Revenant

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I claim nothing.

Revenant

Chapter Six: Plans

Summary: In which plans are made. Draco baits the Dynamic Duo.


It was strange to have another person in her house, someone besides Crookshanks or the gaunt shadow of Severus Snape. Like the half-Kneazle, Draco would roam through the house, giving not even a second thought to digging through her cupboards or rearranging the order of her books to fit his needs. He would wander through rooms at odd times, a pale ghost to complement the darker spectre of the ex-Potions Master that haunted her.

Draco had shown up again three days after his initial visit, his arms laden with books. He had stayed far into the night, straining with Hermione over the archaic nature of her notes, talking softly with her as they struggled to unlock the riddle of the ritual. She had felt awkward with him at first, he was an uneasy ally, and she was unsure of both his motivations and sincerity. The novelty of having an active study partner was also too new a sensation, and it left her feeling oddly elated. While Harry and Ron had always been willing to help her, they had never had the same single-minded obsession for the truth that she had. Even when he did not quite understand all of her notes, he was relentless in his struggle to understand what she knew. Draco was an uncanny reflection of her, and that thought -more than any other thought about the arrogant man- unnerved her.

What he knew of the Dark Arts left Hermione’s blood cold. There was no way that the young man sitting next to her could be so knowledgeable of such dark rituals and practices and still be an innocent. When he talked, his voice would drop an octave lower, sending shivers down her spine as she heard the echo of his father’s voice; a voice that commanded Death Eaters and condemned the Phoenix army to a death without mercy.

He had left that second night, vanishing as abruptly as he had arrived; one moment shifting though her notes, and the next throwing his cloak across his shoulders with the stern announcement that he would return later, as he had ‘some thinking to do.’

He had returned a few days later, more books in his arms loo looking rumpled and tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. They had studied together throughout the day and night, and even through the following day as well. He had rummaged through her kitchen, found a cup of coffee, and then apparated without a word. He had then later reappear that evening, shaved and showered, and dressed as dapper as befitted a young lord of his status. He had immediately returned to her books and their studying, without a word of explanation.

They had continued to study, their eyes growing more and more haunted as they read. That evening, the books attacked her imagination again, and left her body weak and prone to fits and trembling. Draco held her down and forced hot chocolate down her throat as she thrashed and moaned. Later, she was the one tod hid him steady when his body failed him, and left him weeping bitterly and without any trace of dignity or self-composure. Behind them both, always in the shifting shadows beside the fireplace, Severus Snape watched unmindful.

The note that Hermione had sent to Harry and Ron, regarding the issue of Malfoy’s mother had gone unanswered.

When they day for Narcissa’s auction came and went, Draco vanished for a few days, reappearing at the Traduk Street house a few nights later, staggering drunk and with a savagely mutilated face, and deep lacerations upon his body where his robes gaped and clung to his torn flesh.

He had been beaten brutally, and Hermione had treated him as best as she could, questioning him relentlessly about what had happened. He had remained sullen and silent, his eyes never leaving the unblinking gaze of the ex-Potions Master who stood motionless in the room.

Hermione had ruthlessly given him a Soberup potion, and he had wordlessly followed her back to the study, where he had obstinately thrown himself into the search for the cure that would release the victims from the ghmaghman Ritual. Three hours into their studying, he fell into a graceless sleep on the couch, sprawling across his notes and almost upsetting the ink bottle with an errant knee.

Hermione had thrown a small quilt over him, and as the days had progressed, that quilt and couch had become Draco’s permanent sanctuary in her house.

Finally, after two weeks of silence and study, an owl came from an unknown place in Scotland; its short and cryptic wording telling Hermione that Harry and Ron would return as soon as possible to help her with her requests. She felt an unaccustomed burst of anger as she read the cold and callous words, and looked at the sullen man across from her, his blond hair falling to tangle against his shoulders. She looked again at the unfeeling words of the n and and crumpled it angrilyore ore throwing it into the flickering fireplace of the study.

Draco looked up at the sound, and Hermione realized that in the past few weeks, Draco had gone from being an uneasy ally to something of an uneasy comrade. One could almost even stretch the word to imply ‘friend.’

Grey eyes were haunted as they met brown. “A lead let you down?”

“No. Harry and Ron. They’ll be here ‘as soon as they can.’”

“Ah.” The sound was noncommittal as he returned to deciphering the dark coding of the text.

A few long days later found Draco leaning languidly against the doorjamb as he regarded two surprised wizards on the doorstep. “My goodness. Potty and Weasel. What brings the two of you here?”

Harry was surprised to see Draco at the door, but far more surprised to see how dishevelled the man appeared to be. He had never known Draco to be anything other than immate ite in his appearance, and the sight of the blonde man, bestubbled and rumpled, was enough to set Harry aback and leave him speechless.

Ron however was not so restrained. “Fuck you Malfoy.”

“Oh, not you, my darling Weasley; but tell me, is your sister still available?”

Ron lunged at a grinning Draco, and Harry caught him before he could do any damage to the fair-haired man. “Stop it Draco!”

“Well, to be fair Potter, he did start it.”

“I don’t care.” Harry took a deep breath and let go of Ron. “Now. What’re you doing at Hermione’s?”

“Helping, of course. Have you young lovers come to help contribute to our cause?”

“Fuck you Malfoy.”

“Oh, Weasel, you charmer you!” Draco coyly fluttered his eyelashes at Ron, and Harry once again grabbed at the angry redhead.

“Harry. Ron.” Hermione stood weary in the doorway, peering past Draco’s shoulder. “I thought I heard the two of you. Please, come in.”

Draco smirked and held the door only partially ajar, forcing the two men to push their way past him as they followed Hermione into the foyer. They ved ved their cloaks, Ron glaring at Draco as he did so.

“What’s the Ferret doing here?” Ron asked, moving to stand protectively over Hermione.

“Really Ron. Can’t you be civil?” Hermione admonished as she took his cloak and hung it on the rack.

Draco’s smirk widened at the redhead’s furious glare. “Little Ronnikens never learned civility, growing up int pit pigsty.”

“That goes for you too Draco. Now, please come to the sitting room. Professor Snape has made us soea.”ea.” The three men followed Hermione through the house, Ron and Harry sharing a look as Draco sauntered passed them and led led himself on the worn couch in the centre of the room. The two men moved to sit warily on the chairs that flanked the couch, and divided their attention between their friend and the man who sat ensconced in the worn cushions of the couch, a pillow propped behind his back.

As Hermione made to pour the tea, both Harry and Draco unlocked gazes long enough for them both to lean forward and petition Hermione with ill grace.

“-None for me, thank you-”

“-I’ve still got mine from earlier-”

Hermione gave them both a sombre look before raising a questioning eyebrow towards Ron. Oblivious, he was stared at Draco hatefully and said nothing. Hermione finished pouring his cup before settling herself upon the couch; seating herself far too close to Draco for the comfort of the other men. Noticing this, Draco casually wound his arm along the backside of the couch and stretched his legs lazily, grinning insolently.

Ron’s ears turned a bright pink at the subtly possessive motion, and Harry’s green eyes darkened dangerou In In a clipped and strained voice, Harry asked, “So Hermione, Ron and I got a note saying you’ve found something? Have you been able to get Snape to talk then?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and he cocked his head to regard Hermione. She answered absentmindedly, flipping through her notebook. “No. No…. he’s still fairly catatonic. But Draco and I have found several things of interest regarding his condition.”

“Then wh-” Ron began in exasperation before Harry silenced him.

“How interesting? Anything useful?”

“Well, it’s all useful Harry, it’s just a matter of… hold on… it’s in here somewhere…”

The men watched her scramble through her notes for a few long minutes before Draco turned his attention back to Harry. “So, been busy lately?”

“What’s it to you Malfoy?”

Draco pursed his lips and shrugged liy, hy, his arm spread uncomfortably close to Hermione’s shoulders. “Hermione had said you might have been able to help me with something. Just wondering how that went.”

“Couldn’t do your own begging, had to get Hermione involved?” Ron spat.

Draco made a soft tsk sound and turned away; his face in profile to the men as he studied the oblivious face of the woman next to him. She was flipping through her notes and he raised the reclining hand as if to run his fingers through her wild and tousled hair. He peeked slyly at the two men, and was pleased to see Weasley on the verge of a seizure.

Harry was little better.

Draco’s grin was smug and self-satisfied. He lowered his hand as if thinking better of his brazenness, all the while watching Harry and Ron’s reactions. “Dear Weasley, it is the difference between the beggar and the profiteer. Payment given for…” here his hand twitched slightly as if to possess the Muggle girl’s hair, “…services rendered.”

Weasley took a deep breath as if he were about to explode, and Harry’s hands tightened where they had clenched into his robes, the knuckles blanching and writhing.

“Here it is!” Hermione’s voice broke through the tension of the three males, and she proudly displayed her notes. “We’ve gotten most of the incantations translated -I won’t bore you with those- but here, here’s what we need Harry.”

He leaned forward, unclenching his jaw as he studied his friend’s obsessively neat handwriting. “What’s this mean? What’s a Key?”

Draco leaned forward, leaning against Hene’sne’s arm as he pointed to the notes. “Well, it’s a way of ‘unlocking’ the ritual really.”

“Unlock? Key? What the hell does all this mean?” Ron asked Draco, impatient and uncomfortable by the sight of Draco and Hermione sitting so close.

“It’s a metaphor Weasley. In order to undo what was done, we must reverse the process… by using what they used.”
ell,ell, close. We need some of what they used… I… I don’t think we need everything… not if I’m reading this correctly…” Hermione’s voice trailed off into thought again as she again flipped through her notes.

“Great. Fine. Then let’s get a key, unlock the git, and then get him to tell us where the hell Dumbledore is. Look, here’s a key right here! Several in fact!” Ron said, slapping a set of car keys on the table.

“Ron, it’s not that simple. We need his key. Professor Snape’s specifiy.” y.”

The redhead sighed with exasperation. “Fine. Where do we get his key?”

“At the Ministry maybe?”

“Not at the Ministry.” Draco said absently. “They never did their dirty work there. They preferred to use safe houses.”

“’Safe houses?’ You’re kidding.”

Draco smiled politely, enjoying the look of utter disbelief on Harry’s face. “No. They’d rent them in various names. Usually have someone that’d live nearby to… keep an eye on them. I’ve not been able to figure out which house they might have been using…”

“Would it have to be a house?” Ron asked reluctantly. “Could it have been, perhaps… something else?”

“Well sure, Weasley. It could be anything: A flat, a castle, a farmhouse, a toy shop, anything.”

“…an old crypt?”

“Cliché, but I suppose so. Why do you ask?” Draco’s eyes were devoid of mockery as he looked at the young man across from him.

Ron frowned uneasily before speaking. “Dad had some reports that came across his desk awhile back. …Uh… a few months ago.. maybe half a year ago. When he and Perkins started to investigate the case… word came down from the higher-ups that he should leave it be, and that it was just a… uh… misreported incident or something.”

Draco blew a breath out and leaned back into the couch, disinterested. Hermione however was riveted by Ron’s halting words. “And?”

“Only, well, Perkins -whose been in that officreverever- remembered a similar report that they’d had near there a few years before,” Ron looked directly at Draco, “with some Death Eaters who were performing the Dark Arts in an old abandoned churchyard.”

Draco raised a perfect eyebrow and gave an elaborate shrug.

Ron continued. “He was telling mum and us about it, and how odd it was, but then nothing ever came up about the place again, and then, well… you know how busy it gets in the Magic Misuse department; especially in the springtime…” Ron finished lamely.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and Draco rolled his eyes. “What a gripping story you do weave Weasley.”

Receiving a blistering look from Hermione, Draco capitulated and threw his hands into the air, forestalling any comment she might make. “Fine then. I suppose the graveyard is where we’ll be heading next.”

“’We?’ You mean you don’t have servants to do this for you Malfoy?”

“Some things are too important to trust to servants Weasley; surely Potter’s excluded you before?”

Both Harry and Ron bristled, but Hermione stepped between them, snapping her notebook shut. “Okay. Enough. Do you know where this place is Ron?”

He shook his head. “No. But my dad still has the files in his office I think. His filing system leaves a lot to be desired, but with all the red tape and paperwork the Ministry insists on, there has to be something that’ll help us…”

Hermione moved to get her cloak and met the calm gaze of the mute Severus Snape. She nodded to both him and herself. “No time like the present.”


*

[A/N:
-Writing schedules, like diets, are made to be broken. *looks sheepish*

-is it ‘Potions Master’ or ‘potion\'s master?’ Is it a title? Hell if I can remember; I’m capitalizing it from now on. It’s a title, so sayeth the NegNine.

-‘bestubbled’ isn wor word, but I really liked the way it sounded.

-Also, I found the “language” option on Word… sw I w I can ‘spell’ British, even though I still can’t ‘write’ British. *sigh*]