𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆

Part 9

Veritas

Hermione dropped a manila envelope on the coffee table, followed by a file folder covered in gray, inky fingerprints. "Draco," she said, settling herself down into an armchair in front of her archives and picking up her tea cup, "why don't you tell us about your mother."

"My mother?" Draco looked incredulous. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the couch. "Why on earth do you want to know about her, and why should I—"

"Alright," Hermione said sharply, looking tired and frazzled. Her hair was damp from the rain outside, her hands cold and trembling a little. She had hardly slept. She was terrified, angry, and desperate after the events of the last week. She had no patience for Draco Malfoy's pride. "Question and answer then. First: is your mother a Death Eater?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "Is this some kind of repayment for all those mudblood comments? Because I—"

"You're hardly in a position to get haughty with us, Malfoy." Ron shot Draco a dark look across the table, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder at the use of the term 'mudblood'. "Don't you ever use that word in this flat again, do you understand? If it weren't for Dumbledore and Harry you'd be snogging a Dementor about now. Just get on with it."

Draco said nothing. Ron was, unfortunately, right. The last week and a half had been outrageously awful. That first article in the Daily Prophet had not only condemned Draco, but had also effectively announced the return of Voldemort, which until that point had been left to the realm of private knowing and general rumour. In the weeks previous there had been a series of interviews with former Death Eaters who had noted the burning in their Marks that day, which had certainly raised eyebrows. Pointing a finger at Draco was more tabloid rumour than real accusation, and probably would have blown over, had it not been for the events that followed directly thereafter. There had been four Death Eater attacks, all in the London area, killing twenty-one people. All of them but one had been Muggle-born wizards, caught on their way home to their families, at sporting events, or visiting with friends. The only non-muggle born wizard on the death toll was a thirteen year old Hogwarts student, home visiting her ailing grandmother. She had tried to stop two Death Eaters who had appeared in her grandmother's garden, presumably set to attack her neighbours. All that remained of her was a wand, broken, a torn robe, and a fair amount of blood on the grass.

Somehow classified information was being leaked to the press, without any concrete details. It was generally understood that Voldemort's tricky prison could only be unlocked by a small number of elite and trusted ministry officials, and, as if due to his own evil intentions, also by Death Eater Draco Malfoy. The word 'former' had dropped from his public appellation. Crowds had clamoured for his arrest, which had not come. Dumbledore and Harry had vouched for him in a special tribunal, and along with a search of his possessions, a dose of veritaserum, and several stern inquisitions, the ministry officials had let him go, insisting, however, that he not leave London, and that he make no attempts to prevent ministry monitoring. There had been numerous threats to Draco's life, and two actual attempts on it. His flat had been sacked, his front door ripped from its hinges, his office was torn into pieces. For the last five days he had been staying at Harry and Ron's flat in secret.

Fortunately for Ron, however, Draco hadn't actually been that troublesome, particularly after they had worked a couple of things out. He was morose, angry, and snapped at the slightest thing, of course, but Ron actually understood that. He spent most of his time sitting at Harry's desk next to the kitchen, poring over large books filled with strange writing. Occasionally Ron would hear a pop or a bang, see flashing lights from his direction, and some grumbling cursing. Day by day he looked more frustrated.