Chapter 17 Trouble at the Prophet.
I don't like this, said Draco with a scowl downwards to
Crookshanks on Hermione's bedroom floor.
The half kneesle was curled up around his feet and rubbing his
scent on Draco's shoes. Yes, I heard you the first time.
Replied Hermione, taking her blouse into her high waisted
muggle jeans in the hopes of hiding the size of her lower
stomach and throwing a small rucksack over her shoulder.
We can find another way. He said, taking a two step away
from her fluff monster who now thought they were playing a fun
game of Wacker Malfoy as Cruickshanks swatted several
times in quick succession at the shiny toe caps with a heavy paw.
Do enlighten me, Draco, What is this elusive other way?
Hermione asked, trying to keep a straight face.
He remained silent and stern while she plucked Crookshenks up
from the floor and gave him a scratch behind his matted ears.
You're a good boy. She whispered with a small smile
then addressing. Draco asked.
And you're certain there's no way for me to apparate directly
back into the Manor this time? You've just tested, apparated
from the study to your wing, and as expected, the fact that
you're pregnant with Malfoy Airs gives you an all access pass
within the blood wards. Hermione nodded, absently
reviewing her plan in another part of her mind.
If I had any concerns about the parentage, at least I can
dispense with those. He scoffed lightly.
But apparating into and out of the manner from beyond the wards
is too risky. You have the potential of
splinching you from the babies. Draco said concernedly before
wincing and grabbing his arm and being summoned.
It's, it's OK, go. She allowed, worry dragging down
her pitch. I don't have a Joyce.
His voice was a plea while he chewed as his inner lip.
Is it selfish of me to ask that you do come back?
Elation surged through her. He truly wanted her, needed her
to come back to him. Her mind turned to the question
in her mind. Of course I'll come back.
And no, it's not selfish. I can't imagine a safer place
for me, for us right now. He planted a chaste kiss on her
forehead, then smirked at her unamused expression.
You said slow, right? I didn't mean that slow.
She muttered grumpily. His smirk turned into a self
satisfied smug grin. Give Professor M my adoring
love. He drawled and then cracked out
of the bedroom, causing crook Shanks to leap from her arms and
scarp her under the bed. Hermione gathered herself
together and opened her rucksack for a final check.
The Ruby encrusted dagger was sheathed nicely into an inner
compartment. She hadn't known how it had
ended up in her back pocket, nor whether Draco had noticed her
swipe it from the desk in The Cave, but a calmness fell over
her while it was in her possession.
A rightness. She had a mission, and at some
point she would need to act upon it.
That thought should have filled her with more trepidation than
it did at the present moment, but she blinked away her concern
and focused on the task at hand. With a second look at the
temporary marker that Malfoy had made on a map of the Scottish
Highlands, Hermione headed out of the Manor, past the carefully
manicured garden to the tall gates at the end and desapurated
alone for the first time in weeks.
The forest floor crunched under Hermione's boots as she strode
forward into the glade where the lone cabin stood.
The rustle of trees and chirping of birds were so soothing after
the stillness of the Manor, having steered clear of the
grounds for over a week to avoid notice from the more unsavoury
sort. Hermione paused for a moment
halfway to the small porch, the fragrant woody scent of the
dense trees reminding her so much of the Forest of Dean now.
A place in her heart that carried 2 memories, one with Ron
and Harry, one with her parents, both equally as sad in
hindsight. In many ways, she felt
completely unmoored without Draco's presence adrift and
anxiety surged through her. What if this was a trap?
It would be hours before Malfoy would even start to worry.
Who was she kidding, he would already be worrying.
Before she could shake herself out of her spiral, the front
door swung open, and in a second that passed.
In the blink of an eye, she was surrounded by the threatening
tips of five glowing ones. The first boy I ever kissed,
Jinny's rough voice demanded, and Hermione revolved around to
catch sight of her best friend, among whom stood Kingsley,
Professor Mcgonigal, Charlie, and Professor Flitwick, all
looking similarly aggrieved. Colin Creevy in a game of spin
the bottle your second year. It's her.
Jinny confirmed with a grim tight lipped smile that did not
reach her eyes. She lowered her wand.
Yep, it's just me. Well, plus an extra.
She said shamefacedly. Hermione had explained the plan
to Draco. Keeping the Order in the dark
would only put them at further risk, but sharing too much would
put them at even greater risk. None of them were as skilled in
occupancy as Draco, nor even as Hermione at this point.
Neither Dumbledore nor Snape, irresponsibly Hermione thought,
had imparted such training on any Order member, thus making
their minds untrustworthy in case of their potential capture.
Additionally, if they knew the extent of how off the rails the
original plan had gone, they wood forest her off the liaison
mission and prohibit her return to the Manor.
She was almost sure of it. It was what she would do if
Jinny were in her place. Please join us inside, Miss
Granger. Professor Mcgonigal said with a
controlled Scottish tone, and Hermione was escorted inside.
Once the front door creaked shut, Jinny slammed into
Hermione's chest and enveloped her in a tight hug.
The tension in the room lifted and the Order members breathed a
sigh of relief before Hermione was rounded upon.
What the fuck, Hermione? She exclaimed, grabbing her by
the arms and shaking her vigorously.
Is it ROMs? Jinny asked with a thread of
hope weaving its way around her words.
Hermione only shook her head, a light in Jenny's eyes dimmed and
she averted her gaze, stepping back.
I'll put the kettle on. Coughed Charlie awkwardly as he
exited the living room to a small side kitchen.
Miss Weasley, we need to conduct the necessary checks before you
can start your interrogation. Kingsley intend.
And may I also remind you that you still have 12 hours until
you are officially of age and therefore you currently remain
only an honorary member of this Order meeting.
Jinny tisked and slumped herself down on a rocking chair in the
corner of the room by the hearth.
You appear to be well kept. Professor Mcgonigal noted,
looking her up and down as if she were a prize cat and a
pageant. May I?
She asked, and after Hermione nodded her consent, she began
making her magical examination of her mental processes.
Hermione cast a fog in her mind space in case anyone decided to
take it upon themselves to dive unceremoniously into her
thoughts. Not confounded.
She muttered with a swish of her wand by Hermione's temple.
No signs of imperious curse either.
Mcgonagall continued with a further flick of magic.
Could it be a curse we haven't encountered before?
Professor Flitwick called in his flute like voice from across the
room. Her old Charms professor, a
wizened looking wizard with some goblin blood in his lineage and
who stood at half the height of Hermione, knew a thing or two
about crafting new spells. She wished she could pick his
brain on some of the stop gaps her and Malfoy had experienced
in their crafting, but that knowledge was also too dangerous
to share. Perhaps, but to leave no magical
trace would be nigh on impossible.
Also, whatever memory charm was good enough for Miss Clearwater
would have been used on Hermione.
Mcgonigal lowered her wand. No, I think Miss Granger
contains all her mental faculties.
Jinny shook her head and raised her arms in protest.
Well then, Miney, explain yourself.
Hermione's mouth fell into an O shaped frown and she walked to a
focal point in the room where she was able to view all five
members of the Order, the people who thought they were coming to
her rescue. And why isn't Mr. Malfoy with
you as requested? Asked Mcgonigal.
He was called away on business. Hmm, business?
Charlie derided Mark. What else do you want me to say,
Charlie? She cut back at the burly
Weasley. You want me to say yes?
Draco's mark burned and now he's with the Dark Lord.
Oh, it's Draco and the Dark Lord now is it?
You were meant to conduct some light flirting to keep him on
side, Hermione, not throw yourself at him.
Jinny said incredulously, crossing her arms, a wall of
hurt and confusion building up between Hermione and her fiery
friend. Miss Weasley let her speak.
Kingsley commanded, and silence befell the room.
The pressure mounted, the summer air thick and humid in the cabin
despite the obvious cooling charms.
Hermione swallowed. Malfoy and I are continuing our
work. None of that has changed the
reason for me residing at the Manor, who also remains
unchanged. She panned the room, hoping that
her words were landing with conviction.
The expressions she met were not approving.
I am buying you us the order. Time to build up the army of
people we need to take Voldemort out for good.
Be that as it may, your news does change the political
landscape for all of those involved.
Said Kingsley, his voice a low rumble of concern.
How do you look so well, Mayony? Jinny asked disbelievingly,
leaning forward on the rocking chair.
We only saw you at the end of July, and you'll hear 13 days
later looking like you've just come back from a Wellness
retreat. I've not seen you with this much
colour in your cheeks since before Dumbledore died.
The Malfoys eat well. She responded, much more primly
than she'd intended. Seems that's not all they do
well. Jinny muttered under her breath
with distaste as the kettle began piping its high note from
the kitchen and Charlie went off to finish the tea.
He raised his head to the ceiling in exasperation on his
exit. Jinny Weasley, if you cannot
behave yourself, you will be banned from joining future Order
meetings whether you're of age or not.
Mcgonigal chastised. Jinny rolled her eyes but
decided to heed the warning and remained silent.
Hermione wished she could tell them more, but she needed to do
everything in her power to keep them safe, and if that meant
lying, then so be it. As for my current condition?
Hermione attempted to use less inflammatory words.
You're going to have to extend me some trust.
Charlie returned to the room with a tray of steaming mugs,
looking at her with disbelief. Kingsley and Flitwick shuffled
uncomfortably, Jinny huffed derisively, and Mcgonigal simply
held her frozen posture. Hermione carried on.
I am bearing a Malfoy heir. Draco and I continue to have an
amicable relationship and rest assured he stands with the
Order. She let the information land.
That is all I can tell you right now.
The hushed response made her skin crawl.
Eventually, it was her old Transfiguration teacher who
broke through the tension. Professor Mcgonagall was looking
at her appraisingly, sniffed, and added her line of
questioning to the inquiry. Why then, Miss Granger, did Mr.
Malfoy request an audience with me at the end of July?
Hermione blinked a few times rapidly, jaw going slack.
Trigger hadn't mentioned meeting anyone from the Order.
Aye. She started, her brain working
to find an appropriate answer. I imagine it was because I
wasn't fully myself when I first came to the Manor.
And why is that? Pressed Mcgonigal, unwilling to
give Hermione time to craft a response.
Just just a bad apparition. Hermione's voice shook at the so
badly conveyed lie that even her occulancy wall began to fall in
embarrassment. Kingsley coughed and patted his
hips, his royal purple cloak rippling from the motion,
sensing they were getting nowhere and had reached an
impasse. This news has hit the Order
hard, Hermione, I confess we find ourselves fractured.
Some of the Order members of the resistance have planned an
assault on the Daily Prophet officers as we speak.
What? No, you have to stop them, the
cease-fire is broken. The weight of Kingsley's words
sat suddenly on her chest. No, she yelled out, and even
Jenny looked sheepish at Hermione's feral roar.
Why would they do this? Don't they realise what they
could lose? I tried, Hermione said Jenny
meeting her frantic glare. But George has been so much more
himself since she gave him the hope of something to fight for.
The noose this morning only added fuel to the fire.
Percy wants to help the family in any way he can and encourage
the raid. Dad, mum especially.
They think they're fighting for either their unborn grandchild
or their adopted daughter who was raped.
A deeper, uncomfortable feeling lay over the room, like a dust
sheet covering furniture in a long forgotten mansion, weighty
and abandoned. No matter which way she looked
at it, she had created a heavy, thick distance between herself
and her comrades. How would Mr. and Missus Weasley
ever forgive her once they've found out the truth?
They'd already been so dubious of Malfoy's loyalties, but had
acquiesced to her cries of support.
Malfoy. That's why he's been called
away, she said under her breath. I've got to get to him, she said
with more fervor, adjusting her rucksack and beginning to make
her way towards the door. No, Professor Mcgonigal's voice
was a commandment as she stepped to block Hermione's path.
If, as you say, you and Mr. Malfoy are working on a weapon,
one we didn't have last time, then it is important you
continue to work. Malfoy is competent, added
Charlie. He's a good duellist, and if
he's still on our side, he'll do what he can for us.
Mental darkness encased Hermione's fears of the raid,
dread seeping into her heart like a dementor hungry for her
soul. It might not be enough.
Some time earlier, Diagon Alley. Draco arrived in Diagon Alley to
a sea of darkness and panic. The steps up to the Daily
Prophet were littered with torn and singed newspaper pages.
Even more hovered in the air like volcanic ash particles.
Screams and shouts pounded against his ears, followed by
blasts of magic from inside the premises.
Employees fled the sandstone building and shoppers ran in all
directions along the cobblestones in search of
safety. Draco steeled himself.
Flashes of Malfoy's broken body by his father's crushed form in
Nocturn Alley invaded his mind. He swept his hair back from his
face, rolled his sleeves up for easier spell casting, a vein
protruding in a line down his muscular right arm, Dark Mark
twinging on his left, and marched up the stairs.
Several Death Eaters were crowding the foyer by a long
stone reception desk that had been struck by a rogue offensive
spell and had cracked in two, collapsing in on itself.
He spotted McNair, Mulsibur, and Avery and was grateful to know
that not had not made it yet. They flung the slew of hexes and
jinxes around and over the half wall that separated the entrance
from the printing house proper. The wall was so tall that at his
height he would have to jump to see over it.
Draco bent low, unhurried to get cover, directing his command to
the most senior wizard present. Avery, status report. 2 rebels
hit, not downed. They aren't here with full
force. The skeleton crew.
He panted, chest heaving as he hunched low behind the desk and
caught his breath. More forces have been called.
What do they want? Draco yelled out against the
cacophony of spells crashing together.
Fuck if I know. Probably less than happy with
your baby news. Congrat your fucking lations by
the way, Incarcerous. An adult male cast out and Draco
caught a flash of graying red hair before his colleague
dropped by his side with a grunt.
Thick ropes lassoed themselves around Avery, his Ruddy
complexion began bruising to a dirty purple as the twists of
twine noosed at his neck. Good, he couldn't stand the
bastard. More jinxes were slung their way
and Draco dived to the other side of the desk for cover along
with three other Death Eaters. A rack of newspapers blasted
into smithereens and a miss aimed bombarder.
Did someone call for the bloodhounds?
A sickly voice dripping with thirst from the doorway set
Draco's teeth on edge. Fenrir Grey, back in his pack,
had swaggered into the fray, a glob of drool running down the
corner of his grotesque Grim. Just what he needed, he grimaced
to himself. Draco needed to take charge of
the situation before someone got seriously hurt or worse.
He stood up and encountered a prolonged Protego and himself
and spelled Sonorous. Members of the Phoenix Rebels,
you have broken the ceasefire after mere days.
End your attacks. Leave now and we will not take
further action. A black spiralling weave of
magic hurled itself towards him, penetrating his shield, and he
deflected it away. Judging by the audible howl
behind him, the magic had met its intended mark.
One put down, I'd say you broke it yourself.
Another male voice shouted out and over the tall wall. 6
smoking purple balls were flung in their direction, expelling
plumes of blood red fog as they hit the ground.
Cover your eyes. One of his men roared out.
The heavy smoke overwhelmed the foyer in record speed and in
mere seconds he could barely see past his own nose.
Draco held his cloak to his mouth and tried breathing in
steady breaths, his heart pulsing so rapidly he could hear
it against his eardrums. The Weasley's concoctions were
no joke. One unfiltered inhale of the
vapour could lead you bleeding out of your orifices until a
medic was able to get to you. A bubble head charm was also
completely pointless once you were surrounded by the fog,
unless you were trying to hurry the Reaper.
The werewolves padded with heavy feet from behind him, not
waiting for further direction, and headed toward the offices
where the curses were coming from.
Draco heard another third against the ground and a
gargling gasp for breath, Wondering which of the Death
Eaters had chosen to pay Death a call, he racked his mind for
what to do. If he sent out rogue spells, he
couldn't be sure who he would hit.
If he did, nothing greybat could have any of the order in his
clutches in moments. There was only one thing for it.
Draco barrelled his way forward in the wolves direction, hoping
to take one of them out the muggle way.
But instead of meeting the back of a leather trench coat, he
fell gracelessly out of the fog and into the office space,
stumbling as he attempted to slow down.
His bones turned to stone at the sight.
The werewolf pack of five had three Weasley men in their
clutches. In the corner, Rita Skeeter
crouched, shivering with fear, her bright blonde hair
bedraggled and grasping at her quill as if it were a magical
totem of strength. In a room at the end of the
space, other editors and office workers who had been unable to
flee hid their shadows behind the translucent glass, giving
them away. The surviving twin of the clan
was being held back with great effort by two of the pack, and
Mr. Weasley, looking more tired and haggard than Draco had ever
seen him, fought against the restraints that had been placed
on him by two other werewolves. Graback's men had worked
quickly. If he was that way inclined, he
would have been impressed. Percy.
Mr. Weasley cried in anguish, his face bulbous against a
stinging jinx he had evidently sustained the neck of a lanky
Weasley, wearing Askew broken glasses, lay in the toothy Moor
of grey back. He was trying to break free from
the werewolf who had him by the scruff of the neck, but Fenrir,
so skilled at partial transformation, had elongated
his incisors and every movement embedded the temporarily sharp
teeth further into the freckled skin.
Draco's mind worked a mile a minute to find the strategy in
the mayhem. He held his hands up to signal a
command for calm and mercifully Greyback and his crew obeyed.
What is the intention here, Arthur?
He asked with his staple snare. The Wolf Pack growled
mirthfully. Behind them, the three remaining
Death Eaters from the entrance joined the office, mulsibur
among them. Not aviary.
A small silver lining, he thought, hoping the arsehole had
been strangled to death. The Daily Prophet cannot
continue to brainwash the masses.
The senior Weasley blurted through swollen lips, spitting
blood as he spoke. We're taking Skeeter.
George declared with vengeance in his words.
I think you'll find you're doing no such thing.
Trekko responded coldly. The energy in the room was on
tenterhooks. Any moment a major fight could
break out and he wasn't sure who he would be able to save.
If you end this attack now, you may leave the premises and the
cease-fire can remain. He gave all the Weaseleys a
pointed look. Please take the deal.
He impressed into Arthur's mind, unsure if the words landed
through the cloud of hatred but mouth.
Did I ask for your opinion, Mulsiba?
Draco snapped back at the stocky Death Eater.
Mulsiba gave him a warning glare before morphing it into a
conniving grin and looking to the alpha wolf.
Greyback. There was a second that lasted a
century where he thought all could be well.
Fuck this. Said Greyback.
The sound that followed sickened his soul, a flesh tearing
guttural noise coming from Percy's throat.
No, his mind screamed at him as George and Arthur's ear
splitting cries broke through his resolve.
What did you do? He bellowed to the beast.
Greyback spat out a large chunk of neck flesh that he'd torn
from Percy's throat and licked at his sharp, nailed, bloody
fingers. Blood spattered in spurts across
the room as the Hogwarts Head Boy stumbled, his eyes full of
fear and shock, and then fell to the floor, pulse beating no
more.