All That Lives - Act One

Title: All That Lives
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-war fic. Based on Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Word Count: 25,173
A/N: This is by far the longest and most arduous fic I've ever written, and I really hope I did Hamlet justice! Thanks to pocky_slash, quatredeathlady and silentblast for sticking with me all these months and watching this grow. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you.

One important thing before I start - I've used a rather unique narrative style to tell the story. It's the multiple-POV technique made famous by Wilkie Collins and his two best-loved novels, The Woman In White and The Moonstone. This was partly an experiment for me, and partly something that I thought would make sense, as Hamlet has always seemed to me to be a tale of great people as seen through the eyes of lesser beings. I hope it works.



All That Lives - Act One


The Narrative of Lavender Brown

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.

- Horatio, "Hamlet", 1.1


I.

This is the story of a deadly, intricate game. The story of a prince and his family, a queen who was king, and seven pawns who died before they reached the end. But most of all, it is the story of one man.

It has fallen to us to tell his tale simply because we did something he and the others could not. When the battle ends and the dust clears, it is people like us who are left standing - the minor players, the ones in the background, the ones you don't notice.

But we are the ones who live.

I've seen it in the stars, and I've come to believe that it's fated. Greatness comes at a price. And more often than not, the price is death.

Perhaps it is better, in a way, that you are seeing these events through our eyes. We were close enough to the drama to know what happened - and sometimes why - but there was always an invisible barrier between us and them. So we watched, and though we might not have known the details, I think the big picture was clearer to us all along.

And thus the story will progress, each part of the big picture filled in by the one most qualified to do so. Hopefully the pieces of the puzzle will come together for you at the end as they did for us, months after it happened.

Of course, none of us can profess to understand the motivations of those whose greatness was beyond our reach. None of us, that is, except Harry... for he was there once, before he fell.


II.

I suppose that's really where it started, though I must confess that I was planning to begin with something else. Funny how different things look when you set them down in writing.

We could dwell endlessly on the details of the war and when it went wrong, where it started going wrong - was it when Snape flipped on us again, or when Hermione was taken prisoner? No one ever saw her again after that, and maybe it was then that Harry lost his mind for good. I wouldn't know. We didn't exactly use to be bosom buddies.

But all that's not important. The only thing you need to know is that we lost.

And that's how the wheels of this got put into motion. Those who weren't dead were thrown into dungeons - Harry, Ron, Ginny. Some, like Professor Lupin, managed to escape into exile with what remained of Dumbledore's Army and the Order.

As for me, my position was somewhat more unusual.

It was just after the surrender that she came looking for me. I'd known her more by reputation than anything else, so imagine my surprise when I saw her sweep into the dungeons - tall, blonde, and beautifully regal - and stop just outside my cell.

She unpinned her cloak so the shadows fell away, and set her lantern on the floor. "Do you know who I am, Miss Brown?"

I inclined my head. "Yes, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa Malfoy's gaze did not waver. She crooked a finger at me. "Come closer."

I didn't want to obey her, but I'd heard stories of her power and what she could do. People said Lucius Malfoy was nothing more than a puppet. That the real power behind the Malfoy dynasty lay in the hands of this woman, who was beckoning me to step forward right now.

Reluctantly, I moved towards her.

"Obedient, I see..." She put a finger under my chin and raised my face to hers, looking me over critically. "A good quality, in a servant."

If it had been Lucius Malfoy, I would have spat in his face and told him that I serve nobody. But Narcissa Malfoy had a force, an aura that overwhelmed and surprised me. Was this really the pale, subdued shadow that I'd seen once or twice, years ago, when the Malfoys made official visits to Hogwarts?

Perhaps she chose to hide her power, so that it would be stronger when she unleashed it.

"Tell me, Miss Brown," she said, "is it true that you have the gift of divination?"

My mind flashed back to lessons with Professor Trelawney, and beyond... crystal ball gazing, tea leaves, the stars. How often had they spoken to me, even in my dreams?

I nodded, wordlessly.

"Very good," she said, stepping away from my cell. She looked over at a guard. "Release this prisoner."

My head snapped up, and I stared at her. What?

"From now on, Miss Brown," said Narcissa Malfoy, "you shall serve as personal Seer for my son, Draco. But be careful... any slight misdemeanour, and you will be returned to this cell. For good."

She picked up her lantern, and her cold eyes met mine again as she turned to exit. "I'll be watching."


III.

So now we come to the point where I'd planned on starting, at first... one year later.

Things had changed drastically from the day Narcissa first approached me in the dungeons. For one thing, she was dead.

It had been an unexpected death, according to the servants. Food poisoning that took a turn for the worse. Certainly I hadn't Seen it coming, but then again, I wasn't her Seer - I was Draco's.

I'd asked him about it, but he'd refused to say anything.

Then something else had happened, before the funeral ended. I don't know if many were surprised by it - after all, hadn't Rodolphus Lestrange died last summer, leaving his widow lonely and distraught? And hadn't Bellatrix been spending more time than usual in the Manor, with her sister and brother-in-law? Why, she'd even moved in a fortnight ago.

I did see a few raised eyebrows when Lucius Malfoy took Bellatrix Lestrange to wife, but mine were not among them. There are other ways to divine the future besides the magical.

It was shortly after the wedding, however, that I had my vision.

I'd say that's where it all started, but as we've both already realised, it started earlier - with our defeat in the war. But the vision definitely marked the start of these events in particular.

It came one night when I was alone in my tower, polishing my crystal ball and having tea. I wasn't trying to See anything, really - in fact, I'd just had Draco in for a monthly session. They weren't his idea; Narcissa had made him attend them when she was alive, and I think he continued after his death either out of routine or respect.

I'd just finished with my crystal ball and set it down on its stand when suddenly, it flashed bright white.

I let go of my teacup in surprise, and it shattered on the floor. But I didn't notice the mess until later - there was something in the crystall ball, something behind the light. Something familiar and frightening, all at once...

A paper-white narcissus flower.

Narcissa?


IV.

I hadn't liked Narcissa Malfoy when we first met, I admit. But over the past year, I'd come to feel an odd sort of gratitude for her, maybe even affection... after all, she'd rescued me from the dungeons and a fate worse than death.

So I knew I had to do something about what I'd Seen, but I couldn't go to Draco. He was behaving so oddly of late, and in any case, he didn't think much of divination. Which is a mistake, of course.

Then it hit me. Perhaps I could go to him.

Why not?

I put on my cloak and headed down to the dungeons. He was kept in the innermost circle of cells, their most prized prisoner - but Draco had been there more than once to see him, and I guessed the guards wouldn't lay a finger on their young master's Seer if she should presume to do the same.

I guessed correctly.

They banned me from entering the cell, though - a privilege that was accorded to Draco. And they watched me like hawks watch their prey. Perhaps they feared that one ex-Gryffindor might help another escape.

It was dark inside, and I couldn't see him. "Harry," I whispered.

There was no response.

"Harry!" I repeated, more urgently this time. "I need your help."

I saw a glimmer of light from his glasses as he turned to look at me, and he laughed. It was a hollow, empty laugh. "You? Need my help? I can't help anyone right now, Lavender. Not even myself."

I stepped closer and peered through the darkness. Then I saw him, and gasped in shock before I could stop myself.

Harry was chained to the wall, his hands and feet bound by heavy manacles. His glasses were broken and his clothes were tattered. He looked like someone who should have been dead months ago. There were bruises on his body where the skin showed, and fresh blood from a wound on his arm.

I tried to contain my horror. "Harry, I - I really do need your help. It's about - something I Saw."

"You're the Seer, not me." Harry's voice was low and dull. The spirit I remembered in it had gone out completely.

"It's important!" I persisted. "It's got to do with Narcissa. I think there's something she wants to say - but she won't say it to just anyone."

"Tell Draco Malfoy, then. Surely she'll tell her precious son," said Harry. "What's it got to do with me?"

"He thinks I'm useless!" I cried, getting more agitated. "He won't listen to me! But I know - I know - "

Harry's green eyes gazed at me steadily, from across his cell.

"I know he'll listen to you." I finished.

Harry was silent.

I pressed my advantage - cruelly, perhaps, but it was the only way I saw. "I know he comes down to see you. I know he's changed from our schooldays, that he's not a typical Malfoy - oh, you learn these things when you're somebody's Seer, you do! And he's so guarded around me and everyone else, but when he's alone with you..."

There was a pause, then Harry spoke. "Why should I bother to tell him?"

"Because it would be the decent thing to do," I said. "And I think - I think there's some part of you that cares for Draco, isn't there? Or he wouldn't be here so often."

Harry said nothing. With any luck, my last words would have struck home.

I kept quiet.

Then through the shadows, he nodded, and I knew I had won.



The Narrative of Severus Snape

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

- Marcellus, "Hamlet" 1.4

I.

I see Miss Brown has not lost her penchant for melodrama since she ceased being my student. Somehow, this does not surprise me.

Unlike her, I shall not dwell unnecessarily on little details, embellishing them to make the whole matter seem more sensational than it really was. There is only one point I should mention before I narrate the events of Bellatrix's court, the day after Miss Brown paid Potter a visit in the dungeons.

Attentive readers will remember from Miss Brown's narrative that I was said to have "flipped". This is, of course, a blatant lie.

Perhaps it was Dumbledore's fault that the popular conception was never allayed. Certainly it was his idea to plant me in the enemy camp, make me pretend to return to their fold like a tame sheep, so that I could gather information for our side. And it was he who said that under no circumstances should we let the truth be known to anyone but the inner circle of the Order, for fear that the deception might be uncovered.

It seems I have spent my entire life playing the double agent.

After we lost, I thought it prudent to remain where I was, and make contact with the exiles at the first opportunity. Miss Brown clearly did not possess the mental faculties to realise what an excellent plan this was, and came to the ridiculously erroneous conclusion that I really had turned traitor.

So it was that I found myself a member of the Malfoys' sizeable entourage, and in a position to bear witness to the political plays of Bellatrix Black Malfoy.


II.

Bellatrix's transition from Narcissa's sister to Lucius's wife, and the new mistress of Malfoy Manor, did not go over as smoothly as she would have liked. But she noticed nothing. She never did.

I am the only one of the narrators you shall meet who has known Bellatrix since her schooldays, and thus I feel eminently qualified to make a few statements on her character. Bellatrix and Narcissa were more similar than one might realise at first - both were cunning, ruthless, and ambitious.

But Narcissa possessed one thing that Bellatrix did not, and that was subtlety.

Bellatrix's world consisted of one person, and that was herself. She saw people she liked, people she disliked, and people who stood in her way; and she used, abused, and removed them, all the while making no secret of her doings. Shades of grey eluded her. Perhaps that was why she was never good at Potions.

True to form, she could not see that her new servants were polite only in her presence. Neither did she note the cynicism I wore on my face when she stepped into the room that day, with Lucius on her arm, and locked the doors with a wave of her hand.

"The meeting is now in session," she declared.

I looked around. Rookwood and Macnair were seated across from me. To my right was Nott, to my left, Avery.

And at the head of the table, next to his father, was Draco.

He was dressed all in black, just as he had been ever since Narcissa's death. I remembered him at the wedding. He'd been in black then too, as had I.

But black was a colour I always wore. The same was not true of Draco. Rumour had it that he was planning to leave Malfoy Manor for a destination unknown, presumably to pursue further studies of dark magic - but it was patently obvious to all that what he sought was escape.

"Severus," snapped Bellatrix's voice, jolting me to attention.

I turned to look at her. "Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?"

That was what she insisted on being called, now. Mrs. Malfoy. As if she could supplant Narcissa in the minds of these people, by taking on her identity.

"Have you anything new to report of the Resistance? Has the renegade werewolf been found?"

The renegade werewolf. That would be Lupin.

I shook my head. "No. We have, however, received intelligence that he has fled to Siberia," I lied smoothly.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Siberia? That snowy godforsaken land? He'll never be able to escape us there. Dispatch a couple of field agents to the region immediately."

"Very good, Mrs. Malfoy," I said. I had every intention of fulfilling this order, naturally. Why should I not get rid of Crabbe and Goyle Seniors for two months by sending them to languish in the cold?

"Any other business? " asked Bellatrix, returning her attention to the rest of the table.

Peter Pettigrew raised his hand. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy, I have a request to make."

Bellatrix eyed him. "Yes?"

Pettigrew quailed under her gaze. His Dark Lord's victory had evidently done nothing for his courage. "As you know, I am holding two of the Weasleys in my custody - Ronald Weasley, and his younger sister - "

"Don't bore us with things we already know," Bellatrix interrupted. I found myself in agreement with her - for once.

"Y-yes, Mrs. Malfoy," stuttered Pettigrew. "I was wondering if I might have your permission to send Ronald Weasley into exile."

"What!" Bellatrix exploded. "So that he can get in touch with the werewolf, no doubt?"

"No, no!" Pettigrew hastened to explain. "You see, Mrs. Malfoy, I think it is - unsafe - to have Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter in such close proximity to each other. If one should escape - "

He paused and looked nervously at Bellatrix. She said nothing, tapping the table impatiently.

"If one should escape," continued Pettigrew, growing somewhat more bold, "he would find it easy to get to the other. Easier than if they were in two different countries. Also..."

"Get on with it!" Bellatrix snapped irritably.

"Also, his continued presence is a distraction to - to our plan for Ginevra Weasley."

I looked up, intrigued. This was the first I had heard of such a plan.

"Ah," said Bellatrix. "I see." She did not go into further details, much to my disappointment and annoyance. "Very well, then. Send him to one of those impoverished Eastern European countries, along with an escort we can trust."

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Pettigrew smiled. On his rodent-like face, it looked more like a grimace. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Bellatrix nodded curtly. "Now, if there is nothing else... I should like a word with my nephew. My son."

Draco stirred, for the first time in the entire meeting. His eyes flickered briefly to Bellatrix's. "A little more than kin, and less than kind," he muttered.

I pushed my chair back, preparing to leave, but Bellatrix motioned to me to sit. How like her, I thought, to air her family's dirty linen for all to see.

"Draco," said Lucius sternly. "Behave."

Draco glanced up grudgingly, meeting Bellatrix's gaze with a defiant one of his own.

"It's about time you changed out of your mourning robes, don't you think?" Bellatrix asked. It was clear to me that she was attempting to be nice, or as nice as Bellatrix could get - but her forced smile and the strain in her voice told otherwise.

Lack of subtlety will always show.

Lucius took up where Bellatrix had paused. "Death is a natural thing, Draco," he said coldly. "If you cannot handle it, perhaps I have failed in your upbringing."

"Oh, most natural," Draco repeated sarcastically.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Then why does it seem to hang so heavily on you?"

"Seems?" Draco echoed in a mocking tone. "There is no seems, father. What you see - is what is."

"Still..." Bellatrix started.

Draco stood up suddenly, cutting off her words. With a withering gaze in Bellatrix's direction, he spoke. "My mother was a great woman."

"We know," said Lucius. "No one knows that better than I. But the dead are dead. And it would greatly displease me if you were to leave the Manor."

So the rumours were true, after all. I made a mental note to pay more attention to the hearsay that went around.

The fire in Draco's eyes that blazed when he looked at Bellatrix seemed to go dead. He returned to his seat. "It shall be as my father wishes," he murmured.

"Excellent." Bellatrix smiled. "Meeting dismissed." She got up and swept out of the room with Lucius.

I gathered my robes around me and headed to the door, casting one last glance at Draco. He sat, frozen like stone, looking down at his hands with an unreadable expression on his face.

I thought little of it at that time, having more pressing issues on my mind and retaining the belief that he would get over Narcissa's death. Eventually.

How wrong I was.



From the Journal of Ginny Weasley

Laertes.
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.

Ophelia.
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

- "Hamlet", 1.3


He came again today. The rat-faced man, the one who speaks in my head.

I heard him telling Ron something - something about him going away, far far away. To Latvia. Or was it Lithuania? My memory seems spotty nowadays. When I reread my entries from last year, I can't seem to remember what happened. It's there in writing, on the paper... but not in my mind... not at all. Why?

Ron seemed very angry. But then the nice voice spoke to me, and told me it was all okay. That he would be taken care of. That he just didn't understand, now. It would all become clear, in time - to me, and to him.

And then I think Ron said something, but I don't know what it was. I must have been hallucinating.

Then the voice continued. Ginny, it said, listen to me. Do you remember the man we talked about the other day?

Yes, I said. I remembered him. The voice had told me he was tall and blond, and very handsome. He'd said I was to marry him. Because he was from a family that some people didn't like, but everyone liked my family, so if we got married they would like him too and his parents and there would be no more loneliness for them.

I was happy I remembered something.

Yes, I said. I remember him.

Very good! The voice sounded pleased. Okay, now, try to follow me. Do you know what is meant by playing hard to get?

I hesitated. Some part of my memory seemed to pulsate at the phrase. Playing hard to get? I felt sure I'd done it before, but I couldn't remember with who. Michael - was his name Michael?

I gave up trying to remember. I knew what it meant and I could say yes to the voice, and that was all that mattered. Yes.

Well done. I could almost hear a smile in my head. I shall bring you to see him in two days' time. And I want you to play hard to get. He'll like you better that way.

I knew the voice couldn't be wrong, so I nodded. Yes, I said.

Good. Go to sleep, now.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as the voice left, because that's all I can remember before waking up again. But I am to see him in two days! How exciting.

My head hurts. I must not be getting enough rest.

Will write again soon.

- ginny.



The Narrative of Harry Potter

The time is out of joint - O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!

- Hamlet, "Hamlet", 1.5


I.

It wasn't my idea to write this.

I guess that's not the most important thing you should know, but it's something I want to say anyway. It was Lavender who first decided that we should write down the story, and that I should have a part in it. A big part. "Because, Harry," she said, "you're The Boy Who Lived Again."

I didn't want to, at first. But I had to - for a reason you'll find out later.

With any luck, when this is over, this catharsis thing might actually happen for me.


II.

Beginnings are harder than endings, I think.

I don't really want to talk about my time in the dungeons. This isn't my story, for once. It's Malfoy's, and although Lavender thought people would probably be interested to hear how they whipped, hexed and starved me, I managed to win that argument with her in the end.

But she said I couldn't avoid the dungeons altogether. And she's right.

I suppose I ought to start with the day Malfoy came to visit me for the first time. Day, or maybe night - it's impossible to tell, in the dungeons. Time just stops existing for you after a while because it's dark all the time.

I couldn't see his face when he first showed up. He had a few words with the guards, then one of them unlocked my cell door for him. I might have felt surprised, if I'd felt anything at all. The guards never opened the door to anyone other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. I'd seen enough of them to know that this visitor was neither.

He walked in. "Hello, Potter."

I knew who it was, then.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move closer. It was the first time we'd come face to face since the war ended. He looked the same. Just a bit more tired, perhaps.

His expression didn't change as he stepped before me, even though I'm pretty sure I didn't look the same. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. I was sure Lucius and Narcissa had given their son a really good description of how they'd tortured me over the past few weeks.

We didn't say anything, for a while. Then he spoke. "You're in better shape than I thought you'd be."

The way he said it seemed different from his usual mocking tone. It was almost - expressionless.

Then I noticed that he was all in black. Did he use to dress that way? I couldn't remember, but I thought the answer was no.

"Come to cast Cruciatus on me, Malfoy?" I asked.

Malfoy didn't answer. He jammed his hands in his pockets and seemed uncomfortable, for a while. Then he looked up. "There's something you should know. Even if no one else bothered to tell you."

His voice was utterly flat, and for some reason that disconcerted me more than any show of emotion would have had. This was Draco Malfoy, drama queen - the one who'd almost got Buckbeak executed in third year.

For a moment I wondered what had happened. Then it passed, and I remembered that Malfoy's well-being was none of my business.

"My mother died yesterday afternoon," he said, still holding my gaze with his empty grey eyes.

The news was something of a shock. But I can't honestly say I was sorry.

"Did she?" I asked. "How?"

"Food poisoning," Malfoy told me, with the same detachment as before. "That's what my Aunt Bellatrix says."

I couldn't help snorting derisively, for all that I was a dead husk of a human. You want to know what I think of your Aunt Bellatrix?

Malfoy eyed me dispassionately. "You're not sorry."

"No," I said. "Why should I be? I'm not sorry, Malfoy."

"I thought you wouldn't be." He smiled humourlessly. "That's why I came to see you."

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's hard to find anyone who's truthful in the Manor, nowadays." Malfoy continued.

I laughed bitterly. "Do you know why I'm being truthful? I don't care. I don't care who lives or dies anymore. It's hard to care if you're chained to a wall and haven't seen the sun in weeks."

"I know," Malfoy said unexpectedly. He looked up. "That's why I came to see you too."

Now I was utterly confused.

"I need someone who doesn't care, Potter," he said. "Don't you see?"

And suddenly, I did. I wasn't trying to see or anything. I just did. He was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy - the prince, if you like, of the Malfoy dynasty - the heir to the Manor. And someone like him would be surrounded by sycophants day and night. People who said one thing and perhaps meant another. People who hated him secretly. People who loved his power and nothing else.

I knew how it felt. I'd had my share of those, back in the day.

When you're in a position where people either love or hate you, it's impossible - near to impossible - to find anyone who's firmly in the middle. It's hard to explain if you haven't gone through it yourself. I'm not much of a writer.

In any case, I did understand what Malfoy meant, now. Wordlessly, I nodded.

Malfoy didn't say anything. He regarded me emotionlessly for a while, then started walking towards the door. Just as he was about to exit, he turned and looked at me again. "I'll see you, Potter."

Then he left, as swiftly and suddenly as he had come.

It was from that day onwards, I think, that I started feeling again. I'm not being melodramatic and all, it's just... true.

Two weeks later, Lavender came to speak to me. I don't think I need to add anything to her narrative. You know, for someone as silly as she is, she can be incredibly sharp when she wants to. Maybe that's why she's a Seer and I'm not.

So the next time Malfoy came to visit, I told him what Lavender had said. "Will you go and see her?" I asked.

Malfoy stood very still and looked at me silently for a while. Then he spoke. "Yes. But only if you're present as well."


III.

Lavender, as you might expect, kicked up quite a fuss when I told her about Malfoy's decision. It meant she would have to bring her crystal ball down to the dungeons - and according to her, the vibes there were all wrong, her inner Eye would be fogged by the darkness, her Sight would be clouded, and all of that.

She didn't give in until I pointed out to her, quite rightly too, that Narcissa Malfoy would be able to reach her no matter where if she wanted to speak badly enough. The very next night, they both came down together.

Malfoy led the way. Lavender, following behind with her crystal ball wrapped in black cloth, looked nervous. The guards gave Malfoy the customary nod and opened my door, then stepped away.

"Leave us," ordered Malfoy curtly.

The guards looked surprised, but they bowed respectfully and left without a word.

Lavender hesitated outside my cell.

"Come in," I said dryly. "I won't bite."

She seemed to snap out of a trance. "Of course you won't, Harry. But still..." She shivered. "This place gives me the creeps."

Malfoy gave her a contemptuous look. "Are you going to show me this vision, or not?"

Lavender got very flustered. I don't think I'll ever understand why Malfoy had that effect on people, since he was kind of short and not all that scary when you think about it. But that didn't stop everyone from being a little afraid of him, Lavender included.

"Oh! Of course, of course," she stuttered, and unwrapped her crystal ball.

We waited, and waited for something to appear. I think Lavender was probably the most anxious of us all. The most I felt was a detached sort of curiosity, and Malfoy just stood there staring into the murky crystal ball, not saying anything.

"Why isn't she coming?" muttered Lavender impatiently. She turned to me. "Harry, this is all your fault!"

"Thanks, Lavender," I said flatly.

Malfoy took his eyes off the ball and glared at Lavender. "In future, do not waste my time with fanciful tales of my mother's ghost."

Lavender looked like she was about to burst into tears. But just then - at the exact moment that Malfoy said my mother's ghost - the crystall ball flashed with a brilliant white light. And a white narcissus flower appeared.

"Look! Look!" cried Lavender. She held the crystal ball out to Malfoy. Her hands were trembling.

Malfoy took it. "Mother?" he asked quietly.

I think he wasn't aware anymore of the fact that Lavender and I were there, watching, and listening. He seemed wrapped up in a world of his own.

The white light brightened as Malfoy spoke. Then the flower flickered, and disappeared.

"Mother?" Malfoy said again, raising his voice almost imperceptibly.

The mist in the crystal ball swirled for a moment, then settled to form another image. I could barely see it from where I was, but it didn't seem like anything special to me - just a picture of shining silver dots.

When Lavender caught sight of it, however, her eyes went very wide and she clapped her hands to her mouth. All the colour had drained right out of Malfoy's face.

I couldn't help feeling rather put out. "What - "

Lavender whirled around fiercely. "Shhhhh!" she hissed.

The silver specks flashed again, then faded out and were replaced by another picture. I recognised this one - a dark, jet-black falcon.

"So. She did it," said Malfoy. His voice was unnaturally hard.

The narcissus flower appeared one last time. It seemed whiter than before, if that was possible. Then it vanished, and the crystal ball went blank.

Lavender grabbed it back hurriedly, and covered it with her black cloth. She looked at Malfoy. "What are you going to do?" she whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

"You should know," Malfoy said. He sounded bitter. "Haven't you learned anything in your time here, Brown?"

They seemed to be carrying on a secret dialogue. I didn't understand a word of it. "Will someone explain this to me?"

Lavender started to speak, but Malfoy held a hand up to her. He turned to face me. "My aunt killed my mother."

His voice was so measured and matter-of-fact that it took a while for this to sink in. "Your aunt?" I repeated dumbly.

Lavender nodded. "Bellatrix. The constellation. That's what the first picture was, and the falcon represents a deadly enemy. Of course, it's normally a tea leaf symbol, but once in a while..."

Malfoy had fallen silent again. His eyes were trained on the ground, and he seemed somewhere far away.

I didn't have to ask Lavender's question. "You're going to kill her," I said. It wasn't a query.

Malfoy looked up. His gaze was cold and icy. "I have to. She killed my mother."

At the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange - or, I suppose, Bellatrix Malfoy - finally getting what she deserved, a strange sort of feeling suddenly exploded in me. It took me a split second to realise that what I felt was satisfaction. Satisfaction at her death.

I don't know if I should have been alarmed, or worried that my gaolers' cruelty was rubbing off on me. I think I would have been if it had been anyone else, but that woman had killed so many others, including Sirius -

She'd had it coming for a long time.

"How are you going to do it?" I asked.

Malfoy smiled with a kind of malevolent pleasure. It was the first time since he'd started visiting that I'd seen him show any kind of emotion at all in his smile. "I'm going to feign madness."

"Feign madness?" Lavender repeated in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because my aunt doesn't trust me," Malfoy replied simply. "She thinks I'm going to kill her."

"You are," I pointed out.

"Yes, Potter, but she isn't supposed to know that." He smoothed out his cloak and gave Lavender a curt nod. "Let's go. And if you breathe a word of this, both of you - " he paused, turning back to glance at me, "you're dead."

With that, he left. Lavender lingered for a moment more. "Thanks, Harry," she said awkwardly. "I think he needed to know that. But why - "

"Why did he want me to be here?" I finished her question.

Lavender bit her lip, and nodded.

I can't say I hadn't been thinking about it, myself. I couldn't really answer her question, because with Malfoy, you can't ever be sure. But I tried anyway. "I think it's because... I don't care," I said, remembering our very first conversation.

"What do you mean?" asked Lavender.

"I mean I don't care. I'm chained to a wall. There aren't many things for me to care about, and no one really bothers with me either. Don't you realise what that means?"

Lavender shook her head. She looked even more confused than before.

"It means I'm the only person he can trust." I laughed. I don't know what I found so funny then, but there was something about the situation that seemed completely absurd. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Lavender stared. "You're mad. You and Draco."

"Imprisonment does that to you," I told her. "It did to me. And to him."

Lavender eyed me with a strange mix of fear and caution. "I should go now, before he finds me missing. Bye, Harry."

She turned, and walked quickly out of the dungeons, leaving me alone once more.

On to Act Two