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Chapter Forty-One—Some Answers
Draco found himself instinctively
holding his breath as they explored the cache. There was no smell to speak of,
save stone and dust; the fragments of flesh on the skeletons had been too long
in such conditions to stink, and the preservation charm on the fresh blood had
kept its color but not its scent. That didn’t matter. He expected it to reek,
and so part of his brain was convinced that it did.
Sometimes Weasley gave him sideways,
scornful looks full of pity. Draco didn’t care. Weasley barely investigated anything, surging ahead from one cave
to another and calling them to look at the new things he’d found. Draco was the
one who bent down and studied the skeletons, the message, and the signs they
found in other rooms in detail, and he could do so using any method he liked.
The signs were plentiful, and the
more he observed them, the more Draco had to admit that they fit in with
Granger’s theory of Nihil being one of the Dark Lord’s victims. Death Eater
robes, moldered and moldy, had been thrown into corners, but slashed into
fluttering rags before they were. More spills of dried blood crusted corners
and out-of-the-way nooks, indicating that the wounds had spurted with some
violence. A white mask had been ripped down the middle, then pieced back
together with a clumsy spell—the way it would be clumsy if Nihil’s wand was
shaking in rage, Draco thought—and hung on a conjured piece of wood. The wood
dangled from the ceiling on a noose, the way Draco thought Nihil would have
liked to hang living Death Eaters. The wood had been carved with a mouth
screaming in agony.
Draco couldn’t tell for certain if
the skeletons had been alive or dead when Nihil found them. He didn’t think he
really wanted to know.
Granger was frowning as they picked
through the remains. Draco wanted to know what she was thinking, especially
since she should have been crowing if her intuition was proved correct. He
stepped past Harry, who stayed close at his side as if he thought Draco needed
to be protected from the very atmosphere of hate and fury around them, and up
to her. “What is the matter?” he asked softly.
“Besides all this?” Granger motioned
at the spots on the walls. The room they were currently in had more bloodstains
than usual. From the amount of shattered glass on the floor, Draco thought this
had been a Potions lab, but he’d already tried to reconstruct the brewing from
the fragments and found nothing. “That our enemy can somehow make elaborate
plans and act sane, and yet contain this madness at the same time?”
Draco bit his tongue so he wouldn’t
tell her about what it had been like under the Dark Lord, the way so many
people he knew had indeed acted mad while being perfect masters of themselves after
the war. “Yes,” he said in a controlled tone. “Besides that.”
Granger glanced at him sharply,
obviously hearing the difference in his voice, but wisely decided not to remark
on it. She held out her wand, and one of the glass shards floated up in front
of her. It sparkled, absolutely clean except for a smattering of dust.
Someone drew in his breath behind
Draco. He glanced around and saw that it was Harry. He put a hand on Draco’s
shoulders. Apparently the shard is going
to attack me, Draco thought in amusement.
“All the evidence has been removed,”
Granger said. “Everything. And more
completely than cleaning and stripping charms could account for.”
Draco shrugged. “That part is the
least surprising to me,” he said. “We already know that Nihil has made use of
what was in these caches. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone else to be able to
use it. Enough time spent on cleaning charms, and with enough help from people
he’s infected—”
“You don’t understand!” Granger
snapped, looking as if half her hair would fly out of her head with the way she
was bristling. Draco started to say something cutting, but Harry pressed down
gently on his shoulder, and he stopped. “I’ve studied Cleaning Charms.” Draco
had to work hard to keep his mouth shut then,
too, because the only reason a witch would have to do that would be if she
didn’t plan to have a house-elf. “You can’t get
anything that’s touched a potion to look like this. There must have been
some evidence left behind. I don’t know what he did.” Her voice sank. “I don’t
think it was anything that’s within the scope of most magic.”
“We already knew that,” Harry said,
quietly and more politely than Draco could have brought himself to do at the
moment. He rubbed Draco’s shoulder blade in an absent manner, but Draco was
sure that he knew exactly what he was doing and kept every movement in mind.
“But why does this particular thing bother you so much, Hermione?”
Before Granger could respond,
Weasley came bounding back into the lab and stood there looking at them in
perplexity. “What are you doing?” he asked. “This place is enormous! There’s at
least five more bloody rooms to explore, and you haven’t seen what’s in the
next one yet!”
“We’re looking closely at some
clues, Ron,” Harry said, with an amused tolerance in his voice that Draco both
liked and detested. That wasn’t the way Harry talked to him. On the other hand, Draco had to wonder what it meant that he
had never heard that tone. “Do you know any way that someone could have cleaned
a potions vial so completely you wouldn’t even be able to tell what potion was
in it?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,
mate.” But Weasley came up nonetheless and took the vial from Granger’s hand as
if he had permission—and she allowed him! Draco curled his lip. That was a
difference between her and his mother, then. Not even Lucius touched Narcissa
as casually as that. Weasley turned the piece of glass back and forth in front
of him and squinted at it. “Unless it’s like what Slughorn said.”
“What do you mean?” Granger asked,
sounding offended that there was a fact in the world she hadn’t heard.
“I had a detention cleaning out
cauldrons for him in our sixth year.” Weasley screwed a finger into his ear,
probably to claw at the wax there, and handed the vial back to Granger. “He
said something about how, even when students did a proper job on them, they
were never cleaned as thoroughly as they could be. You had to use magic to
remove trace elements of the potions, and then another, sympathetic magic spell
to touch the ‘resonances’ or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen closely,”
he added defensively when Granger glared at him. “I just knew it was some spell
that would make sure the cauldron was really clean.”
“There are always tiny trace
elements left of a potion,” Draco interrupted, because he felt they were
ignoring his expertise in this area. Harry squeezed his shoulder again, but
Draco ignored him. He would be polite and kind to Harry’s little friends,
certainly. He would stuff kindness and politeness down their throats until they
choked on it. “The spell you’re talking about would simply make sure that the
cauldrons are clean enough for Potions work and tell you what elements are left
if they aren’t, Weasley, not make them as if they’d never been touched by an
ingredient.”
Infuriatingly, Weasley shrugged at
him and turned away. “I told you I didn’t know much about it,” he said.
Granger, of course, wasn’t going to
let anything go that easily. “This
spell,” she said. “Do you think we could use it on the glass to tell us what
was there? How does it work?”
“If they’ve cleaned the glass as
completely as you think they have, of course not,” Draco snapped.
Granger shook her head. “Not the
glass, then,” she said. One of the most annoying things about her, Draco
reflected, was that she refused to simply give up or get angry when someone
told her one of her ideas wouldn’t work; instead, she tried to turn about and
come at it from a different angle. Her ideas seemed more real to her than
rejection did. “What about the rest of the rooms? If we used the spell on them,
shouldn’t it be able to tell us what was stored here?”
Draco glanced around at the walls,
thought of saying that the caves had probably been magically cleansed in the
same way the glass had, and then thought of the skeletons and blood and flesh
in the first room and held his tongue.
“Let’s try it,” Harry said. He
sounded excited, which made Draco smile, reluctantly; Harry would probably
always be more interested in solving puzzles than was good for him. “Do you
know the incantation, Draco?”
That’s
something, at least, that he automatically turns to me as the source of
knowledge and not to Granger. Draco nodded and lifted his wand. “But I’ve
never cast it on an entire room before,” he felt compelled to say.
Weasley rolled his eyes. “I think he’s
trying to put it off because he knows that it won’t work,” he stage-whispered. “Go
ahead, Malfoy, we can’t possibly think any less of you if you fail,” he added
in a normal tone.
Draco glared at him, but caught
sight of Harry’s sympathetic, reassuring smile, and decided that it would be
bad manners to snap at Weasley in return. He would show that he could be the
more mature person here if it killed him.
He faced the wall, held up his wand
for long enough to build suspense, then moved it in the motion Snape had taught
him and said clearly, “Voco effigiam
olim!”
The rooms seemed to flicker around
him, and a bright sheet of yellow light cascaded out of his wand, sparkling as
if backlit by the sun. It settled on the walls, and Draco waited expectantly.
This spell usually produced images of the past; in the case of a cauldron, it
would show the ingredients that had fallen into the cauldron in their
undiminished form. Draco was not without hope that it would show at least the
human figures who had conducted their activities here, and perhaps even faces.
An enormous fist of white fire
reached out of the wall and grabbed him.
*
Draco’s scream rang through Harry’s
head and down to his heart. He knew that he couldn’t actually hear it that
piercingly, but he didn’t care. His friend, his partner, the man he might be in
love with was hurt, and he had to stop it.
“Finite
Incantatem!” he roared instinctively, holding out his wand towards the white
fist.
Nothing happened, except that the
fist tightened and Draco was screaming so hard and in so frenzied a way that Harry
thought he might well go mad. Harry gritted his teeth and tried another spell. Come on, Draco. The compatible magic should
build up and save you. It has to work!
“Abigo!”
he said this time, a spell that was meant to banish Dark creatures, but which
Dearborn had told them would sometimes work for magical effects.
The magic leaped through the hand,
which faded a bit in front of it, and then came back stronger than ever. Harry
cried out in frustration. He had to hold onto his anger, or he would panic.
“Fucking compatible magic!” he yelled,
and started to jump forwards. Maybe he could do something to the hand if he was
closer to it.
Someone grabbed him and held him
back. Harry spun around to see Ron holding him. He yelled again, incoherently,
and lashed out with one fist. If Ron was trying to keep him from helping Draco because
he hoped that Draco would die—
But Ron caught his arm and shook his
head.
“You need more than one person to
break through power like that,” he said, as calmly as though Draco’s screams
weren’t echoing through the cavern. “I can feel how strong it is. And he can’t
help you. Take my magic.” He drew his wand and muttered a spell that Harry
couldn’t hear, but which sent scarlet threads spiraling out of his wand and
towards Harry.
Harry didn’t have time to apologize
or even say thank you. He just nodded and grabbed the scarlet threads, pulling
them into himself.
It wasn’t like handling the
compatible magic that flowed between him and Draco. That was much more of an
equal, skillful sharing; Harry knew that if he dropped the magic, Draco could
always recover it and keep the spool rolling. This time, he was draining Ron
like a vampire drinking blood, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Harry bit his tongue and ignored the
wrongness of the situation, because he had
to ignore it. Rescuing Draco was the most important thing in the world, the
most important thing he had ever done.
He hit out at the fist of white
fire. He didn’t want to banish it or stop it, since those things hadn’t worked
anyway. He wanted to destroy it, and
he was going to do such a good job of it that Nihil, wherever he was, would
feel the ringing of the spell in his bones.
The fist bent in front of him, but
resisted him. Harry could feel the magic that made it up now, flexible but
horribly strong, like a spiderweb. He attacked again, and again it bent and
flowed away from him.
Draco had stopped screaming. That
was the worst thing.
Harry took a breath that seemed to
start in his feet rather than his lungs and turned his head. The fist sprang out
of the wall, extending along an arm that was also made of white fire. If he
couldn’t banish it and he couldn’t break it, maybe he could cut it off.
He didn’t stop to think about what
spell he was going to use. He just grabbed the incantation that was nearest the
top of his mind and flung it out in front of him as if it was a weapon launched
from his wand at the wall.
“Sectumsempra!”
Harry thought he could actually
watch the unfolding of the web of power. The spell was bigger and more powerful
than it had been when he cast it at Draco in sixth year; Harry had the vague,
hazy thought that he had poured six cups’ worth of water into a cup only meant
to hold one. The spell would fly apart and shatter any minute, and he and Ron
would have to deal with magical backlash, and Draco would die, and—
But, maybe because this was such a
rare spell, it worked. The hand collapsed to the ground, the arm of white fire
flying apart in sharp spatters that reminded Harry of the way Draco’s chest had
exploded in blood. This time, though, Snape’s spell did him some good. The hand
vanished in a puff of smoke like someone had blown out a candle.
Harry immediately ran to Draco and
lifted him up.
He was scarred with strange,
irregular burns. His arms and face and chest—his shirt had mostly burned away—were
covered with them, but each had a few inches of pale skin separating it from
the others. When Harry looked more closely and brushed a bit of ash away, his
stomach turned. Each burn was in the shape of the Dark Mark.
“I think Nihil left this here as a
trap specifically to catch Death Eaters,” Hermione said, in the distant tone
that she used when she was trying to avoid breaking down by concentrating on
facts.
“Can you give me back my magic,
mate?” Ron asked, sounding more choked than Hermione. “Having it tied to
someone else like that is killing me.”
Harry flicked his wand and muttered
a Finite to disrupt the spell, hoping
that it worked. He was unable to look away from Draco for now or to think of
anything other than hopefully getting him to a Healer who could help him. He
heard Ron gasp, and then he didn’t say anything else, which would have to be
enough.
“Come on,” Hermione said, clutching
his arm. “We’ll go to Portillo Lopez. You told me that she knows about Nihil
already, so she’s a better choice than most of the others.”
Harry nodded. He would have fought
if someone had tried to take Draco away from him or leave him behind to die,
but he didn’t feel capable of making any other decision right now. He still couldn’t
look away from Draco’s face as he stumbled across the cavern floor, which meant
that Ron and Hermione had to guide him.
Guilt filled him, so thick and powerful
that he would have choked on it if he hadn’t known that choking wouldn’t help
Draco.
I
thought you might be in danger and I still let you come along. I didn’t do
anything to help you until you had already been hurt. So much for compatible
magic. So much for my fucking heroism.
I’m
so sorry.
But
being sorry like that doesn’t matter.
*
Draco woke slowly. He thought he had
already awakened several times, to pain and disorientation so great that it
seemed the easiest course to close his eyes and sink back into the awaiting
darkness. But this time, the darkness had actually pulled back enough to let
him think rationally, so he would use the gift.
He turned his head from side to
side. He didn’t recognize the room he lay in, but it didn’t have the
characteristic touches of St. Mungo’s. That cheered him up a bit. He was somewhere
in the Auror Division, probably, and with someone who would understand the
risks he had taken.
The room itself was small, full of
heavy wooden furniture of the sort that Draco’s mother would have banned from
the Manor on the grounds of being too ugly. The bed was comfortable, at least.
Draco was shifting around to raise himself on his elbows when the door opened
and Portillo Lopez stepped in.
There was a weight about her
movements that made Draco pause and watch her immediately. She shut the door
behind her as though the fate of the world depended on it closing quietly, and then
stood there looking at him.
“What is it?” Draco asked. “Am I
going to be permanently disfigured?” That was what he had thought of first,
since he wasn’t dead and he could feel his magic shimmering, still, beneath the
surface of his skin. He thought all his senses and all his limbs were there,
but maybe he’d lost a finger and he didn’t know it. He hadn’t exactly had a lot
of time to check.
“No,” Portillo Lopez said. “But you
very nearly died.” She turned and picked up something that lay on a table next
to the bed, then held it up.
It was a mirror. Draco stared at his
face and lifted a finger to trace the outline of the skull and the snake on his
cheek. It was fading. That kept him from screaming, but it was a near thing,
especially when he realized that he could see similar Marks on his chest and
shoulders.
“These marks were killing you,”
Portillo Lopez said softly, “eating into your skin and your magical core, and
from there your major organs. It was a trap designed to go on and destroy the
intruder even after the initial fire had been removed. You would have died had
I not cured you.”
Draco caught her eye and tried to
convey all his gratitude in a single stare. “Thank you,” he said.
Portillo Lopez nodded, but she was
not smiling. “This uncontrolled exploration of evil must stop,” she said.
“I quite agree,” Draco said. “As
soon as I can learn what spell Nihil used that left me in this state, I intend
to do some explorations of my own into appropriate means of punishment.”
Portillo Lopez turned and stared at
him. Then she shook her head, and her eyes were almost gentle when she spoke
again, if her voice was not. “I meant that you
and Potter must stop your investigations.”
Draco clenched his fists. “We didn’t
know that this would happen,” he said. “And we won’t be kept out of fighting
someone who seems to want to target us particularly. Why should we give up and
act like helpless children when we clearly aren’t?”
“Trainee Malfoy,” Portillo Lopez
said, reaching out one hand as if she would touch him and then retracting it, “the
Minister has declared that Nihil is too dangerous for anyone to fight. The War Wizards are being called together again.
Do you know what they are?”
Draco frowned. There had been a
mention of them somewhere in Auror Conduct, but the information had been
shoveled together with all sorts of useless facts that Jones wanted them to
memorize, so he couldn’t remember it easily. “No,” he said at last, hating the
admission as he made it.
Portillo Lopez nodded. “Even I had
to check the Auror regulations, because they have not been used since the war
with Grindelwald. They were not even called out for the battles with
You-Know-Who, because for so long his attacks were small and confined to
Muggles or individual witches and wizards, and of course before that the
Ministry was involved in denying his return.” She took a few quick steps back
and forth, as if pacing out her disgust.
And
you were all depending on Harry to save you, so the Ministry probably thought
it didn’t need them, Draco thought, but he had the sense to keep his mouth
shut. This might be their last source of free information for a while, if the
instructors were really intent on keeping them out of the investigation.
“The War Wizards are Aurors who are
meant to handle full-scale battles,” Portillo Lopez said. “Among us all, they
are the only ones who have the permission to use Dark Arts, and who are
regularly trained in the combination of
the disciplines that we teach separately here, such as hand-to-hand combat and
healing. A War Wizard can inflict a blow that would heal you.” She sent Draco a
faint, dark smile, as if she could feel the stirring of interest in the back of
his mind. “They are used only when the Ministry declares the battlefield truly
a battlefield, and thus unsafe for
ordinary citizens or Aurors to enter.
“Minister Shacklebolt has said that
the whole of Britain is a battlefield. Not only you and Trainee Potter, but all
of us here, are ordered to keep out of the war’s way unless it seeks us
unavoidably.” She paused, then added, “I do not say that the war might not
someday come to us. But it has not, and therefore you and Trainee Potter are
ordered to cease your efforts to find and confront Nihil forthwith.”
“Or what?” Draco asked, crossing his
arms. She had already healed him, which meant that she couldn’t hold the threat
of leaving him in pain over his head.
“Or you will be expelled from the
program,” Portillo Lopez said calmly.
Draco clenched his jaw and said
nothing. He wanted to shout it was unfair, but he would do nothing so childish.
“That would leave us unprotected,”
he said at last, when he thought he could do something other than shout. “Not an intelligent move.”
“You are destroying our ability to
protect you with every move that you make!” Portillo Lopez took a quick stride
to the side of the bed that made Draco cower in spite of himself. She gained control
of her anger with a hiss and shook her head, staring at him. “You have evaded
your guards again and again, attempted to set up your own spy network, and
excluded us from information that you should have shared. Believe me, some of the Aurors have asked why
you were allowed to stay. If Auror Dearborn and myself had not mounted a
spirited defense, you would be expelled even now, and recovering in St. Mungo’s.”
Draco lowered his eyes and said nothing.
“Accept your fate, and accept that the
war with Nihil has moved onto another plane entirely,” Portillo Lopez said
sternly. She paused, and her voice softened. “Now, I will allow Trainee Potter
to see you. He has been quite frantic throughout the last twenty-four hours he
was held away from you.”
She turned to the door, and a moment
later, Draco had an armful of protesting, murmuring, terribly relieved Harry.
Draco closed his eyes. That is not the last word on this matter. We
can find a way around this and still help with the war, and I fully intend to.
For now, though, it was enough to
lie back and bask in the warmth of Harry’s concern.
*
Sarah: I fear that Draco would be
more offended than flattered, or will be when he learns what happened.
Dragons Breath: Thanks! Believe it
or not, after this Draco will be forced to respect Hermione a little more.
SP777: That’s an interesting idea,
but it would require Nihil to know that those insecurities existed. While he
has attacked Harry and Draco and might be watching them closely, he doesn’t
seem to have paid any attention to Ron and Hermione, and he won’t necessarily know
everything they feel and think.
This particular story will end in a
few more chapters.
MewMew2: Thank you!
Thrnbrooke: Yes. As they found out.
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