FicWad

Author's Note: You guys are awesome, once again! Thank you for reading and all of you who reviewed! I absolutely enjoy reading every single one of them. I rewrote this chapter a few times until I finally found one that struck the vibe I was going for. I really hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: All that you recognize is owned by She-Who-Must-Be-Named, The-Publishing-House-That-Must-Be-Named, and the various Companies-Which-Must-Be-Named. In addition to that, I believe that I got the information in Hermione's spew about WWII from one of my professors.

Duality: Aftershock

oOo

The first thing that registered in his mind was the oppressive heat that hung around him like a thick curtain. It made even the simple task of breathing difficult. His shirt was sticking against his damp skin and he could feel beads of sweat dripping over him everywhere. His head was pounding and he opened his eyes a crack, only to squeeze them shut to keep the sharp throbbing pain in his head from intensifying.

It was too bright.

He could faintly hear people talking… voices. It was as if they were speaking in another room, making the voices sound cloudy and veiled. He couldn't understand a word of what they were saying.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was… being pulled into that compartment and getting hit by a stunner. His heart rate picked up and he moved his arms, feeling quite thankful that whoever attacked him didn't bind him – but that didn't mean anything.

Braving the bright light, Harry opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly and averting his eyes from the blurry set of lights above him. He lifted his hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and groaned at the movement. All his muscles felt stiff - his vision was still a bit hazy, even with his glasses. He was definitely in no shape to run at the moment and he couldn't find his wand.

He precariously rolled off the raggedy old mustard sofa he was laying on and hit the floor, shakily trying to stand up as the excruciating pounding in his head increased. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pain. It felt as if all the veins in his head were going to explode and he rubbed at his temples, trying to get it to stop if only for one moment so he could think clearly.

The skin prickled on the back of his neck when he heard the sound of a door opening and he was vaguely aware that someone was standing behind him. He knew he couldn't move too fast or that would make his head throb even worse so, slowly, he turned around ready to pounce when he came face to face with – Hermione?

"You shouldn't be up. You have a concussion," she scolded, her arms crossed over her bra-clad chest – Harry gaped just a bit – and her lips pressed together in that way that vaguely reminded him of McGonagall. But he couldn't fall for it. In the back of his mind Moody was screaming at him.

Constant vigilance!

Harry roughly shoved her hands away when she reached for him, desperately trying to ignore his aching head. "What do your parents do for a living?" Merlin, how many people knew that? Was that a good enough question to confirm her identity?

"They're dentists," Hermione answered, her hands persistently pressing him down to the sofa. "My father has his own practice. Harry, we're safe. Well… as safe as we can be," she reassured him, taking a sweat next to him on the sofa.

But Harry didn't feel very reassured. Whatever room they were in, it was hotter than the bloody sun and much too bright from the florescent lights that hung from the ceiling. He was surrounded by dingy grey brick, and only if he focused could he see things like the unfamiliar coffee table and the little kitchenette on the other side of the room. The windows were covered in newspaper. No, he definitely couldn't be calm.

Bloody hell, his head fucking hurt. He pressed his palms to his eyes to dull the throbbing.

"Where are we?" he croaked, his heart still playing a fast cadence against the walls of his chest. "Why's it so hot in here? What happened?"

Hermione wrapped her hands around his wrists and pulled them from his eyes. "Erm, a lot of things… happened. Sit still so I can fix your head." She suddenly had her wand in her hand and Harry backed up against the corner of the sofa, preparing himself to bolt.

"It might sting a tad for a couple seconds," she said, tapping her wand on his forehead lightly, muttering a stream of Latin that he didn't have the capacity to comprehend at the moment.

When she said sting, she wasn't joking. It felt like an electric shock sweeping through his brain and his vision momentarily went black. He clutched at his head, thinking he'd pass out from the sheer agony… He knew he should have bolted - he was going to die-

And as quick as the spell jolted him, it was gone, leaving him with an immense feeling of relief. It was almost as if he was floating and he blinked, his vision readjusting and sharpening from behind his glasses. Merlin, he almost forgot how good it felt to not have his head throb constantly. He panted heavily, hot air flooding his lungs as he stared, wide eyed, at Hermione. "It's really you, isn't it?"

"Of course," Hermione said in a short breath, rolling her eyes.

"Then could you explain what's going on?" Harry asked, the centre of his forehead creasing. "And where's your shirt?" He glanced down at her chest again, quickly averting his eyes after.

"Nott botched up the Climate Control spell and we've been trying to fix it, but they always start arguing. I can't figure out how to adjust it and it's not an easy spell to break either. Bloody idiots, I swear," Hermione fumed indignantly, running a hand through her bushy hair.

Climate Control spell… They. Idiots? Nott? Harry tried to get his thoughts in order. "Wait. Start over," he said, letting out a long breath. "The last thing I remember is being hit with a stunner."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, Zabini was acting a bit strange this morning at breakfast. I found it a little suspicious so I tried to keep an eye on him. I knew you said that Daphne was planning something with Malfoy, so I thought it was that and I kept close to him all morning." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "He went to use the loo on the train and I followed him. I thought I lost him, but then I caught him and Nott trying to kidnap you and I tackled them just as they Apparated. And we ended up here."

She gestured to the room with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "Somewhere in Muggle London – I haven't been able to explore much yet," she rambled. "Anyway… Nott, I guess, wanted to involve you in the plans with Malfoy so that's why they took you. Greengrass certainly isn't pleased… they've been arguing over it. That girl is absolutely maddening."

Harry's brows rose high on his forehead and he wiped the sweat dripping from his hair with his hand as he gazed at her. "But there isn't any plan with Malfoy anymore," he said, his mind reeling. There couldn't be any plan. He was done. "I sent Tonks to arrest him."

"Really?" She sounded very skeptical.

Harry nodded. "Just before I got on the train."

Brows furrowed, Hermione shook her head. "But she can't have possibly arrested him… Malfoy's here."

"What?" Harry stared at her incredulously. No… he didn't see Malfoy leave the Room of Requirement the entire train ride and he missed it when Tonks must have led him out.

But… maybe she couldn't find him? How could Malfoy be here? That was the part that wasn't possible. How?

"Yes," Hermione said, getting up from the sofa. She held her hand out to him to help him up. "I'll show you."

His legs felt lethargic and heavy as he moved, but his head was whirling with unrelenting thoughts and questions – his curiosity definitely piqued. Hermione led him out the shabby white door next to the sofa and down a strange corridor that reminded him of Mrs. Figg's root cellar and underground parking garages. The voices he had heard earlier were getting louder and louder, but he still couldn't make out what they were saying.

It was still hot as all bloody hell out in the corridor, even though the walls were made of grey brick and the floor was cement and it was winter – whatever spell Nott used, it was certainly powerful. Sweat poured down his back as he moved, making his t-shirt cling to him uncomfortably. Florescent lights hung from the ceiling and at the end of the corridor there was a set of dark blue industrial double doors with an old rusted exit sign hanging above it. Hermione pulled him through the door to the right of the exit.

"…and the fact that you're still standing here and not trapped on the seventh level of the Department of Mysteries for kidnapping Harry fucking Potter!"

"Theo knows what he's doing."

"That's hardly the point, Blaise."

"Well, who else do we know who's readily available, has a working knowledge of manipulation tactics, and probably knows far more about Death Eater psychology than us?"

It was all… not what Harry expected. Daphne, Nott, and Zabini were standing around a large table in the centre of the room, which was piled high with a mess of books, papers, bottles of Coca-Cola, boxes of takeaways, and various bits and bobs. They were all half naked, slightly injured, glistening with sweat, and screaming at each other with their wands in their hands. On the far wall behind them, there were six different scrying mirrors depicting various angles of Draco Malfoy bound to a chair in an empty room. He was seemingly out cold, with his head lolling over his shoulder – his sweaty blonde hair was plastered to his forehead. He'd probably have one hell of a crick when he woke up.

The wall to the right was covered with a blackboard, which contained a massive semantic word map – the likes of which Harry hadn't seen since primary school – that was completely on the subject of Malfoy. It was daunting to look at. On the opposite side, there was a tiny refrigerator, a pile of trunks and bags (including his and Hermione's), and a desk that was just as cluttered as the table in the centre of the room.

A very bruised and y-front clad Nott snatched Daphne's silver case off the table, briskly lighting a cigarette. "Afternoon, Potter," he greeted in an even tone when he spotted them, glancing over at Daphne with wary eyes. "Sorry 'bout the head, Blaise can get a little overzealous at times."

"He's Harry Potter," Zabini retorted, "I wasn't taking any chances."

"Whatever, it's fine – just tell me what the fuck is going on," Harry said, stalking over to the mirrors on the far wall, passing a very stoic Daphne. She was stripped down to her undergarments and he could see all the bruises and the cut up her side as clearly as ever. Shoving past his feelings, his eyes narrowed at Draco Malfoy, barely believing that the images were real. "Where is he?"

"He's in another room," Hermione answered, nodding her head toward the blackboard-covered wall. "Just down the corridor."

Satisfied with her answer, he addressed the three Slytherins, "And how did you get him here?"

No one spoke for the longest time. Nott and Zabini were staring cautiously at Daphne and she finally threw up her hands in an exasperated manner. "Oh, just go ahead and tell him already." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared resolutely elsewhere. "Lord only knows that everything else has gone completely pear shaped," she mumbled.

"Alright. We used a Signature Duplicating potion and a Compulsion Philtre to get him out of the castle this morning. Didn't exactly go as planned – that blasted elf didn't follow the instructions properly," Nott explained rapidly, inhaling deeply at his cigarette. "It took a whi-"

"Hold on – elf? When this morning?" Harry interrupted, his brows furrowed toward the Slytherin boy.

"Daph paid Dobby to apply the potions. We extracted him around five AM, give or take," Nott replied with an absentminded wave of his hand. "Anyway, we-"

"No," Harry cut in again, moving closer to Nott. "That can't be… I saw Malfoy at breakfast-"

"And you followed him, tied him up, and interrogated him?" Daphne asked dryly. Harry looked over at her, his eyes wide. How the hell did she know? She continued, "That was me. Polyjuice. Good wandwork, by the way. I almost dropped my cover."

"I sent Tonks to arrest him," Harry said, appraising her. He now noticed that some of the bruises marring here skin were long and stretched, a shadow of the ropes that once bound her. She had to be telling the truth. You couldn't hide that.

A wry smirk tugged at the corners of Daphne's lips. "Why am I not surprised," she muttered, looking away from him toward the blackboard. "Glad we got the bastard out of the castle when we did then."

"But having the Aurors arrest him was the original plan," Harry sternly pointed out, fixing her with a terse stare.

"Yes, but it's not a very satisfying plan, is it?" Daphne countered, raising an eyebrow toward him. "I doubt that sending Draco to Azkaban would be a permanent solution. The Dark Lord broke them out last year easily enough – I bet he could do it again."

"Not only that – all our work would be for naught," Nott chipped in, flicking the ashes off his fag into an empty takeaway box. "We'd never find out what he was up to unless my father was the one to interrogate him and only if I could somehow get him to give me the files on it. Slim chance of that ever happening."

"So… instead of that, you kidnap Malfoy and interrogate him yourself?" Harry deduced slowly, his brows furrowed, picking up the little details and connecting them. "That's the grand plan that you've been working on for weeks?"

"It's more difficult to kidnap someone at Hogwarts than you'd think," Zabini commented, taking a seat at the table, and sliding a pack of Davidoff's toward himself.

Turning to Daphne, Harry pursed his lips. "Why didn't you just tell me? Especially if you were going to… bring me into it anyway."

"It wasn't my idea to kidnap you – I had no part in it," Daphne said in a curt tone, her eyes narrowing. "Theo is under the impression that you're necessary for a successful interrogation."

"Death Eater psychology," Nott said with a nod, taking a drag off his cigarette. "I was friends with Draco when we were little, Blaise was friends with him when he got to Hogwarts, Daph was involved with him for a little bit, and Potter should cover the Death Eater aspect. All angles – it's important!"

"Well I can't very well stay here and help," Harry said, a little reluctantly. He'd actually love to help… it was tempting. "It's not safe for me to be here. The whole Order is probably looking for me."

Hermione shook her head, snorting derisively. "No, Nott has the covered…" she countered with a wry smile, looking both perturbed and amused. "He somehow got his hands on a time turner."

"I told you – you didn't destroy them all last year," Nott muttered irritably around his fag, smoke curling out his nose.

"Still suspicious." Hermione glared at him. "And you've yet to tell me how you got around the registration."

"Oh bloody hell, Granger, if you really need to know," Nott replied as if he had been through her questioning multiple times before, "I got it from an Unspeakable – they don't need to register them."

"Your father?" Harry discreetly guessed and Nott's sly crooked smirk told him 'yes' even though he didn't say anything. Hermione obviously didn't get the message. Harry interrupted before she could launch into a series of probing questions, like she usually did when something seemed amiss.

"Regardless of the whole… time turner thing," Harry said, "I still don't think it's safe for me to be here with Voldemort and his Death Eaters running around out there."

"Jesus, you seriously think he's going to look for you here?" Daphne asked with a breathy laugh. "Very unlikely. The worst things you'll find in these parts are thieves and muggers, and the occasional arms dealer or undertaker."

Harry glared at her blatant disregard for his safety – neither can live while the other survives, after all. "That's not really reassuring."

A small smile ghosted over Daphne's lips. "My wards'll hold up. If the Dark Lord walks by, you could open up the door and wave and he wouldn't even notice. And it'll be even safer at my house - I've a blood ward set there."

"He's not drinking your blood," Hermione suddenly protested. She stared at Daphne as if she had just gutted Crookshanks and made a hat out of him.

"Well, it was either that or set up unstable wards to exempt Muggles. My mother unfortunately has a social life; a blood ward covers that." Daphne raised an eyebrow toward the bushy-haired Gryffindor. "And you have to admit that Harry would be completely safe there."

Hermione glared. "It's very dark magic."

"It's more ancient than dark," Daphne retorted. "And anyway, if this truly is war and Harry is, indeed, the primary target, you seriously don't want to muck about with your light-hearted bullshit. It doesn't need to be more than a drop – and I won't use it for anything other than keeping him safe."

"I somehow doubt that," Hermione said stiffly, vigorously shaking her head. "I don't trust you."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Isn't the fact that we captured a Death Eater enough proof that you can trust us not to harm him?"

"Oi! Don't I get a say in this?" Harry asked when he got a chance to get a word in, staring at both girls warily. He didn't know much about blood magic. He'd heard things about it that were quite… nasty, but Daphne did have a point, as much as he hated to admit that.

Hermione sharply replied, "No!" at the same time Daphne said, "Of course." They glared at each other.

"You don't know how blood magic works, Harry. She could tether her magic to yours, or she could use it to track you, or she could bind your actions to her-"

"One drop is not enough to do those things! He'd need to drink a whole vial for any of that," Daphne said briskly, crossing her arms over her chest. "And tethering magic involves a rather extensive blood exchange, or didn't you read Mordred's Bloud Magicka?"

Hermione huffed.

"I'll do it," Harry found himself saying. Daphne smiled at him and his heart clenched just a little. He pushed past it quickly. There were more important things to focus on – like the fact that he could spend two whole weeks with the Slytherins interrogating Malfoy away from the oppressive Order that barely told him anything because he was 'underage'.

The relief of washing his hands of the whole Malfoy situation was nothing compared to being involved in this process of interrogating him. Excitement was nipping at his heels and he couldn't wait to get started. Christmas had definitely come early this year. He just hoped that the dark cloud that was his and Daphne's relationship didn't loom over them too much.

oOo

A half hour later – after everyone had calmed down a little – they sat around the table, munching on fish and chips that they had under a stasis charm to keep fresh. Empty packets of crisps and sweet wrappers littered the table. Hermione had a pile of kittens in her lap and was bottle feeding them while Crookshanks pawed at her knees. Apparently, she and Zabini had gone back to King's Cross to collect their things shortly after she was filled in on the situation. Relaxing back in his chair, Harry sipped at a bottle of Coca-Cola, secretly relishing in the Muggle-ness of it all. He loved the food at Hogwarts, but sometimes he missed the secret pleasures of good old Muggle junk food and fizzy pop that he rarely ever got at the Dursleys.

"So," Harry asked slowly, "have you started with Malfoy yet?"

"I've tried a few times. But at the rate we're going, we'll get a confession out of him sometime in 1998," Nott said miserably. "It's like he's… closed up. Stubborn bastard."

"If you let me at him, I'll get him to open up nice and wide," Daphne said with a feral smile. She took a drag off her cigarette and leaned back in her chair.

"No – too dangerous. You're much too emotionally attached to the subject," Nott countered, firmly shaking his head. "And I really don't want to have to deal with you torturing him."

"I wouldn't torture him, even if it is an appealing idea," Daphne deliberated. "However, I think that your 'love for Daddy' theory is absolute crap."

"No it's not! It's legitimate! Those who feel strong respect for their father figures are generally more likely to confide in those who remind them of their father," Nott explained in an exasperated rush. "It's all up there! Can't you see it?" He gestured to the immense blackboard behind him and Harry confusedly glanced over at it, squinting and closely inspecting the semantic word map for the first time. It was bloody difficult - the board was practically white from how much writing it contained.

The lines that connected the large box in the centre – containing 'Draco Malfoy' – to the smaller box 'Lucius Malfoy' branched off into even smaller boxes that housed the words 'Fear', 'Respect', and 'Ambition'. In turn, those branched off into different clusters of boxes that Harry couldn't read from this far away. Staring at the 'Lucius Malfoy' box, he replayed Nott and Daphne's words in his head – if Nott was interrogating Malfoy, acting like his father…

"How does that work? You definitely don't remind me of Lucius Malfoy, and Malfoy already knows you pretty well, doesn't he?" Harry asked, his brows furrowed. After all, not only did Nott sleep with Malfoy, Nott also said that they were friends when they were little.

"Draco doesn't know it's me," Nott answered with a wave of his hand. "We're using triple-layer glamours, so the only thing that Draco knows is that I have blonde hair and grey eyes and a similar stature to Lucius Malfoy. Then I just have to emulate his father a bit, which is – shockingly – the most difficult part."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure that it's not gonna work," Daphne said, a cynical look washing over her face.

Zabini cut in, "I'm with Daph. He loves his mother more, anyway."

"Then, by all means," Nott drawled, "enlighten me. How should we do it?"

"Have you tried playing on his fears?" Hermione asked, looking up from the grey little kitten she was feeding and wiping the sweat from her brow. "Like threatening him with the authorities? Making him think that you're the authorities?"

"No, I've already tried that – didn't work," Harry said absentmindedly, shaking his head. Then he paused and his lips parted as he remembered... "Sorry. Nevermind." He'd nearly forgotten that 'Myrtle's bathroom Malfoy' was really Daphne polyjuiced as Malfoy.

"He's never been afraid of authority," Daphne intoned, bitterness seeping into her voice ever so slightly. "His parents have always been there to get him out of trouble. And if it wasn't his parents, it was Snape or Umbridge."

The mention of Umbridge always made the fading scar on the back of Harry's hand tingle.

"We could use Snape as an angle," Nott suggested with a shrug.

"No…" Harry muttered. "He and Snape are – erm." How could he possibly word this? "I followed them during Slughorn's Christmas party and I listened in on their conversation. I think they're working together or something, only Malfoy won't tell Snape what he's up to because he's afraid that Snape will steal his glory. And Snape made an Unbreakable Vow to Malfoy's mum to protect Malfoy… I still haven't been able to make much sense of it."

"Well there goes the Snape plan – too bad," Zabini commented dryly. "An Unbreakable Vow though? That's excessive, even for Snape."

"Snape's his godfather," Nott educated, his mouth half full of chips. "It's not all that farfetched."

Harry's brows rose. Now the Unbreakable Vow bit made more sense to him – among other things. Like how Snape immediately treated Malfoy as a favourite as soon as he walked into Hogwarts and that never ceased even to this day. Nevertheless, it was strange that the greasy git could be anyone's godfather.

"I still think you should let me have a go," Daphne said, her voice cutting through the thoughtful silence that had settled amongst the group. "I pinned him down with Legilimency – that seemed to frighten the hell out of him. If we're going to play on fears why not let me go back in there and do it again?"

"No." That was the only thing that Nott said, throwing her a hard, penetrating stare.

"How do you pin someone down with Legilimency?" Hermione asked, staring at Daphne with one of her 'ravenous for knowledge' looks that Harry knew all too well.

"It's… ah…" Daphne shifted in her seat, inhaling deeply at her dwindling cigarette, her brows furrowed. "You're of age, right?" Hermione nodded. "I'll just show you sometime then. Easier to demonstrate." Hermione's lips quirked and Daphne smirked in return, which was a stark contrast to the constant glaring they were doing at each other not too long ago over the blood ward.

Harry gave up hope at ever understanding women.

"I've got nothing," Zabini said in a miserable tone. "His weaknesses are… hard to exploit in these circumstances. And torturing him is out."

"Well, he's an ego-dominant personality type – those are always the hardest to break, especially if they're working for some sort of cause," Nott said resentfully, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Usually they have a few weaknesses, yet I could barely begin the approach before he closed up – the rapport was abysmal. Bloody failure."

Harry wasn't completely surprised. If someone like Snape – the dubious master superspy double agent – couldn't get Malfoy to tell him what his plan was, Harry wasn't certain if they could. What could Malfoy be doing for Voldemort that warranted such secrecy?

"Yeah… shall we refer to the board then?" Zabini asked, gesturing to the blackboard and Nott and Daphne murmured in agreement.

The next five minutes, they all stood in silence along the vast semantic word map. Up close, Harry could see all the intricate details and could clearly read the clusters of interconnecting boxes that all stemmed from the large box in the middle labeled 'Draco Malfoy'. He wondered how long it took Nott to draw it up – it covered nearly everything about Malfoy that he knew and many things that he didn't know. He held back a chuckle as he read the box containing 'Complete Brat' in the 'Childhood' cluster, which had 'possible kleptomaniac as child' scrawled below it. That definitely wouldn't help them now.

What could they exploit in order to garner a confession out of the blonde Slytherin…?

Harry's eyes trailed from box to box and from cluster to cluster, looking at the little scribbled notes in the webs connecting the boxes – things like 'cruelty' and 'are you afraid of things you don't understand?' wrapped around boxes labeled 'Power', 'Control', 'Fear' and 'Daphne Greengrass', all interconnected. It gave him an odd… ominous feeling that reminded him of the way Daphne looked at him in that empty classroom just yesterday, so vulnerable. 'It's not something I like to talk about,' she'd said. That seemed like so long ago. Now he was here, obviously somewhere in Muggle London, and Draco Malfoy was strapped to a chair in another room, sleeping through the heat.

'Bizarre' didn't even begin to describe it all.

Though now he could see why fixing the Climate Control spell wasn't at the top of Nott's 'to do list'. Malfoy was a definite priority and it really didn't matter how irritating it was to feel sweat dripping down his back every time he moved. In fact, he was even starting to get used to it, and Daphne was unfortunately an all too welcome sight, despite being covered in all those… bruises and scrapes and that deep cut up her side.

Sure, she shamelessly threw his heart down the sewer, but he couldn't deny the attraction. And her injuries served to push him further to think of different ways that he could get Malfoy to relent, if only to curse the bloody bastard for doing that to her afterward.

He kept glancing at the box containing the word fear, his mind conjuring images of Voldemort standing over his Death Eaters writhing under the Cruciatus Curse. If Malfoy was working for Voldemort, doing something for him, he probably was more afraid of being at the end of Voldemort's wand then he was at the hands of Nott, Daphne, and Zabini, which was likely why he wasn't talking.

In that sudden moment of clarity, Harry picked up a piece of chalk and drew a line from the box containing the word 'fear' to the box containing the words 'Dark Lord'. "That's what you're missing," he said. "He doesn't fear you lot as much as he fears him."

"Interesting," Nott remarked, tilting his head. "So basically…" He paused and let out a breath, his eyes getting that faraway look in them like they did when he was thinking hard about something. "You're saying we should make him fear us even more than the Dark Lord?"

"Or maybe," Hermione mused, the grey kitten in her arms squirming, "we could threaten to turn him over to Voldemort as a traitor. A similar tactic was used during World War II on Japanese prisoners of war. The Japanese considered being captured a fate worse than death. The prisoners of war were very tight-lipped and often tried to kill themselves any chance they got because they brought nothing but shame and dishonor upon their country by being captured, even worse if they had betrayed their country's secrets. And they had nothing to return to after the war because their families would disown them, so those who captured them offered the prisoners asylum in their own countries if they talked. Apparently, it worked."

"An ultimatum," Zabini muttered, nodding his head appreciatively. "Give us the information and we'll keep you safe or we'll turn you over to the Dark Lord."

"No." Harry shook his head. "Voldemort would torture him for being captured, but he would probably reward him for keeping his silence. Malfoy'd need to tell us whatever he's doing before that plan would work."

"We could plant a false memory," Nott proposed.

"We'd have to know what he was doing first to be able to do that," Harry countered, rubbing the sweat away from his eyes underneath his glasses. "We can't just guess when it comes to Voldemort. He'd know if something was off. He's… smart."

"So we're back to the original idea of making him fear us more than he fears the Dark Lord," Daphne said, letting out a short irritated breath. Then she perked up. "Does this mean that we get to torture him?"

"Ugh, torture doesn't work," Nott scoffed, the centre of his forehead creasing. "It only gets you a bunch of quick lies to make the pain stop."

"Well, how 'bout sleep deprivation?" Daphne asked, biting her lip contemplatively.

"Takes too long," Zabini countered, scrunching up his nose.

Daphne shrugged. "Can't hurt. We've only two weeks. We need every possible advantage."

They all agreed on that, at least.

Absentmindedly rubbing at his scar, Harry's mind whirled to how Voldemort treated his Death Eaters. Torture was used quite often as punishment, it seemed. Was that what they feared? Torture? Death? Why did the Death Eaters follow him anyway if that's where it got them?

Blood purity was one reason, of course. They also probably followed Voldemort because he was a powerful wizard who they believed could get things done. Then there were the demented ones like Bellatrix Lestrange who probably simply followed so she could torture and kill people. And then Lucius Malfoy who seemed to want nothing put power and fortune. Wormtail, who probably did it out of fear, the bloody rat…

But why would Draco Malfoy follow Voldemort? Was it the power? The glory? Was he nothing but a carbon copy of his father – taking his place in the Malfoy line of Death Eaters? Malfoy was also a bit of a coward though. So it was likely that there was fear involved as well – any sane person would fear Voldemort at least a little bit. Yet… how could they possibly replicate that type of fear in less than two weeks? How could they replicate the type of fear that Voldemort had been cultivating across the entire wizarding society for the past thirty years?

Harry relayed his thought process to the others, who simply stared at him when he finished. Nott looked introspective, Hermione was nodding hopelessly, and Daphne and Zabini's expressions were unfathomable the entire time.

"I've no idea…" Harry muttered finally, trailing off with a sigh.

Then, Nott shrugged, a determined look bubbling up onto his face as he grabbed at the neat pile of papers and books on the corner of the table. He plucked out a stack of parchment that was stamped with the word 'CLASSIFIED' across the title. Harry just barely got a glimpse of the words 'Sortilege Manual' and the emblem of the Department of Mysteries before Nott shuffled it to the back of the stack.

"Might as well break out the big stuff then," Nott said, deftly flipping through the mass of parchment. "Daphne, layer Blaise up so he can go wake the subject. We've no time to waste fucking around if we're going to do this properly."

The sinister glint in Nott's eyes made Harry just a little bit worried for what was to come.

oOo

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and please review!