Chapter 35. The Precipice.
From their concealed vantage point, Hermione and her crew of
Ginny, George, Angelina, Luna, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley watched in
silence, cloaked beneath the shimmering well.
Of George's. Disillusionment drops.
Another Weasley invention that had apparently come in rather
handy of late. Ahead of them, a procession of
Ministry. Officials.
Death Eaters. Pure blood.
Aristocrats and sycophantic members of the press were
winding their way up the path toward the grand entrance of the
Manor, among them Rita Skeeter. Her face obscured.
By a mask of rich red and black. Polka dots, of course Skeeter
would inflate her ego. By adopting a more glamorous.
Disguise a ladybird instead of a beetle.
Hermione scoffed under her breath, resisting the urge to
shoot a well timed leg locker curse at the woman as she.
Flitted past the Peacock coops. The only thing that.
Stopped her was. Fudging their mission.
And, well, according to Bill, she'd been having a pretty hard
time of it under the current regime.
No doubt she was already crafting tomorrow's salacious
headlines. Hermione only hoped that for
once, they would lean in her favour.
It's not too late to stay behind.
Arthur said gravely. Peering at Hermione over his
self-made spectacles, held together with Muggle Scotch tape
in a fashion so unmistakably. Harry Potter.
That it made her heart clench. Hermione grimaced.
There's nothing you could say that will stop me, Mr. Weasley.
I wish there. Was.
Added Molly with a frown. Ma'am, she's made her choice,
said Jinny. Her voice hushed yet.
Firm. Hermione sighed.
And looked at both of her adopted.
Parents in earnest, I would never be able to look my
children in the eye. If I.
Stayed away and didn't fight for their.
Father especially. When he needed me the most.
They both pressed their lips together.
If not approving, at least in silent understanding, keeping
her voice. Low, she thought.
Of the elven. Matriarch Greta.
With a tiny pop. The Wiz and elf appeared at
their sides. Before fixing unerringly on the
spot, Hermione stood peering through the wizard made magic.
George had predicted that the house elves would likely see
through the. Illusion.
And he had been right. Angelina gave him an approving
pat on the. Chest a flicker.
Of smug satisfaction crossed his face as he straightened at her
touch. Clearly pleased.
With himself, miss. Hermione is calling for Greta.
She said croakily. Her tone, mildly.
Accusatory. And Hermione feared she had made
a great error of judgement. Before the elderly elf.
Spoke again. You is here to save the Lord,
Master Draco. Taking in the small.
Squad She. Seemed entirely unimpressed with
the incursion effort. Her eyes squinting and offering
each of her cloaked counterparts a pinched expression, Hermione
came down to her height. Yes, and we aren't alone.
There are. Four more groups.
Encircling the Manor and a large contingent of Mughal military
personnel nearby. Should we have need of them.
She drew in a breath. Greta, I we need your help.
Naturally, Miss, what are you thinking wearing this?
This is a grand ball and you look like my dearly departed
florist's shriveled ball sack. This is no good.
No good at all. She tutted, plucking at
Hermione's turtleneck. Miss.
Cannot attend like this. Miss will stick out like
Greta's. Very sore.
Thumb there will. Be no saving Missus Draco.
Molly and Ginny. Both stifled chuckles.
Hermione imagined the three. With their bolshie.
Overbearing attitudes would get on like a house on fire.
The embodiment of the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone in.
All their glory. Don't worry, Greta.
I know of a. Place that will have.
Everything we need, I just need. Your help getting.
In there, the ballroom gleamed, and it would have made a
breathtaking tribute to her exacting standards if it weren't
for the hideous magic as Mike regalia overpowering the quaint
balance of the. Decor the light.
From the 1000 Shard Chandelier. Hovered above each.
Crystal piece shifting and refracting light like.
Captured Stardust. They twisted and spun with an
eerie grace, as if responding to the undercurrent of dark magic
humming in the air and beneath. That celestial glow.
The Predators closed. In at the entrance Nasisa.
Greeted each guest. By name, Her voice smooth, her
smile practised. She bore the weight of decorum
with the effortless. Grace of a woman who had spent a
lifetime perfecting it. Decorum that her son could
presently not muster. Draco stood.
Before the Bowen and sinew throne procured from the great
tall that afternoon. By the Wolf Pack.
He was an unnerving Sentinel carved in marble, a black scaled
mask representing the dragon He. Truly was her.
Dragon, her son, and he was struggling, fighting against an
inner demon that had taken hold of his.
Soul. And the day had.
Come for its claws. To finally sink in, and in fact.
The very flesh. It clung on to.
She watched Theodore move through the crowd with quiet
purpose. Ushering the more esteemed
dignitaries to their designated. High tables while the quartet
strummed. Darkly whimsical tunes.
That slithered through the hall. The Dark Lord would soon.
Descend upon them and Narcissus mind.
Flicked through a. Timeline of etiquette training
only to curse. It for it's.
Uselessness. All those years.
Perfecting pleasantries and parrying idle gossip.
Had left her woefully unprepared.
For the one battle that mattered, protecting her family
from something far deadlier than mere slander, the knowledge
burned in her. Throat like bile.
Narcissa would not allow. Him to take Draco.
When the moment came. She would raise her.
Wand and strike true, driving every ounce of her strength into
the blackened heart. Of the Dark Lord she would.
Spare Draco from delivering the killing blow.
Voldemort so. Desperately desired.
Whatever. Came next.
She would bear the. Burden Better to act and stand
by her convictions than to do nothing and be haunted.
Forever by regret. A voice, smooth and amused.
Pulled her back. To the present, Miss Black.
She turned, her gaze falling upon the figure sauntering
through the foyer. Mulsibur, flanked by a small
entourage. Her sharp eyes swept over the
group. It was his wife.
Who made her stomach turn. The woman who had always been
meek and unassuming now wore an unsettling feline frown, her
golden mask a lioness. Tilted slightly.
Her lips pursed in what almost looked like determination, but
Narcissa knew better. She knew with absolute certainty
that the real and estranged missus mulsibur.
Was. Thousands of miles away, basking
in the sun of the Cayman Islands and no force on earth, magical
or otherwise, would have convinced her to slip.
Back through the. Borders to attend a night's
event yet? Here she stood.
The snakes in Narcissa's stomach.
Coiled tightly. You've outdone yourself, Mulsiba
murmured, brushing a chaste. Kiss to her cheek though.
Both. Of them knew the gesture was
hollow, his gaze. Flicked toward the eastern hall.
Where another group padded into the ballroom, shoving past the
ordered line of guests. Their poorly tailored.
Suits and lack. Of social grace.
Clearly setting them apart. The wolves had arrived at their
head. Greyback prowled forward his.
Shoulders hunched, his grin wide and sharp beneath the jagged
contours of his mask. No, not a mask at all.
The beast had forced a partial. Transformation.
His mouth elongated to a pointed muzzle.
It was a clear sign of domination.
One nick of an incisor against bare flesh and the victim would
be howling under the next. Full moon.
Neceser's jaw clenched, but she morphed her expression into a
smile as Mulsiba addressed her once more.
You know my wife and Dora, and these are my cousins from out of
town. Sympathetic.
Souls. He gestured lazily to the
others. Narrowing his eyes and tilting
his. Head just so ready for the show.
Narcissa smiled, slow and measured.
Kind of you to say, she murmured.
Your. Family is most welcome.
Tell me, have you invited any more sympathetic souls to
tonight's event? I'd like to inform the Kitchens
of any late and unexpected. Additions to the.
Attendee list. Her voice was smooth as molten
gold, but her meaning burned through the pretence.
She had noticed them, and she was watching.
As her gaze. Swept past Mulsiba, lingering
briefly on a waiter, narrowly avoiding spilling a drink on a
gentleman in a manticore mask. She.
Spotted one such unexpected guest, the young man moved
around the foyer with careful concentration of someone who was
unaccustomed to the. Weight of a silver tray the.
Goblets of dark wine barely wavered, but there was something
too deliberate. About the way.
He carried them. As though he were.
Hyper aware. Of every step.
Narcissa had spent years listening to her late husband
scorn the Weasley clan picking them apart.
With aristocratic disdain. But Lucius had been a fool,
blind to the. Real threats.
Even with his hair darkened to mask that unmistakable.
Red. She recognized him instantly.
The eldest son, the curse breaker.
A man with a reputation for unearthing ancient magic and
surviving. It if.
She had had a living daughter and a more forward thinking
husband. She might have considered him an
ideal match. 5 paces away. Greyback was Downing multiple
flutes of champagne and then. Gestured aggressively.
At a member of her service. Staff.
Growling something that sounded. Like where the?
Fuck's the fire whiskey. Her palms were clammy and she
massaged her thumb into the heel to keep.
Herself focused. Though I imagine you should be.
Prepared for a few extra guests. This is the event of the year,
isn't it? Can't think of anyone who'd want
to miss this for the world. She smiled at Mulsiba.
As sweetly as treacle Toffee. And let her.
Gaze travel as. He and his party went to find
their seats, finding Theo across the room.
He was. Already watching her concern and
a question knitted. Into his dark brow.
She gave him a knowing nod. The order was already.
Inside, the game had begun as the ballroom.
Filled, Theo watched the colour drain from Draco's Pala cell by
cell. Until he looked nearly.
Spectral, practically a ghost. What his mate needed.
Was a stiff sip of the good stuff, he decided.
And he slipped. Past the rabble toward the
study. The moment he crossed.
To the threshold, he barely bit back a hiss of surprise. 5 ones
snapped to attention, all trained on him.
He shut the door hastily. At the centre of the study,
Hermione stood wrapped in deep emerald silk.
The fabric. Clinging like liquid.
Jade. And leaving no doubt about the
fullness of her heavily pregnant form.
No hiding now then. He thought wryly.
Her own mask, fashioned from dragon scales, concealed her
expression, but the tilt on her chin was unmistakably.
Imperious. His eyebrows shot so high.
They all but vanished into his hairline and Theo.
Hoofed a laugh at the duo's absurd. 6th sense to coordinate.
Their attire perfectly The Cave had style.
He had to hand it to the Advance magic.
Of the space. Assuming that's how this band
had slipped into the Manor, taking a page out.
Of the Battle of Hogwarts playbook.
Beside her stood. Jinny.
The deep Crimson of her gown mirrored the embers burning in
her gaze behind her vixen mask. The sight nearly stole the
breath from Theo's lungs. He didn't realise Little Red had
it in her. Well, well, He drawled.
Adjusting the lapels of his dark jacket.
I must say. If you.
Guys had turned up like. This at Hogwarts.
Even the Slytherins would have been tripping over themselves to
be hexed. By you.
Jinny shot him an unimpressed look, but the corner of her.
Lips twitched. Keep up that smarmy charm knot
and I might. Just careful, Weasley.
He murmured, stepping close enough that only she could hear
him. If you keep looking at me like
that, I might just take it as an invitation.
Jinny snorted. But a flush crept her throat.
Theo grinned, an older female. Cleared her throat.
And he clocked Missus Weasley straightening her husband's
maroon dress robes behind Malfoy's desk.
Theo sucked in his lips and shrugged boyishly, taking a
step. Back.
I take it you have a plan, then? He turned back to Hermione,
dropping the flirtation like a costume at the end of a
performance. Or are we just?
Winging it, Hermione's gaze didn't waver.
Be ready. To fight something grim and
undeniable. Settled over Theo, his eyes
flickered toward the closed door, toward the ballroom
beyond. Toward Draco.
Hermione. His voice was.
Lower now, tell me you can get him out of this.
Hermione's expression didn't shift beyond her mask, but
something in her jaw. Tensed.
We will do everything we can. Theo swallowed.
Nodded once. It would have.
To be enough. Let's move, said Hermione,
leading them toward the door. Like a murmur of a hidden
Demiguys, they slipped from the study.
Hermione at. Theo's heel.
Her presence expected at the. Soiree there.
Would be no need to hide the rest pressing themselves into
the gilded. Edges of the ballroom.
The music thronged darkly through the air, lilting and
hypnotic, barely disguising the dissonant tension.
That scraped its claws through the space.
Hermione's heart plummeted to the.
Floor. As she locked eyes with Draco
Grainger. He pleaded.
Into her mind, like a man begging Hades himself to return
her soul. What?
You thought I would just give you up?
I only. Hoped you would, He swallowed.
And his eyes. Clouded over protect.
Your mind, Draco. She.
Cast out, unsure. If he could still hear her while
I protect your heart. Just as she reached the.
Head of the room. Acutely aware.
Of the hundreds of beady wizarding eyes on her, Voldemort
arrived. Like a vulture.
Swooping in to. Feast he.
Did not walk. He moved like a mist over a
frozen lake. Gliding across the.
Ballroom floor with the inhuman ease of a Dementor, his robes a
phantom's whisper against the polished wood.
The guests. Parted for him instinctively,
heads bowing, masks hiding. Barely contained anticipation,
anxiety and fear. They had.
All been summoned tonight, yet Hermione saw few among them.
Aside from his loyal Death Eaters.
And the wolves who still held him in reverence, Britain hung.
By a fragile thread of fate. It's children have been wrenched
from their families too soon, trained for war in a school that
once had been a sanctuary. Diagon Alley.
Along with other. Once thriving shopping villages.
Lay almost. Abandoned.
Livelihoods crumbled. Communities fractured.
Voldemort's reign had not. Come without sacrifice.
From every corner of the aisle if it came to a.
Battle would they stand? In the way.
Of the order, would they cower or would they?
Fight with them. Draco stood rigid before the
bone. Throne Narcissa remained.
Poised at the foot of the dais, Theo at her side like he.
Was her scaffolding. She leant in to him slightly.
Voldemort raised his arms, a benevolent gesture from a false.
God, his voice. When it came was the kind that
slithered into bones, into veins.
My. Subjects, he purred.
Tonight, you stand at the precipice of history.
The hush that fell. Over the room was dizzying,
threatening, whirling embodiment of the eye of a storm.
Hermione surveyed the scene, noting her own.
Squad tucked away. In the back.
Corner by the doors. George's Potions.
Belt peeking out just under his. Robes.
Neville, Bill, Fleur and the. Patils their features.
Masked. By low level glamours were
weaving through the crowd with. Trays from the kitchens and at
Mulciba. 'S high table.
Her former professors, hands hooked beneath their garments.
Stood poised to. Attack at a moment's notice.
The Carrows. And the death?
Eater cabal occupied 4 tables. A volatile mix of current
professors including the infamous Dorm Strang enforcer
Draga Munter, the ever menacing McNair.
The Wagga do. Trained Professor Onai.
Who? Judging by his complexion.
Looked as if he'd swallowed. One of Fred and George's.
Puking pastels. And was using every ounce of.
Willpower to keep. From retching.
Oddly, neither Moody. Nor his unspeakable were in
attendance. You have served me well.
Voldemort continued, voice measured, enthralling.
For years you have prayed for a world purified of weakness, a
world that bows only to true power.
His red gaze. Gleamed with the fires of
Dante's Inferno and. Now we shall cement that power
for eternity. Hermione's nerves were on fire.
And she shifted closer to Draco. Just as Voldemort turned and
addressed him directly. Come forward, my air.
The guests buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.
Some of them uncertain, others horrified.
Hermione's nails bit into her palms.
Draco did not move. For a moment, the ballroom held
its breath. Voldemort's lip curled, amused.
Do not hesitate, boy. He said, voice a dagger wrapped
in silk. I have given you the greatest of
honours. You need not.
Fight it any longer. Draco lifted his.
Chin expression unreadable behind his own mask.
And then? Very carefully.
He took a step forward. Good.
Voldemort said. Pleased as Draco.
Met his master in the centre of the room.
Tonight you shall all bear witness to the dawn of a new
age. A monarchy.
Where the essence of my might shall pass to my heir, your very
own Dark Commander, Lord Draco Malfoy.
A collective gasp drained the. Room of all oxygen, leaving
behind a silence. So absolute that all that could
be heard was the furious. Scratching of Rita.
Skeeter's Quill to. Parchment.
Voldemort pierced his thin fingers.
Into the shoulder pads of Draco's suit.
While his other hand curled around his wand, irreverent.
You have already witnessed the might of my magic.
I am your Dark Lord, the chosen wielder of the Death Stick.
And with the. Aid of those.
Who have long held the keys to magic beyond mortal
understanding. I have achieved what no wizard
before me ever could. A cruel smile stretched.
Across his lips. I do not.
Merely cheat death. His wand lifted.
I command it. Through the ballroom doors, a.
Murder of cloaked. Figures Strode.
In a scream. Tore through the deepest.
Recesses of her mind, raw and sickened, but Hermione locked
it. Inside across the.
Room Mrs. Weasley's wail shattered the hush, a cry of
pure. Agony that found it's echo in.
George, except the sound he made was not quite.
Human those nearest. To the doors.
Recoiled, rushing hurriedly away, pressing.
To the edges of the. Ballroom, their faces twisted in
horror. The guests gazes.
Flickered from the newcomers to Voldemort, dawning comprehension
giving way. To revulsion, hope and horror
curdled in George's voice, thick as blood, rotten as the flesh.
Peeling from the figures before them.
Because. There, standing ahead.
Of the Unspeakables. Amid the.
Sickly, half decayed. Forms of Ron, Tongues, Remus and
Moody was his. Twin F Fred.