A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 25 – Complications

Draco came to himself in Azkaban prison and wished he were dead. A Hufflepuff. His perfect match was a Hufflepuff. Well, at least she was pureblood. A niggling suspicion made his heart speed up. His father couldn’t have known somehow, could he?

“Well, my boy, who was it?” Fudge asked with a genial tone. Draco thought about lying for a moment but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable discovery.

“Susan Bones,” he replied with an utterly flat voice. His father’s hand compressed on his shoulder painfully for a moment and then finally released him. Draco was unsure as to whether his father was pleased or not.

“Oh dear, a pureblood.” Umbridge’s face wrinkled up in distress but Fudge merely frowned.

“Well, it was always a possibility,” the Minister conceded.

“Yes, it is disappointing, but at least the two families have rarely crossed, so the likelihood of damaged offspring is far smaller.” Draco noted the thoughtful tone, the way his father tilted his head as though genuinely regretful, and couldn’t help admiring the masterful performance.
He did wish he could be more like his father sometimes.

“Yes, well, we’ll send off the bid and get all the arrangements made.” Fudge tapped his chin with his wand and gazed out into space. “You know, it occurs to me that Amelia might not be exactly thrilled with the connection.”

Draco thought hard and then remembered that the plain-faced Susan had a battleaxe aunt with the Ministry.

“I am certain that once you explain the circumstances, Minister, she will understand and do her duty to the Wizarding World.” How did his father manage to sound so reasonable? It was one step away from unctuous and he was making cow eyes at Umbridge. The whole scene suddenly made Draco feel a little ill. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that his father had arranged all this. Somehow Lucius had manipulated everyone around him yet again to get his way.

Someday, Draco thought with a surge of resentment, his father was going to go too far.

The small cottage that she shared with Remus was like a newer and less-cluttered version of her old home. Ginny was already in love with the leaded windows with their colored glass that cast dancing rainbow light across every surface. The oak beams and wood floors, the warm, white plaster walls and chintz curtains in every window made her feel cozy and warm.

She loved the house and the beautifully carved furniture. She had been overjoyed when she peered into the small study and saw all the books, parchment and scrolls carefully tucked away on shelves and in pigeonholes. Everything about the little house made her happy. She missed her fellow Gryffindors, but then she had always been on the outside, so that was only a small hurt.

The big hurt was reserved for her husband.

Ginny pulled the brush through her hair with vigor. Her inheritance from her father was the flaming red color that curled and coiled around her shoulders. From her mother, however, she had received a thickness and tendency to tangle that was far from welcome. Why couldn’t she have been a lovely brunette with easy-to-style tresses, like Lavender? She made a face at herself in the glass, glaring at the ever-persistent freckles that never faded, no matter what spells or potions she used.

She stood and turned in front of her reflection, checking out her body with dissatisfaction. Ginny was still rather thin and waif-like, with next to no figure and with elbows and knees sticking out in all directions. At sixteen, she looked more like fourteen and she knew it.

This morning Remus had smiled with a rather pained expression when he had looked at her across the breakfast table and she knew that it was her childish figure and face that had caused his reaction. On the one hand, it was nice to know that he didn’t perv after children, but at the same time, she was his wife now and it was kind of daunting to have your husband pat you on the head as he went off to work. She felt like a pet dog.

There had to be a way to at least make herself look older even if she wasn’t interested in actually aging herself. With a last frown at her reflection, Ginny went to get her mother’s charm book.

Hermione picked up the paper and scanned the headlines with disinterest. Severus was across the table from her, eating dry toast and kippers with his usual precision. She was just glad that he was there at all.

He had come in late last night with a look of quiet anger and deep weariness that had sent her scampering from the room to fetch him supper while Albus debriefed him. She had caught most of the information when she returned and none of it had been good.

Flipping through to the back pages, she saw confirmation of Severus’ report in the obituaries section: four Muggleborn girls recently wed under the law were listed as dead. Their pictures, framed in black and captioned with the usual trite words and the names of those they had left behind, showed young women with bright happy faces who would nevermore smile nor laugh. That they all had ‘grieving’ husbands who either were Death Eaters or the sons of Death Eaters was conveniently not mentioned.

“Madam?” The words were delivered surprisingly gently and Hermione realized that her trembling hands were clenched around the paper and that hot tears were cascading down her face.

“Damn Fudge to hell,” she choked out past her rage and grief.

“I can assure you of that,” her husband replied in conversational tone. Looking up at his impassive expression it was strangely comforting to know that he was capable of murdering Fudge in cold-blood and not missing a moment of sleep over it. She knew that she herself was incapable of such a calculated act and, for the first time, she felt as though that somehow made her less than her husband.

“Not less, Madam, merely formed for a different purpose,” he answered her thoughts in that exasperating way he had.

“What purpose, exactly?” she asked from pure curiosity.

“To be appalled at evil, to resist it and to be the moral compass of all of us who are not as ethical.” She thought at first that he was joking, being snarky at her as usual, but his eyes were dead serious and she took a deep breath as she thought about that.

“Do you need a ‘moral compass’?” she studied him with great interest.

“If I didn’t would I have ever become a Death Eater?” She noted that he answered without really answering and she blew out her breath in annoyance.

“So is there a job description under the heading ‘Moral Compass’?” she was feeling less charitable than normal as the pictures of the four dead girls smiled and waved up at her from the obituaries, so her tone was rather sharp.

“Of course, though the duties are fairly light,” he replied, his lips twisted into a grimace. “Simply do what you have always done and continue to be the only person who thinks it is wrong for House Elves to be enslaved.”

She opened her mouth for a hot retort and then snapped it shut as she realized that once more he was being entirely serious.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” she asked and somehow knew that his answer was critical.

“All slavery is wrong, Hermione,” he answered and then quickly pushed away from the breakfast table. Before she could formulate her next question, he was gone and she was left bewildered and certain that something significant had passed between them just then. For the life of her though, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

Blaise Zabini flipped through the obituaries with a growing feeling of horror. It made him feel physically ill to see the images of the dead girls. That they had been murdered by their husbands he had no doubt.

His own wife was seated on the couch nearby, staring into the fire with a glum expression. Lisa had accepted his bid because her alternative had been Crabbe and that was a sure death sentence. Still, the Hufflepuff girl wasn’t happy and Blaise had no idea how to fix that without getting both of them killed.

He feared for her, knowing full well that one day he would be ordered to kill her. How he could save them both was the thing that consumed his mind. He had been hoping that Hermione would accept his bid; there was no way the Dark Lord could have imagined that her death would go unnoticed. The best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived was protected in more ways than she knew.

The former Miss Lisa Turpin, though, was no one. She was just a Muggleborn Hufflepuff, a pawn in the game, and an easily expendable one at that. He just didn’t want to kill her. There had to be a way.

He sat long into the night watching her as she stared blindly into the flames and wondered how it had come to this.

Avram Yidoni watched his grandmother carefully as she wrapped the gift and headed out of the room. As silent as any ghost, he drifted along behind her as she stalked through the castle, head high and stance filled with her usual arrogance. He observed the wide berth the students gave her and the hostile looks of the teachers.

Thin and short even for his age, with the family’s large nose and thick black hair, Avram blended in easily with the Hogwarts students. A simple black robe added to his camouflage nicely and he moved with the practiced ease of a seasoned spy.

As he passed along in Sarit Yidoni’s wake with his head down, darting from cluster to cluster of students, no one noticed him except for a tall, slender, brown-haired man with spectacles. Avram noted him, committed his image to memory and then turned his attention back to following the old woman.

Avram’s talent was stealth: when he didn’t wish to be seen, he could fade into the background and become nearly invisible. The dapper man with his quizzical gaze must be alert and true-sighted indeed to have spotted Avram’s passage.

Filing the incident in his mind to be recalled later, he continued after his grandmother, leaving Georgian Tamarind staring after him in perplexity.

Georgian watched the strange little drama playing out before him with concern. Severus’ grandmother was bad news, there was no doubt about that, but the young man following her set off alarm bells in his head. There was something about the boy that screamed purpose and Georgian was concerned.

Perhaps it was his years as an Auror, or the natural paranoia of anyone who took the Defense Against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts, but he had a bad feeling that something was about to go pancake-shaped.

Georgian decided that it was time to chat with the Headmaster.

Susan Bones sat on the cot in the Hospital Wing and watched the shadows as they danced on the walls. Madame Pomfrey had poured a foul-tasting potion down her throat and now Susan felt vaguely floaty and distant from the screaming horror that had overtaken her in the Library.
Her hysterical outburst after she had come to herself again had been sufficient to bring the Headmaster to her bedside. Her nearly incoherent babbling had dimmed the lights in his eyes and she had felt herself falling apart.

Susan had planned to marry Terry Boot. She’d been in love with him since First Year and lately he had been showing some encouraging signs. She had been looking forward to finding out what was next, but now all the doors to those bright possible futures had slammed shut.

She heard a soft humming. It was tuneless and rather irritating and it took her a long while to realize that it was coming from her. She took stock of herself and could see how close she was to shattering. It occurred to her that going crazy had its benefits. After all, did she really want to be all there when Malfoy bedded her? Did she want to see her belly swelling with his spawn?

That thought sent an icy chill through her. She knew that she had to bear him children. They would be her children too – being raised as Malfoys.

She knew then that she had to stay sane and whole somehow. She couldn’t abandon those unborn souls to Lucius and Draco Malfoy. She couldn’t do that to them, not and live with herself.

Susan began to build the defenses around her soul that would protect her from the days and nights ahead. Each brick was a promise, a promise to children yet unborn.

“I will not let them break us, I will not let them break us, I will not let them break us,” she chanted to herself as she rocked back and forth on the cot.

Georgian found Dumbledore in his office looking more weary and gaunt than usual and he braced himself for whatever was coming next. Anything that could affect the indomitable Headmaster so profoundly must be pretty damned serious.

“Albus?” Georgian kept his voice low, trying not to sound as concerned as he was. Dumbledore raised his head and shot him a look of bleak amusement and Georgian knew his efforts had been in vain.

“I have missives from the estimable Minister of Magic,” Albus muttered dryly and waved a hand at a stack of parchments.

“And what did that bumbling bunghole have to say?” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose with some irritation. The last thing anyone needed was more of Fudge’s nonsense.

“Bumbling bunghole? Hmm. I like that. I shall have to use it at some point.” Albus’ face had that vague look which fooled far too many people.

“Albus,” Georgian scolded with a frown. The old man grinned at him suddenly and it was sunshine after rain. As always, he found himself smiling along with the Headmaster whether he wanted to or not.

“Georgian, I am too old to get married again,” came the non-sequitur. Looking at the piles of parchment on the little round table beside Albus’ chair, understanding dawned. “Susan Bones has been chosen as the Malfoy sacrificial lamb, four girls are dead because we couldn’t stop that stupid law from being put into effect and now the staff are going to be badgered as well,” he continued and all the humor was faded from his eyes.

“Well, as purebloods we have our pick don’t we?” Georgian bit out sarcastically. “Shall I make Rosmerta an offer do you think? I suppose that your secret passion for Madame Pomfrey can at last be known.” Black anger was boiling in him, fueling his bitter tongue.

“Madame Pomfrey, eh? How inventive your imagination is, my boy,” Albus chortled and Georgian worked hard to control his temper. “You are so like your father sometimes,” he added and Georgian nearly boiled over all over again.

“That is not a sentiment likely to endear you to me, Albus,” he ground out and then took a deep breath, fighting for control.

“No, probably not, though I did not mean it unkindly.” It was an apology and the contrite expression that accompanied it dissolved the last of Georgian’s anger.

“I’m sorry, Albus. Me and my wretched tongue,” Georgian sighed. He sank into the chair opposite Albus and suddenly recalled why he had come to see the Headmaster in the first place. “Albus, I saw something rather strange in the corridors earlier…”

“Only one thing? It’s a dull day at Hogwarts when you see only one strange thing in the corridors,” Albus quipped.

“I’m being serious, Albus,” Georgian retorted in exasperation.

“As am I, my boy.” The genial wink and dotty expression were enough to drive a man mad, he perceived.

“It was Severus’ grandmother, the Yidoni from the Nazarene Enclave.” Georgian kept his temper under control this time.

“Sarit Yidoni,” Albus filled in the name with a solemn expression.

“She was headed for the dungeons with a package in her hand and she was being followed by one of her family members.” Georgian called up the memory of the encounter turning it around in his mind.

“What was strange about that? They all follow her about like ducklings after their mother.” Albus’ voice was indifferent and the DADA teacher snorted.

“That’s just it: this one didn’t look the slightest bit cowed. He looked…well, sneaky.”

“Sneaky?” Albus sounded dubious.

“He was following her, but she didn’t know it. There was something going on there and I didn’t like it one bit.” Georgian bit down on his lower lip, frowning.

“Actually, that is the best bit of news I have heard all day.” Albus was up and out of his chair, his usual energy and vigor suddenly returned, and Georgian stared after him in confusion as he strode out the door.

Georgian was left with a pile of papers and an empty chair. Figuring that if the Headmaster didn’t want him to read the documents, he would have taken them with him, he sat back and started to read. After all, it was always best to know what you were up against.