Cheryl Dyson

Chapter Forty – Draco’s Fan Club

            Draco was mortified.  “That’s low, even by the Dark Lord’s standards.”

            “I suspected it last time we were here,” Hermione said.  “It looked as if the soil had been disturbed somewhat recently.  I didn’t want Harry to know, for obvious reasons.”

            “How the hell are we going to get it out of there?”

            Ron was watching them both.  His complexion was ashen.

            “What are you talking about?” Neville asked in confusion.

            Hermione looked at him gravely.  “We think there is something buried in Lily Potter’s grave that is important to Voldemort.  Something we need to retrieve and destroy.”

            Neville was aghast.  “But, that’s… that’s sick!”

            Hermione nodded.  “Quite his style, though.  It would amuse Voldemort to defile the grave of the woman who brought his worst enemy into the world.  Especially if you consider the effect it would have on Harry.”

            “Are you positive about this?” Draco asked.  For reply, Hermione cast a spell.  A glowing webwork of lines hovered over the grave and disappeared into the ground.  Draco swore lightly.

            “What is it?” Ron asked.

            “Some sort of warding.”  Hermione passed her hand through a glowing line with no effect.  “It won’t be triggered by surface movement, but I bet the minute we try moving the dirt we’ll be surrounded by Death Eaters.  Or Voldemort himself.”

            “What if we approached it from a different angle?” Draco suggested.  “Like we did at the Riddle house?”

            Hermione looked around.  “You mean dig beyond the ward lines and then angle toward the grave?”

            He nodded.

            “The wards likely extend all the way around the coffin.  That would be a lot of digging, too.  I’d rather break the spell.”

            “Can you?” Ron asked.

            “I think so.  It would be similar to the working we did with… with the Cup.  Contain and dissipate.”

            “We can’t do it now.”

            “Of course not.  We haven’t the time, for one thing.  Nor are we prepared.  We’ll have to come back.”

            “When?”

            “Better sooner than later, but we’ll have to do so without alerting Harry, or the Order of the Phoenix.  Neville can stand in for Harry.  Since Luna hates to Apparate, she can stay behind and keep an eye on Harry.  Tonight is too soon—we need to gather supplies and I need to research these wards.”

            “You know there will be other traps in place, as well,” Draco commented.  She nodded.

            “We’ll have to be prepared for anything.”

            “All right then,” Draco said.  “Let’s concentrate on the meeting with Snape.  I’m not sure I want him to know I’ve been making nice with Harry Potter.  As you said, we have no grasp of his motives.  His hatred of The Boy Who Lived has always seemed genuine.”

            “The four of us will hang back, out of sight.  You can signal if you need us.”  Hermione touched the coin on her chest.  Draco shook his head.

            “If it is a trap, there will be Death Eaters hanging about, as well.  It’s too bad we didn’t think to use Polyjuice Potion—you could all impersonate Muggles.”

            “Maybe we can, anyway.  Enough to pass cursory inspection, that is.  How many Death Eaters can recognize us on sight?  Except for Lucius Malfoy, none of them has more than a passing acquaintance with any of us.”

            Ron laughed shortly.  “Yeah, passing over several blasts from a wand while they were trying to kill us.”

            “Exactly.  Now, how did you swap hair colors with Harry?  That will be a good start.”

            Draco spent the next forty minutes playing hairdresser, and having far too much fun with it, he admitted to himself.  They tried several hair colors on Hermione and finally settled on platinum blonde.  She worked on straightening it while Draco moved on to Luna.  Draco had to conjure a mirror for her so she could admire her new mouse-brown hair streaked with pink and violet.

            “Are you sure Muggles do this to their hair?” Draco asked Hermione dubiously.

            “She won’t draw a second glance,” Hermione assured him.  Neville was given a similar treatment with hair a vibrant shade of lime green that Hermione teased into wild spikes.  She transfigured his clothing into black leather with silver studs.  Longbottom was mortified, but utterly unrecognizable.  Luna giggled at him.

            “You two look a pair,” Hermione commented.  She gave Luna a short black shirt overlaid with black organza and fishnet stockings.  A hot pink tank top was covered with a long black jacket.  Luna admired herself in the mirror from every angle.

            Then it was Ron’s turn.  He and Draco glared at each other.

            “Too bad we can’t get rid of Weasley’s freckles.  We could shave him bald and it would still be obvious he’s a Weasley.”

            “Maybe we can get rid of them,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

            Ron looked worried.  “What are you going to do?” he asked nervously.

            “Don’t worry, it’s just makeup.”

            She produced a small round case and proceeded to powder Weasley’s face—which wasn’t easy since he squirmed like an eight-year-old the entire time.  Draco marveled at the bickering the two exchanged.  How could Weasley even think to be romantic toward Hermione?  She acted more like his mum than a girlfriend.

            “It bloody stinks!” Ron protested.

            “I don’t care if it’s Eau de Skunk, it’s working.  Or would be if you’d hold still.”

            “How long can this take?  You’ve been over my nose six times.”

            “Well, you have a lot of freckles there!”

            “If I wrinkle my nose, my whole face will crack.”

            “Then don’t wrinkle your nose, dimwit.”

            “Don’t call me dimwit.  Gaaah!  You got some in my mouth!  It tastes awful!”

            “If you would shut up, you wouldn’t get it in your mouth.  Now hold still!”

            “How do you girls wear this crap?  It’s horrid.”

            Hermione sighed in exasperation, but finally finished and looked at her handiwork with a grin at Draco.

            “Not bad,” he admitted and tapped Weasley on the head with his wand.  A bit harder than warranted, perhaps.  Weasley glared.  His hair turned pitch black.  “For some reason, he still looks like a Weasel.”

            Hermione conjured some gel and slicked Ron’s hair straight back.  Then she turned his clothing into a black Muggle suit and tie.  She giggled at the outcome.

            “That’s better.  You look like a young funeral home director.  Or a used car salesman.”

            Draco and Ron looked at each other in incomprehension, but neither asked.  It was enough that Ron was no longer identifiable.  Neither was Hermione.  With her hair straightened, it now hung far below her waist.  She made a stunning blonde.  She had changed her clothing into a short, pale green dress with a high waist and delicate pink flowers.  White sandals covered her feet.  She topped the outfit with a white jacket to hold her wand.  She wouldn’t have looked out of place at one of his mother’s garden parties, except that no witch would ever be caught dead in a skirt that short.

            “What about you, Malfoy?” Ron asked.   Draco shook his head.

            “Why bother?  I don’t want Snape scrutinizing every face looking for me.  If it’s to be a trap, I’d rather be the bait than the catch.”

            “How are we going to Apparate to Stonehenge in broad daylight?  Popping out of nowhere is certain to give the Muggles a fright and send the Ministry seeking our blood.”

            “It doesn’t help that the damned place is on a bloody flat, barren plain.”

            “There are a few trees, though.  Do you recall?  A rather long walk, granted, but we have time.”

            Draco sighed.  “No help for it.  Weasley, have you been there?”

            Ron nodded.  “Yeah.  I think I remember the trees, too.  I can get there.”

            “Longbottom?”

            “It’s been too long.  I barely recall the stones.”

            “I’ll take you through, then.  Hermione can take the flibbertigibbet.  Shall we?”