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Duality	By : Andafaith Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 70195 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, characters, nor plots or the world within. No copyright infringement intended and no money or profit is being made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 39
- 40
Author’s Note: As always, thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favourited/followed! It’s impossible to thank you enough and it’s impossible to thank my betas, RAfan2421 and Rogue25, enough as well. All of you are completely brilliant, and I hope you enjoy this rather large chapter!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Duality: Adumbration

OoO

“Trust a Slytherin to shove a Protean Charm as strong as the blasted Dark Mark into an alert sequence,” Hermione muttered in frustration, frantically working at removing the spells from the perpetually burning scrying mirror case.

Sometimes Hermione’s intelligence overcomplicated things.

Harry huffed out a long sigh from where he was standing over her, trying to get the urgent annoyance and panic lacing his nerves under control. It wasn’t as if they had all the time in the world to waste on fiddling with damn case! Impatiently, he insinuated himself next to the bushy-haired Gryffindor, quickly placing a Heat Protection Charm on his hands.

“Here, let me,” Harry interrupted as he grabbed and clicked open the scorching mirror case triumphantly, only to stare blankly at the contents.

The restless fluttering in his stomach ground to a momentary halt.

Hermione’s brows rose and Ron peeked over his shoulder, clutching his lambskin bag full of basilisk fangs. “So they haven’t escaped?” Ron confoundedly asked.

The images in the mirror were very much as usual – too usual. Draco Malfoy was seated on his bed, peacefully reading, and Goyle was lounging back in an old beat-up armchair in his room, stuffing his face full of sweets and watching the telly that Astoria recently brought him. They should have been gone – even if someone had broken the wards to help Malfoy and Goyle escape, they probably had enough time to capture them. Unless…

“They could still be there. But scrying mirrors can be tampered with as well – there’re spells for it,” Harry said a bit distractedly, setting the case back onto the ground and straightening up. In spite of the Heat Protection Charm, the case still felt warm enough that it stung his already-burnt fingers.

Plans whirled through his mind. He considered sending a memo to Daphne, but it would probably take too long to meet up with her and, if Malfoy and Goyle hadn’t escaped yet, every second counted. He already had the tools necessary to get out of Hogwarts. An unbreakable vial of Signature Duplicating Potion – given to him for emergencies – sat in his pocket and he wasn’t so bad at casting a triple-layer glamour anymore. He also had his cloak with him, as always, but Disillusionment was also going to be necessary...

“Maybe whoever broke the alert sequence got caught in the trammel ward. They go off if you try to cut through them,” Hermione proposed and Harry glanced over at her.

“Then Goyle and Malfoy would be trapped in it too. Can you Side-Along Apparate both of us?” he asked curiously, picking his broom up from the cold stone floor of the chamber.

“I can.” Hermione shifted onto her feet. “Maybe they haven’t cut through it yet… they’re difficult to get through.”

“S’not like we can do much, Harry,” Ron protested sullenly. “We’re underage – the Ministry’ll have us nicked if we cast anything.”

Fuck, he didn’t think about that.

Biting the inside of his lip, Harry tilted his head in consideration. “Well, then they’ll have us nicked. I’m not letting Malfoy and Goyle get away – Merlin only knows what’d happen if Voldemort gets his hands on them.” He paused, mounting his broom. “And, anyway, we’re running out of time. Hermione, how fast can you throw on a triple-layer glamour?”

“Decently,” she answered, picking up her own broom and meeting his gaze determinedly. “What are you thinking?”

“I say we go in invisible and glamoured – silenced.” Similar to how he got through the Hufflepuff common room and to the Calendula Café. “Hopefully we’ll be able to figure out a plan of attack before we’re spotted and have to fight.”

Thus, delaying the possibility of alerting the Ministry, he thought, adrenaline mounting in his veins.

He exhaled a long breath, trying to focus. “But there won’t even be a fight if we don’t hurry.”

Hermione nodded as Ron mounted his broom, throwing his lambskin sack over his shoulder. He had no idea where they were going to stash those for the time being.

“Alright, I’ll send a memo to the others to tell them to meet us at the warehouse while you put on a glamour and start work on Ron.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed to her addition to his plan as they sped off toward the exit of the Chamber of Secrets.

oOo

Being late afternoon on a Saturday, it was more difficult to sneak out of the castle than Harry anticipated – having to dodge students and teachers. The last time he exited from the wards with Daphne, they went out from behind the Quidditch pitch, but that wasn’t a possibility this time due to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team’s practice. There were too many people in the surrounding area.

Silently, the freshly-glamoured trio rushed through the thick drifts of snow, under Disillusionment Charms and the invisibility cloak, which helped them stay close. The cloak only covered them to their calves, yet was sufficient enough to do its job. Hermione had suggested that they go through the wards across the lake, where they were unlikely to meet any Aurors or students; the downside was that it was much farther than the pitch and the snow banks on the edge of the lake were slightly difficult to navigate in tandem.

“Ugh, I hate these bloody glamours. Itches worse than when Fred and George put itching powder in my pyjamas,” Ron muttered under his breath, once they were a safe distance away from the crowds of students out on the grounds, having snowball fights. His fidgeting nearly tripped them up under the cloak.

“Would you stop that? Picking at it only aggravates it – you’ll get used to it after a while,” Hermione whispered at the sound of Ron vigorously scratching from Harry’s other side.

“Fine,” Ron sighed. “So how does this signature potion work anyway? Do we have to say a spell at the wards to get them to let us through and make it think we’re Dumbledore or something?”

“No, it – er… masks your signature with whatever signature is duplicated in the potion,” Harry replied, picking up the pace as they crossed over a particularly large bank of snow. “Since the wards recognize the magical signature of the Headmaster automatically, we can just walk right through them. Daph and I didn’t have any trouble with it.”

“Wow, s’that easy?”

“Mhm,” Harry murmured, stepping over the rough rocks at the edge of the lake.

“Hang on!” Ron burst out after a few moments of their silent hurrying. “If it’s that easy, why hasn’t You-Know-Who tried making this stuff? He wouldn’t need to bother with Cornfoot then.”

“The potion requires Dumbledore’s DNA,” Hermione explained. “Greengrass went through a lot of trouble to acquire it.”

“DNA’s like blood and hair, right?”

Distinctly, Harry remembered Daphne mentioning a crusty sock being involved and he suppressed a shudder at the reminder of what might’ve been currently spread all over his chest and wand.

“Yes… blood and hair,” Hermione hesitantly answered. From her tone, Harry could tell she was thinking exactly what he was thinking.

“But, if Greengrass can get it, I reckon Snape can. It would probably be easier for him…”

“Which is all the more reason to keep Malfoy and Goyle from escaping,” Harry asserted, trying to quicken their pace once they reached a flat stretch of snow-covered ground.

Even though his stomach was tied in an anxious knot, reaching the edge of the wards felt like a relief and they stood in front of the barrier, pausing shortly to catch their breath. Hermione gripped at Harry’s wrist and, in turn, Harry grabbed Ron’s hand as they passed through the wards, Ron trailing behind slightly. The tingling, misty veil of magic closed at their backs and Hermione readjusted her position under the cloak, probably to reach out for Ron’s free hand for better Apparation contact. Being under Disillusionment Charms made it extremely difficult to keep track of what everyone was doing and Harry’s practice with the charms had gotten them to the point where they were almost as good as his invisibility cloak, which complicated maneuvres like this.

“Okay. Hold on tight,” Hermione said, her hand moving to grip onto Harry’s, squeezing reassuringly. “And take a deep breath. London’s a long Apparation trip from here.”

“S’gotta be quicker than thestrals. Not that I could see those either at the time,” Ron muttered just before the sensation of being squeezed through a long tube overtook them and they spun off toward the warehouse.

oOo

Harry’s heart crawled higher and higher in his chest the moment they landed in the familiar alleyway Apparation point he hadn’t seen for two months. He was dreadfully thankful that Hermione had the foresight to cast a Muffliato as soon as they touched the ground. Ron’s violent retching from his first Side-Along Apparation would have definitely given them away.

Peeking around the corner of a building and across the street, he saw that the wards around the warehouse seemed to be intact – or, at least, a portion of them. If they were completely broken, the warehouse would have been visible instead of appearing as a disused car park. Unfortunately, that also meant that they had to cross through the wards in order to see what was going on. He didn’t like the idea of getting that close.

In his gut, he knew that something didn’t feel right.

The only advantages they had were invisibility and the element of surprise. And invisibility was only a slight advantage if anyone breaking into the warehouse decided to cast a revelatory spell.

Behind him, Hermione was tending to Ron, hurriedly helping him recover with a few spells from her wand – anti-vertigo being one he recognized. “Could’ve warned me that was gonna happen,” Ron groaned, keeping his voice quiet in spite of the Muffliato surrounding them.

“Not everyone has the same reaction,” Hermione whispered. In her next breath, Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that she was addressing him, “Do you think we should we wait for the others?”

Harry turned toward her, readjusting the grip on his wand and his invisibility cloak, under which Ron and Hermione stood an arm’s distance away. It was the only way he could keep track of where they were.

“No,” he replied softly, glancing back toward the warehouse. “They might be here already. If they aren’t, we don’t really have much time to lose – whoever broke in could be gone with Malfoy and Goyle already.”

He heard Hermione let out a huff of a sigh. “Okay. How about you and Ron take the cloak? If anyone sees me under Disillusionment, I can at least defend myself without alerting the Ministry.”

He didn’t like the thought of that, but she had a fair point. Ministerial discovery was more preferable than being discovered by Voldemort, but not by much.

“Alright – budge over.” Harry took a step toward them, lifting up the hem of the invisible cloak and trading places with Hermione. The cloak was just large enough to fit him and Ron, but it was still a tight squeeze.

“I’ll take the left,” Hermione whispered before taking off out of the alleyway, not giving Harry a chance to reply, the Muffliato dissipating with her departure. He could only make out the most miniscule shimmer of her invisible form in the setting sunlight as he and Ron carefully strode in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Ron said under his breath – so quiet that Harry could barely hear him.

“Car park. The wards make the warehouse invisible outside them,” Harry explained, his voice nearly inaudible, practically pressing his lips against Ron’s shaggy hair so he could hear him. “Just follow me.”

Taking hold of Ron’s sleeve with his free-hand and preparing himself for anything, Harry gripped his wand tighter. To his left, he could feel Ron shifting along with him. Slowly, they made their way through the wards, sticking to the perimeter. The bad feeling in his gut only sunk lower once greeted with the sight of the warehouse, standing seemingly untouched and exactly as he remembered it. Even the newspaper covering and peeling from the dark windows hadn’t changed.

The dead silence that hung about the place tingled at the back of Harry’s neck.

He was used to having things sprung on him – sudden attacks and fights for his life. He wasn’t used to walking in, expectant, and finding that everything appeared normal and quiet. That almost made it worse because he had no way to anticipate anything and a haunting sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him. It was as if he was back at the Department of Mysteries again, being lured, and that feeling had his heart on the verge of clamouring out of his throat.

Letting out a calming silent breath through his nose, he urged Ron to move with him toward the windows and peered through a gap in the newspaper, trying to see if he could spot anything or anyone inside. The weight of the hefty silencing charm that was cast on the building pushed down on his shoulders as he stood on the boarder of it, pressing his face to the glass. Everything was too dark to see clearly, but he hoped to catch a glimpse of wandlight or… anything. He noiselessly moved from window to window, looking into the gaps, desperately searching; Ron’s clipped – noticeably anxious – breathing next to him only served to make his heart beat faster.

He’d almost made it to the back of the building when he caught a shimmer of magic out of the corner of his eye and nearly jumped, pointing his wand toward it, before he realized it was just Hermione.

“I haven’t been able to see anything in there, how about you?” she said quietly as she approached.

To his left, Ron sprang away from the window, knocking into Harry and causing them to stumble. “Bloody Merlin – warn us a little before you appear out of nowhere!” Ron hissed under his nervous breath.

“Sorry.”

“It looks empty,” Harry whispered. From this close, he could just barely make out the faint outline of her body if he squinted. “Can’t you do a revealing spell to see if anyone’s inside? Homenum Revelio or… something?”

“I have to go in to do that – I don’t know any that search from the outside of a structure. I already used it to find you; you’re the only people that showed up out here.”

That was a little relieving, though the prospect of going inside made up for the relief.

“Maybe we should try the back door?” He knew that the warehouse had one.

A narrow passage at the end of the converted warehouse corridor – where they had spent their Christmas holiday – led to a door, which opened up into the unconverted portion of the warehouse. He’d only been to that area once and found it to be an uninteresting large empty space, but it had a set of industrial doors that accessed the outside.

“You mean the front door – we went through the back door the entire time we stayed here,” Hermione corrected, her shimmer sidestepping around them and leading the way.

“Whatever,” Harry murmured, tugging at Ron’s sleeve. “Come on.”

With a softly spoken silencing spell and an unlocking charm, Hermione opened the ‘front’ door, holding it for them and carefully closing it so even the weight of it scraping across the concrete floor made as little sound as possible. The sizable space echoed even the slightest of noises and he was afraid to breathe too loudly.

“Homenum Revelio,” he heard Hermione whisper from behind him, and he waited, furrowing his eyebrows at the undetectable spell. Though, logically, when one needed to cast such a spell, it probably wasn’t in the most hospitable of environments, like now. Undetectability was welcome.

“Anything?” Harry asked quietly over his shoulder, keeping his wand at the ready.

“Just Malfoy and Goyle from the looks of it,” she muttered in an exhaled breath. “I don’t understand. Alert sequences don’t go off on their own and we got here quick enough… you’d think there be… someone.”

Harry shifted on his feet, the centre of his forehead creasing. “Is there a way to block revelatory spells?”

“Possibly.”

“So we’ll search manually then.”

“Great,” Ron sighed, stalking forward with him under the cloak, toward the door at the opposite corner of the dim empty room. Newspaper-clad windows didn’t let in much light and the grey brick did a terrible job at reflecting it. The eerie silence of his surroundings and everything except their breaths was unnerving. Harry grabbed at Ron’s sleeve again to signal him to stop, waiting for Hermione to perform more unlocking charms and silencing spells.

BOOM!

Just as she’d twisted the silenced handle, a thunderous explosion rang out from the other side of the door – so large that it made the building tremble. A series of ear-splitting metallic crashes followed – ‘clang!’ ‘ting!’ ‘clang!’ – growing closer and louder and shaking the dusty concrete beneath their feet before it stopped.

Harry’s heart imbedded itself at the base of his throat as he tightened his grip on his wand and Hermione threw open the door, rushing forward. In his haste, he’d lost Ron under the cloak dashing after her and he nearly bumped into her when his eyes adjusted to the darkness and spotted the wreckage.

Blocking their path at the end of the thin corridor were the metal double doors from the back of the building. They laid haphazardly, one of them half propped up against the wall and wedged in their way. The sizable masses of steel were warped, crumpled, and jagged at the edges, blown inward by what was unquestionably a tremendously powerful blasting spell.

In the hole left behind by the missing doors, stood two men – their individually lithe and hulking forms shadowed against the waning light outside. Steadying himself against the internal corner of the building, Harry swung his legs through the gap between the battered doors and the wall one at a time. Hermione must’ve already leapt through because she let loose a swift series of stunners and spells from up ahead, causing the men at the threshold to dodge to the side out of the way.

A mist of light shot past Harry’s head and he lifted his wand, a spell on the tip of his tongue when one of them exclaimed, just loud enough for him to hear, “Jesus Christ, they’re invisible!”

The spell – halfway uttered – died in his throat, his steps faltering.

And then he glanced back at the doors… blasted inward.

Why would anyone who was escaping or fleeing the warehouse blast in? To cover their tracks? It wasn’t as if it was difficult to navigate over them.

A third person stood in the doorway as one of them brought up a large flickering shield of magic to block Hermione’s wave of stunners. Before they could retaliate, Harry shouted, “WAIT! Daphne?”

But it wasn’t soon enough. Swiftly, he dropped to the ground, out of the way of the spells that were blindly thrown in his direction. They impacted with the metal doors at the other end of the corridor, causing them to clatter and he vaguely recognized ‘Finite’ among them.

“Stop! Hold on!” one of the blokes exclaimed after the barrage, warily stepping forward into the dark corridor. “…Harry?”

“Yeah?” he said hesitantly, scrabbling up from the floor, still poised to attack but cautious nonetheless. He was suddenly thankful that they forgot the voice changing charms in their urgency to get out of Hogwarts.

“Well fuck,” the lithe bloke he believed was Daphne breathed, his shoulders sagging. “We didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.”

“It could be a trick,” the bulky bloke suspiciously muttered in a low voice, shrewdly glaring into what was likely just a dark corridor from his perspective.

“Doubtful – Theo’s spell showed three people inside other than Draco and Greg and it’s not as if we weren’t expecting them,” the lithe bloke replied, lighting his wand clearly illuminating their glamoured faces. How Daphne had glamoured herself into slightly taller, dark-haired male, he had no idea. Granted, she could have used human transfiguration, but that was a little extreme – even for her level of paranoia. Human transfiguration like that was excruciatingly painful to go through for a temporary disguise.

She pulled a very familiar silver case out of her pocket and held it up to the light, moving forward a few more steps and peering around. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

Harry’s lips pulled into a relieved grin. “I think it’s safe enough to take off the Disillusionment now, Hermione. Ron?”

“Back here,” Ron called from farther down the corridor. The sound of the battered metal doors jostling followed.

“Are you certain there’s no one else here?” he heard Hermione ask in the darkness to his left.

“I used one of my father’s revealing spells upon arrival,” the thin bloke, who was likely Nott, said. “He claims that it’s infallible.”

“The ruckus you lot caused would have made anyone come running, you’d think,” Ron commented, his voice growing closer behind Harry.

“As evidenced by you three,” the large bloke – obviously Zabini – sardonically quipped. “We’re lucky Daph’s spell-happy. The door was supposed to be used as a weapon.”

“I’m not ‘spell-happy’! They were fast approaching the targeted area when I checked. I gave it a few more seconds and blasted the door in. I’m glad I didn’t give it more time.”

“You could have killed us,” Hermione admonished as light flooded through the corridor at the end of Zabini’s wand. She materialized a moment later, having stripped off her Disillusionment.

Daphne’s glamoured/transfigured lips twisted into a smirk. “Yes, well – since there hasn’t been any Ministry owls flocking down to peck at us yet – it’s safe to say that I’m not the only ‘spell-happy’ witch in this corridor.”

Removing Harry and Ron’s Disillusionment Charms with two sharp waves of her wand, Hermione retorted, “I would have been less ‘spell-happy’ if you didn’t show up under excessive transfigurations–”

“They’re not transfigurations,” Daphne interrupted. “It’s Polyjuice, a voice changing charm, and a glamour. Very simple.”

Not a bad idea for a quick, drastic disguise… He was going to have to brew some Polyjuice Potion when he got back to Hogwarts.

“And, anyway,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter – the wards are more pressing. And Draco and Greg. Since they’re still in there, they probably aren’t Draco and Greg anymore.”

Nott flicked on the lights of the control room and everyone followed him through the door as Hermione spoke, “We got here around fifteen minutes after the mirror went off. I highly doubt that’s enough time to switch Malfoy and Goyle for imposters.”

“A lot can be done in fifteen minutes. The wards showed fresh traces of signature effacement when Blaise did a quick sweep, which means that someone had to have been here,” Nott reasoned, his gaze moving from Hermione to the wall of scrying mirrors, where he performed a few quick spells on them to check for tampering.

The mirrors still depicted various angles of Malfoy and Goyle, reading and watching television – oblivious to what had been going on around them from their blissfully silenced rooms. Although, Malfoy was sneaking wary glances toward the door between pages. Harry wasn’t certain if that was due to the blasting spell that had shaken the building or if he was warily glancing at the door for another reason.

“What’s signature effacement?” Ron whispered to him, leaning close, the invisibility cloak draped over his arm.

“Erasing a magical signature from a spell that was performed,” Harry whispered back. “So it can’t be tracked. We’ve used it before.” While kidnapping Goyle.

Meanwhile, Hermione was in the middle of pointing out, “That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve succeeded breaking in. They could have tried and failed and effaced their signature afterward. Additionally, the trammel ward would have been tripped if they got in.”

“It was tripped,” Zabini said pointedly, the corners of his lips pulling into a tight expression. “I wove the alert sequence around your trammel. We wouldn’t have had the alert if it hadn’t been.”

Hermione’s thin glamoured lips parted and Harry’s eyes widened, his stomach twisting uneasily. If the trammel ward went off, there would have been a golden net of magic on the ground, pinning down everyone inside it and trapping them. The fact that the trammel ward appeared to not have been tripped and, yet, had to have been tripped was… disconcerting.

It wasn’t a good sign.

A determined expression bubbled up on Hermione’s face and she stalked toward the door. “We’re going to have to do more than just a ‘quick sweep’ then,” she indomitably declared, quickly grabbing Zabini and dragging him along behind her by the front of his robes.

In their absence, Daphne lit a cigarette, passing her silver case to Harry without a word and he silently fished one out. It was a comforting gesture and the smoke settled thickly in his lungs, easing the edge of tension in his nerves.

“So,” Daphne said, smoke curling along her cheek as she glanced over at Nott, “where do you want to start?”

Seemingly satisfied that the scrying mirrors weren’t tampered with, Nott tilted his head shruggingly. “We could collect blood for the Blood Matching spells while they work on the wards outside,” he said and then motioned his hand toward Daphne’s silver case. “May I?”

“Blood Matching spells?” Ron cut in, his face twisted in bewilderment. “Aren’t those used for paternity tests? Where’d you get Lucius Malfoy’s blood? And Goyle–”

“Blood Matching spells may be used with anyone who’s related, not just for paternity. The closer the relation, the better the match, and the easier it is to prove identity,” Nott clarified, flipping open Daphne’s case and plucking a fag from the confines. “Since I’m the closest relation here to Greg, I’ll use my blood for his and we can use Daph’s for Draco’s.”

Harry’s eyes flicked over to Daphne, the centre of his forehead creasing. “How are you related to Malfoy?”

“It’s… complicated,” Daphne evasively replied, blowing out a long breath full of smoke.

Harry snorted, itching to roll his eyes, the slight irritation only adding to his unease about the entire situation. “You just don’t want to mention anything involving your father.”

Whenever the subject was brought up, she always found a way to squirm out of it and, considering that the only family she spoke of was her Muggle family, who were most certainly not related to Malfoy…

“Naturally. I hate my father.”

“Why…?”

“A laundry list of reasons.” Daphne flicked her short dark hair off her forehead irritably and sternly regarded him. “He abandoned my mother when she told him she was pregnant, which made me think I was unwanted for most of my life. And the only thing he left behind was one of the darkest books ever published, which led my mother to believe that Hogwarts was going to teach me ‘black witchcraft’ and I had to fight her to go. It wasn’t until I got here that I found out he died not long after I was born and was a bloody Death Eater. No surprise as to why he abandoned my mum. Pregnant Muggle – halfblood kid – family fucking shame and all that, especially with his pedigree.”

She let out a huff. “And every time Slughorn mentions the bastard and how I get my talent from him, I just want to–” Her hands curved in front of her and mimed wringing someone’s neck.

Harry’s brows rose, his half-smoked fag burning down uselessly between his fingers.

“But that still doesn’t explain how you’re related to Malfoy,” Ron said, a confused expression wrinkling his nose.

Daphne rolled her eyes, sighing and peering out a gap in the newspaper-covered window, where Hermione and Zabini were passing by, waving their wands at the wards above. “We’re… second cousins, I think. And, before you judge, I wasn’t aware of that before I got involved with him.”

“Ha! Involved. My grandfather married his second cousin,” Nott remarked in a humoured drawl, tossing another spell at the scrying mirrors, which yielded no result. “You’ve got nothing on most purebloods – it’s traditional to go shopping for a spouse at a family reunion.”

Second cousins…

Taking a contemplative drag off of his cigarette, Harry’s eyes narrowed in thought and the Black family tapestry flitted through his mind. Unless she was related to Lucius Malfoy… it seemed to fit, and he felt his stomach drop. Death Eater, one of Slughorn’s collections, pureblooded family, killed not long after trying to leave the Death Eaters the same year Daphne was born… Maybe getting cold feet wasn’t the only reason why he left them… Maybe it wasn’t the reason at all…

He was vaguely aware of Ron launching into a story about how five of his cousins married five of his other cousins after a family reunion when he was ten and he glanced over at Daphne. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of her lips in response to Ron’s prattle; the expression looked so familiarly her, even on her Polyjuiced and glamoured face.

“…they’re all a bit barmy, really,” Ron finished, shaking his head.

Nott stubbed out his partially-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Old-fashioned more than barmy, in polite terms.” His eyes moved to the scrying mirrors on the walls. “I suppose I’ll fix up my glamour and coax some blood from Greg. Potter will most likely do better at getting blood out of Draco, but you might want to help him in case that isn’t Draco in there.”

Daphne nodded, her eye’s meeting Harry’s. “Sure. I’ll play ‘bodyguard’ for Mr. Voynich.”

“You can tag along with me if you want, Weasley,” Nott said, heading toward the door. “Greg is harmless when you bribe him with sweets, which I’m certain we can find in the other room. If he doesn’t take the sweets, then we’ll know he’s not Greg, but we should remain on guard regardless.”

Stunned, Ron stared after Nott before trailing behind him, setting aside the invisibility cloak on the table. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Left alone with Daphne, Harry bit the inside of his lip, dithering. “Er – I’ll need a voice changing charm.”

Daphne slid her wand out of her sleeve and flicked it in the direction of his throat. “Say something?”

“…Is Regulus Black your father?” Harry hesitantly asked, the voice coming out of his mouth an octave lower than his own – the same voice he always used in his Tom Riddle disguise.

There were a few seconds where Harry shifted on his feet, staring at Daphne uncertainly as her expression froze.

And then, a sense of familiar, yet melancholy, warmth spread through him when he realized that he’d hit his mark. Harry’s lips quirked. “He is, isn’t he?”

She stared distantly toward the wall behind him, a weary sigh escaping her. “Promise not to hold it against me?”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Why would I? Sirius was my godfather.” And, just like that, all of the previous warmth he had felt faded quickly. “…I would’ve liked to’ve known.”

Sirius probably would have as well, if he was still…

“Oh, God. I didn’t even think of that.”

“Well,” Harry recovered, “if it means anything to you – he told me that Regulus was killed because he defected from the Death Eaters.” He’d gotten the impression that she didn’t know that.

“I doubt anything I’ll ever hear about him will make up for years of resenting him, but thanks,” she said in an ambiguous tone, vanishing their mostly-smoked cigarettes and slipping her wand back up her sleeve. “You’re not going to start bombarding me with questions now, are you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry awkwardly replied, “Not sure what I’d ask.”

“That’s a first,” Daphne wryly commented. Digging into her pockets, she handed him a corked phial and a small silver knife that was normally used for chopping up potion ingredients.

“We’ll need five drops, but if you can’t get more than three out of him, I can work with that,” she said, all back to business, as she led him out into the corridor. He could hear the muffled sounds of Ron and Nott in the room with the kitchenette, digging through the refrigerator, and he clutched at the ‘tools’ in his hands a bit numbly, hardly knowing what to think.

Daphne’s fingers paused on the handle of the door that led to Malfoy’s interrogation room, the front of which still buzzed with containment wards that appeared to be fully intact. “Are you ready?” she asked, gazing at him expectantly.

Letting out a deep calming breath, he straightened his posture and pushed everything in his mind aside, giving her a nod. If there was one thing he could definitely do, it was get something from Malfoy.

The blonde Slytherin’s head popped up over the book he was reading as Harry moved through the door, inconspicuously glancing at the clock on the wall, which was still randomized. Much of the room had changed since his own time at the warehouse. It looked more like a bedroom than a stark interrogation room and the chain that attached Malfoy to his bed by the magical restraint bracelet was longer – long enough for him to walk freely around his room.

Long enough to pose a potential threat as well.

“Good morning, Draco,” Harry stated smoothly, indifferently.

“You,” Malfoy spat with a faint sneer. “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s eyebrow arched. “Glad to see that your manners have improved since we last spoke.”

Malfoy glare wavered from him to Daphne, who stood silently off to the side. He then noticed the knife in Harry’s hand, fear briefly glinting in his eyes. “Forgive me,” he tersely replied in a tone that contradicted his petulant sneer. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We require a small amount of your blood,” Harry drawled, cutting to the chase. “It’s nothing sinister, I assure you.”

Malfoy watched him suspiciously, shifting in his seat. “…What for?”

Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to use a half-truth as a test. Thus far, Malfoy appeared to be Malfoy, but he wasn’t completely certain of that.

“A Blood Matching spell,” he explained. “There’s someone who has come into our hands who claims to be who they appear to be, and you’re the closest relation.”

“Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“My father?”

Harry’s expression hardened. “It’s very tiresome to have to repeat myself, Draco,” he remarked, an edge creeping into his words as he deliberately adjusted his grip on the silver knife for show.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to think it over, setting aside his book and crossing his arms over his chest, protectively. But it also could have been a sign of deception; Harry hadn’t forgotten his lessons in body language.

“Okay,” Malfoy consented with a haughty tilt of his head. “I’ll let you have it – if you tell me your name. Your real name. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

A feral smirk curved at Harry’s lips, meeting Malfoy’s gaze straight on and bringing images of interrogating him to the forefront of his mind. The magical restraint bracelet probably covered every sort of Legilimency, but it never hurt to be a bit paranoid. He stalked toward the Slytherin boy, insinuating himself into his personal space and harshly placing his foot on the bit of chain that rested on the floor. The action jostled Malfoy’s crossed arms.

“Thomas Voynich. Nice to officially make your acquaintance,” he coldly introduced himself, sounding more like a lazy threat. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy’s all-too astute and defiant stare get to him. “Now, roll up your sleeve.”

It was on those words that he felt his mind being pulled without warning – sucked into a vortex. It wasn’t Occlumency. No – quite the opposite. And it definitely wasn’t directed at him. Through the motion, he started to worry he was doing accidental magic, as colours and sounds whirred past his vision out of control, roiling in a chaotic maelstrom of thoughts that were not his own. He caught glimpses of Astoria, of Narcissa; their faces and blonde hair almost blurred into one. A glimpse of Hogwarts and Crabbe and Goyle and Nott flew by. Green and silver linens and ties and robes emblemized with snakes.

But, then, there was a moment of clarity.

A stopping point.

“You are to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

The sibilant hiss of Voldemort’s order reverberated through his mind, forceful enough to cause a twinge of phantom pain to shoot through his scar at the mere sound of it.

Then there was the image of an arm, unfamiliar, but older and too much unlike Malfoy’s, clasped onto the arm of Malfoy’s mother, magic swirling around the linked limbs.

“I will,” a voice drawled, reminding Harry of bezoars and wolfsbane and acerbic insults.₁

The magic churning around their wrists sparked, a flame shooting across the swirled link.₁

“And will you,” a woman’s voice intoned, “to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?”₁

“I will.”₁

A second spark shot through the magic, twining and tangling and forming a fine, glowing chain.₁

“And, should it prove necessary… if it seems Draco will fail…” the woman whispered, “will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?”₁

“I will.”₁

Severus Snape’s voice was clear in that moment – as clear as if Harry had heard it with his own ears. Suddenly, the thoughts swirled in reverse and he was tumbling. His mind felt as if it were being drawn back into his brain, like a bizarre mental turkey baster of recollections. The next thing Harry knew, he was blinking down at the blonde-haired Slytherin he had yet to draw the necessary blood from, exactly in the same position from where it had all started.

“Well?” Malfoy said impatiently, holding out his arm, his sleeve pushed up to his elbow. “Are you going to take it, or are you just going to stand there?”

His expression was nettlesome and completely devoid of any indication that he knew what Harry had just seen, ostensibly from his mind. Not wanting to give anything away, Harry schooled his own expression, pushing the disorienting confusion aside. Busying his hands and pulling the cork from the phial, he made a tiny incision at the side of Malfoy’s wrist with the silver blade.

He couldn’t help but peek out of the corner of his eye at his former rival, wondering if all of it was on purpose or not. The thing that bothered him nearly as much as the thoughts he was presented was… how? Backwards Legilimency didn’t seem possible from all that he’d read and heard about it and Hermione’s magical restraint bracelets completely tamped down Malfoy’s power. He was as good as a Muggle in his current state.

It didn’t make any sense.

If it was deliberate – as it seemed – was Malfoy secretly trying to tell him about Snape’s Unbreakable Vow? About his task to kill Dumbledore? …That Snape had no choice but to take on that task for him now due to the Vow? Why would Malfoy even do that or want to tell him about it? Wouldn’t he want to protect his godfather?

Harry hadn’t given him any indication that he was on Snape or Voldemort’s side. Actually, he hadn’t given him any indication he was on Dumbledore’s side either.

Accidentally collecting a little more than five drops of blood, Harry backed away, corking the vial. “That should be enough.” He paused, observing Malfoy carefully. “Is there anything you need? That I could get for you?”

Although he made the questions seem innocent, he hoped that it might prompt Malfoy to give him a clue as to why… But the blonde simply shrugged, shoving the sleeve of his plain cotton shirt back down and smearing blood over his wrist.

As Harry turned to move toward the door, Malfoy quickly asked, “Is Ms Demirović here? I’d like to see her, if she is.”

“She’s not, no.”

“Ah... Alright.” Malfoy sounded disappointed by his answer. Was that supposed to be a clue?

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Harry politely intoned, exiting the room when Malfoy gave him no response.

If Daphne had noticed anything off about the exchange, she didn’t give him any indication either.

“He acts like he’s Draco,” she said once they were in the corridor, wariness clouding her glamoured features, “but there are methods to impersonate a person with near faultlessness. An Imperious Curse and Legilimency would be the obvious choice, unless that’s an Unspeakable in there – then we’re really fucked.”

He followed her into the control room in preoccupied silence, setting Malfoy’s blood onto the table next to his invisibility cloak, which he stowed into his pocket. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched her roll up her sleeve and drain a few drops of her own blood into a different phial as he stared at the scrying mirrors on the wall. Ron and Nott – now glamoured as the mustachioed, blonde-haired bloke who originally interrogated Goyle with Astoria – were still in Goyle’s room, looking as if they were having an amicable chat that was probably shocking the hell out of Ron. Malfoy was back to reading in his room, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the page he was on.

“He used magic,” Harry admitted, just as Daphne waved her wand at a third empty phial, causing it to glow blue in her hands.

“What? Draco? I didn’t see him…” With a guarded glance toward him, she carefully poured a small equal measure of blood from each phial into the glowing receptacle. She swirled the blood around in the phial, mixing it, corking it and setting it aside as the glow pulsated. “What kind of magic…?”

“Legilimency,” he said, cutting her off when she opened her mouth to retort, “Only it wasn’t Legilimency. It was like I was using Legilimency on him. But I wasn’t, I swear. I had no control of it and don’t you have… control when you do Legilimency?”

Daphne’s brows rose. “To an extent, yes. Draco is a skilled Occlumens though. If you performed accidental Legilime–”

“I didn’t!” Harry protested. “I know it wasn’t me! It had to’ve been him! The only thing I did was Occlumency.”

“What are you two arguing about?” Nott asked, entering the room with a full phial of Goyle’s blood in his hands and Ron behind him.

“Harry thinks Draco performed Legilimency or…” Daphne trailed off, staring at him uncertainly.

“It wasn’t…” Harry sighed, trying to think of a way how to properly explain what happened. “I was in his mind. It was like he pulled me in there.”

“But I should’ve seen if he was doing something like that.”

“It was just after he traded for my name and said he’d know I was lying, so I Occluded my mind – just in case, you know – and told him and he pulled me in.”

Daphne ran her fingers through her hair, glaring at the scrying mirrors. “He shouldn’t be able to do that – unless that’s not–”

“Which Occlumency technique did you use?” Nott asked.

“Replacement Technique.”

“And he ‘pulled you into his mind’…” Nott mused, his lips pinched in thought as he leaned against the table. “How close were you to him? Sitting next to him? Standing?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Er – a few inches, maybe? Standing. I don’t see what–”

Nott held his hand up, his eyes unfocused.

“Most forms of Occlumency... project magic, but it’s imperceptible magic,” he quickly explained. “Even the Trace can’t pick it up. However, there are some wizards and witches who can detect it – usually Master Occlumens and Legilimens who have a predisposed magical affinity for Mind Arts. It’s an extremely rare talent – as is Reverse Legilimency, which is what you describe, and – as far as I know – these two things generally go hand in hand.”

“But the magical restraint bracelet–” Daphne started, only to be interrupted by Nott once more:

“That’s why I asked how close he was. That projection of magic likely got within the limits of Draco’s magical restraint bracelet. I don’t think Granger considered anything other than external magic when she made it. He can’t exert his magic on anyone or anything else, but he could most certainly perform Occlumency and Reverse Legilimency, which, from the examples I’ve read, can be initiated by pulling at Occlumency’s projected magic. Potter’s had to have been in range.”

“Or the bracelet’s compromised,” Daphne retorted. She rounded on Harry, glancing worriedly over at the scrying mirrors every few seconds. “What did you see when you were in his mind?”

“Snape’s Unbreakable Vow and Malfoy’s task to kill Dumbledore, mostly. Astoria and his mum were in there as well. And Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle and the Slytherin common room, dormitories…”

“That sounds exactly like something someone would show you if they’re trying to convince you they’re the real Draco Malfoy.”

That was a good point… maybe that was why Draco, or not-Draco, performed Reverse Legilimency on him. It was extremely convincing, after all.

Nott cleared his throat and they both turned to him as he held up Daphne’s vial of mixed blood, only it wasn’t glowing anymore. The blood inside had turned a medium-light royal blue colour. “Unless you have any other second cousins who are wizards, that’s irrefutably Draco Malfoy in there.”

“But how could Malfoy be a Master Occlumens – or… Legilimens?” Ron incredulously questioned. “Since when?”

“He had lessons in it last summer from Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry replied, though he was hardly able to believe Malfoy’s mastery of the craft any more than Ron. No wonder they couldn’t get into Malfoy’s severely sleep deprived mind during the interrogation… “It was to help him keep his task secret from Dumbledore and Snape.”

And why in the world would the real Malfoy show him memories of his task to kill Dumbledore and Snape’s Unbreakable Vow? Was it because Harry wasn’t convinced that Malfoy was told to kill Dumbledore during his interrogation?

Yet, the Unbreakable Vow memory wouldn’t have been necessary if that was the case. Harry couldn’t find a single reason for showing him that.

“So, thus far,” Nott said, setting his own phial of mixed blood aside under what was presumably the Blood Matching spell, “we have signature effacement on the wards, Draco is certainly Draco, even though he’s exhibiting odd behavior with Reverse Legilimency, and Greg is showing signs of Obliviation.”

Nott moved to the empty blackboard on the wall and started listing. “Did you check the wards on Draco’s door?”

“I’ll go do that,” Daphne said, her pace restless as she walked out the door.

Then, Nott turned to him. “Did Draco show any signs of Obliviation? Confusion – stupor? Watering eyes? Blank gaze?”

“Goyle always looks like that.” Ron’s glamoured brows furrowed. “How can you tell he’s been Obliviated?”

“The watering eyes kind of gave it away.”

“Oh,” Ron muttered. “I just thought he was watching something sad on the picture box. They were in an infirmary or hospital or whatever Muggles call it.”

“Malfoy didn’t show any of those signs, no,” Harry answered Nott, curiously squinting toward Goyle’s telly in one of the scrying mirrors. It was playing one of Uncle Vernon’s favourite shows to yell at about overpaid doctors and the NHS.

In the next scrying mirror, Malfoy was perusing the contents of the stasis cabinet in the corner of his room – which looked far bigger on the inside – pulling out a butterbeer. The blond Slytherin sat heavily on his bed, lounging back against the wall as he twisted the cap and stared directly at the door, taking sips from the bottle. His expression was distant and had a strange determination about it that Harry couldn’t discern a reason for; it was just as mysterious as the reason for those memories.

Before he could rethink it, his feet carried him out and down the corridor and he nearly bumped into Daphne, who was half-kneeling in front of Malfoy’s door and inspecting the wards. Underneath her wand, a golden metallic glow revealed layer upon layer of multiple lines of Arithmancy.

“Mind if I…?” Harry said, pointed to the door.

The inspection spell cut off and she looked up at him, moving to the side in an awkward shuffle. “Want me to come with?”

“Ah – no. I’ll be fine. It’s only Malfoy,” he replied, throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

The blonde Slytherin was still in the same position he’d last saw him, but now there was a sly smirk forming at his lips.

“Back to Obliviate me properly now that there aren’t any witnesses?” he drawled, his eyes narrowing.

Harry blinked, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Why would I Obliviate you?”

“Because I remember,” Malfoy said, his smirk morphing into a smug smile. “You were here earlier, accessed those memories – probably more than those – and then you must’ve Obliviated me or something, though you couldn’t do it fully – I must’ve tried to Occlude it or else I wouldn’t remember you rooting through those memories. It’s still enough for me to know that you were here though.” He paused, his gaze sharpening with a sense of daring. “And I’m prepared this time if you try to Obliviate me again.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach.

“You can… Occlude Obliviation,” Harry repeated slowly.

Occlumens were able to lie under Veritaserum – something he never thought previously possible – so it was highly unlikely that Malfoy was lying… Which meant that someone had definitely broken into the warehouse and was around long enough to perform Legilimency on Malfoy – maybe Goyle too – before Obliviating them.

“Did I stutter?” Malfoy sneered and he set his bottle of butterbeer onto the pile of books on his bedside table. “I’ll even give you a free shot, if you like. I could use the practice.”

“It wasn’t me,” Harry stated evenly, watching every minute move that Malfoy made for signs of deception. Malfoy might have simply been goading him so he could get ahold of Harry’s wand… not that it would work with the magical restraint bracelet still around his wrist.

“I haven’t seen you in two months and, all of a sudden, you show up and ask me for blood not even an hour after I’ve had my mind raped and Obliviated?” He snorted. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Voynich.”

Malfoy was always cocky when he thought he had the upper hand. Harry glared, debating on telling him the whole truth and dithering on whether or not it would sufficiently knock him down a peg or two.

“Did you ever stop to think that I came back because this happened to you?”

“What about the blood then?” Malfoy’s tone was doubtful.

“I never lied about what the blood was for.” As a subtle show of trust, Harry moved closer. He was in range if Malfoy decided to lash out at him. “Only,” he said, “the Blood Matching spell wasn’t for someone else. It was for you. We had to make certain you weren’t an imposter.”

Remaining silent, Malfoy’s eyes narrowed once more, though his expression was more speculative than suspicious.

“We had a break in,” Harry continued calmly – more calm than he felt – keeping his Voynich demeanor intact. “The question of how, why, and who have yet to be answered. Any information you can give me about the person – or people – who dug through your mind and Obliviated you would be beneficial to your… continual safety.”

“My ‘continual safety’?” Malfoy asked, his brows furrowing warily as he leaned away from him. “What? Are you going to torture me again? I already told you all I know. No need to get out your knives.”

He didn’t realize how much his last statement sounded like a threat; he was mostly referring to keeping Malfoy safe from Voldemort…

Well, whatever worked.

Malfoy stared up at him, questioning, “So you really didn’t do it?”

“No,” Harry said, meeting Malfoy’s unconvinced gaze. “You know I don’t require Legilimency to extract secrets.”

“It’s faster.”

“Not with an Occlumens like you,” Harry retorted, his mind prickling. Unless Malfoy was completely caught off guard, the person who went through Malfoy’s mind would have had to be ridiculously skilled at Legilimency to get in there. Voldemort was a logical choice, but he’d never leave Malfoy and Goyle alive if he broke in. Bellatrix wouldn’t either… And, other than Snape, he had no idea of other Death Eaters who were very skilled at Legilimency.

But Snape was also Malfoy’s godfather… He’d leave Malfoy alive. And Snape had motive to get information from Malfoy as well, but – if it was him – why wouldn’t he take Malfoy with him? Why the Obliviation?

…‘And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?’…

If he were to take the knife in his pocket and stab Malfoy right now, would Snape die if he was one of the people who broke in? Because he would’ve failed to protect Malfoy by leaving him behind?

It was tempting to test that theory, but Harry wasn’t keen on it. He needed more evidence on the intruders, and preferred if the evidence – proof, really – didn’t involve someone dying, even if it was Snape.

The question still remained of how the intruders – Snape among them or not – found out about the warehouse and tracked it down. It was given every level of protection short of a blood ward or a Fidelius Charm, which they were likely going to have to perform now that the warehouse was threatened.

“Are you certain you don’t remember anything else?” Harry probed further. “What they looked like? Their voice? Male or female?”

Malfoy shook his head and then paused mid-shake, his eyes widening toward the open book sitting at the edge of his bed. “I think I was – must’ve been – compulsed to read. But I’ve no memory of it… just the strong impulse to do it. I still feel it a little.”

Harry’s stomach twisted in nervous disappointment. “That’s it?”

“I was Obliviated. You’re lucky I remember as much as I do!” Malfoy snapped, staring at Harry as if he was as thick as mince, but then his expression sobered to something more thoughtful. “Or, maybe, you’re just trying to test me to see if I remember if it was you who did it. You said you were a Slytherin. That’s exactly what a Slytherin would do.”

Malfoy and his bloody interrogation games.

Harry didn’t bother holding back his derisive snort of laughter. A wolfish smile pulled at his features, one that always seemed to intimidate Malfoy, even though he tried to hide it. “And what would you think of me if I told you I lied about being a Slytherin?”

Malfoy’s lips pursed. “Did you go to Durmstrang then?”

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him except doubt and defiance – judging by where the conversation was going – Harry turned on his heel and left the room without answering, shutting the door in Malfoy’s glaring, questioning face. If Astoria showed up, she could probably get more out of Malfoy if he had more to give. But, if he did, he’d barter with it instead of being accusatory.

At least he found out a few more things that Nott could add to the list on the board.

oOo

“Extensive signature effacement, massive gaps in the recognition wards, Obliviation and Legilimency used on the prisoners, no signs of tracking spells or devices, and no bloody traces of anything? Who talked?”

Harry’s eyes widened as Croaker’s unfathomable gaze swept across him and around to the other teenagers scattered about the control room. When Daphne mentioned that Croaker was paranoid and could be brutal when that paranoia was tested, she wasn’t exaggerating. He felt as if the ex-Unspeakable was going to drag them all into an interrogation room one-by-one the moment he entered the warehouse with Astoria at his side, vicious magic radiating off of him in waves.

“There is absolutely no other way that someone could have found this place otherwise,” Croaker stated tersely, composed but fierce. His navy tweed cloak swished along his legs as he paced slowly.

“We were debating over Narcissa,” Daphne said, her polyjuice and glamour completely gone and back to her regular self. Other than Astoria, she was the only one who didn’t seem nervous under Croaker’s harsh scrutiny.

Even the normally unflappable Zabini appeared slightly – well – flapped.

“It wasn’t Narcissa,” Astoria countered, adjusting her shoulder holster under her coat. “She doesn’t know where the warehouse is. Draco is brought to visit her under sensory deprivation – charms? – to the flat in Hammersmith–”

“And, she would have to use magic in order to follow us when we bring the Malfoy boy back here,” Croaker briskly interrupted. “Considering that the Death Eaters aren’t knocking down her front door, she hasn’t used magic since she agreed to play Muggle.”

Daphne’s brows furrowed. “You’ve confirmed that they’ve put the Trace back on her then?”

“On Narcissa Malfoy? They can’t do that!” Ron argued. “Once the Trace is gone it’s gone!”

“The Department of Mysteries spreads misinformation for a reason, Mr. Weasley. And I’ve been informed that they have reinstated her Trace,” Croaker answered Daphne, sparing Ron a glance that sufficiently cowed the redheaded Gryffindor. “I imagine the Malfoy kid will have his previously-removed Trace back on him as well very soon. It’s more difficult to reconnect one which has been illegally broken, such as his.” He turned toward Astoria. “Do you believe you can keep him on a leash about this Reverse Legilimency business?”

“Of course,” Astoria said confidently. “Narcissa will help if he won’t listen.”

“Good,” Croaker muttered, turning his eyes back on the room. “Now, have any of you mentioned anything to anyone about the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy or Gregory Goyle?”

There was a resounding round of “no’s” and shaken heads.

“If wasn’t any of us, sir,” Harry said solidly, stepping up to Croaker’s intimidating stance. “And it’s pointless to go looking for blame when there’s evidence that points to who could’ve broken in.”

“But how would Professor Snape find out about the warehouse, Harry?” Hermione asked, just as she had earlier when he relayed his suspicions.

“Maybe he used Static Legilimency on one of us. We all take his class,” Harry proposed, finally able to answer that question after giving it some thought. “There probably aren’t many people who can get into Malfoy’s mind. Snape’s probably one of the few.”

“There aren’t many people who can break a trammel ward, catch it, and repair it before it traps either,” Zabini pointed out. “It’s nearly impossible.”

“So is getting a recognition ward to recognize your signature without leaving it behind,” Hermione added. “Not to mention doing all of this in under fifteen minutes.”

Croaker remained quiet, seemingly taking in their speculation.

“This whole thing’s a mess,” Daphne mumbled around her cigarette as she lit it, passing her silver case to Harry, who gratefully accepted one. His nerves were a bit frayed and Croaker being there certainly wasn’t helping with that.

Harry breathed out a slow stream of smoke. “Since there isn’t much else we can do here, I say we put up a Fidelius Charm – like we planned – and look into… people who might’ve broken in.”

Snape was at the top of his list. It wasn’t completely implausible. Snape had the means and the motive and, frighteningly, Voldemort’s ear as well.

“Great and all, Potter, but who’s going to volunteer to take the Dark Mark?” Zabini dryly replied. “It’s the only way to infiltrate the Death Eaters.”

Daphne’s lips parted and a wide grin spread across her face, which contrasted heavily from her previous crestfallen expression. “No it isn’t! I can use Cornfoot! He’d know if the Death Eaters were passed any information about Draco or if there was a leak about what he’s doing at Hogwarts. He’s in contact with them – said so himself when he traded secrets.”

“This is Malfoy’s replacement you’ve been cultivating?” Croaker asked.

“Yeah,” Daphne said with a nod, “and if he’s still going on with his mission, we can assume that the Dark Lord hasn’t heard about his… information leak.”

“But who, other than Death Eaters, would break in and go through Draco’s mind – and probably Greg’s as well?” Nott retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “This wasn’t something that someone just did on a whim. This seems like a planned attack to me. A planned operation.”

Croaker’s eyes narrowed toward the weedy Slytherin. “You’re Tavion’s kid, aren’t you?”

Nott nodded. “He’s always spoken very highly of you.”

“Spare me. He speaks highly of everyone,” Croaker drawled, checking his watch. “Shall we draw straws for Secret Keeper before the Dark Lord shows up on our doorstep and kills us all?”

oOo

“Not a bad choice. Rather unassuming.”

Harry’s expression turned doubtful as he stared at the shortest straw of the conjured bunch between his fingers. “Is it really?”

“Your image to the public is as a savoir – the Chosen One – the one who fights Death Eaters. It’s not your Modus Operandi to kidnap them. Additionally, you’ve been at school this entire time. You’re not an obvious suspect.” Croaker paused. “Now, how about we go outside while the rest of you get everyone outside the wards? I suggest sensory deprivation charms on the prisoners. And, perhaps, some… glamours. You three sorely require it.”

With that, Croaker disappeared back through the door, leaving Harry staring in his wake. As he got up to follow him, Daphne and the two Slytherin boys were already busy spelling triple-layer glamours on each other. Hermione headed off to place sensory deprivation charms on Goyle and Malfoy with Astoria in tow.

Catching up with to Croaker at the edge of the wards, where the Unspeakable was running a few diagnostic spells, Harry chanced a sideways glance over at him once he appeared to be done. “So, how does this work, exactly?”

A stoat-like smirk tugged at Croaker’s lips. “We wait until they clear the premises. Fidelius charms are more finicky to perform than they are difficult – requires a certain degree of magical finesse. You’re the only one allowed on the property when I perform the spell, otherwise it won’t take.”

“Interesting…” Harry trailed off with a nod, barely knowing anything about wardcraft in the first place or he’d probably have a bounty of other questions. As it stood, he had plenty of questions to ask Croaker, he just wasn’t certain on how to go about it.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “May I ask you something, sir?” he said with a cautious tilt of his head.

Croaker’s brow arched and he tugged his leather gloves further up his sleeves, fitting them more snugly on his hands. “As long as you don’t make a habit of calling me ‘sir’, knock yourself out.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, shifting slightly on his feet. “But, er, why is it that you’re helping us with this? In general. I mean, you’re an Unspeakable – you could do basically anything you want and yet you take time out to help me and Daph and all of us.”

“It’s simple, Mr. Potter. Basic human nature – we do what we can for what we believe and we protect and do anything for the people and things we love,” Croaker drawled, mischievously meeting Harry’s gaze. “However, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d enjoy it if you got to the most burning questions in your head. There’s no need for subterfuge. We’re allies.”

Harry let out an anxious breathy laugh through his nose. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“Yes, you’ve tact – I appreciate that. Your Occlumency skills, on the other hand, require work. So, what’s on your mind?”

“You tell me,” Harry remarked, feeling vaguely uneasy about Croaker reading his thoughts.

“I’m an ‘Unspeakable’, as you say – it’s a hazard of association and a force of habit in my line of work,” Croaker said as Harry pulled out his red leather case. Before he could get out his lighter, Croaker lit his cigarette for him with a mere flick of his fingers, causing Harry’s eyebrows to furrow.

“Thanks.” He tacked wandless magic onto the list of things that Croaker knew how to do.

“No problem. I’m also not one to speak of personal matters involving my associates and my friends, so any discussion of Regulus Black is off the table. I don’t know much about that, either way,” Croaker continued without skipping a beat. “As for the Trace… that’s an entirely different matter.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly as he dissected Croaker’s words. He never considered asking about Regulus Black... Maybe Static Legilimency wasn’t as reliable as Harry previously thought.

Taking a drag off his cigarette, Harry explained, “You mentioned that the Trace could be turned on for anyone. But, I want to know if it can be turned off for someone like me – not just Malfoy.”

Croaker’s stoat-like smirk stretched even farther across his face as the man glanced at him from the corners of his eyes. “That’s very possible.”

A small smile curved Harry’s lips and his insides swelled with hope. “How would I go about doing that?”

“You’re good friends with Horace Slughorn, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded, a bit uncertainly.

“If you could get me a private meeting with him – in person – I could arrange to wipe you from the Trace’s notice.”

Harry’s eyebrow arched. “What do you want with Slughorn?”

“Nothing that would get you into trouble,” Croaker said with a reassuring gesture. “I merely require his opinion on something. He’s well-travelled and has acquired an impressive amount of magical knowledge in his years. He may be more amenable to the meeting if you mentioned the hand of Midas.”

It seemed innocent enough. Yet…

“Why can’t you just contact him yourself for a meeting?”

A small laugh bubbled up from Croaker’s throat, sounding nearly like a scoff. “The last time I saw Horace Slughorn, we… weren’t on the best terms. I’d appreciate it if you could help me with this matter.”

Sighing, Harry flicked the ashes off his fag, briefly considering it. It wasn’t as if Croaker was giving him a deadline, which was nice. Nevertheless, knowing someone with the hand of Midas would probably further advance his position with Slughorn, even if it involved Croaker. Slughorn was greedy and Obliviation was a possibility if it went pear shaped.

“So, if I can get you a meeting with him, I’ll contact you with a date and time?”

“That’s slow, plebian business. Take this,” Croaker said, reaching into his pocket and passing him a small blue crystal that was no larger than the fingernail on his pinky. “Ten minutes before the meeting, crush that. I shan’t be late for it.”

“Yeah… brilliant,” Harry muttered, staring at the crystal and weighing it in his palm, “but what about Hogwarts’ wards?”

Croaker’s dug into the internal pocket of his tweed robes and flashed him a small vial of purple twinkling liquid that Harry knew was Signature Duplicating Potion. “I’ll manage,” he said, stowing the vial away with his quick fingers. “Don’t mention to Ducky that I stole this. She’s like me; doesn’t play well with others. Makes for a great Unspeakable – not so great a partner, which I’m certain you’ve encountered.”

Harry’s brain flooded with an epiphany at those words. “I’ve another question.”

“By all means, ask it then.”

“It’s more like I need your advice. Daphne has recently gotten inside Cornfoot’s group after weeks of asset cultivation and I want to do something about it as well, but I’m not sure how, since I’m… me. And my normal disguise for the project is as a tentative apprentice for Professor Slughorn, who is still in the interviewing process, which limits my involvement with Cornfoot. How should I go about getting closer?”

Croaker’s brows rose. “What house is he in?”

“Ravenclaw,” Harry dutifully answered. “But, from what I’ve seen of him, he’d probably fit in Slytherin as well.”

Croaker hummed in thought. “If I were you, I’d go for a non-obvious approach. It’s not too difficult to don a disguise and pretend to be someone else. Being yourself is the most difficult. As Mr. Cornfoot is a Death Eater, he’s probably very interested in you. Try to genuinely make friends with him by ‘chance’. When I was at school, the best way to make friends with a Ravenclaw was to catch them in the library when it was full and find an excuse to study with them.”

When the library was full… Yeah, that could definitely work. Harry’s lips curved into a small smile. “So it’s basically like dangling myself as bait to him but, really, I’m trying to get information from him instead. Like… opposite interrogation?”

If he did that and acted completely innocent, not only would it solidify his own stance, but also Daphne’s investigation… It had the potential to lower suspicions all ‘round. Genius.

“Exactly,” Croaker said, staring at him with approval. “In my experience, it’s an incredibly effective means of gaining information without arousing mistrust. My expertise at that technique is part of what gave me my former job.”

Behind them, Astoria led the group exiting from the warehouse, her wrist attached to the other end of Draco Malfoy’s restraint bracelet. Zabini was attached to Goyle, and Hermione and Daphne seemed to be having a muttered conversation with Ron at the back. Nott was the last to exit, as silent and stoic as an emotionless rabbit.

Harry inhaled a breath full of smoke, watching them gather on the other side of the ward, and he prepared himself for Croaker to perform the Fidelius Charm.

He was ready.

He was ready for all of it.

OoO

₁ Rowling, J.K. (2005). Chapter 2: Spinner’s End. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (US edition) (pp. 36-37). New York, NY: Scholastic Inc.

OoO

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading and please review!
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