CH-33

I wonder if Malfoy knows anything about our fight. Was he there tonight, in Bristol? I wouldn't have known even if I'd seen him, since I've never seen his mask before.

Then I think of Blaise. No, he can't get caught or killed. He still hasn't gotten an answer for me as to which Death Eater might have been the one who released me. I'll tell Malfoy that he's missing. They used to be best friends—I'm almost sure that Malfoy would help if he knew that Blaise might be captured.

But I suppose Blaise could possibly be all right. After all, he didn't return until late morning the day after the battle at the Leaky Cauldron.

I have to be patient.

Damn it, Malfoy, I need you. Where'd you go?

I lie down on the small cot that I conjured for myself, look up at the roof of the tent, and let out a tired sigh.

It's been just over a week since I last saw Granger, and the separation is almost painful. I haven't been able to watch over her at all either—I've been traveling with Macnair, and his constant presence is suffocating me.

Our mission was to go up north to Durmstrang and recruit the seventh years—Voldemort had allowed Durmstrang to continue running as usual in order to keep feeding skilled students into his army.

Karkaroff was resentful of me and tried to avoid speaking to me as much as possible, but Macnair seemed to enjoy his reaction whenever I gave him an order, so I was forced to boss him around for most of our short trip.

"What are you thinking about, Malfoy Jr.?"

"That's none of your business, Macnair," I say, sitting up.

"There were more recruits this year than last," he says, switching to a new topic randomly. He seems to do that often. "I think those sniveling kids are learning which side is the winning side."

"Seeing as the people who refuse are tortured or killed, I don't think it's a hard lesson to learn," I say dryly.

He frowns. "It's going to be a sad day when none of them refuse anymore. I'll have to find someone new to torture."

I hold back a grimace and turn to face him, letting my legs hang off the makeshift bed. "Yes. Shame, that is. It'll take a long time before all the Mudbloods are gone, so you shouldn't have to worry about that for a while."

His face lights up with glee, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. I hate this man.

"Speaking of Mudbloods—"

Fuck, here we go again.

"—I caught a married couple, a few hours after you left my flat last week," he says.

I don't want to hear this.

"Had to leave them hanging by their ankles for a while, though, because there was that nasty bit of business about hiding the dagger."

Dagger? That I'm interested in. I still don't know what Voldemort wanted with it. "Where'd you hide it?" I ask casually.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I like you boy, but I can't tell you that. Top secret orders."

I grin mischievously. "What's a little secret between partners?"

"No, no. The Dark Lord will know if I've said anything. I know you're skilled in Occlumency, but I'm bloody rotten at it."

I laugh and wonder whether I can get him to tell me by accident. To keep him talking, I ask, "What did you do to the Mudbloods when you returned?"

"Well, turns out they had a Mudblood boy who went to Hogwarts, so they knew about us Death Eaters, and they begged for me to let them go. I, of course, decided to act as though I was considering it. They offered me a house, a bloody car, as if I'd benefit from owning any of that shit."

"What'd you start them off with?" I ask.

"I set fire to the wife's hair. Oh, the screaming was lovely."

He smiles at the memory, and I force myself to smile as well.

"I think I singed her scalp a bit," he says.

I shake my head. "Getting clumsy there, Macnair."

"It sure worried her husband, though," he says, laughing. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

"Yeah, wish I'd been there," I say, smirking.

"I told you that you should've stayed."

"You had the dagger to look after though, didn't you?"

"Oh, it didn't take long. Just a quick trip to Borgin and Burkes, and I was back. Didn't take long at all."

Bingo. The dagger must be in Borgin and Burkes. Might be a useful piece of information in the future, but honestly I don't know what to do with it, at the moment.

"I didn't know they were still open," I comment.

"Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Borgin has always been supportive of the Dark Lord's noble quest. Naturally, he is not to be punished by losing his business."

I nod in agreement. "Naturally."

"Now what were we talking about?"

"I was about to tell you that I wanted to get some sleep. We have to be up in two hours to report to the Dark Lord," I lie.

"Yes, of course," Macnair says.

I'm thankful for his faulty memory. He is getting up in years, after all.

I lie back down on the cot, close my eyes, and wonder what Granger's up to.

It takes about half an hour before Macnair's breathing deepens, and I'm sure he's asleep. I shift onto my side, facing away from him, and draw the charm out from beneath my shirt. I hold the charm tightly in my fist and concentrate on tomorrow's date, half past three in the afternoon.

I reach my cottage a few minutes ahead of time. I can't wait until she arrives. I have to see her, have to speak to her.

The meeting with Voldemort this morning was almost pleasant, which was strange. He was extremely pleased with the two of us and said that he would have something even better in store for us soon. That statement made me slightly uneasy, but Macnair was practically bubbling with joy.

After returning to the Manor, I argued with my father yet again, but Aunt Bella interceded and told me to go to my room, where my mother was waiting for me.

I'm positive now that there's a traitor in the Order.

My mother complained that my father was nearly killed a few days ago, when the Order attempted to attack one of our camps near Bristol. Voldemort had known about the attack in advance and arrived to kill Potter, but Potter hadn't come. According to Mother, many members of the Order were killed. But she has a tendency to make huge affairs out of nothing, so I can't trust her judgment.

Then I hear her voice and snap out of my thoughts.

"Malfoy."

I stop pacing and look up to see her standing behind the couch. She looks tired.

"Granger. I heard about what happened at Bristol."

"Heard about it? Then you weren't there."

I shake my head. "No. How's the Order?"

"We're all right," she says. "We think there's a traitor. Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"Sorry, no. But I can help you narrow it down. The traitor had to have known about your plans to attack us at the Leaky Cauldron and Bristol, but they can't have known about Nottingham. If they did, I'm sure Voldemort would have known, and it wouldn't have been so successful for you."

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