The Unfortunates

Okay, I know it’s been a LONG (!) time since last update, and for that I sincerely apologize. At least we\'re done filming now; hopefully the result\'ll be good enough. Now, back to the story, finally...

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CHAPTER NINE: TRAITOR


Hermione had kind of pitied herself for the bruises left on her by the Junior Malfoy, but they were nothing compared to those she had now, following her encounter with the father.

She had opened the wardrobe door again, on the inside of which there was a full-length dress mirror, to survey the damage.

It wasn’t pretty.

In a way, one couldn’t really call Mr. Malfoy a sadist... He wasn’t deliberately hurting her because it turned him on (at least she didn’t think so), it just seemed that he completely lost control when in the act. Not to mention, he seemed rather oblivious to the fact that there was a live, feeling woman underneath him, and not just some tool there for his enjoyment.

The sack of Sickles on her desk did little to compensate for the many bruises that covered her body now.

Both her hips and thighs were covered with blue marks, the imprints of his fingers. Her lip was swollen and still bleeding from his bite, as was her left shoulder. She was practically aching, and walking was a real pain now – and her breasts had never been sorer, it seemed he hadn’t realized exactly how much strength he contained within those hands of his.

That strength had also marked its territory around her right underarm, which held the biggest and worst bruise. How it had come to pass, Hermione didn’t really know. Sure, he’d held her by the arm frequently, but she couldn’t see how that alone could have caused such a nasty bruise...

Oh, well. He was always difficult to deal with; she was bound to get a few bruises without actually noticing him applying them – he was always all over her, often hurting in more places than one at a time.

Hermione grimaced at her own reflection and turned away, just as she felt an uncomfortable twinge in her back.

Oh, great. Was there anywhere he hadn’t left a mark?

Hermione sank back down on the bed, glaring at the wall in front of her. She could feel the aftermaths of her encounter with Lucius all over her body, throbbing and aching... And the pictures of his ministrations wouldn’t leave her mind, not even when she tried to push them out with the memories of the mysterious Tiberius Granger.

She didn’t quite know why it struck her then, of all times – perhaps she just realized the hopelessness of her situation; the humiliation and the lack of a proper future – but as she sat there, staring at the wall and actually still feeling Mr. Malfoy’s presence in her room, she buried her face in her hands and wept, for the first time in six months.

--

“Professor,” said Gavril hastily as they entered the great dining hall, waiting for the others to join them.

“Yes?” said Severus, taking a seat at the table, rubbing his temples wearily.

Malfoy shouldn’t have appeared back then. Gods, it had been so close. If Malfoy – be that either the father or the son – had seen Severus, they would have recognized him at once... Both of them had known him since they’d been very young, and both would undoubtedly recognize either his father’s old cloak, his wording, his voice or quite simply the way he handled himself.

Actually, Severus suspected he had already been recognized as he and Gavril had fled down the corridor and out through the girls’ exit.

Normally, in a situation like that, he would have Apparated – but he wasn’t prepared to take the risk. The Apparation licences were in the hands of Death Eaters now, seeing as how they were in charge of the Ministry, and the possibility that they could trace the Apparation should Severus have attempted it was too great a risk.

Gavril took a seat across the table from Severus and said, “That girl – Mira Gideon – she told me something just as we ran out. Something she said she’d forgotten to tell you.”

Severus raised his head slightly to look at Gavril, his interest renewed.

“Oh yes?” he said. “And what was that?”

“She said something about a thing called the Wizard’s Chase,” said Gavril, “but I don’t know what she meant by that...”

“I know,” said Severus quickly, “you will be informed with the others – what did she say about it?”

“She said it was developed by a man named Claude. His last name began with an A, apparently.”

Severus was about to reply, but stopped at the sound of Fleur Delacour’s voice from the entrance to the hall.

“Claude?” she said. “What iz it about Claude?”

Severus turned in his chair to frown at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You zaid Claude,” said Fleur, stepping into the room and approaching the table, her gaze flickering between Severus and Gavril. “Claude, with a last name that beginz with A, oui?”

“Yes,” said Severus, slightly irritated. “Why?”

“Claude’s name iz Claude Accolade,” said Fleur, her voice sounding hesitant and nervous.

“You mean Claude – Claude, as in the-man-you-brought-from-France Claude?” said Gavril, frowning.
Fleur nodded, her face pale now.

“What iz it with him?” she whispered.

Severus didn’t answer.

Mira had said the man who’d developed whatever the Wizard’s Chase was – and that couldn’t be anything good, he knew this much – was a man named Claude A-something.

Was it too much of a coincidence? Claude wasn’t a very common name, was it?

But then again... Claude Accolade was a friend of Fleur Delacour’s; surely he couldn’t be working for the Dark Lord?

Severus heard, barely, Gavril explaining with a grave voice to Fleur what little he knew about what Mira Gideon had said. Severus really didn’t pay attention; he was trying to make sense of it all – did they have a traitor in their midst? If so, why hadn’t Claude already turned them in? He knew where the estate was located; he knew it hid most of the Rebels fighting the Dark Lord...

If he was a traitor, why oh why hadn’t he turned them in yet?

“But it’s impozible!” protested Fleur once Gavril had finished talking.

“Nothing is impossible, Miss Delacour,” sighed Severus.

More people were filing into the hall now, all taking their seats, all eyes slowly turning to Severus, as if they were awaiting the very news that would finally turn this battle in their favour.

Once everyone had arrived, Severus’s gaze slowly moved to the man seated a couple of chairs down the table to his left: Claude Accolade.

“Professor Snape?” said Potter’s voice at the head of the table. He looked as though he didn’t enjoy sitting there. “Any news from Mira Gideon?”

“Indeed there is,” sighed Severus. “But before I reveal them, would you please place your wand on the table, Mr. Accolade?”

Claude Accolade, who hadn’t even known that Severus knew his last name, jumped at the addressing and went very grave.

“What iz ze problem?” he stuttered, glancing nervously around the table.

“Pleaze, Claude,” whispered Fleur to his left, still looking pale.

Slowly, Claude pulled out his wand and placed it on the table in front of him. Severus cast a look in Gavril’s direction, and reluctantly the Bulgarian picked it up and stored it away in his robes. A lot of curious glances followed this.

And then, Severus began telling everyone what Mira had told him, finishing with the information she had given Gavril at the last minute.

Claude Accolade was positively white as a ghost by the time the tale was finished. He was looking nervously around the table, catching suspicious glances from practically everyone, with the noticeable exception of the other French girl, Eponine, who looked as though this was all just a fairytale.

“Can we know for sure it’s him?” asked Bill Weasley at last, breaking the silence.

“Of course it could be someone else – there can be like a Death Eater or someone working for You-Know-Who called Claude A-something, can’t there?” said Ginny Weasley, looking around the table for support.

“Well sure, there might be,” agreed Tonks.

“And zat iz who iz ze guilty one,” said the French girl, Eponine. “Not our Claude!”

“I would have reached that conclusion myself, actually,” said Severus silkily, eyeing her, “had it not been for the fact that I know there is a Death Eater named Claud.” He paused. “Claud Avery.”

“Avery!” said Potter at once. “I never knew his first name was Claud.”

“Well, then what are we fussing about?” asked Bill. “It’s got to be him!”

“It would have been him, had he been alive,” said Severus. “I know for a fact he is dead; I was there the night Lucius was ordered to kill him. He had made too many mistakes; the Cruciatus Curse just didn’t seem to reach out properly to Claud,” he added emotionlessly.

A few people around the table shuddered at the mention of the curse.

“So,” drawled Severus after a short silence, “I don’t know about you, but I for one find it to be too much of a coincidence that there could be two men working for the Dark Lord who goes by the unusual name Claude and a last name that begins with A... unless of course the second one is the beloved Claude who is currently seated at this very table.”

An unnerving silence followed this.

Finally, someone spoke, and this time it was the shock-stricken Claude Accolade.

“It waz not me!” he exclaimed, looking desperately around for support. “I tell you, it waz not me! I don’t even know what diz Wizard’s Chaz iz! Why would I be ‘ere, if I waz a traitor?”

No one seemed keen to answer him. Gavril made no sign to want to return the wand, which was still safely stored in his inner pocket.

Potter sighed. “Where do you know Claude from, Fleur?” he asked quietly.

“No,” whispered Claude, “I tell you, pleaze...”

“He went to Beauxbatons,” replied Fleur gravely. She was still very pale.

“Do you know him well?”

Fleur stared down at the table.

“Not too well,” she replied finally.

“Then why did you bring him?” snapped Severus loudly.

“I am zorry,” whispered Fleur, “he haz alwayz been very nice to me – ‘is parents, zey were alwayz against You-Know-‘O –”

“And zo am I!” exclaimed Claude, sweat startling to trickle down his temple.

“We can’t know that,” said Potter gravely.

“You’ve got to admit, it is a big coincidence,” said the Egyptian girl, Mushina. The man next to her – Adil – nodded in agreement.

“Faen heller,” swore Ingeborg heatedly in Norwegian, “why are we hesitating? I say we lock him up! He’s a traitor, isn’t he?”

“He might be,” said Bill.

“We shouldn’t take any chances,” said Galatea from Greece quietly as she reached for her husband Nikolaos’s hand. “At least not until we know for sure.”

“Harry,” said Lupin. “It’s your decision.”

Potter sighed again. He looked even more misplaced and tired than he had at the beginning of the meeting. For a few moments, he didn’t speak, and everyone waited impatiently in silence.

Finally, he got to his feet.

“Professor Snape,” Potter said, “is there somewhere we can place him so he won’t do any damage until we know for sure?”

Severus got to his feet and nodded.

“Somewhere he won’t get hurt during his stay?” Potter added pointedly.

Severus sighed. Oh, he supposed he could arrange that. There were still house-elves here, after all – they could take care of Claude Accolade, if he asked them to do so.

Showing his best ‘what-a-stupid-considerate-demand’-glare, he gestured for Potter, Gavril and Lupin (who were now helping a shivering Claude to his feet) to bring the Frenchman and follow.

--

“Father?”

“What is it, Draco – I am busy.”

“Well, this won’t take long. I just had a proposition for you.”

A short silence.

“Well? Go on, then.”

Another short silence. Apparently, it would seem, it was all due to the younger Malfoy gathering his courage.

“Well, you know how we talked about how useless the house-elves can be sometimes? I know you’ve been complaining –”

“I have...” The voice was slightly gentler. “What is your point, son?”

“Well, what if we found someone a bit more... interesting? Someone with a few more uses than just serving?”

A raised eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“I take it you remember Mira Gideon?”

The older Malfoy smirked – of course he remembered Mira; he’d been with her only hours earlier. Without his son knowing, of course.

“Barely.”

“Well, you liked her, didn’t you?”

“She was agreeable.”

“She’s been having money problems lately, and now she’s been working at House of Lilly Barrette’s, which I happen to know she hates. I bet she’d be a lot happier just working for one family, rather than a heap of unknown men.”

Mr. Malfoy got to his feet and turned to face his son.

“Oh? Hmm... I like your suggestion, Draco.”

The son grinned happily. Oh, but he did love it when his father was proud of him.

“I doubt Narcissa will enjoy the idea, however,” added the father with a nasty smirk. “But I like it. Will you contact this Miss Gideon and – ah – discuss it with her?”

“I’d be delighted to, Father,” the son grinned, giving his father a mock bow and leaving the room, restraining himself from jumping with joy.

Oh, she’d soon be all his... His father would tire of her soon enough; he always did. And then, she’d be all Draco’s, locked up in their Manor and serving him and him alone...


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A/N: Perhaps not the most exciting of chapters, but it was essential. Oh, and incidentally, yes, I know I spell Claud in two different ways, but that’s the point. The Frenchman, Claude Accolade, spells it with an E, whereas Claud Avery doesn’t. Complicated, I know, but I have my reasons. :)

(PS. Sorry to those of you who were expecting to read the encounter between Hermione and Lucius Malfoy, but I kind of felt we could do without witnessing something like that... It’s the consequences that matter.)

Last but not least, thanks so much to all my reviewers! Couldn\'t go on without you!