Friends Close, Enemies Closer: Chapter 1
“You have done well,” hissed the voice from the shadows.
Draco knew that the voice had come from a figure perched atop an elaborate throne, but he could not see it. His master was entirely enshrouded by darkness, so when Draco opened his mouth to speak, he spoke to nothingness.
“Th-thank you, my Lord.” His voice cracked with nervousness. It could not have been more evident that he had been expecting punishment, fearing the worst.
The Dark Lord picked up on this easily. He gave a short burst of mirthless, high-pitched laughter.
“Why so nervous, little Malfoy?” the Dark Lord asked. If Draco stretched his imagination very hard, he could almost imagine a tone of amusement in his master’s voice.
“I was weak, my lord,” Draco said subserviently. “I… surely the others have already told you of my hesitation.”
“Yes,” the Dark Lord said, all traces of amusement and satisfaction leaving his voice. “You have indeed yet to prove your allegiance to me.”
Draco bowed his head, wondering if he should offer penance for his actions.
“But your ingenuity with the Vanishing Cabinets certainly had the desired effect,” the Dark Lord continued. “Dumbledore would not be dead if not for you.”
Draco looked up hopefully.
“You are young, and in time, you will get over your sympathetic tendencies on your own.” A smirked crossed the Dark Lord’s face. “And if not… well then we will have to teach you the hard way.”
Draco imagined his master fingering his phoenix-feather wand lovingly, lingering on memories of performing the Cruciatus Curse. Draco shuddered. He had yet to subjected to the Dark Lord’s favourite form of punishment, and he hoped to avoid it for as long as possible.
“I will not hesitate again, my lord,” Draco said. He had spent the past few weeks carefully blocking the memories of the events on the tower, trying to ignore his own weakness, forget his indecision. He gritted his teeth determinedly.
“Oh I have no doubts about that, Draco,” the Dark Lord hissed firmly, with a hint of a threat. “But you were very effective at infiltrating Hogwarts, very effective indeed, and so I believe I may have use for your skills.”
He paused dramatically. “Snape has recently informed me that the Order of the Phoenix has vacated their old headquarters. No doubt the fools have finally come to their senses and realised that he is not loyal to them, but this is a serious blow against my knowledge of their movements.
“I have lost my most useful spy. Dumbledore’s death is, of course, a price that I am most willing to pay, but there is now a gap in my intelligence. I have no idea where the Order’s headquarters are, who their newest members are or what meddlesome plots they are planning against me.
“I do know from Snape’s information that the Order is desperate to recruit new members, preferably wizards fresh out of school. Young, impressionable wizards are no doubt the most easily swayed by their filthy Muggle-loving tendencies.
“You then, Draco, would be most ideal to infiltrate their organisation. You are the youngest of my servants.”
Finally, the Dark Lord paused, and waited for Draco to offer a response. Despite his fear at what his master might say if he protested, Draco could not stop himself from blurting out.
“I live to serve, my lord, but the Order, they know that I orchestrated the invasion of Hogwarts. They do not trust me.”
“I am aware of this, Malfoy,” the Dark Lord hissed. Draco cringed, sensing the annoyance in his Master’s voice. “I have taken the necessary precautions. Snape has brewed a stock of Polyjuice Potion for your use. The hairs you are to use come from a Hufflepuff boy who graduated from Hogwarts just last year. He was a useless waste of space with no brains and no personality. No one will notice that he has been replaced.”
The Dark Lord floated a large flask of potion down to Draco. It was the colour of parchment: light, unobtrusive off-white, as if it were afraid to offend anyone by picking a more vibrant color.
“Bellatrix will explain to you the details of this excuse for a wizard’s life so that you may impersonate him. You are dismissed.”
Draco rose from his kneeling position on the cold, stone floor, bowed respectfully once more, and left the chamber.
A mere hour later, Draco was standing in a shabby apartment above Dervish and Banges.
The moment he apparated inside, he collapsed in relief onto the sofa. He had been so certain that the Dark Lord was going to punish him for his hesitancy. When he had been summoned to a personal audience, he was sure that it was because Unforgivable Curses did not fit in envelopes.
He glanced over the detailed notes that Aunt Bellatrix had given him about Evan Thomas’s vital information. It was quite pathetic that everything he needed to know about the boy’s life fit on the front and back of one sheet of parchment.
The boy he was to impersonate had graduated from Hogwarts only a year ago, and had taken a job at Dervish and Banges. It was the dullest work that Draco could ever imagine, something about checking inventory and logging transactions. Draco doubted that anyone even noticed if this bloke showed up to work.
Draco never ceased to be amazed at the ingenuity the Dark Lord showed. Evan Thomas was the perfect person for Draco to impersonate. The boy’s parents had died of natural causes during the last school year. He was not close with any of his family, and from the lack of mention of any acquaintances on the information sheet, Draco surmised that the Dark Lord had assigned someone to follow this boy and found that he had no close friends.
With a brief, sharp stab of sympathy, Draco thought he understood how alone this boy must have felt. He himself had felt that way in his final year at Hogwarts. People were everywhere but there was no one to confide in, no one to relate to.
Draco shook off the feeling quickly. He had a job to do. He had no idea how to begin looking for the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew that the first thing he had to do was take the potion.
He took a cup from the dusty cupboard in the kitchen of the apartment, poured a small amount of potion into it and drank it in one gulp.
It was easily the blandest thing he had ever tasted.
Whoever this Evan Thomas had been probably had the most boring personality on the face of the planet, Draco mused to himself. Why else would Polyjuice Potion containing this bloke’s hair taste indistinguishable from week-old porridge?
Not that Draco had ever tasted week-old porridge. That was something that found its way onto the Weasleys’ dinner menu, not the Malfoys’.
Draco let the potion take him, biting his lips to prevent himself from making any noise as the changes wrought his body. He didn’t want to attract attention. He gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly as he changed, doubling over as the pain found its way to his stomach but determined not to draw unwanted attention to himself by making a sound.
And just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He straightened immediately and went to survey his appearance in a dusty mirror on the wall.
He had shrunk a little and was now around average height. He peered curiously at his face. Shaggy brown locks of hair fell into his eyes as he stared at himself in the mirror. The eyes themselves were not his usual hardened grey, but a soft, doleful brown colour.
He looked like the biggest sodding nancy he had ever seen.
Tossing the empty cup carelessly into the sink, the thought it might be time to brave the town, see if he could spot any known Order members and start his mission.
His first stop would be the Three Broomsticks because he still had his most useful ally there.
Rosmerta was not a willing ally, but she had been invaluable to Draco last year. It was most convenient that the busy pub was such a gathering place the for wizarding community. Draco had never removed her from the Imperius Curse.
His plan was brilliantly simple. He applauded himself for being so efficient and so perfectly flawless. He would make Rosmerta Floo him the instant a known member of the Order walked into the pub. Then Draco would conveniently arrive at the Three Broomsticks and convince the Order member to let him join.
Well, perhaps there were some minor details that still needed to be worked out.
He pushed open the door to the busy pub, focusing his power on the curse, preparing Rosmerta for his new commands. Concentrating hard, he did not notice the small figure that was exiting the pub just as he was going in.
She was moving with such velocity that she sent him falling backwards.
And then, to make matters worse, she fell on top of him.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” said an all too familiar voice.
“Get off me,” he growled ill-naturedly. He pushed her off of him roughly without looking at her face. He didn’t know where he had heard her voice before, but instantly it triggered emotions in him, emotions that closely resembled annoyance and loathing.
“You don’t have to be so rude about it,” the girl muttered, now sounding annoyed herself.
He turned to her, opening his mouth to point out that in most civilized societies, knocking someone else over was considered a rude gesture.
And then he stopped, his words died his lips.
He stared at her incredulously, unable to believe his luck.
He had been looking for a member of the Order of the Phoenix and he had found one not five minutes since he had started his search. He had run head-first into Hermione Granger.
Draco knew that the voice had come from a figure perched atop an elaborate throne, but he could not see it. His master was entirely enshrouded by darkness, so when Draco opened his mouth to speak, he spoke to nothingness.
“Th-thank you, my Lord.” His voice cracked with nervousness. It could not have been more evident that he had been expecting punishment, fearing the worst.
The Dark Lord picked up on this easily. He gave a short burst of mirthless, high-pitched laughter.
“Why so nervous, little Malfoy?” the Dark Lord asked. If Draco stretched his imagination very hard, he could almost imagine a tone of amusement in his master’s voice.
“I was weak, my lord,” Draco said subserviently. “I… surely the others have already told you of my hesitation.”
“Yes,” the Dark Lord said, all traces of amusement and satisfaction leaving his voice. “You have indeed yet to prove your allegiance to me.”
Draco bowed his head, wondering if he should offer penance for his actions.
“But your ingenuity with the Vanishing Cabinets certainly had the desired effect,” the Dark Lord continued. “Dumbledore would not be dead if not for you.”
Draco looked up hopefully.
“You are young, and in time, you will get over your sympathetic tendencies on your own.” A smirked crossed the Dark Lord’s face. “And if not… well then we will have to teach you the hard way.”
Draco imagined his master fingering his phoenix-feather wand lovingly, lingering on memories of performing the Cruciatus Curse. Draco shuddered. He had yet to subjected to the Dark Lord’s favourite form of punishment, and he hoped to avoid it for as long as possible.
“I will not hesitate again, my lord,” Draco said. He had spent the past few weeks carefully blocking the memories of the events on the tower, trying to ignore his own weakness, forget his indecision. He gritted his teeth determinedly.
“Oh I have no doubts about that, Draco,” the Dark Lord hissed firmly, with a hint of a threat. “But you were very effective at infiltrating Hogwarts, very effective indeed, and so I believe I may have use for your skills.”
He paused dramatically. “Snape has recently informed me that the Order of the Phoenix has vacated their old headquarters. No doubt the fools have finally come to their senses and realised that he is not loyal to them, but this is a serious blow against my knowledge of their movements.
“I have lost my most useful spy. Dumbledore’s death is, of course, a price that I am most willing to pay, but there is now a gap in my intelligence. I have no idea where the Order’s headquarters are, who their newest members are or what meddlesome plots they are planning against me.
“I do know from Snape’s information that the Order is desperate to recruit new members, preferably wizards fresh out of school. Young, impressionable wizards are no doubt the most easily swayed by their filthy Muggle-loving tendencies.
“You then, Draco, would be most ideal to infiltrate their organisation. You are the youngest of my servants.”
Finally, the Dark Lord paused, and waited for Draco to offer a response. Despite his fear at what his master might say if he protested, Draco could not stop himself from blurting out.
“I live to serve, my lord, but the Order, they know that I orchestrated the invasion of Hogwarts. They do not trust me.”
“I am aware of this, Malfoy,” the Dark Lord hissed. Draco cringed, sensing the annoyance in his Master’s voice. “I have taken the necessary precautions. Snape has brewed a stock of Polyjuice Potion for your use. The hairs you are to use come from a Hufflepuff boy who graduated from Hogwarts just last year. He was a useless waste of space with no brains and no personality. No one will notice that he has been replaced.”
The Dark Lord floated a large flask of potion down to Draco. It was the colour of parchment: light, unobtrusive off-white, as if it were afraid to offend anyone by picking a more vibrant color.
“Bellatrix will explain to you the details of this excuse for a wizard’s life so that you may impersonate him. You are dismissed.”
Draco rose from his kneeling position on the cold, stone floor, bowed respectfully once more, and left the chamber.
A mere hour later, Draco was standing in a shabby apartment above Dervish and Banges.
The moment he apparated inside, he collapsed in relief onto the sofa. He had been so certain that the Dark Lord was going to punish him for his hesitancy. When he had been summoned to a personal audience, he was sure that it was because Unforgivable Curses did not fit in envelopes.
He glanced over the detailed notes that Aunt Bellatrix had given him about Evan Thomas’s vital information. It was quite pathetic that everything he needed to know about the boy’s life fit on the front and back of one sheet of parchment.
The boy he was to impersonate had graduated from Hogwarts only a year ago, and had taken a job at Dervish and Banges. It was the dullest work that Draco could ever imagine, something about checking inventory and logging transactions. Draco doubted that anyone even noticed if this bloke showed up to work.
Draco never ceased to be amazed at the ingenuity the Dark Lord showed. Evan Thomas was the perfect person for Draco to impersonate. The boy’s parents had died of natural causes during the last school year. He was not close with any of his family, and from the lack of mention of any acquaintances on the information sheet, Draco surmised that the Dark Lord had assigned someone to follow this boy and found that he had no close friends.
With a brief, sharp stab of sympathy, Draco thought he understood how alone this boy must have felt. He himself had felt that way in his final year at Hogwarts. People were everywhere but there was no one to confide in, no one to relate to.
Draco shook off the feeling quickly. He had a job to do. He had no idea how to begin looking for the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew that the first thing he had to do was take the potion.
He took a cup from the dusty cupboard in the kitchen of the apartment, poured a small amount of potion into it and drank it in one gulp.
It was easily the blandest thing he had ever tasted.
Whoever this Evan Thomas had been probably had the most boring personality on the face of the planet, Draco mused to himself. Why else would Polyjuice Potion containing this bloke’s hair taste indistinguishable from week-old porridge?
Not that Draco had ever tasted week-old porridge. That was something that found its way onto the Weasleys’ dinner menu, not the Malfoys’.
Draco let the potion take him, biting his lips to prevent himself from making any noise as the changes wrought his body. He didn’t want to attract attention. He gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly as he changed, doubling over as the pain found its way to his stomach but determined not to draw unwanted attention to himself by making a sound.
And just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He straightened immediately and went to survey his appearance in a dusty mirror on the wall.
He had shrunk a little and was now around average height. He peered curiously at his face. Shaggy brown locks of hair fell into his eyes as he stared at himself in the mirror. The eyes themselves were not his usual hardened grey, but a soft, doleful brown colour.
He looked like the biggest sodding nancy he had ever seen.
Tossing the empty cup carelessly into the sink, the thought it might be time to brave the town, see if he could spot any known Order members and start his mission.
His first stop would be the Three Broomsticks because he still had his most useful ally there.
Rosmerta was not a willing ally, but she had been invaluable to Draco last year. It was most convenient that the busy pub was such a gathering place the for wizarding community. Draco had never removed her from the Imperius Curse.
His plan was brilliantly simple. He applauded himself for being so efficient and so perfectly flawless. He would make Rosmerta Floo him the instant a known member of the Order walked into the pub. Then Draco would conveniently arrive at the Three Broomsticks and convince the Order member to let him join.
Well, perhaps there were some minor details that still needed to be worked out.
He pushed open the door to the busy pub, focusing his power on the curse, preparing Rosmerta for his new commands. Concentrating hard, he did not notice the small figure that was exiting the pub just as he was going in.
She was moving with such velocity that she sent him falling backwards.
And then, to make matters worse, she fell on top of him.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” said an all too familiar voice.
“Get off me,” he growled ill-naturedly. He pushed her off of him roughly without looking at her face. He didn’t know where he had heard her voice before, but instantly it triggered emotions in him, emotions that closely resembled annoyance and loathing.
“You don’t have to be so rude about it,” the girl muttered, now sounding annoyed herself.
He turned to her, opening his mouth to point out that in most civilized societies, knocking someone else over was considered a rude gesture.
And then he stopped, his words died his lips.
He stared at her incredulously, unable to believe his luck.
He had been looking for a member of the Order of the Phoenix and he had found one not five minutes since he had started his search. He had run head-first into Hermione Granger.