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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Chapter Fifteen.

Delivering Draco.





Draco stepped away from the Knight Bus and immediately tried to get his bearings. He stood by the side of a road that skimmed the top of a swell in the land. It was not quite a hill, but it was enough to give him a view of the small village below. There were a few street lamps marching like an incomplete dot-to-dot puzzle across the valley, and here and there an assortment of houses broke the darkness with their comfortable lights. The night was cold enough to make Draco shiver as he debated which direction to take. Now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure where the place he was looking for was located. He had been here with his father, a terrifying and glorious night that had stalked both his waking moments and his dream-plagued sleep ever since. But his father had brought him here using Apparation, and this had given him no clues to the exact location of the tunnels and caverns that had become home to the Dark Lord.

Eastwrithe, he thought, was a perfect name for the sinuous village that snaked along the course of the steely river. He could see the grey water reflect the streetlights, broken in places by a bridge or half-hearted tree cover. He set off in the general direction of the village, hoping to find someone to prise the location of Rampton Court from. The path he chose dipped through fields to wind, idly, down to a small park, where it then diverged. One path led towards the river and the other away from the village. Favouring the river over the outskirts, he turned right and pulled his cloak tighter against his body, trying to preserve some of his own warmth in its woollen folds.

The place was as quiet as a tomb. No dogs barked, no car doors slammed, no voices disturbed the silence. All he could hear was the soft rustle of the water; even the dying leaves up above offered no sound. A path followed this section of river, a place for dog-walkers and ramblers alike. Draco made use of it and stepped away from the cover of the trees into the open. He walked confidently, bolting his fear away from view so that when he did find the Dark Lord he would be able to offer himself with no weakness showing. There was a slight ripple on the water and Draco snapped his head to the side. Nothing moved, but he hurried up a little, his feet carrying him towards a bridge that bowed over the river and would carry him to the other side if he so chose. He hesitated, wondering if this would be the right path to take. As he deliberated he did not sense the presence of someone else, did not smell the sudden whiff of evil in the air. Perhaps his own growing smell masked the greater one.

“You would do well to continue on the path,” a voice hissed from up above.

Draco looked around in panic, whirling on the spot as he tried to locate the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Where are you?”

“I said, follow the path,” the voice repeated. “You might find what you are looking for.”

Light flooded the night as Draco held up his wand and illuminated it, jumping back in shock as he saw a man clinging precariously to one of the branches of a tree that grew by the path.

“Put that light out!” the man hissed. “Are you after getting the Muggles out of their homes?”

“Who are you?” Draco asked, satisfied now that he knew what he was dealing with. He extinguished his wand and looked up again, picking out the man’s outline against the branches. “And what do you want.”

“I’m offering you a bit of advice,” the man repeated. There was a lot of rustling and something small landed beside Draco. In the next instant that small thing had grown into a man and was looking down at him in the ill-lit shadows. “You want to get somewhere, I’m guessing, and I can help you with that.”

“Why would you help me?” Draco asked suspiciously. “What do you want in return?”

“Clever lad, aren’t you? Just like yer ‘oul dad was.”

“How do you know who my father is? And what do you mean, was?”

“Have you not heard?” The stranger brought his face closer to Draco’s and the boy could see the pale, milky eyes glittering at him with malicious pleasure. “Your father’s dead. Got himself killed in a Muggle attack up North. Stupid mistake to make fer one so clever.”

“He’s not dead!” Draco snapped. “You stupid man. How can he be dead? My mother would have…”

“But you haven’t seen your mother recently, have you, wee man?” The man’s lip curled nastily. “Poor thing, running around without his mother to take care of him. I should imagine you’re a little lost without her to look after you.”

“I do not need my mother,” Draco said coldly. “And if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than stand here and talk to scum like you.”

Draco was about to cross the bridge and the man chortled to himself.

“Will you not even listen to sense? I’ve told you where to go. And I don’t want anything in return. Seeing you face the Dark Lord will be reward enough. What do you think he’s going to do, Draco Malfoy? Do you think he’s going to congratulate you for making such a mess of killing Dumbledore? More like he’ll be ready to take your eejit head from your shoulders. But still, if you want to risk that, prove your bravery, then carry on down this path. You’ll find it twists past a dead oak; take the smaller path that runs through the trees. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes but it’ll fetch you up at a small clearing with a statue of a satyr.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Touch the statue and tell it who you are. The rest is up to the Dark Lord.”

“But what…?”

Draco’s question was destined to remain unanswered, though, as the man drew away, and with a crack, Disapparated from the pathway, leaving Draco alone once more.

There was no doubt that the man’s words had created a pocket of ill ease within Draco. He wasn’t sure he believed that about his father; Lucius Malfoy would not have allowed himself to be killed so easily. What worried him more was the impression the other man had that the Dark Lord might not look on him so favourably. Could it be that he would not be forgiven for failing to kill Dumbledore? But the fool Snape had stepped in and succeeded. Surely the fact that the man was dead was all that mattered? If he were charged with such a thing again he would not fail, of that he was certain.

Redoubling his resolve, he set off in the direction that the man had told him to go. Sure enough, by following the directions carefully, he found the statue and did what he had been told to do. There was a thoughtful pause as the satyr moved its small head and surveyed him.

“And what have we here?” it said coldly, its voice a reflection of the material it was constructed from. “A child? Come to visit the Dark Lord?”

“I am not a child,” Draco spat. “I’ve been here before. Just let me pass.”

“You’re an annoyance, if you don’t mind me saying so,” the satyr continued, clearly not caring if Draco minded or not. It gave a twitch of its ears and narrowed its eyes at the pale boy. “But I shall enquire if you are to be allowed entry. One moment, please.” The statue resumed its position and all fell silent. Draco shifted uneasily on the carpet of grass, looking around him and wondering why it appeared to be so light in this clearing. There was no obvious light source and yet he could see perfectly. As he watched, a small furry creature scurried across his path and he jumped back to avoid it touching him, his distaste for all things of that kind springing from the occasion when Mad-Eye Moody had turned him into a ferret.

“You are to be allowed in,” the satyr announced, melting back to life, “but you will be held overnight. It is late and the Dark Lord is not seeing anyone else this evening. Come.” The satyr jumped down from its plinth and the heavy stone moved aside easily, revealing a long set of steep steps that descended into the bowels of the earth, away from the fresh night air and into something that Draco had smelt once before when he had visited with his father. He knew, by the bitterness in the air, that he had the right place and that the stranger had not lied.

“Well, down you go,” the satyr insisted. “What are you waiting for?”

Draco experienced a moment of indecision as he approached those steps. But he knew that in order to prove himself he would have to face the Dark Lord, and so he put a foot on the top step and prepared to go down. As he did so, the furry creature that had run past him just a few minutes ago, slipped between his feet and headed down. The satyr seemed not to have noticed and Draco decided that this was his first fear to be overcome. If he had to, he would blast the little rodent into oblivion with his wand.

He had got halfway down when he heard the scrape and thud of the plinth closing on his only direct means of escape and, with a large intake of breath, he carried on down to the bottom of the stairs and found it opened onto several corridors. He waited for a few moments, wondering if he was supposed to just walk on. He was about to take one of the left-hand corridors, chosen for its brightness, when a man’s whining voice stopped him.

“Now why would you be wandering off?” it asked, and he turned to find a scrawny-looking man surveying him with a sliver of saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth.

“I… I didn’t know… You’re Pettigrew, aren’t you?” Draco instantly looked scornful. His father had had nothing but contempt for this lucky little runt who had managed to stay by the Dark Lord’s side.

“Follow me,” Pettigrew replied, beckoning him forward with his silver hand. “You have been allowed a bed for the night and the master will see you tomorrow, when he feels adequately prepared to deal with you.”

Draco paled a little at Pettigrew’s choice of words, but followed him all the same. After all, what choice did he have now?





Maeve unfurled the parchment that Hedwig had brought to her. The owl had followed her into the bunker so that she could close the door on any eyes that might have strayed in its direction. With beady eyes on her, she read.

Maeve,

You might not believe it, but I’ve gone back to Hogwarts, for now at least. Hermione’s found something out about R.A.B. and we think we might be able to find some more information if we can get a certain caretaker to talk. Any ideas about how we’ll do that? We won’t do anything until we hear back from you on that score. I also wanted to say that Grimmauld Place is now empty and, if you wanted to, you could use it. It must be pretty lonely where you are and at least there you could get out and about a bit. Plus, the Ministry would probably be a lot happier knowing you were in the country. I can let you have the key, if you want. I don’t think I’ll be back at Grimmauld Place until at least Christmas, so it would be like yours for that time.

Let me know. Hope you’re okay.

Harry.



Maeve looked at Hedwig, who moved her head slightly.

“Well,” she said. “Grimmauld Place. I wonder.” Her mind began to race with possibilities. If Harry wasn’t there, then it would be a place that both she and Severus could be safe. Only the Order members knew where Grimmauld Place was. She knew that Remus had put a new Fidelius Charm on the building and that Harry was now the Secret Keeper, so it was as safe as it ever had been. They would be hidden from both Ministry and Voldemort. And if Harry did return unexpectedly, it would only take Severus seconds to Disapparate.

“Thank you, Hedwig,” Maeve said, opening the door for the owl to depart. “I’ll get in touch with Harry later.” The bird looked disappointed that it didn’t have a return missive to carry, but hooted gently and flew away. She closed the door again and leant against it. Grimmauld Place would be perfect, if only she could persuade her husband.





Draco had spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning on a stiff mattress with only one thin sheet for cover. He woke in a foul temper that was little improved when he realised he would not be presented with any breakfast. Pettigrew had checked on him and told him the Dark Lord had meetings all morning and would see him just before lunch. The implication was that lunch, for Draco at least, was just a way of marking time.

He prowled around his room, debating the many different ways he could approach the Dark Lord. He could go in with an attitude of abject submission, but this did not really appeal. He could be full of false bravado and admit he had made a mistake but it would not happen again, but this could backfire. He could lay the blame entirely at Snape’s door for stepping in too soon. Surely the Dark Lord would believe that. After all, Snape had been on the run from everyone too. How many conversations could he have had with the Dark Lord since it happened? Draco decided that if he could put a convincing spin on this angle, he might just get away with it. He rehearsed his little speech for the benefit of his room and the walls listened to him.

“So you see, my Lord, I was on the point of bringing the old fool to his knees and fulfilling my task, when Snape stepped in and snatched away the victory from me. It was I who had set up the old man and it should have been I who killed him. Snape has been after my glory for a few years now, always stopping me from doing things that would prove myself, always interfering with my life. He always held me back at school, never gave me the right opportunities. All it would take is for one more chance from you, my Lord, and I could prove how worthy of being a Death Eater I really am.”

A slight cough from the doorway made Draco stop abruptly. A grinning Pettigrew stood there, wringing his hands and looking amused.

“Well then, Draco. Time for you to tell that to the master.”

Draco couldn’t help the blush that crept up his cheeks as he tried to recover some poise.

“Good,” he snapped. “At last. I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

Pettigrew smiled again at the impudence and wondered how cocky he would be when he finally came face to face with the Dark Lord. “This way.”



The tunnels ran on forever, and Draco was beginning to tire of them. Just as he was about to voice his complaints, the tunnel opened out into a large cavern and he was amazed at its height. His amazement soon turned to apprehension as his eyes rested on the man by the fire, who had his back to him. Voldemort was terrifying, whether you saw him from the front or rear, and Draco once again felt the mesmerising power that the Dark wizard held within him. By the large chair closest to the fire he could see a giant snake and knew at once that that was the famed Nagini. But the thing that made him really panic, and which destroyed his earlier hard work over his speech, was the sight of his former Potions Master, who was standing with his arms tightly folded and looking at him with a frigid smile on his face.

No one said anything until Voldemort turned, watching Draco with a blank expression. He stared for so long that Draco felt molten fear run through him, preferring anger to this silence. Severus remained immobile and Pettigrew had scurried from the room after delivering his human cargo. Nagini hissed quietly, sensing her master’s anger, her body uncurling slightly. Draco, fortunately, had the good sense to remain silent and allow Voldemort to direct the confrontation.

The Dark wizard began to walk slowly across to his prey, his face a serpentine mask that gave away nothing.

“So, Mr Malfoy, you have returned,” he said. “How good of you to grace us with your presence once more.”

“Sir, I…”

“Silence.” The words, spoken so softly, were far more intimidating than any noisome bellow. “You will not speak until I require it of you.” He turned away from Draco and back to the fire. “Come and sit, Draco.”

Draco walked reluctantly towards the chair, looking at it as if Nagini would ensnare him there.

“Not afraid, surely?” Voldemort asked, his voice a silken web of malice that pulled Draco ever closer to his fate. “What do you have to be afraid of? Perhaps Snape can remind us.”

Severus did not move an inch, keeping his muscles firmly under control. “My Lord, I think it would be preferable for Draco to explain his own fears. I am not really in a position to do so.”

“Really, Snape. Well, perhaps you have a point. After all, it is Draco’s own failings that have brought him here. So explain yourself.” He turned his blood-coloured eyes once again to the cowed boy and waited.

“Sir, I… I was just preparing myself. I needed a little more time. I would have done it, but” – he looked at Severus with a venomous expression – “he acted too quickly. Didn’t give me the chance.”

“Is this true, Snape?” Voldemort asked, turning to Severus with eyes that already knew the answer.

“Had I not acted when I did, we would have had members of the Order upon us. They would have saved Dumbledore and my cover would have been compromised. Draco would most certainly have been captured. The boy does not yet understand the need for swift action. He does not understand the need to be able to kill quickly in order to make good an escape.”

“I see,” Voldemort sighed. “Such a shame for one who has so much promise. Because ultimately, Draco, you failed me. You did not carry out the task as intended. It took the prompt actions of Snape to save the operation. Tell me, in my position, what would you do? What punishment would you mete out?”

“I would kill someone that failed me,” Draco muttered.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I didn’t quite catch that,” his tormentor said.

“I said,” Draco repeated, raising his voice, “that I would kill someone who had failed me.”

The laugh that ripped from Voldemort’s lungs was ridden by a well-practised mockery. “But you failed to kill in the first place. You really think you could kill someone that crossed you!”

“I could kill Potter!” he insisted.

“I did not ask you to kill Potter,” Voldemort said, looking to Severus. “That is already being taken care of, should the opportunity present itself.”

Severus held his head high and stared back, aware that two pairs of eyes were now watching for any slight betrayal on his face.

Voldemort turned his attention back to Malfoy. “I think another target could be found for you, if you really wanted to prove yourself. You see, I have long had a Malfoy working for me, and now that the older one is dead I think I can find it in my heart to offer the younger one a second chance.”

Severus looked to Draco as he received confirmation of his father’s death. There was a slight sway and a clench of his jaw, but apart from that Draco betrayed no emotion. “That would please me, my Lord,” he said.

“It would please you, and yet you do not know your target?”

“Whatever target you choose, my Lord, will be acceptable to me.”

“Then why don’t you draw your wand and see how well you can do against your former teacher. Kill Snape for me.” Voldemort looked delighted by his little diversion, one that neither of his two guests had been expecting, and casually looked towards Severus. “Just don’t make a mess of the walls.”

Draco looked uncertain, not sure if Voldemort was serious or merely playing some sort of strange joke. Severus, meanwhile, was busily working out just what Voldemort was playing at. The Dark Lord did not want Draco to kill him, did he? Was the fact that Draco had offered to kill Potter making his life expendable? Surely not. His hand twitched on his wand as he prepared to defend himself.

“I…” Draco found himself hesitating, blood rushing from his face. “Are you sure?”

“Do I look the kind of wizard to be unsure of anything, Draco? Kill him.” Voldemort watched as Draco reached for his wand. Severus was quicker though and before Draco could say anything an “Expelliarmus!” had burst from his mouth. Draco’s wand was picked from his grasp and flicked towards Voldemort, who caught it smartly and dropped it into the fire.

“No!” Draco shouted, forgetting where he was for a moment. “My wand!”

“...Is no more, Draco,” Voldemort said. “Call that an added task, procuring a new wand. Perhaps you could retrieve your dead father’s. I did not expect you would manage to kill Snape, but it will perhaps make you think twice before you next doubt his motives in anything. He did not seek to take your glory; he sought to get a job done, a job that I had ordered. Now, you will kill Neville Longbottom for me. If you succeed in this then I have a bigger and better prize for you to claim. But first you must kill the boy.”

“But Longbottom’s still at school,” Draco protested. “How am I supposed to get into Hogwarts?”

“You think this concerns me? You have until the end of December and if Longbottom is not dead, you most certainly will be. And you will get no help from Snape, or anyone else, this time.”

“Okay,” Draco said, his palms and forehead drenched in sweat. “I can do it. I will do it.”

“Of course you will,” Voldemort agreed. “Now, get out.”

Pettigrew materialised once more, tripping slightly over something that caught at his feet, and prepared to lead Draco away.

“And I would not be surprised if you have made an enemy of your former guardian Snape today,” Voldemort hissed. “You did not do a very good job of convincing me that he should stay alive. You simply went to kill him. I might have lost a good servant. Still, you obeyed your orders, which is all that matters to me.” He gave a tight smile that made his face leer alarmingly.

Draco shot a glance at Severus and found nothing in his expression. If the man was angry with him, it did not show, but neither was their any understanding on display.

“Go on, I am done with you. Both of you,” he said, including Severus in the dismissal. “Try not to kill each other on the way out.”

Severus was about to leave when Voldemort called his name. “Actually, Severus, one moment.”

“Yes, my Lord?” he stood tall, waiting for more bad news.

“Keep an eye on the boy. Do not help him in any way; if anything, lay obstacles in his path.”

“Certainly, my Lord. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. I have been having some problems with a Death Eater named Holloway, Jacob Holloway. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say you have.”

Severus closed his eyes for a few seconds, searching his memory for a visual representation of the name. “He left Hogwarts three years ago, did he not?” he said finally.

“He did. He left with a grudge against you, for some reason.”

“It is not uncommon,” Severus answered. “Although it is more infrequent for students from Slytherin to hold a grudge.”

“He has been telling tales on you, tales that I disbelieve. But you should be aware of this fact. I would not object to you removing him. Disloyalty will not be tolerated, from anyone.”

“Of course not. I will see what action needs to be taken.” Severus allowed himself a flicker of anger. This explained the old man’s warning to Maeve.

“Very well, that is all.” And this time the dismissal was permanent. Severus walked from the cavern, glad not to have to deal with Draco at that moment. He just wanted to return to the bunker and shake away the strain of that meeting for a few hours before deciding what to do about the man who was trying to betray him.





Maeve had stacked the parchments back up on one of the beds, having gleaned nothing from them. The note from Harry was sitting on a shelf, its contents rumbling around her mind. She had taken Severus’ bed and the one he had allocated to her and pushed them together, welding them with a quick spell. If she were going to sleep in this place, she would do it in the same bed as her husband, although the prospect of Grimmauld Place was now tempting her away from the bunker, secure though this place was. She heard the heavy scrape of the front door being opened and slipped into the stifling cupboard that Severus had instructed her to use should she hear any noise. Breathing lightly, she waited until she heard his familiar footsteps outside the dormitory before stepping out of the dusty confines, hitting herself in the face with a broom handle as she did so. She rubbed her nose as she went to greet him.

“You should have waited until I spoke to you,” he said tersely. “I could have been anyone.”

“Severus, I would know your footsteps anywhere. They’re so irritable and impatient.” She reached up to kiss him and realised that he looked even paler than usual. “Bad meeting?”

He gave her a withering look and slumped onto one of the beds. Unfortunately it was the one containing the parchments, and they scattered in all directions across the tiled floor. He made to pick them up but she stopped him. “Don’t worry about them, they’re just paper. I’ll pick them up in a minute. What happened?”

“What always happens at meetings with the Dark Lord?” Severus hunched his shoulders over, striking a weary and defeated pose. “I have to use every ounce of my strength to prevent him from peeling back the layers of my mind, and he invariably does something nasty to someone.”

“Someone? You?” Her face bled with concern as she sat next to him and took his hands in hers.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he grimaced. “But more accurately, Draco.”

“Draco found him then? And he didn’t kill him?” Maeve looked surprised and Severus managed a smile for her.

“You underestimate him. He can show mercy if he thinks it will be either useful or amusing. In this case I think he found it was both. Draco has his new target, is wandless and I have been instructed to impede him to further test his resourcefulness. All in all, I don’t think it could have been worse.”

“Who’s the target?”

“Neville Longbottom. And given that boy’s capacity for defending himself, I don’t hold out much hope for his survival.”

Maeve twisted his fingers anxiously within hers. Poor Neville. It seemed that every day there was someone else with a price on their head and today was Neville’s turn.

“And will he be able to kill, Severus? He failed with Dumbledore.”

“He almost killed me, but his reactions were too slow and I deflected him.” Severus stilled her hands and placed them on her lap, freeing his own. “I think it was the Dark Lord’s idea of humour, to order him to kill me.”

“And after all you’ve done for him, he was prepared to kill you? I thought he liked you. Those holidays, taking the place of Lucius.”

“He’s spent too long in the company of others for childhood attachments to matter to him now, Maeve. He is corrupted by the glory of the fight and serving the Dark Lord, as I once was. How can I blame him for the course he has taken? He sees more in the Dark Lord’s employ than he does in doing what is right. But he will have no more mercy from me. If he is prepared to kill me like an adult then he must accept the consequences.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” Maeve said sadly.

“And I also know what your old man was talking about, with the person prepared to betray me. Someone by the name of Jacob Holloway. That will have to be dealt with.”

“Did Voldemort believe what he was telling him?”

“Would I be here if he had?”

“No, of course you wouldn’t. So what will you do about it? You won’t… You won’t kill him will you?”

“I might have to if it comes down to it. But we shall see. Contrary to popular belief I take no pleasure in killing.” His spirit looked so battered that she almost didn’t mention Grimmauld Place, thinking perhaps he would be angry at the whole thought of it. She really didn’t want to burden him with an extra worry. But she couldn’t hold onto the secret of Harry’s offer and so she showed him the parchment. He snorted as he read and she watched his face lighten a little. He tossed the parchment onto the floor and smiled at her.

“So, the little man needs my help does he?”

“He needs my help,” Maeve corrected.

“But you can’t give him the help he needs, can you? I know Filch. I know what it takes to part him from his secrets. Leave that to me and tell Potter to do nothing. As for Grimmauld Place, I have heard worse ideas. This way the only people we would have to worry about are Potter and the Order, and I can make my escape easily enough from them if they turn up there. The Dark Lord need never know I have been at the house. Contact him and tell him that the offer is acceptable. Now, I find myself in need of some comfort to take my mind off the events of this morning and as there is no lunch forthcoming perhaps I will have to make do with something more basic.”

And, unusually, he reached for her first, pulling her into him with a need that was so apparent it made her heart ache for him. And as they fell together, entwined on the bed, she knew she had made absolutely the correct decision joining him. Albert had been more than right.




The impatient Pettigrew had hurried Draco along the corridors, wanting him out of the tunnels as quickly as possible so that he could get back to work. Draco was taken out a different way and was surprised to find that the entrance they left from opened out onto a once grand courtyard. Pettigrew flapped hands at him and turned tail, muttering his goodbyes.

The courtyard bore none of the stains of the fire that had gutted the main buildings. It was constructed from solid grey stone and only a rusting gate provided an exit. As Draco approached it he realised it was locked, providing him with his first challenge of the day. The walls were high but not impossible and he found the roughest looking surface to climb. Seeking out hand- and footholds, he began to ascend the steep walls, looking up rather than down. Sweating, he reached the top and was able to throw his leg over the thick stone. He could see the remains of the house from here and the unkempt drive that led from the main part of the estate. It appeared it would be easier to find a way out than in.

Struggling down was easier, and he let go of the wall to drop the last few feet to the grassy surface below. Draco straightened his cloak and began the long walk up the weed-infested gravel towards the dull, double gates that connected the two ends of the perimeter wall. He had no idea where his mother was, but he was sure he could manage to make it back to Malfoy Manor. Whether she was there or not was of no consequence. Somewhere in that house there would be a wand, one of his ancestors’, perhaps, that he could use until such a time as he could acquire a new one for himself.

The gates opened out onto a small track that looked like it had once been a road, and Draco turned left, in the direction of the village. As he walked he could see that this was not the picturesque place he might have imagined. By the side of the rough road he was walking along he could see the rusting hulk of an old car, its doors hanging open and its glass lying in sparkling piles of ice by tyres long since punctured. Strings of old plastic tape hung from the trees and a dirty blue tarpaulin had wrapped itself round a lamppost whose bulb had been smashed.

He approached the heart of the village, his face in a permanent frown of distaste. There was a pub on the corner, the Crooked Billet, but it didn’t look very welcoming. Its windows were filthy and an emaciated dog hovered in the doorway, growling at Draco maliciously. From somewhere he could hear the thudding of music that didn’t sound at all pleasant, and now that he could see the river in daylight he realised it was a most putrid ochre in colour. A rotund man in shirtsleeves opened the door of one of the houses by the pub and glowered at him with an unshaven and querulous face.

“What you want?” he snarled. “Not from round here, are you?”

“Of course I’m not!” Draco replied, as if the thought of coming from such a dump was the most ludicrous thing imaginable. “I had some business to conduct. How do I get out of this place?”

“You got in, so you can get out,” the man grumbled, slamming the door loudly in Draco’s un-amused face.

He made it as far as the end of the street when a group of youths rounded the corner and looked at him with interest.

“Well, what’s this then. Guy in a dress?” the first one sniggered, approaching Draco with a smirk on his face.

“Go away,” Draco said coldly, forgetting he was wandless, “or you’ll regret it.”

“Regret it, will we?” said the red-haired one, his freckles almost obliterating his nose. “And you’re gonna make us regret it?”

“You WILL regret it,” Draco insisted, instinctively reaching for his wand, not caring that these were Muggles. If anything that made it more fun.

“Why, dress-boy? What you gonna do about it?” the first one growled, reaching for Draco’s embroidered cloak.

“It’s not what he will do about it, it’s what I will do about it,” a new, deeper voice said

The three thugs and Draco looked around and Draco instantly frowned, too irritated to be grateful.

“And who are you then?” the skinny one asked. “You a girl too?”

The one who had spoken first hesitated, a smart remark frozen on his lips. The boy seemed to have recognised something in the newcomer’s face and flinched when he spoke.

“You know, I can understand your lack of manners, living in a hole like this. What I can’t understand is you inability to recognise trouble when you see it. I suggest you turn your scruffy little bodies around and bugger off now, before something nasty happens to you. Although from the looks of what you’re wearing, something already has.”

“You clever bast…” but the red-haired one didn’t get the chance to finish. He was lifted off his feet and slumped against a wall, the wind knocked out of him.

“Now, why don’t you do as I suggest and get out of here, before I do something even worse.”

Without waiting for their friend to recover, the two of them that were still standing bolted back round the corner, leaving the winded one to crawl around after them.

“I know you,” Draco sneered, instantly forgetting about the danger he had been in. “You knew my father. I’ve seen you at Hogwarts too.”

“Yes, you do know of me. Roderick Rampton, unfortunate friend of your mother’s.” Roderick gave Draco a filthy look. “Unbelievable that you find yourself facing Muggle children in broad daylight without a concern in the world. Had you attempted to use your wand you would have been in serious trouble.”

“And I’m not already?” Draco said scornfully. “Besides, I don’t have my wand anymore. The Dark Lord had an accident with it.”

“Voldemort doesn’t have accidents. We both know that.” Roderick grabbed his arm and pulled him into a dirty alcove. “I don’t much care for you. I think you are a whiny brat that needs a good hexing. However, I have promised your mother to bring you to her and I’m fulfilling that promise. After that, you’re on your own.” He paused and allowed his fingers to bite harder into Draco’s arm. “And if you give me a minute’s trouble you will share the same fate as your father. Do we understand each other?”

Draco nodded, his face rigid with suppressed anger. He wasn’t fool enough not to know that this man was his best chance of getting out of Eastwrithe quickly.

“And what did Voldemort have to say to you?” Roderick asked, his cold manner suddenly turning to charm.

“That’s between me and him,” Draco shot back.

“Oh come now, Draco. We are both servants of his after a fashion. I think you can share this with me. After all, I am a very good friend of your mother’s.”

“Well,” Draco hesitated, trying to read something, anything, in the man’s face, and failing. “He just gave me a new task, that’s all. Don’t ask me what it is. I can’t tell you.”

“Another target, perhaps?” Roderick suggested.

“Maybe,” Draco looked him in the eye. “Yes, another target. Someone at Hogwarts.”

“Is that so? Well, tell me no more, young man. It’s your secret.”

Without further conversation, Roderick Disapparated from the seedy hiding place with Draco still in his grasp and was only too pleased to let go when they arrived in the kitchen of Carrowdore cottage.


He strode to the foot of the stairs and called up, “Your child is in the kitchen, Narcissa. I have to get back to Hogwarts. Deal with him as best you see fit. I don’t think there is any reason you can’t return to Malfoy Manor now that he has made his peace with Voldemort.”

A clatter of footsteps was heard on the floor above them and Narcissa hove into view, her dress billowing behind her like a ship in full sail.

“Draco!” she shrieked, almost falling down the stairs in her eagerness to get to her son. “I was so worried about you!”

Roderick was gone by the time Narcissa reached Draco, who squirmed under her tender attentions.

“I was so worried about you! I saw you on the Knight Bus yesterday but didn’t want to say anything. I knew you wouldn’t have… Well, you wouldn’t have listened to me. I thought the Dark Lord would kill you.” Pretty tears welled up in her eyes and dropped onto Draco’s cloak.

“Mother, please get off me,” he said, in his father’s voice. He pushed her away and she stood stricken.

“But, Draco, my darling, I missed you so much. And here you are, safe. We could return to Malfoy Manor now, if you wished. I am sure the house-elves will still be there. It would be like…” She was about to say old times, until she realised that there would never be anything like old times again. “It would be good for both of us to gain a little perspective on things. I have some bad news for you.”

“My father is dead,” Draco said, his icy face not warmed by her concern. “But I’m afraid I just don’t believe that, Mother. I think he’s playing a game to get himself free of the Dark Lord. He will pay, eventually.”

“He is dead,” she said, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I saw it myself.”

“But how…?”

“Don’t ask,” she stumbled over the words. “You must believe what I am telling you.”

Draco looked a little shaken by this confirmation. Whatever scorn he had in reserve for his father, he hadn’t really believed he was dead. “Well,” he pronounced, “serves him right for not being clever enough.”

“Let’s go back to Malfoy Manor,” she said again, hoping he would see sense.

“That would be so sensible, wouldn’t it?” he said mockingly. “With the Ministry wanting to talk to me about my part in Dumbledore’s killing and all.”

“You were a child when it happened, Draco,” she said. “You could easily talk your way out of it. It was Severus who killed the man, after all. Perhaps it would be better to get it out of the way. If you did, you could go back to Hogwarts and finish your education. You could sit your N.E.W.T.s.”

“I have never had any intention of sitting those ridiculous examinations,” Draco laughed. “Why would I do that, with the Malfoy fortune at my disposal. The only qualification I need is being the Dark Lord’s servant.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, horrified that her son might be following his father at such a tender age. “He has forgiven you for Dumbledore. You are free of him for now.”

Draco’s laugh was so dry it sucked the moisture out of the air. “I will never be free of him, nor do I want to be. I have taken on a new task, one that I will fulfil.”

“Oh no, Draco,” she said, the tears beginning to flow again. “Not after all that has been done, after people have suffered for you.”

“Did you think I would just turn away from the Dark Lord, Mother? Did you think that I was just doing it for fun?” Draco was shaking with his own importance. “I want this more than anything. I want to be better than my father, to prove that one Malfoy can serve the Dark Lord consistently. Father only ever did what was right for him. I thought he was being clever when he abandoned the Dark Lord after his little accident with Potter, but I see now that he was just looking out for himself. There is no glory in looking after your own wealth.”

Narcissa was looking at her son with horror. “But Draco, your father did everything for you. He worked hard to give us the best of everything. You should be grateful to him. Are you not in the least bit upset that he is dead?”

“Are you, mother?” Draco said. “Are you really going to miss him? What did he ever do for you besides give you a big house and some fancy clothes?”

Narcissa’s dismay was mounting and she tried to prevent her son from saying the things that deep in her heart, she knew were true. “Don’t say such things,” she protested. “Don’t besmirch his memory in this way. Please, Draco, for me.”

“Do yourself a huge favour,” Draco snarled, “and stop pretending.”

He opened the front door and sniffed at the air. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked.

“Maeve O’Malley’s house,” Narcissa said from behind him.

“What?” Draco turned back. “What are we doing here? Tell me you didn’t reduce yourself to taking help from her.”

“She was the only person that would help me. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. But if you go to the Ministry and tell them what you know, then I won’t need to depend on her for help. I can return home safely, with you.”

“Now that I have sorted things out with the Dark Lord, there is nothing stopping you returning. I’ll come back briefly, but I will not go to the Ministry. I have no broom, so we will have to Apparate.”

“Very well,” Narcissa said, pleased to have won half the battle in getting him to return to home, no matter how brief his stay. “Let me get my cloak and we’ll leave.”

“Hurry up,” he snapped. “I’m getting hungry.”

Narcissa unhooked her cloak from its resting place behind the front door and knew that she could no longer pretend that her son was any different to his father. All the time spent with Severus as a boy had been wasted; he was his father’s son through and through. He might cloak his true ideals with fine words about glory, but ultimately he wanted exactly the same things has his father had done: money and power. Slamming the door to the cottage behind her, she could feel her heart finally breaking into pieces. There was no one alive that really cared for her, cared about her well-being and safety. No one, that is, except the Rampton man. As she held Draco’s arm gently, preparing to Disapparate, she thought back to the look on his face as she had poured her heart out about Draco earlier that day. There had been genuine care there and something else.

Narcissa smiled to herself as she pulled Draco through space towards their home. She was a foolish witch, distracted by grief and seeing things that were impossible. There was no reason for her to see Rampton again, and he must have been twenty years her junior. But as she arrived in the dusty, disused hallway of Malfoy Manor she found she couldn’t quite get the man from her mind.