The Last Death Eater

The Last Death Eater

Carefully disillusioned, her footsteps muffled by silencing spells, Hermione Granger crept towards the small tent in the middle of the clearing. The wards and concealment spells protecting the hidden campsite had been fairly easy to penetrate but as cautious as ever, she cast detection spells on the entrance to the tent, nodding in satisfaction when they revealed no trace of wards or of any hidden traps.

Still wary, she entered the tent and carefully searched the three rooms in the magically expanded space. There was no sign of an occupant; no doubt he was out on some mission of his own, so she took a moment to study her surroundings.

It was nowhere near as luxurious as she had expected. The tent had only a bedroom, kitchen and toilet, all small and rather dilapidated. Even the tent the Weasleys had used at the World Cup had been better than this.

“Must be the bottom end of the market,” Hermione thought sarcastically. “How are the mighty fallen!”

Still disillusioned, Hermione went outside again to wait until her target got back.

It was about twenty minutes later that he appeared, walking through the trees surrounding the campsite. Hermione studied him carefully. She had not seen Draco Malfoy since the Battle of Hogwarts and it was obvious that two years on the run had not been kind to him. He had never been a handsome man, at least not in Hermione’s estimation, but he had always been neat and well groomed. That was no longer true; he now looked considerably older than his twenty odd years, his clothes dirty and torn. His blond hair was now shoulder length and grubby, and from the stench that assailed her nostrils even from this distance, Hermione guessed he had not bathed in months.

Turning his back to her, Malfoy began to rummage through the plastic bin bag he was carrying, sorting out tins and packages. Hermione quietly dropped her disillusionment spell, deciding the time had come to make her presence known.

“Good haul, Malfoy?”

He whirled around, drawing his wand, to find Hermione already pointing hers at him.

“Granger!” His face was a picture of astonishment.

“It’s Auror Granger, now,” she informed him.

“You’re an Auror?” He snorted contemptuously. “They must be really desperate to take a mudblood know-it-all. How the hell did you find me, Granger?”

Hermione chuckled. “Oh it wasn’t that hard. You’ve been rather careless, Malfoy.”

She was exaggerating a little as it hadn’t been that simple. Nothing had been heard of Draco Malfoy since he fled from the Battle of Hogwarts but Hermione, unlike most of her fellow Aurors, regularly studies Muggle news reports. She had noticed a series of odd events, food stores being ransacked and young women and teenage girls disappearing for several days then turning up with no memory of what happened, although they had clearly been attacked and violated. Once she realised all the incidents centred around this forest, finding him had been easy.

“Listen Malfoy,” she began speaking urgently. “I’ve come to take you in and I’m asking you to surrender your wand willingly.”

He stared at her incredulously. “You expect me just to hand over my wand and let you arrest me?”

“Yes!” Hermione told him. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it but it’s Ministry policy now for any Death Eater who resists arrest to receive the Dementor’s Kiss. But if you let me take you it’ll be a different matter. There are extenuating circumstances in your case Malfoy. You were under your father’s influence and never involved in any major atrocities. If you give yourself up you’ll only get a few years in Azkaban, but if you resist it’ll be the Kiss for certain!”

“Well there’s no way that will happen anyway,” Malfoy sneered at her, “because a mudblood like you could never get the better of me!”

Hermione sighed, saddened but unsurprised that even now, with Voldemort and most of his followers dead, he still clung to these irrational prejudices.

“A lot of fugitive Death Eaters thought that,” she told him gently. “But despite being muggleborn I got the better of them and they ended up as soulless husks, your father included!”

“My father?” He glared at her furiously.

Hermione nodded. “I captured him about fourteen months ago, and because of his notoriety he was tried, sentenced and Kissed the same day. What was left of him died in the dungeons of Azkaban a week later.”

Malfoy stared at her, venomous hatred on his face and Hermione knew he would attack her any second. She didn’t need Legilimancy to know that, it was obvious from his expression. Slytherins might have a reputation for cunning but subtlety was a concept that had no existence in Draco Malfoy’s mental universe.

“Crucio!” Malfoy screamed out the Unforgivable curse and a pale yellow beam shot from his wand towards the muggleborn witch.

“Contudo Supernum!” Hermione reacted instantly to the attack and there was a loud clang as the torture curse bounced of the silver shield she had conjured.

“Incarcerous!” Malfoy shouted, and long ropes shot out his wand.

“Diffindo! Diffindo Diffindo!”

Hermione cast a rapid series of cutting spells, severing the ropes before they could reach her, and it was then that Malfoy took his chance.

He sprang towards her, intent on grappling with her physically and overcoming her by brute force. No doubt he hoped Hermione would panic and just cast a hex that he could dodge. But unfortunately for Draco Malfoy, Hermione did not panic.

“Protego!”

The onrushing Death Eater slammed into the expanding field of the Shield Charm and was hurled back irresistibly, losing his footing and sprawling on his back on the muddy ground. Hermione was swift to exploit her advantage.

“Expelliarmus! Immobilus!”

Taken by surprise, Malfoy’s wand was blasted from his hand, and a second later his limbs froze. His arms and legs were still raised awkwardly in the air from his fall and slowly sank down under the effect of gravity. He looked like a grotesque, oversized doll.

Although the Death Eater’s body was paralysed, his mouth was not and he unleashed a torrent of invective that would have made a hardened merchant sailor swoon. Hermione paid it no heed. She had heard a lot worse and was reflecting now on the fight, which had reminded her of something she had been puzzled about for a long time.

It always astonished her that Purebloods like Malfoy, who espoused the superiority of magical ways over anything muggle, were so quick to resort to physical force when duelling a woman. But then Hermione had to admit it was only Purebloods she had duelled in earnest. She wondered now if all men harboured the idea, at least subconsciously, that their greater physical strength must give them a decisive advantage over women, even in magical combat. Perhaps it was related to testosterone somehow, imprinted onto the male brain during gestation. Whatever it’s origins the notion was utterly without foundation; any competent witch could repel a physical attack. By resorting to such tactics Malfoy had merely engineered his own defeat.

The young Death Eater was still spewing profanity, cursing her and the universe in general. Hermione had no desire to listen and with a quick flick of her wand she stunned him.

As usual in this situation, Hermione felt no elation, no sense of triumph as she looked on her defeated opponent, only sadness. Despite what some might imagine Hermione Granger had never hated Draco Malfoy. Apart from one incident in her Third Year when he had insulted Hagrid, she had regarded him mostly as a minor nuisance, but now at last she pitied him.

Hermione shuddered, remembering the fate that awaited him and for the first time she was tempted to forego her duty. Malfoy was surely more sinned against than sinner, indoctrinated from an early age into Voldemort’s insane agenda. He had not been involved in any of the major Death Eater atrocities and even in the Final Battle at Hogwarts he had played little part, hiding behind Voldemort’s other supporters and fleeing as soon as the Dark Lord had fallen. Surely it could do no harm to let him go; she could make him swear an oath to never harm anyone and to leave the country.

But no sooner had the idea occurred to her than she rejected it. She was a servant of the law, not above it. She could not allow her sense of compassion to interfere with duty. Nor could Draco Malfoy be considered an innocent; Hermione knew he had been responsible for the rape of several muggle women and girls. Hermione was no determinist and believed that no matter how unfavourable an upbringing you receive, you are ultimately responsible for your actions. Sirius Black had been brought up with the same beliefs as Malfoy yet he had repudiated them, and this only strengthened her conviction that we are free agents, morally culpable for our actions.

“Corpus Reductatis!”

Hermione waved her wand over Malfoy’s unconscious body and watched as it shrank down to a few inches. It would be much easier to transport him back to the Ministry in this form.

Placing him in the pocket of her robes, she vanished the tent and removed all other traces of their presence. A few seconds later the soft crack of her Disapparation faded from the clearing, leaving no sign that any human had set foot there since the dawn of time.