𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

Chapter 4

Compromises

Blood is red as sunset,
Blood is warmer than wine -
the taste of salty summer brine ...

- "Glory," Pippin

Patience, their Master had once said, was among the greatest virtues. The virtuous would always be rewarded, he promised, and the rewards would be tremendous.

And their Master did not lie.

In the thick shadows, the water dripping from the ceiling looked black as blood. Footfalls echoed through the hallway, and as the hooded figures moved, their low voices were amplified by the stone walls. The news had spread quickly through the ranks; promises and plans were repeated with a thrill of anticipation. The next stage was quickly approaching. All of their preparation and diligence would finally pay off.

The time had come.

"It's happening soon."

"When?"

"A matter of days, I reckon."

"How many will be freed?"

"A dozen, I imagine."

"Lucius?"

A broad smile: "Yes."

"But what of Narcissa -"

An angry hiss: "Do not speak of the traitor."

"If she is." A shrug, a disinterested gaze.

"It's obvious, you fool."

"But she is your sister -"

A sharp glare: "And we shall not speak of it! This is a time for rejoicing."

"So it is. And then what?"

"Once they are free?"

"Yes."

"Then ..." a sigh of pleasure, glittering eyes: "Then we shall have new headquarters. The new era will begin."

"Oh?"

"Mmm."

"I hadn't heard!"

"Everyone soon shall. And then the Ministry and their supporters and the Mudbloods and the Muggle-lovers, they'll all see the Dark Lord's power and be unable to deny his superiority."

"What is it, then?"

Bellatrix grinned wickedly at her companion. "Hogwarts. Soon, we shall have Hogwarts." Her eyes narrowed. "And then, we will win the war."

~*~*~

Harry felt horrible.

He had trudged upstairs to find Draco some half an hour later, apologies and platitudes poised on his lips, expecting to find the other boy sulking or tearing apart Harry's belongings or maybe trying to break through a window and scale the wall down to freedom. Instead, he had found Draco - face blotchy but dry - stretched out on Harry's mattress, sound asleep. It had startled Harry to find Draco there, looking at once relaxed and defensive with his knees curled up in a fetal position, and then it had worried him, since Draco had only awakened downstairs a short while before.

And then it had made Harry feel a stab of hot guilt, both for making Draco feel as though Harry had deliberately deceived him and, further, for keeping him a prisoner. Harry had stood there for a long while in the doorway, watching Draco's chest gently rise and fall, wondering how it had come to this. When had things become so messy? All he had felt for Draco for years was a bitter hatred; their rivalry had been something as constant and predictable as the Sorting Hat's song at the beginning of the year or pumpkin juice in the Great Hall ...