Draco Malfoy sighed, itching absently at his forearm. More specifically,
at his Dark Mark. Oh, he could hide it from prying eyes quite easily, with
his clothing, with his glamours, but never from himself. It was always with
him.
There was a common misconception about the Dark Mark. People believed
it was simply a tattoo, a symbol of loyalty to the Dark Lord. Before he'd
received his own Mark, he'd believed much the same. He should have known
better.
Nothing was _ever_ that simple with Lord Voldemort.
The mark was a living thing that moved underneath his skin. Voldemort
had burned it there himself, infusing a tiny fraction of all that he was
in the hateful symbol. For the rest of his life, Draco would carry a piece
of the man in his very flesh.
Few people knew that he was marked. Severus Snape knew, of course.
He'd been there for the ritual, and moreover, he knew its true purpose as
Draco's godfather, and a fellow spy himself. Hermione Granger - well, Hermione
Weasley, now - had figured it out on her own, but had sworn upon her oath
to the Order that she would never speak of it. And, of course, there was
Albus Dumbledore.
He had been working as a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix
for nearly four years.
Lucius Malfoy, his father, had pushed him to subservience to the
Dark Lord only days after he'd graduated Hogwarts. Unsure of what to do,
he'd approached his godfather for advice, and the older man had revealed
that not only did he bear the Mark, but that he used that advantage for the
side of light.
After his conversation with Severus, he'd approached Dumbledore.
He'd sworn his oath to the Order then and there, and had been branded with
the Mark barely a week later.
On the orders of both Voldemort and Dumbledore, he'd accepted a position
as Severus' apprentice at Hogwarts. For the Dark Lord, it meant that he'd
have two spies at Hogwarts in close contact with one another. For Dumbledore,
it meant that it would not be suspicious if Draco met in the Headmaster's
office for Order meetings.
For Draco, it meant he could be near his godfather.
Lucius Malfoy was not a bad or evil man, but in Draco's earliest
memories, it was Severus Snape who'd truly cared for him. It was Severus
Snape who'd raised him in all but name. And it was for love of his godfather
that Draco hadn't hesitated to undertake the dangerous task of being a spy
in Voldemort's inner circle.
Having two spies was very useful. No one would ever suspect that
_two_ members of the Dark Lord's circle were actually working for the Order.
One of them could pass on information the Order had approved, and the second
could verify it. And, in the event that one of them was discovered, the other
would still have a place.
It wasn't exactly a win-win situation, but it was better than what
the Order relied on in the past.
"Are you all right, Draco?" Severus asked softly, breaking the blonde
out of his silent reverie. The Potions Master's eyes drifted to where Draco
was leaving angry scratches on his arm.
Noticing this, Draco tugged his sleeve down and dropped both of his
hands to his sides.
"I'm fine," he replied. "Just… you know…"
Snape nodded, his eyes softening a little. Indeed, Draco's godfather
was the only one who really understood.
"Dumbledore has summoned both of us to his office," Severus said
abruptly, raising his voice back to a normal level. There was a meeting of
the Order, which they both knew of, but they always took extreme caution
when speaking of it. They weren't naïve enough to believe that they
were Voldemort's _only_ eyes and ears in Hogwarts.
"Has he?" Draco replied in the same tone. He let a hint of irritation
creep into his voice. "Whatever does the mad fool want now?"
A nasty smile curved Snape's mouth as he responded, "Perhaps he's
going to try and discourage us from terrorizing the Gryffindors again."
Draco laughed. Both he and his godfather were notorious for instilling
the fear of Slytherin into the Gryffindors, _especially_ the first and second
years. He had to hand it to Severus - with the new school year coming up,
it was exactly the sort of thing Dumbledore would call them up to talk
about.
They made their way silently through the halls until they reached
the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Snape glanced at the gargoyle and said
distastefully, "Razzles."
As the stone guardian allowed them admittance, Severus muttered,
"I don't suppose you can offer me any insight into Albus' bizarre affinity
for Muggle candies?"
"Afraid not," Draco snickered.
He glanced at the other occupants of the room. Ron and Hermione Weasley
were already there, as were Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Alastor Moody was
also present, which surprised him a little, because the man had been gone
for nearly three months on a mission. As far as meetings went, it was fairly
large. Usually information was given to operatives separately. That way,
if anyone _was_ captured, they wouldn't know who was doing what.
"Ah, Draco, Severus, please sit," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the
two open chairs. As they did so, the Headmaster continued, "I have some very
distressing news."
Draco covertly glanced at his godfather. The older man shook his
head marginally, making it perfectly clear that he didn't have any idea what
was going on either. It was _very_ rare for Albus to call a meeting simply
because of "distressing news."
"As you all know," the elderly wizard began, "we've been making quite
a bit of progress regarding Voldemort's attacks on various wizarding families.
With the Alert-All spells that we've placed on most of the houses in our
community, we've actually managed to stop some attacks that we had no prior
knowledge of."
Draco saw Weasley, Sirius, and Moody nodding out of the corner of
his eye. He may not like any of them - he'd never quite forgiven Mad-eye
Moody for turning him into a ferret and bouncing him around the hallway,
even if he knew it was only an impostor - but he did have to hand it to them.
The three Aurors had done an excellent job of casting and maintaining the
Alert-All spells. They'd saved several lives.
"And, with the research Hermione and Remus have been doing, we are
closer than ever to finding a way to break through the protections Voldemort
uses."
Both the young woman and the werewolf flushed uncomfortably. Draco
certainly didn't envy their job. After the ministry finally accepted Voldemort's
return, several Aurors had volunteered to bring him down. If only it had
been that easy. They'd discovered that no curses or spells _worked_ on the
Dark Lord, and not even his trusted Death Eaters knew why. Hermione had theorized
he might have created a new sort of magical shield and anchored it to his
body permanently. She and Remus had been working on a way to disable it ever
since.
"Last," Dumbledore continued, "we have the experimental potion Severus
and Draco have been working on to help eradicate the lingering effects of
Cruciatus. The preliminary testing has been remarkably successful, and perhaps
with time, it will even be able to help those who've been sent to St.
Mungo's."
Draco was amused at how Dumbledore was leading everyone in. He hadn't
gotten to his "distressing news," but by bringing up the accomplishments
of all present, as well as their progress, he'd lulled them all into a false
sense of security. The impact of whatever news he had would be further impressed
upon all present simply because they weren't expecting it.
… how very Slytherin of him.
Having realized what the Headmaster was doing, Draco quickly schooled
his expression, determined _not_ to show any surprise. Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw his godfather doing the same.
"But," Albus said, his eyes suddenly weary, "despite our efforts,
unforeseen problems are always cropping up. And it's with a heavy heart that
I inform you… Harry Potter has escaped from Azkaban."
The room was silent.
Draco, for his part, felt his heart drop to somewhere in the vicinity
of his toes. Potter had escaped?
When Potter had been accused of murdering Cedric Diggory, Draco had
laughed. It was absolutely impossible; the other boy was for too… too
_noble _ to ever willfully kill someone. But the wizarding world and Potter's
own _friends_ had seemed to eat up the idea, and quicker than he'd thought
possible, the once-savior had been imprisoned in Azkaban.
Now that he was free… well, the people who believed Potter guilty
would fear him because they thought he was evil.
But Draco knew better. Potter was innocent - had to be! - and an
innocent man who'd been wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban for several years was
_far_ more dangerous than an evil one.
A glance at Severus revealed the Potions Master had probably followed
that line of thought.
"Please tell me you're having us on, Albus," Hermione said quietly,
her lower lip trembling.
"No, Hermione. I'm not."
Ron exploded, "How could that bastard escape? He never even finished
_school_!"
"Convenient of you to remember you put a fourteen-year-old boy in
Azkaban," Snape said unexpectedly. His expression was inscrutable.
"He was a murderer, Severus, though it pains me to think that James'
son could be," Remus said. He was rubbing small circles on Sirius' back,
and the once-prisoner of Azkaban had a stricken expression on his face.
Draco found his voice. With a wave of his hand, he said dismissively,
"Whatever. I said it back then, and I'll say it now - Potter couldn't possibly
have killed Diggory. He was far too… too _Gryffindor_."
"All of the evidence pointed to him," Moody argued.
"And you're telling me he couldn't have been framed?" Draco pointed
out reasonably. "Come on, Moody. Constant vigilance."
"He was different…" Hermione said hesitantly. "After the tournament,
I mean. Before, I would have agreed with you, Dray, but… he wasn't the
same."
Draco rolled his eyes. "People grow up, Hermione."
Before the conversation could continue, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"We are not here to discuss Harry's guilt, Draco. I have a few pictures from
Mr. Potter's cell, and I believe what we need to do at the moment is ascertain
whether or not he will be a danger to the Order."
The Headmaster distributed copies of the photos around the table,
and Draco silently studied them. He'd heard a little about the interior of
Azkaban before, but he'd never actually _seen_ what the prisoners' cells
looked like.
For some reason, the thought of Potter in the tiny room made him
feel uneasy. He quickly dismissed the notion.
What caught his attention, though, were the hazy red images and scribbles
that adorned the stone walls. His eyes widened a bit when he realized what
the Boy-Who-Lived used for ink.
Ron spat, "Even in prison, he still gets his privileges. Wonder who
pitied him enough to bring him ink -"
No one was more surprised than Draco when Severus snarled, "I suggest
you shut your mouth, Weasley."
"What?" Ron growled, "Prisoners aren't supposed to get ink. As an
Auror, I'd like to know who supplied him with enough to paint his walls like
that. I mean, who spoils murderers by bringing them expensive red
inks?"
"Give him enough rope," Moody commented darkly, "and he'll hang
himself."
"Merlin, will you people tell me what's wrong!?" Ron yelled.
"It's not ink, love," Hermione said.
"Look how it flakes off, and how some of it is darker and more brittle
than other bits," Remus agreed, still tending to the shell-shocked
Sirius.
"If it's not ink, then…" The puzzled expression on the redhead's
face made Draco want to smack him.
"Blood," the blonde man finally hissed. "He painted the cell walls
with. His. Own. Blood. Is _that_ clear enough for you, Weasel?"
"Merlin," Ron breathed, losing some of his steam. His eyes were wide
as he sat down.
"Albus," Moody pointed to one of the photographs, "I think I might
have somethin'."
Everyone glanced at the photograph. There was a section of writing
that looked brighter, fresher, than the rest. Picking up the picture, Hermione
read swiftly, her voice picking up the natural pentameter.
"Seven years for seven sins,
but never will I fail again.
The first of which beyond my grasp.
The second stole my child's past.
The third, betrayed, I'll never trust.
The fourth I hid with all my rust.
The fifth of lies, that listen can't.
The sixth a boon I'll never grant.
And last the torch that I will bear -
A curse on all who were not there."
Severus tilted his head imperceptibly. "Interesting."
Ron sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Sounds sort of like a
prophecy."
"Seven years for seven sins?" Draco mused, toying with a lock of
his hair, "He _did_ escape on the seventh anniversary of his
imprisonment."
"And the seven sins?" Moody prompted.
"Perhaps a reference to the Seven Deadly Sins?" Severus
commented.
Ron blinked, "The _what_?"
"It's a Muggle thing, dear," Hermione muttered, staring intently
at the picture.
"No…" Remus shook his head. "It seems more personal than that.
Perhaps he believes he's committed seven sins and this was his ways of saying
that he served one year in Azkaban for each?"
"And the 'not failing again,' bit…?" Severus shook his head.
"I don't know. Potions are my specialty - not riddles."
"Hn. Sounds like seven years in Azkaban drove him nutters," Ron said
scathingly.
Draco glanced at Dumbledore, surprised to see the old man watching
the proceedings intently. He looked - well, he looked like a cat ready to
pounce on its prey. When Albus noticed Draco was watching him, his face instantly
relaxed, and he offered a quirky smile.
Quickly, Draco tried to focus on what was being said.
"'The first of which beyond my grasp,'" Hermione quoted softly.
"You've thought of something, 'Mione?" Remus asked gently.
"Well…" the young woman's brow furrowed a bit, a sure sign she
was in deep concentration, "… beyond his grasp would be something he
didn't have any control over, right?"
Ron snorted. "His imprisonment."
"If he was able to escape, I'd say he had perfect control over it,"
Draco drawled.
Severus quirked a brow, "His life, perhaps?"
"No." Hermione's eyes lit up. "His birth!"
"Potter believes his first sin was being born?" Snape asked, surprised.
He shared a glance with Draco. "How incredibly cynical of him."
Draco said mildly, "Don't you mean, how very Slytherin of him?"
Sirius suddenly stood, pulling away from Remus. "Shut _up_."
Everyone looked to the dark-haired animagus, who glowered back silently.
"Trying to decipher the writings of Azkaban prisoners is impossible, all
right? They're all nutters. I don't know why you're even bothering. If he
escaped, he sure as hell didn't do it under his own willpower."
Remus tried to catch one of the enraged man's hands, but Sirius pulled
away. He continued angrily, "Whoever took him did it to confuse us. The only
reason I survived that place is because I was innocent. Harry -" he choked
on the name, but managed to continue, "- is probably a fucking _vegetable_
by now. So stop trying to figure out what that bit of crap means - whoever
broke him out probably wrote it. They're using him as emotional leverage,
'cause even if he is a murdering bastard, he's still my _godson_
and…"
The rest of the room looked away, embarrassed to have witnessed the
older man's breakdown. Remus pulled Sirius into a tight hug and led the
distraught man out of the room.
As Dumbledore watched the two leave, he said quietly, "Sirius did
bring up a very valid point. Harry couldn't have escaped Azkaban without
assistance. And whoever did it will probably try to use him against
us."
"It'll work out in the end, Albus," Moody said, shrugging. "What's
done is done."
Hermione asked, "Do you want me to see if I can figure the rest of
this out?" She held up the photograph.
"I would be very much interested in what it has to say, Hermione."
The Headmaster smiled. "I believe that's the end of this meeting. If the
rest of you would be so kind as to keep an eye out for anything interesting
-"
Draco snickered.
The snicker grew to a full-fledged laugh.
By the time he'd managed to get himself under control, there were
tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Draco?" Severus hissed, wondering what his godson found so incredibly
funny.
"I'm sorry," Draco said, "It's just… ha! Whoever got him out
of there has quite a wicked sense of humor."
Ron blinked. "How so?"
The blonde man pointed to one of the pictures. "According to Potter's
calendar here, it seems he escaped about two days ago. Correct?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"I don't suppose any of you remember what that day signifies?"
"Obviously not, boy," Moody growled. "Get on with it."
"It's just… oh, god, this is killing me…" Draco shook his
head, still laughing. "It's his bloody birthday! Happy fuckin' birthday,
Potter."
The rest of the room was silent, but the sentiment lingered heavily
in the air.
Dumbledore cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Meeting
adjourned."
to be continued
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