had to make her own. I?m sure she took care of Weasley as well, so you don?t have to worry about him.'
'Uh-huh,' Hermione said, wondering if Blaise was, perhaps, a little off her head. She looked down at the barrettes, but there seemed nothing terribly special about them — they were not jeweled after all, up close, but made of some shimmering hard green material, somewhat like titanium.
'Don?t let him give them all to Potter, either,' Blaise added, as an afterthought.
'If his desire to see Harry in hair barrettes becomes uncontrollable, I?ll be sure to step in,' Hermione replied dryly. She narrowed her eyes at Blaise.
'If these turn out to be something dangerous, or some kind of tracking spell…'
'They?re not,' Blaise snapped, exasperated. 'Look, when you can, just get both of them to a safe place, all right? Not here. The whole Ministry will be looking for them…' Her voice trailed off at the look on Hermiones face. 'What?'
'What makes you think I?ll even see them again to get them to a safe place?' Hermione said in a small voice, hating herself for being vulnerable in front of Blaise, but too unhappy to stop it.
Blaise looked at her, surprise making her face transparent, and for a moment Hermione thought she could look through the other girls shut expression to the real Blaise underneath — and in that moment, she did believe that Blaise loved Draco. It might have been a love made up in equal parts of childhood attachment, singed pride, and clannish loyalty, but it was still love of a sort. 'They?ll come back to you,'
Blaise said. 'They always do.'
'Oh.' For a moment, Hermione could think of nothing to say. She cleared her throat. 'And Ron — you said Pansy?d given him something already, so when he gets back here, do I have to get him to a safe place too?'
The transparency vanished from Blaises expression; now she looked merely surprised. 'You think Weasleys coming back here?' she demanded. 'You mean you don?t — ' She broke off and spun around, green eyes widening. 'What was that noise?'
Hermione leaped to her feet. 'The kitchen door — '
Blaise went white. 'Oh, no.' There was a world of dread in those two words. She began to fumble in her pockets.
'Oh, for goodness sake. It could be Ron, or Ginny or even Bill — '
'Think what you want. I?m leaving,' Blaise said, and drew a small silver Portkey box out of her robes.
'But what about your broom? Its downstairs-'
'Owl it to me,' Blaise replied, snapping the box open. With a toss of her red head, she vanished into thin air.
Hermione shook her head. 'Typical bloody Slytherin,' she muttered, with more bravado than she felt. Blaises evident panic had communicated itself to her despite herself. Drawing her wand out of her pocket, she stepped cautiously out into the hall and began making her way towards the stairs as quietly as she could.
It was quite dark; the hallway torches were unlit. It was very quiet. As she neared the staircase, she thought she heard the sound of the kitchen door closing — no one dangerous should be able to get past the wards, but wards could be subverted of course. There were ways and ways. Gripping her wand tightly, she began to make her way down the stairs.
The Dark Lord reclined in the tall chair behind the chess table and regarded the air in front of him. It was full of dust motes; they hovered in the faint light of the narrow windows. The red-headed boy lay at his feet.
He had not moved in nearly a half an hour now; it seemed likely that he would not again be useful this evening. What had been like a light inside him had spilled out like blood, and he lay, unconscious and still, on the hard stones with his face buried on his arms. One hand was extended, palm up; the intricate serpent scarring across the palm was clearly visible.
'Marked with my sign before I ever saw him,' the Dark Lord said aloud, and the girl inside her gold cage looked up as if he had spoken to her.
'Marked now twice, he is doubly mine.'
'Will he die, Lord?' she asked.
'Not yet. I have not even begun to get use out of him. The gift of Foretelling is like divine clockwork. I have wound him up; now, as a clock tells time, he will tell me of the future.'
'And why do you want to know the future, Lord?'
The Dark Lord raised his inhuman eyes to hers and laughed. 'You are a curious little demon,' he said. 'What can it matter to you? Your kind goes on and on without end; whatever the future brings, you will survive it.'
'As would you — you also cannot die.'
'Life is not to be lived for lifes sake alone,' said the Dark Lord cryptically. 'There is also power, and the seeking of it. And vengeance.
You should know all about vengeance, little demon. Six hundred years bound in servitude to one family…you must want for your freedom very badly.'
'Are you trying to incite my servants against me, my Lord?' came a light voice from the doorway.
The girl turned first; the Dark Lord second. He did not get up from his chair. 'Lucius,' he said. 'I hope, for your sake, that you bring me good news.'
'The best news, Lord,' said the pale man, drawing off his gloves and laying them on the table by the door. 'All has gone exactly according to plan. We have Harry Potter in our temporary custody; Arthur Weasley is out of power, and the transition at the Ministry is going smoothly.' He paused, and glanced at the red-headed boy on the floor. 'I see we have had a casualty,' he added, sounding amused.
The Dark Lord chuckled. 'He is not dead. He utilized too much of his power, untrained; it drained him. He will recover. Speaking of casualties…' He glanced up at Lucius. 'What of my servants, my loyal Death Eaters? Have they all been alerted to my return?'
At that, Lucius looked slightly uncomfortable. 'I have not alerted them all, my Lord. I thought we would wait until the transition of power was complete — '
'I thought you said it had gone smoothly.'
'I said it was going smoothly.' Lucius sounded harried. In the gold cage, Rhysenn stirred and moaned as if in pain. 'It has only been a day, Lord.'
There was a silence. The Dark Lord rose slowly to his feet, and turned to look at Lucius Malfoy; Lucius was neither his most trusted nor his most beloved servant, but he was what he was: indispensable.
'Quintilius Varus,' the Dark Lord said finally, softly. 'Give me back my legions.'
Lucius flushed red. 'Our great defeats are now in the past, my Lord,' he said. 'We have only victory to come to now, and we will have legions to fight for it.'
'I wished to return at the head of an army, Lucius. Not to have to ferret that army out and press them into service.'
'My Lord, they are loyal to you! They simply wait for instruction. There are a few minor…dissidents we need ridding of first, before our way is clear.'
The Dark Lords narrow hands clenched and unclenched at his sides: they were ashen, the nails a heavy black. Once he had had long slender fingers, articulately boned: beautiful hands fashioned equally for poetry or for prayer. Of course, they had been put to neither use. 'I dream of such things, my Lucius. When I am victorious, I shall have a chess board made from the snapped wands of my enemies. I shall carve the white pieces from the bones of Severus Snape, who betrayed me, and the red pieces shall be made of clear glass and filled with Harry Potters blood. I shall treasure it always.'
In the gilded cage, Rhysenn laughed softly. Lucius had turned very white.
'You shall have all those things, Master,' he said in a constricted voice.
'All those things, and more.'
'And yet you tell me I must wait.'
'Yes.' Luciuss face was like stone. 'You must wait.'
Hermione was halfway down the stairs when she saw them.
Ginny stepped out of the kitchen first and Hermione assumed without thinking that of course she had come
