Especially Our Enemies

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“The Ministry.” His tone brooked no further questions, and I fell silent. Fine, I thought. Appear out of nowhere and tell me what to do. That’s marvelous.

He had a portkey for us to use, and when the sick feeling in my stomach was gone I looked up and found myself in one of the back hallways of the Ministry. Percy led me down the corridor to a door marked Maintenance.

“Auspicious,” I said, pointing at the door.

“Sarcastic,” he said, poking me in the chest. He took out a key and unlocked the door. The room beyond was dark, and he waited until the door was closed and relocked to turn on a light. We walked back through rows of metal shelves, stacked high with cleaning products and rolls of paper towels and toilet paper. At the back of the room there was a tarnished old elevator door. Percy put his thumb on the button and leaned against the frame.

“So you didn’t die,” I said.

“Not by any means.”

“That’s funny. Malfoy seemed assured he had killed you.”

“That was the idea,” Percy said. “You’ll be meeting the rest of my department in a moment. Some of us you’ve met before, of course. Officially, though, all of us are dead.” The elevator door opened and I followed him in.

“So this is all unofficial?”

“Very much so.” He sighed. “We worked very hard at covering these things up, but I never dreamed it would work so well.”

“We?” I asked.

“You and me, and the other Lost Ones,” he said.

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“I’ll do my best to explain.” The elevator beeped and the door opened lethargically. On the other side was a plain elevator lobby, the kind you see in Muggle office buildings. There was even a potted plant, albeit a dragon tongue flower that could eat me if roused. “This is the place. We cloistered ourselves here when our ‘deaths’ were made public. You were supposed to join us, along with Harry, but he was killed first.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” I said.

“I’m glad. Poorly-executed memory charms can be very unpleasant.” He led me down a long corridor. “After Harry died, things changed. Voldemort disappeared, but we knew he wouldn’t stay down. We decided to continue to lie in wait.”

“Why didn’t I join you after Harry died?” I asked.

“Things kicked up so quickly,” Percy said, unlocking a door. “We had to push back our timeline almost two years. When you found out Hermione was pregnant, you told us you couldn’t stay with the team.”

“So I made myself forget?”

“To protect the mission,” he said gravely.

“What was the mission?” I asked.

“We knew we couldn’t defeat Voldemort,” Percy said. “So we decided to let him win.”

“Not much of a plan,” I laughed.

“It was more complicated than that,” a voice said. Percy and I turned. Penelope had aged well, and Percy smiled at her.

He pushed the door open and led me through. On the other side was a conference room of some sort, and the table was already full of people.

I recognized Mandy Brocklehurst and Graham Pritchard immediately, and after a moment Michael Corner and Lee Jordan. Corner had gone almost completely bald, which made him look quite different than I remembered. There were a couple of men and women who would have been in the class of 2002, whose names I couldn’t recall. I felt a little guilty; I had long ago forgotten that most of these people were dead, so their being alive didn’t have much impact. Oliver Wood came in after a moment and it took me some time to register who he was or how he ‘died.’ Eighteen years is a long time to hold onto such things, and we had never been particularly close in school.

“Well, everyone, I’m sure Penny has briefed you all on what’s going on upstairs. I’ve decided to bring Ron back into our little fold because the boy who was taken by Lord Voldemort is his son, and although Ron of course doesn’t remember anything about our mission I felt his knowledge would be valuable. He has always been an asset in the past.”

Goodness, I thought. A little respect from perfect Percy. I wished I could recall how I had aided them before.

“Is it true that Draco Malfoy was with Voldemort when he left Hogwarts?” asked Jordan.

“Ron?” Percy asked, looking at me. I felt a bit on the spot.

“They weren’t together when they left, but I think Malfoy’s intention was to catch up to him,” I said.

“Why do you think they took your son?”

“Opportunity, maybe,” I said. “He was walking down to Hagrid’s hut just before dark, about the time Voldemort was leaving the castle after killing Snape.”

I realized after a moment that it didn’t make sense. If Voldemort had Chaz, he wouldn’t have needed to feed off of Malfoy and me. And Chaz wasn’t with him when they transported me away from the other professors in the woods. But Voldemort definitely had Chaz before Malfoy went out there, because he never made it down to see Hagrid. The others must have noticed the burning smell from my thinking, because Mandy spoke up.

“You don’t seem convinced,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” I said. Percy offered me a chair and I sat.

“Why don’t you tell us everything that happened and everything you saw,” he said, sitting nearby. “From the first time you saw Malfoy today.”

I did, relaying faithfully every word of our conversation as I could remember it and trying to include every detail I had noticed.

“You say he acted like he had been obliviated?” asked Percy.

“Badly,” I said. “Voldemort is too skilled to do such a botch job.”

“And it wasn’t us,” Percy said, rubbing his chin. He’d grown a goatee in the intervening years, and it made a soft scritching sound as he passed his hand over it.

“He said ‘the Dark Lord has been interfering with my thoughts.’” My mouth felt dry. “Some of his symptoms were like an imperius and some like a memory charm. I’m wondering if Voldemort hasn’t found some new use for his skills in legilimency.”

“It’s a possibility,” Jordan said. “We should consider our secrets compromised.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, Malfoy doesn’t consciously realize we did anything to him. In his mind, no matter how deep you delve, he believes he killed all of us. Some of the assassinations he remembers actually happened, so it makes the fake ones that much easier.” Percy summoned a piece of paper and tapped at it with his wand; it produced a list. “That’s why you chose him, Ron.”

“I chose Malfoy?”

“He wasn’t the only Death Eater we considered,” Corner chimed. “Merely the most suited.”

“The thing is, he may have some latent marks of tampering that a skilled telepath could detect, and if Voldemort really has developed his legilimency to that level, he’ll know what we did.”

“He could definitely see into Malfoy’s thoughts,” I said. “He laughed when Malfoy tried to talk him out of killing me, could see what Malfoy was thinking.”

I hadn’t gotten to the part of the story in the woods yet, and they looked at me interestedly. I hesitated for a moment; should I tell them about Malfoy and me?

“Why didn’t Malfoy want him to kill you?”

I knew I would have to do it eventually, so I swallowed and brought it right out.

“Malfoy and I have been sleeping together since the beginning of the school year.”

Many of them looked surprised; they all had the decency to not comment.

“At first I think he came on to me because of something that went on between him and Ginny, years ago,” I said.

“He impregnated her,” Wood said. “We didn’t know until we’d already started having him ‘kill’ our operatives, and by then it was too late to back down.”

“It’s weird,” I said, shaking my head. “All the people he’s killed, and all the people he thinks he’s killed, and it’s her death that weighs most on his conscience.”

“Malfoy wasn’t always a killer,” Percy said. “There was a time when he could not carry out Voldemort’s orders so readily.”

“How involved were the two of you?” asked a younger witch whose name had escaped me.

“It’s hard to say,” I admitted. “He was so strange. Bipolar, even. For awhile it was like someone had hit the dimmer switch on everything. But it was more than that. He picked a fight with me in a crowded hallway one day.”

“And his behavior seemed unusual to you?” Percy asked.

“Hell yes.”

“There’s a possibility that something has gone wrong with the programming we did,” Jordan said. “That would also explain the opening that Voldemort was able to exploit.”

“Wait,” I said, holding out a hand. “I don’t understand. ‘Programming?’”

“We brainwashed him, basically,” Jordan said.

“You were in charge of it,” Percy said. “We shot him full of drugs and imprinted him with the basic format for the assassinations. It was very easy, actually; he’d already started doing hits for Voldemort.”

“So we made an opening for ourselves, so we could slip in false memories?” I asked.

“Exactly. Much the way you wiped your own memory and implanted false ones. It meant you never questioned what you remembered, no telltale gaps or fuzzy spots. Tremendously effective,” Corner said.

“And Malfoy never questioned your deaths?”

“As far as we know.” Percy looked perplexed. “Something must have altered his brain chemistry and deactivated the block we put in after the last imprint.”

There was some muttering about that. I scratched the back of my head a moment.

“Malfoy had cancer,” I said suddenly, like touching my head had sparked my brain. “He went through radiation therapy.”

“We know. We cleared it when he checked in for treatment.” Percy rubbed his eyes.

“Well, what about the stuff he’s been taking as a preventer?”

“What was it?” Penny asked.

“Gemcitabine?” I said hesitantly.

There were a few shrugs, and then one of the younger wizards spoke up.

“It’s a pyrimidine analog,” he said. “An antimetabolite. Prevents the production of DNA and RNA in the body.”

“Could that effect Malfoy?” I asked.

“The block we installed was a kind of parasite,” Percy said, tugging at his hair. “Damn. We designed it to survive all sorts of radiation and spells.”

“But not a drug that would slow down its mitosis,” the young wizard said.

“So basically it died,” I said.

“The treatment would normally reduce his immune system. Did he experience any illnesses during the last few months?”

“None that I noticed,” I said. “In fact, he didn’t catch the nasty virus I had a while back.”

“We’re forgetting Malfoy’s alterations,” Percy chided. “He’s not exactly operating with a normal system anymore.”

The door opened.

“Mister Weasley, there’s been another sighting,” the young witch said. She handed him a note.

“Holborn,” he said. “Let’s saddle up, people, this note is thirty seconds old.”

“Why would they be at a Muggle Underground station?” I asked as we all got to our feet.

“Lord only knows,” Percy said. “Come with me and I’ll get you suited up.”

“‘Suited up?’” I asked, lengthening my strides to keep up.

He led me into a large room and flipped on the lights. Inside were row after row of flak vests like the ones Muggle police wore and stacks of helmets.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“Armor,” he said simply, walking to a row. “Try this on.”

He tossed me a vest and I obediently slipped it on over my shirt. It was snug, but I could still fasten the velcro.

“What good will this do me?”

“There’s a strong shield charm on the armor plates. Fred and George came up with the technique.” He picked up a second vest. “The fabric in the vest and pads is made of a natural plant fiber that will help conceal you. It will not tear unless you say the appropriate spell. It can be made to light up like a beacon if you need rescuing. The fiber wicks away perspiration and muffles the sounds of your breathing and natural processes so you can’t be detected as easily. The pockets have spells cast on them that will allow you to store large, heavy items in them without bulges or weight constraints.”

“Sounds complicated.”

Percy smiled.

“It could save your ass,” he said, and slipped one on as well. “We should join the group.”

Most of the other Lost Ones had assembled in a room much like the common rooms back at school, the kind of space that constantly murmurs about its long and complicated history.

“They’ve blocked off the station entrances already,” Percy said. “And now they’re working on cordoning off the surrounding area.”

“How are we going to explain this one?” Penny sighed.

“We’ll make something up, like always,” Jordan said.

We apparated into the station as a unit, arriving in one of the maintenance closets. I kept the snide remark that boiled up to myself.

Percy led us out and grabbed the nearest Enforcement wizard.

“Is the perimeter up?” he asked.

“Yes sir. We’re searching the Muggles now.”

“Good,” Percy said, releasing him.

“I didn’t realize how important you were,” I said.

“They think I’m an Unspeakable,” he said softly.

“Aren’t you, kind of?”

“In a way.”

Precious minutes slipped by as the crowd control boys rounded up everyone who had been in the station at the time of the sighting. I paced nervously, feeling useless as the other Lost Ones gave orders and inspected people to try and see through any concealment charms.

“Isn’t the British Museum near here?” I asked. I hadn’t ventured into Muggle London in years.

“It is, sir,” an Enforcement man said.

Percy came over.

“They’re long gone,” he sighed. “Have you thought of anything?”

“The British Museum is nearby, that’s all,” I told him. “Last time I was there was during that battle, right at the beginning of the war.”

I felt a moment’s painful nostalgia for my mum and dad. They had taken us to the galleries whenever they could. My dad’s obsession with Muggles was satisfied by the crowds, I think.

“You know, ancient Egypt was one of Chaz’s favorite subjects? He knows practically everything about it. He would love their big hall of Egyptian artifacts. If I ever get him back, I should take him to see it.”

Percy stared at me, but it took me a minute to notice.

“Ron, you’re a genius.”

“Well, yeah.” I scratched my head. “Why do you say that?”

“You said Chaz knows everything about ancient Egypt. Would Malfoy know that?”

“Maybe. He had Chaz for Defense.”

“If Malfoy knew about it, Voldemort would.”

“Probably,” I said.

“The Egyptians had powerful Dark Magic,” Percy said. “Some of the artifacts in the museum are under shields that the Ministry put in place years ago. That’s what the Death Eaters wanted last time, one of the artifacts. Why not this time?”

“So they’re not long gone,” I said. “They probably blended into the crowd going into the museum.”