "Can you tell me what love is?" Question for a question. Challenge to the challenger.
Tom's mouth curved slightly. "A new and improved Weasley. Makes for an interesting journey. Time is short, Virginia - but bear in mind, I'm closer than you think," he warned.
Ginny longed to tell him to go to hell but she had a feeling they might already be there.
**********
The Quidditch Fields
Ginny was nervous. For once in her life she was genuinely nervous before mounting a broom. She had thought she had spent enough time sneaking into the shed at The Burrows for Fred or George's broom to practice manoeuvres that it had removed any vestige of fear from her body. Injuries hadn't stopped her. She'd Healed minor ailments before anyone could notice. Of course, the source of her nerves had nothing to do with Quidditch itself. Malfoy was the problem. She'd managed to avoid seeing him easily enough ever since the incident at the Astronomy Tower, trying to get her head around the fact that Draco Malfoy had kissed her of his own volition and she had simply stood there and let him. She also felt unsettled by one of the most vivid dreams she had had about Riddle in a while. She had learned to deal with them, of course. She'd had to - but every so often they seemed to flare up with a vengeance leaving her irritable due to lack of sleep and drained. It didn't help her train of thought at this precise moment in time since her brain seemed sluggish and unwilling to respond. Need to wake up! she thought desperately. Ginny took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She was beginning to wonder if the whole incident wasn't just some big joke on Malfoy's part. Perhaps to distract her from the match at hand? There was no conceivable reason why Draco Malfoy should even attempt to be nice to her - and why the hell was she even wasting so much of her time thinking about a kiss which had had the shortest duration of any she had experienced, anyway? Still, Draco Malfoy had kissed her. There had to be a reason. She'd never seen him do anything without there being something in it for him. Something to gain. It worried her that the truth of the matter was so elusive.
"You ready, Ginny?" Seamus asked, cutting into her thoughts.
"Absolutely," she replied, casting thoughts of the Astronomy Tower and Draco's lips from her mind. She hadn't heard a word of Harry's pre-match pep talk, so she hoped he hadn't mentioned anything vital in the way of tactics. There was a light drizzle as the team walked out onto the pitch in their scarlet robes to face the green and silver of the Slytherins. Ginny had been trying to discount the fact that she would face Malfoy for the match. She glanced briefly in his direction without making eye contact. Damn him! If he thought he could distract her enough from her game with one shoddy kiss he had another thing coming! Madam Hooch commanded both teams to mount their brooms and the game got under way to the harsh blast of the whistle.
Ginny rose sharply and took up her initial playing position.
********
Draco was hovering, awaiting the release of the Snitch, searching for its tiny golden wings. Even playing against Potter he loved flying. He always had, right from childhood. The speed, the height. Up here he could be above everything and everybody. Except that on this particular occasion he was distracted by another golden target. The red gold mane of Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor Chaser as she wove in and out of the Slytherin team with the Quaffle, intent upon securing points for her team. Draco wished he hadn't noticed her but he had and now he found himself unable to look away, forced to recall his move on her of the previous week. Of course, he'd had to do it. There hadn't been a choice. He knew that. Then why did he still feel like he had committed himself to an action which had damned him irretrievably? Was it the fact that he's been forced into close proximity with a Weasley and the world hadn't ceased turning? Was it the fact that she hadn't immediately and irrevocably rejected him precisely as he'd expected? He tried to ignore the way his hands had tangled within her curls of their own volition as he brought her face towards his own or the warmth of her skin underneath his own. After all, it didn't mean a thing. He'd done it as a means to an end. To prevent valuable information reaching suspect sources. His father would understand. Draco shuddered imperceptibly. His father bloody well wouldn't. He sincerely hoped for his sake the Oportet spell had removed all memory of the kiss along with the conversation preceding it. He had a funny feeling, however, that his instructions had been precise enough to direct any memory loss specifically at Blaise's words only. He wasn't fool enough to mess around with complete amnesia and have her wandering around with no concept of her identity - let alone the fact that that would raise more questions than he could afford for there to be answers to. That didn't solve his immediate problem, however. Never mind his father - if he didn't do for him, Pansy definitely would! This despite the fact that he had remained less than encouraging of her advances. "*****," he muttered. What a mess! Would she keep quiet? He supposed that fact that Weasley hadn't tried to rearrange his face as soon as they walked onto the pitch to face one another was a clear indication that she hadn't yet. Would she stay quiet? There was no reason to suspect this was necessarily the case. Everyone seemed to know about the rest of her little conquests. Maybe crossing the Great Divide would be the one thing which would guarantee getting Potty's attention once and for all. He presumed that was what the boyfriends were all about. He would just have to make her stay quiet. Warn her of the dire consequences of wronging a Malfoy.
*********
As soon as Ginny had taken up her playing position she had found a sort of casual disregard settling over herself and she knew that she was going to perform well within this particular Quidditch game. She had had this particular feeling once or twice before, on good days, and it hadn't proven wrong yet. Sure enough, her movements took on a life of their own as she swung recklessly across the pitch at speed. Even the dodgy tackles aimed her way by the increasingly desperate Slytherins failed to phase her. Ginny didn't understand precisely why the change had overtaken her on this particular occasion but she thought it might have something to do with proving a point to Draco flaming Malfoy. That wasn't something she was entirely comfortable with. He was a decent flyer. Fairness compelled her to admit that. He had speed and grace . . . and yet, Harry was undoubtedly better. Just now they were both circling the skies searching for the ever elusive Snitch. Gryffindor were ten points ahead on goals scored but the Golden Snitch could change all of that and somewhere at the back of her mind was the thought that sooner or later Malfoy as opposed to Harry would be the one to emerge triumphant at the end of a match. Statistics dictated it would be so. Not today, Ginny thought determinedly.
"TEN POINTS TO SLYTHERIN!" The commentary reached her ears from below. The scores were now level and it was anyone's game. They could be playing into the night unless someone caught the Snitch shortly.
*********
Draco knew he needed to concentrate if today was going to be the day - the day to beat Potter. The Weasel would have to wait. He would do whatever it took to catch the Snitch. When he found it. Unfortunately, that was proving rather difficult. Even Potter was hovering aimlessly. Potter, with his infallible ability to spot a Snitch whatever the distance. It was too good to be true really. If it weren't for his unerring righteousness he would suspect him of cheating. Bloody good idea, actually. After all, it was the result which mattered, not how one got there. How to tip the balance between himself and Potter . . .
Draco grinned at the idea and nearly got hit bodily by a Bludger which had been aimed in his direction with some considerable force. He spun, looking for the Gryffindor Beaters, memories of similar actions by the Weasley twins fresh in his mind, only to realise that the Bludger had come from an entirely different direction and a different Weasley, namely, Ginny Weasley who had whacked it at him with a sharp sweep of the tail end of her broom. To distract him from the fact that Potter was already diving.
Hastily, Draco threw himself into Potter's wake, diving with all the speed he could muster, accelerating without care for the danger - adrenaline coursing though his system - gaining on the Firebolt.
Both sets of hands were outstretched towards the ultimate goal. If only he could get just close enough to shunt Potter out of the way! Too late. Potter's fingertips had closed upon the Snitch and the tiny wings beat rapidly against his palm. It was over. No matter that he had been so close. Already, Draco could hear the yells from the Gryffindor stands and beyond as the majority of Hogwarts shouted themselves silly over the Gryffindor victory as both teams descended towards the ground.
The Granger Mudblood, a team scarf about her neck, was already flinging her arms around Weasley, who looked amused and appreciative and Potter was being carried aloft by his fellow team mates, shaking his head in protest, the Weasley chit following in their wake. Hell fire! Even now she was following him around like a little love sick puppy! Smiling at him, attributing the match entirely to his skill. Never mind the fact that if it hadn't been for that Bludger . . . Damn the Weasel! Damn Potter and damn flaming Quidditch too! He knew how things would go from here on in - it was all so bloody predictable. The usual round of blame and ill will aimed on a general basis at pretty much everyone. A session of cursing Potter, Gryffindor and the other Houses for supporting Gryffindor simply for the sake of opposing Slytherin. Pansy simpering and sympathetic.
"Bad luck," Quinn said, reaching a hand towards his shoulder. She had walked to meet him across the pitch. "Although that was a pretty good catch from Potter, wasn't it?" she added, whether from honesty or spite he couldn't tell. He pushed past her ungraciously, unwilling to indulge in tales of Potter's superior skill, in the direction of the changing rooms. The only thing that made it vaguely bearable was the fact that the Bludger proved the Weasley brat had no memory of the events of the Astronomy Tower. She would hardly have aimed it his way had she thought he had any kind of interest in her. She wouldn't have dared.
****
Percy Perfect
Hermione slammed the latest issue of The Daily Prophet down upon the surface so hard a number of the books upon the surface appeared to twitch. "Here's your answer!" she exclaimed. "Amelia Bones is going to stand!"
"Excellent!" Ginny murmured.
"Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Minister of Magic. I can't think of anyone better for the job - she's already in a position of considerable influence within the Ministry and the Wizengamot . . . it's ideal!"
There was a companionable silence within the common room that evening as the Trio resumed their studies, Ginny across the table from them, which was disturbed by the sudden tap from the nearest window. They looked for the source of the noise. A screech owl was standing on the windowsill, looking towards Ron.
"That's Hermes," Hermione stated, watching Ron carefully.
"It is," said Ron, getting to his feet hesitantly. "Percy." He crossed to the window and let Hermes inside, who landed on the edge of the table upon which the books from which the Trio had been reading were piled and held out his leg to which a small scroll was attached. Ron removed it from Hermes' leg and the owl departed immediately for a location unknown. Once again, the letter was addressed simply to Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. The others were watching him anxiously.
"Are you going to open it, Ron?" Ginny asked.
Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read with Ginny hovering beside his shoulder doing likewise:
Dear Ron,
I thought it best to advise someone within the family of the fact that, fortunately, I was not due to work when the Ministry of Magic was attacked by renegade forces. I am sorry to hear of the unfortunate demise of Minister Fudge for whom I have always had the greatest of respect and feel the wizarding world is a lesser place for his loss. I am sure you would echo my sentiments in this regard. Please inform our parents of my well being in the event of their not having been informed accordingly.
Your brother,
Percy
Ron and Ginny looked at one another. "What do you make of that?" Ron asked his sister.
"Not quite as full of himself, is he?" she said sharply.
"It is rather short compared to the last one," Ron agreed.
"The reason for that being the fact that he's probably feeling a little bit foolish in light of all the coverage Umbridge has been receiving recently. Add to which the fact that Fudge has mysteriously gone missing and he's wondering where all those allies he thought he had have suddenly disappeared to," Hermione said. "Fair weather friends one and all. Not so quick to cast aspersions at Dumbledore now the truth has been exposed," she added. "He probably wanted to make sure everything was all right with the family but wasn't sure how it would be received after all the things he's said."
"It's not as easy as that!" Ron protested. "He's still an utter git!"
"Maybe so," Hermione said, "but he's still also your brother."
"We need to let Mum and Dad know," Ginny said quietly. "They'll have been going spare on the quiet, having heard nothing. You know how Mum worries."
"You're right really," Ron conceded. "It still doesn't excuse his behaviour though."
"I didn't say it did," Ginny countered, "but if Percy wants to try and build some bridges I'm not going to stand in his way."
Ron thought about that statement for a minute. "Nor I," he said, having been quiet for a while, his brow puckered. "I guess I don't want to harbour a grudge if he's going to admit he was wrong."
"This is Percy we're talking about, right?" Ginny checked.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, confused.
"I think she means he might not say he's wrong in so many words," Harry said, looking in Ginny's direction for confirmation, who nodded at him immediately.
"True," Ron said thoughtfully. "After all, he's still Percy. He can't have undergone a complete personality transformation."
****
Sparks Flare
He had underestimated her. She was waiting for him after the Quidditch match, hands shoved into the pockets of her robes.
"It's not going to happen again," she said flatly.
"I beg your pardon?" he queried.
"It won't be recurring," Ginny said.
"What?" Draco asked.
The cheek of him! As if he couldn't remember! He'd instigated it! Ginny looked about her carefully to make sure there was no possibility she would be overheard. "You," she hissed. "Kissing me." She swore she saw Malfoy flinch.
"Oh. That," he returned, tonelessly. "There won't be a repeat performance."
Ginny didn't know what kind of response she had expected but it certainly wasn't the insipid reply which had actually been proferred. It was too . . . easy. Whatever she might think about Draco Malfoy, he had never given in to a request before and she couldn't think of a reason why he should start now. Certainly not to one of her own.
"I don't fancy spending the next week or so removing the taste of Weasley from myself," he added, with a shade of his usual rancour.
"Fine," Ginny said, wondering how she'd lost the upper hand within the conversation so quickly.
"Good," Draco echoed and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
The sheer gall of the bloke! Ginny found herself thinking. It made her wonder precisely why he'd bothered kissing her in the first place, bringing back all those familiar insecurities. Perhaps he really had done it just to have something to blackmail her with. After all, she hadn't fought him. Then again, he was more on his own than ever now without Crabbe and Goyle for back up. It was always possible he wouldn't be able to pressurise her as much in their absence. She knew he hated her already. It had been made more than apparent over the years - and yet, when they had been forced into such close proximity on the Astronomy Tower she could have sworn she had seen his eyes suffused with an entirely different emotion for just a second or two . . . Surely she had been mistaken? It wasn't possible that Malfoy could actually fancy her, was it?
****
International Relations
"So you haven't had an opportunity to catch up with Krum yet then?" Ron asked, less than casually.
"You know I haven't!" Hermione snapped. "McGonagall took them straight through to Dumbledore's office and no one's seen them since."
"You never did tell me what you two got up to during the holidays after our fourth year," Ron added.
"No, I didn't. Did I?" Hermione said.
"Well, are you going to then?" Ron asked, impatiently.
"No," Hermione said. "It's none of your business."
There was a short pause. "Okay, then," Ron said, surprising her. Then he lent over and gave her a rather protracted kiss.
"What was that for?" she asked, smiling slightly.
"Just something to remember me by when you're visiting Vicky," Ron said innocently.
Hermione returned the kiss with feeling.
"And what was that for?" Ron said.
"Just something to remind you I love you," his girlfriend said.
********
Secrets and Spies
Desperation had done for him in the end. The myriad events he could not change hanging against the minute number he might still be able to affect remaining in the balance. He couldn't even remember all the names of those whose deaths he had been involved in. It no longer shocked him. The number of things he had done to remain in favour. The constant backstabbing and rivalry. The subservience to the gaping maw that was Voldemort. The Dark Mark, the skull with its empty eye sockets and snake protruding from its menacing jaws, burden and torment alike. Constant physical reminder of the past he would never forget. He knew precisely how close he had come to being claimed by the darkness that beckoned. Almost too close. Pulled back from the brink. He knew only that he had to make an attempt towards something - else. There had been a time he had had something pretending towards rules. Things that could be done and should not be contemplated. The line had blurred in his attempt to consolidate his knowledge of Dark Magic. Hard to form an extensive magical vocabulary without getting one's hands dirty, so to speak.
The Initiation had felt good. Acceptance. Especially after the incident culminating in the creation of the Whomping Willow. Potter and his companions riding high in the aftermath of the "Prank". Considering themselves so bloody untouchable. There hadn't been a thing he could do. Once graduation beckoned he had solidified his burgeoning relationship with the Death Eaters. There wasn't a hope in hell he was going to ally himself with Dumbledore. He'd already demonstrated precisely where his loyalties lay. The Dark Mark promised power and respect.
He had been ready to deal with the increasing chasm in place of where his conscience used to be. Sociopathic behaviour was highly underrated in his humble opinion. The fact remained, however, that the promises he had received had taken just that little bit too long to deliver upon. Meanwhile, the body count was mounting up. It had all become a little too predictable. The daily grind, with the majority of the hack work passed towards himself whilst there was no sign he would receive the requisite rewards. He couldn't protest. He knew Lord Voldemort was not above torture of a supposedly valued servant such as himself should he voice his opinion. What had once seemed the perfect solution had proven a nasty mistake. He wouldn't be mistreated again. This time the worm would turn. Completely. It was the only solution. Defect to Dumbledore versus certain death. No choice at all. He would take the information garnered during his time within the Inner Circle as proof of his conversion. Self-preservation.
It had been a time of uncertainty. The Potters had been in hiding within a location at that time unknown. It was only later that it had been revealed that they had been in Godric's Hollow, the tiny Muggle village. He had warned them, of course. He could do no less. It was, after all, a step towards a debt repaid. The life debt which had galled him to such an extent during his youth.
Word had been passed to Dumbledore. He remembered how she had looked when she had heard the news. "We have to do something!" she had said, earnest in her righteousness.
He knew she was right. He knew it and, yet, some spiteful part of him suggested if only he kept quiet. . . Snivellus would have the last laugh . . . He couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Subconsciously, his fingers traced the brand upon his left forearm.
He had made his choice. Loyalty. To Dumbledore. He had wondered that they trusted a traitor on the turn but it suited him just fine.
********
Dear Ginny
Ginny fixed Harry with a direct stare. "You're too quiet," she said. "You've been monosyllabic since we arrived back from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes."
"And?" Harry said.
"I may live to regret this, but I'm going to ask you what's wrong and hope you clarify precisely why you're in such a mood."
"I'm not in a mood," Harry snapped.
"Yes," Ginny said. "You are. Any less than perceptive fool can see that. What I want to know is why."
"I'm tired of all this death," Harry said. "Violence, destruction, killing . . . Sitting here safe in Hogwarts whilst people suffer when, at the end of the day, it's basically going to come down to him and me. It just seems like delaying the inevitable."
"So you're itching to march straight into whichever ramshackle hideaway Voldemort's holed up in and say "let's get to it"?" Ginny asked dryly. "Secretly you think it's cowardly to be here studying and working within the DA whilst others are out there fighting the good fight. It's not. It's strategic. Deep down you know that. We need to assess any weaknesses or liabilities the Dark Lord may have before you start playing the have a go hero."
"Don't make fun of me," Harry said reproachfully.
"I'm not," Ginny protested. "You think I don't understand? I do. Your special relationship with Voldemort?"
"I know you do," he said quietly. "It's just I've been racking my brains trying to come up with the one spell which will lead to His defeat once and for all." Harry looked up and met her eyes. "I'm well aware that's not exactly my forte - it's more Hermione's kind of thing but I've been looking into it just so I feel I'm doing something and the only thing I can come up with is the blood."
"The blood?" Ginny echoed.
"Yes, the blood. My blood," Harry said. "Voldemort used it as the "blood of a foe" element to bring himself back after the Triwizard Tournament."
"I remember," Ginny said.
"Am I wrong or isn't that sympathetic magic?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's using my blood could have strengthened the original connection which was created when he tried to kill me whilst I was a baby. Am I stretching a point or have I, in effect, saved his life by his use of the blood to resurrect himself? Surely that puts him in my debt? Can't we use that somehow?" he asked sharply.
"Harry, you need to talk to Hermione about this," Ginny said. "I'm surprised you haven't already mentioned it. Really, she's the arithmancy expert. She knows how to put the elements of a spell together to create a cohesive whole. I'm just not at that stage." She paused. "She'll be able to work with this if you give her the germ of an idea." Ginny looked up. "Keep thinking outside the boundaries and going with your gut instinct. That's what you do; that's what works," she advised.
"I will do it," he said.
"I know you will," Ginny said, with quiet conviction.
"I'll do it for everyone who's gone before me," he continued. "My mum, my dad, Cedric, Hagrid. . . " he tailed off as he saw Ginny's expression of concern. "It's okay, Ginny," he said. "I can talk about it and I won't let their sacrifice go unactioned."
"You want vengeance," Ginny stated.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said. "In any event, don't they deserve that? I can stand anything besides doing nothing."
"Don't let it eat you up," Ginny said. "Nothing's worth that."
"It won't," Harry assured her. There was an air of gravity about him that Ginny had never seen before. It suited him - but, for a moment, Ginny felt as though she were in the room with a complete stranger. "I won't let it."
"Good," Ginny said, nodding at her friend.
"Any news on whether you'll be properly admitted to the Order yet?" Ginny questioned. "I wouldn't expect it for myself but with Fred and George campaigning for you. . . ."
"They'd rather make sure I'm not inadvertently going to pass any information to Voldemort before they bring me in. So they say. I still think your mum's trying to delay things for as long as she can."
"Quite possible," Ginny admitted. "Once the protective instinct kicks in. . . She knows she's fighting a losing battle. Can't Dumbledore have a word with her for you?"
"If he were here," Harry said. "He's never here lately. I know he's busy with the attack and everything. I appreciate that. I dunno. . . I just . . . .I could do with talking to him. Sometimes I have these questions and he's the only person I could ask and I can't because he's not available to ask."
"If it helps to talk about it. . . " Ginny said.
"Sometimes," Harry said. "It's easier than it used to be, at any rate. I guess I just figured there's only so much I can bottle up before I explode. Or maybe even implode. Not pretty." He smiled. "You always care, Ginny. That's one of the really good things about you."
"Of course I care!" she protested. "I guess I prefer you sane," she joked, rolling her eyes.
"Do you know the really awful thing, Ginny?" Harry said, sounding half as though he were talking to himself. "It's him or me. One of us has to go. It has to be him for the sake of the wizarding world but a tiny part of me wonders about if it were me. After all, I'd get to see my parents again. . . "
Ginny swallowed nervously. "Life's like that, Harry. Nothing's simple. Sacrifice. Pain. Good people hurt for bad reasons. Bad people for good. I'm still trying to work it all out."
"Let me know when you do," he said. He hesitated. "Since when did you get so wise, Ginny?"
"Since you stopped looking," she answered lightly.
Her friend paused.
"Leave it, Harry," she said. "Now isn't the time. You're tired. I can tell. Go get some sleep."
*****
Bargaining Power
Draco knew it was a risk. He figured a calculated gamble worth taking. He could see no other way. Again. He hated feeling as if the hand of fate had dealt him yet another raw deal! He needed to ask. He had gathered the necessary ingredients yesterday. They were crumpled into the pocket of his robes as he made his way towards the Slytherin Common Room fire. It hadn't been too difficult to convince the tiny first year student top abandon her late night study position, he thought, grinning slightly. He cast a quick Obserare! incantation, ensuring he would have utmost privacy in order to complete the ritual. Draco knelt before the small fireplace, drawing the piece of paper from the bottom of his pocket. It had several paragraphs scrawled across it in a cramped, spidery script. He winced as he removed several silvery hairs from his own head, sweeping it back into its usual style without apparent effort. The hairs were placed into a bowl directly in front of the grate along with the piece of parchment. The Slytherin student withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his black robes and muttered, "Incendere." A small flame erupted from the pages, whilst a wreathe of murky coloured smoke began to make its way skyward. It gathered momentum and Draco felt the magical pull which would draw his subject to him. Until precisely that moment in time he had been unsure as to whether the spell would work. He had never tried it before.
"Mr Parkinson," Draco greeted the older man politely.
"Draco!" Pansy's father exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"You know as well as I do I'm not really there," Draco said. "I may well be here but that's not exactly the same thing, is it?"
"How can I help you?" Mr Parkinson said.
"Interesting question," Draco said. "I figured we had some things we ought to discuss. I kind of wanted to make sure I had your attention."
"I believe you have that," Mr Parkinson said dryly. "Is it about your father? Is there something I can do for him?"
"I think we can safely say this has absolutely nothing to do with my father. You and I also know you have absolutely no idea where he is or what he mgiht be doing currently. Although he may well be encouraged by the subject matter of the discussion," Draco added.
"Which is?" Mr Parkinson enquired.
"To put it bluntly. . . your daughter, Mr Parkinson."
"What about my daughter?" the older man said warily.
"She adores me," Draco said, without conceit. "For reasons best known to herself and makes no secret of the fact. I thought we might do something about that."
"Such as?"
"Engagement," Draco said flatly. Mr Parkinson was silent. "I thought you might provide a willing ear, sir. Seeing as the future happiness of your one and only daughter is at stake here. You may not be particularly enamoured of the way in which I'm presenting my case but if you want to see a satisfactory conclusion to the conversation we might want to play things a little differently here."
"I'm listening."
"I will play the dutiful future son in law to your ever ambitious daughter. We will be engaged to all intents and purposes, albeit secretly, whilst still at Hogwarts and will marry immediately following our final year of study. This will provide your family with a significantly increased social standing as far as the right circles are concerned. In return, you will provide me with 10,000 Galleons, a sum I happen to know full well you can afford, in order that I may commence appropriate business transactions to provide revenue for our future married life. You will provide a further sum, negotiable at a later date, in order for me to, ahem, close the deal, shall we say?" Draco concluded.
"You want to buy my daughter?" Mr Parkinson said sharply.
"I want to provide for her well being," Draco countered.
"I cannot in all conscience agree to this," Mr Parkinson said.
"You cannot afford to do otherwise," Draco said. "I will have nothing to do with Pansy under any other circumstances. Will you be there to pick up the pieces if I reject her? She knows it's what you aspire towards for her."
"I want your word this matter will remain amongst ourselves," Mr Parkinson said reluctantly.
"It will. Its terms dictate that neither party will be able to mention it to a party other than the other contractor," Draco said. "The funds will be deposited in my personal Gringotts bank account within five wizarding days and the source will be incapable of trace. The engagement will be concluded upon receipt."
"I have your word?" Mr Parkinson repeated.
"My word as a Malfoy. I can give no firmer assurance." They nodded at one another and Draco blew gently against the flame erupting from the parchment to dissipate it. As he did so, Mr Parkinson's image against the smoke and flame disappeared. Now to tell Pansy.
*******
Draco supposed he shouldn't feel so bad regarding what most people considered to be a done deal. She was just so tiresome! All she ever thought about was clothes and dances and who was going out with whom. It didn't take long to get bored. Aside from the fact that she agreed with every single thing he said. Yes, Draco. Certainly, Draco. Three flipping bags full, Draco! To think he had just allied himself for life to that. There she was, amid a gaggle of girls including Lavender Brown and Padma Patil, whispering about subject matter unknown. He was disinclined to inquire as to the content of the conversation, frankly.
"Pansy," he began. "It's your lucky day. I talked to your father and he gave his permission."
"Permission?"
"Yes," Draco said. "We can get engaged."
"I'm sorry?" she said, looking at him blankly.
"We can get engaged," Draco repeated. "Isn't that what you wanted?" There was a pause. "Gosh, the silence and no answer suddenly becomes a little deafening," he said.
Pansy sighed. "Okay, Draco. Maybe I do. I won't pretend otherwise - but not like this. You've hardly come anywhere near me in weeks and suddenly we're promising to get married at the drop of a hat?"
"I didn't think we needed to discuss this," Draco said. "You know what's expected of us. A socially acceptable match. How many times have we been deliberately thrown at one another? What would you rather do? Go with what our parents want or be forced into another marriage however many months down the line? With someone who doesn't know you quite so well? I don't love you. Sometimes I don't even like you very much. . . but we need each other." Draco realised this was the first vaguely adult conversation he had had with Pansy and that, so far, there hadn't been any screaming fits or tantrums. That was a start.
"I'm well aware of what's expected of me, thank you very much. I've been waiting for you to come to some kind of realisation of it too. There hasn't been all that much evidence of it lately." She took a deep breath. "I know full well your opinion of me isn't very high. You think I'm some vapid little girl who thinks of nothing but gossip and clothes. It's what everyone thinks. All I can say is being surrounded by people from school beats being alone by yourself. Something you're very good at," she commented. She half smiled at his closed expression. "I suppose you never thought that all that time we'd spent together might mean I knew something about you too? Listen, Draco," she continued. "You know as well as I do that I've made no secret of the fact that I'm happy with the arrangement. You may as well try to be. Is it really a fate worse than death to be promised to me? Really? Ask yourself that. Think very carefully about the answer before you admit it to yourself. I'm young, you know I like you. It could work out okay," she reasoned. "Okay. Anything else I should know whilst we're being so brutally honest with each other?"
"Would it be preferable to lie?" Draco asked. It was a rhetorical question. "This has to remain a secret."
"I can't even tell my friends?"
"No. Categorically not," Draco said. "The Malfoy name isn't exactly flying ridiculously high with certain individuals in view of my father's escape from the clutches of Azkaban. It might be dangerous to be connected to me, according to how you view things."
"Are you worried?" Pansy asked curiously.
"Do I look it?" Draco returned. He sighed. "We can't afford to take any chances. We need to be careful for a while. Can you accept that?"
"I guess I'm going to have to," Pansy said.
"Good. Want to make this official?"
"In what way?"
"The proper way. The magical way," Draco said shortly.
Pansy raised her eyes towards his with determination. "Yes."
"Let's do this. Hold out your hand," he instructed. Pansy proffered her delicate hand, palm displayed upwards. Without any particular flourish, Draco scored a line across her right palm with a small pocket knife and made the same motion across his own right hand. "Now, repeat after me," he said. "Fire, Air, Earth, Water."
"Fire, Air, Earth, Water. . . "
"Listen and witness."
"Listen and witness."
"I pledge my troth. . . " Draco said.
"I pledge my troth. . . ."
"This I do swear."
"This I do swear." Pansy repeated.
"Until circumstance part us," Draco finished.
"Until circumstance part us."
Draco raised his hand towards hers and curled his rather larger hand around Pansy's smaller one, palm to palm, the bloodstained marks mingling. "It's done," he said. For better or worse, it was done.
*******
Things were shaky. He couldn't deny the fact. His father had inherited his patronage network from his father, Lucien Malfoy and brought about significant expansion by taking the Lord Voldemort as his patron, even managing to keep his clinet network intact in the ruin of the Dark Lord's first bid for power by reason of his calculated and oh so plausible betrayal. Thus had he remained a significant power within wizarding Britain and an object of fear for the wise. Few were stupid enough to stand in his way.
The Blacks had run for cover in the aftermath of the first Voldemort war after the death of Regulus Black, adored son. As had others. Draco sighed. It was becoming nigh on impossible to ignore the fact that wizarding blood was counting for less everywhere. Demographics showed that the pure-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards cancelled each other out at a rough quarter of the wizarding population each, with the remaining half a hybrid of those with Muggle and pure-blood ancestors. The days when their ancestors had sat upon the Wizards' Council by virtue of their status as leading members of the most prominent wizarding families were over. Intermarriage and progress had seen to that. The pure-bloods were few and far between in present day Wizarding Britain. The Blacks, decimated by their resistance to Voldemort. Grimmauld Place the surviving relic of their once prosperous estate. The Lestrange lands had become forfeit to the Ministry of Magic once Marina and Sweeney Lestrange had been convicted of Death Eater activity and imprisoned within Azkaban. There were the bit players; the Weasleys, Longbottoms, Browns. Scarcely worth a thought. Nothing to offer. Of no interest. Those maintaining the midde ground; MacDougal, Greengrass, Cornfoot, Warrington, MacDougal. The potential allies; Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, Avery, Rookwood. Add the fief mindset to a patronage network and things became decidedly interesting. . . and somewhere at the head of all that was the feodum of Malfoy. . . The connotations made his head hurt.
Things were different now. Potter's definitive reveal of Voldemort's second thrust for control at the end of the preceding school year had caused a chain of political upheaval which could not be avoided. Bartemius Crouch's political star had long since faded after the supposed death of his son. Draco spared a brief thought for Percy Weasley, once destined for a successful Ministry career, who had attached himself so decisively to a declining patronage network. A calculated gamble in light of Dumbldedore's apparent fallibility. He had cast the dice and lost. Crouch had ended up dead, along with his network. One Weasley down and out for the count. Seeemed the cracks were beginning to show in the supposedly "perfect" family. He would spare them an ounce of sympathy if he was convinced they in any way deserved it. They didn't. Arthur Weasley in particular was trouble with a capital T. It was partially as a result of his efforts to raise the status of Muggles - combined with his known affiliation with Dumbledore and the resurgence of his popularity following the events of the last academic year - that change was afoot. Feudal mentality and aristocratic society were losing momentum when compared with the relatively new - and more progressive - concepts of freedom and equality. After all, those who had nothing to lose were attracted by the concept of gain.
His father was still necessary to the Dark Lord, of course. If Draco's suppositions were in any way close to the mark his father headed the only one of Voldemort's old patronage networks which now remained intact. It was unlikely, however, that the Dark Lord was likely to forget his initial betrayal. At present his father's money, his patronage network and connections kept him safe. Draco knew his father was intent upon making himself very useful to make amends for past misdemeanours also. Still, a hundred and one little incidents which he had witnessed had begun to add up to an alarming total. Draco had seen his father selling family heirlooms. Using the fears of raids as an excuse would be an ideal way to hide financial weakness from prying eyes. Gold had come from Bagman. Draco hadn't questioned the fact. He knew full well his father had blackmailed Ludovic Bagman by threatening to reveal evidence indicative of his status as a Death Eater by virtue of the fact that he had been guilty of passing secrets to Augustus Rookwood. The Malfoys had presented their "respectable" face to the world and enjoyed the solidity of their status. These facts had been garnered as the result of several eavesdropping sessions, something his father would have been less than happy with had he been discovered. He hadn't.
Voldemort's return had forced his father to increase his short-term influence and risk lands, inheritance, monies and patronage network all. There was no more to be had from Bagman and his father was in too deep to withdraw from the Dark Lord's service. Instead, he had been forced to mortgage his future on the prospect of a Voldemort victory and engage all his efforts upon bringing about that end. Everything or nothing in the final fight.
The attempt to suppress Dumbledore's vast patronage network and clients, inclusive of Hagird, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and, indeed, Harry Potter, the infamous Boy Who lived as well as Arthur friggin' Weasley, had failed. More importantly, Potty had begun to emerge as a patronage leader in his own right. The Mudblood and Weasley were never far from his side and, more recently, he'd begun to notice Longbottom, Lovegood and, obviously, Potty's shadow aka Ginny Weasley in attendance. He knew they had been involved in some sort of altercation with the Death Eaters at the Ministry too. Goodness knew what Potter thought he was doing with such a bunch of no hopers. He would have been a damn sight better off accepting his offer of friendship during their first year. Not that he was bothered. Potter had long since proven himself completely devoid of all merit in Slytherin terms.
Slytherin. Time to deal with the important issue. Himself. He was buggered if he would go down with any sinking ship, no matter which side it might sail upon. The attack had changed House dynamics too. He would have to have been completely thick to ignore the subtle jostles he had been receiving in the corridor or the pointed remarks which had been addressed his way behind closed doors. That, of course, being the important thing. Everything occurred behind the scenes. Hades forbid that Outsiders should understand even one third of what it really meant to be Sorted into Slytherin. Most definitely not the done thing.
At the present moment in time they were divided into two or three completely separate and potentially diametrically opposed factions which couldn't possibly hope to achieve success alone - and he was open to challenge now that Crabbe and Goyle were gone. Some of the contenders were obvious. Blaise. If he had the balls for it. Quinlan. She'd just love to take the reins (and control of Malfoy lands) from him, if at all possible. Small wonder she'd been Sorted into Slytherin. Of course, there was always the chance that he would lose everything to the somewhat depleted Ministry once they got their act together. If they could pin any of the evidence for the Ministry attack upon his father, they would. Especially after the failed trial. There were others who faced the same threat. Nott. Crabbe. Goyle. Perhaps it was merely a matter of time. Nobody was really playing fair any more. Least of all the supposed good guys.
Prior to the attacks he had been acknowleged, undisputed leader. Dominant to all and sundry. Pansy had accepted his protection willingly. Agreed his higher ranking. There would be those who would defer on the basis of blood. There were those who would no longer do so. His position now relied upon his ability to bluff, intimidate or deceive - and, of course, who would be blasé enough to call that bluff. There would be the less obvious candidates too. He couldn't back down. He would lose everything. He had to fight any challenge to his position personally or forfeit. It wasn't fair but, then again, very little within Slytherin politics was. Sometimes life was a *****.
Posted by Madmaxime at March 15, 2005 07:29 PM