Disclaimer: The characters and plot from JK Rowling's Harry Potter series are not owned by Fowl Ole Ron

THE LAST THREAD

By Foul Ole Ron

Chapter Two

Blood Traitor

Harry Potter sits in the kitchen of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, sipping tea and wishing fervently that he was still asleep. Opposite him, Professor Severus Snape sits rigidly in his chair, staring blankly out the kitchen window. He hasn't said a word to Harry since his sudden arrival ten minutes ago, and he hasn't moved a muscle. It doesn't even look as though he is going to bother to make an unscheduled report to Dumbledore. Harry notices that he has a shallow scratch across his hooked nose, but apart from that looks as sullen as usual, if a little dazed. For the past ten minutes, Harry has been struggling with the obvious question, but due to the utter loathing Snape harbors for him, he needs to word it carefully.

"Professor?" he asks cautiously. Even though Snape is no longer his professor, addressing him as 'Severus' or even 'Snape' is not advisable. Snape's sallow face snaps around and his obsidian eyes stare directly into Harry's own,

"Sent down here to wait for me, were you?" he asks, his even tone laced with its usual underlying menace, "Hardly an appropriate candidate to comfort me in my possible torment, but maybe no one was really expecting me to return?" Typically, Snape's face is completely closed. Harry sighs. Although he has long ago come to terms with the fact that life is just one long catastrophe after another, his natural optimism rears its ugly head whenever the latest disaster has abated. It's the only way he can survive. Other people have different ways. Snape, for example, cherishes absolutely no hope for himself or anyone else. He is so excruciatingly self-absorbed and broiling with unresolved feelings of guilt and injustice that he looks no further than fulfilling his duty and living to see another day of his miserable life. This, Harry reflects, is part of what makes him the perfect spy. His belief that the world has somehow deliberately wronged him coupled with his eternal guilt make him wretchedly determined to save his own skin while at the same time steadfastly loyal due to a desperate wish to make up for past crimes. This is of course a theory proposed by Harry's friend Hermione Granger. Harry suspects that this kind of thing is actually what Ronald Weasley calls crazy psychobabble thought up by nutters with too much time on their hands, and so is inclined to ignore it most of the time. Looking at Snape now, Harry notes that it is not entirely inaccurate. Possibly very true, in fact. Although he almost never feels sorry for Snape, there is a faint twinge of pity now. The perfect spy may have been undermined through no fault of his own, and Harry knows that the perfect spy is all Snape has. Harry wishes he could have been assigned some other duty, but Dumbledore won't let him anywhere near Draco Malfoy. Too many feelings involved. Harry would be unbelievably angry that Dumbledore does not credit him with enough maturity to deal with old school boy feuds by now, but he has decided that he is also mature enough to accept his marching orders in times of crisis.

"Well, we were worried," he says, trying to sound neutral, "We aren't completely sure what's happening yet-"

"Oh, you were worried were you? Lovely. I am glad. I have some news that will worry you even more, Potter, and there isn't a single thing you can do about it-"

"Sir, you need to-"

"I don't need to do anything, Potter," says Snape tonelessly, "I have failed the order. All is lost, as they say-"

"Professor Snape," cuts in Harry. Now what is he supposed to say? He has no way of telling what has happened to Snape or how much he knows, "We know about the traitor-"

"Traitor?" Snape's sits up even straighter, his voice is sharp.

"Draco Malfoy arrived earlier this morning. He told us about Voldemort's plan to attack the order at midnight tonight-"

"Draco Malfoy?" Harry nods, a little irritably,

"Yes. Although I don't why you didn't hear of it beforehand." He can't resist a little jibe. But Snape cringes so uncharacteristically that he feels slightly guilty.

"I knew nothing of it," Snape snarls, rising to his feet, "Nothing. The Dark Lord has been feeding me false information for a week. It is fortunate I have not had time to report it. I barely escaped with my life tonight. And now you tell me there is a traitor? What of the fidelius charm? What of all our secrecy?" Snape's eyes are burning with anger, and what Harry now recognizes as self-loathing.

"We don't know," he replies levelly, "Yet." Snape is now trembling as he processes what Harry has told him.

"Who?" he spits, and his nose is suddenly inches from Harry's own. Harry is not impressed, but he long past being provoked by Severus Snape. Harry meets his gaze calmly, although calm is the opposite of what he feels,

"Ginny Weasley," he replies.

(iii)

Hermione Granger stares glumly into the obscenely cheerful fire. She has been given the duty of watching over Malfoy's unconscious body. She is not quite sure how that happened. Something to do with being the kindest, most generous member of the order, she suspects. Malfoy has again been dispatched from consciousness by the increasingly paranoid Moody . Three times in the space of two hours – and perhaps more before that due to his drunken state upon arrival – it is possible that he is irrevocably damaged. Hermione sighs as she sees the first stirrings of wakefulness. No such luck. She quickly makes sure his bonds are secure before standing back to watch. Malfoy lets out a groan,

"Oh, God," he says, not bothering to open his eyes, obviously in pain.

"You a Christian, are you, Malfoy?" asks Hermione, interested despite herself. She had thought that if you swore yourself to Voldemort, well, then, you've sworn yourself to Voldemort.

"Oh, is it you, Granger?" he asks, a bratty whine in his voice.

"Believe me, I wish it wasn't." She replies, giving him a disdainful glare, which is lost on him as he has not yet opened his eyes.

"Oh, go away. Do you know how much my head hurts?" Hermione decides not to continue the conversation. It really isn't worth it. Anyone who witnessed the tortuous extraction of truth in the early hours of the morning can sympathize with Hermione. Malfoy, despite his drugged state and complete loss of free will, had managed to portray his general obnoxiousness so vividly that none of the interrogators had left the room feeling quite well in the stomach. Under the influence of veritaserum, Malfoy's tongue had been loosened a little too much, and he had held back nothing of the goings on in deatheater circles. Hermione was rather glad Professor Snape never thought to share any of his experiences.

Now, Hermione still feels disgusted, but is more worried about the shocking information Malfoy has revealed. Very worried, in fact. So worried, that she cannot believe that Dumbledore is still debating the best course of action. Voldemort has found a way to bypass the fidelius charm. Voldemort has infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort has planted what Hermione understands from Malfoy's descriptions to be pellets of deadly Oleander Gas throughout No. 12 Grimmauld Place, to be activated at the time and date of a meeting of the entire order. Certain death for over a hundred people who are key players in the war against Voldemort. It is mind boggling. Hermione realizes in that instant that she must actually be in a state of shock. She is exchanging insults with Malfoy when she should be stressing over the fact that Dumbledore has been outwitted and almost completely undone by Voldemort. When she should be grieving over the identity of the traitor. Shocking as it is that Draco Malfoy is sitting across from her groaning softly, it is still a miracle. If he had not come. If his twisted personality had not hit a major snag in Voldemort's ideology and had some sort of epiphany, she, and all her friends, would be dead in less than a day. She owes her life to murderer with a conveniently timed guilt complex. It is almost laughable.

(iii)

Malfoy stares at Granger through half-closed eyes. To say he is feeling horrendous is an understatement. He had known he would pay for his sudden change of heart, but he also knows that anything he will suffer at the hands of Albus Dumbledore will be a walk in the park compared to the things Lord Voldemort would do to him should they ever meet again. Malfoy is prepared to do anything to prevent that eventuality. Even if it means laying low with the likes of Hermione Granger or, dare he even think it, Harry Potter for a while. He realizes that he should not have dared think it. It is not a tolerable thought. He wonders how long they will keep him tied up.

After some time, Malfoy notices that Granger's head is lolling in her infinitely comfortable looking chair. Malfoy's own bony behind has gone numb and come out the other side, and is throbbing painfully. He sits perfectly still, watching her closely until he judges her to be asleep. He smiles grimly as he tests the ropes around his wrists. He holds in a snort. His bonds are hardly tight. The Order of the Phoenix are a pack of bleeding hearts. Except Moody. Malfoy wouldn't like to be alone in a room with Moody. But Dumbledore didn't let him alone with Moody. Thus, after relieving him of his wand, no one bothered to check for any concealed weaponry. No wonder they are set to lose this war. The Dark Lord has something they have all been short changed in. Ruthless cunning.

Twisting his hands, Malfoy carefully slips the small, razor-sharp knife out from inside his shirt cuff. Maneuvering it expertly into position, he saws patiently at the ropes until they fall silently into his hands. Malfoy takes a moment to smile smugly. Not exactly ruthless cunning, but at least he might get a decent morning's sleep now. He quickly frees his numbed legs and stands. A mistake, as it turns out. Within minutes jets of excruciating pins-and-needles shoot up his legs. He manages to sink onto the carpet with out making a sound, and lies there for several minutes, mouthing obscenities and clutching his ankles with equally tender wrists. Perhaps the bleeding hearts of the Order have to be reassessed. After a while, the pain subsides, and Malfoy crawls closer to the fire, which has been crackling merrily throughout his time of torment. He contemplates the most dignified way to lie, and finally decides that his back or his side will make him appear too vulnerable. He rolls onto his stomach, and rests his head on his hands, which are still tingling. If he wasn't so unutterably tired, he would stretch them out in front of him so as to assuage further affects of numbing when he wakes up.

(iii)

Harry Potter hasn't moved since Snapes dramatic exit. He is still sitting in the kitchen, drinking his third cup of tea, when Ron Weasley stumbles in, looking completely wrecked. His hair is sticking up almost as much as Harry's, his eyes are bloodshot and his hands are shaking. Harry stares at him. Ron hasn't spoken to him since Hermione barged into the room they shared some three hours ago, slightly hysterical, to tell them the terrible news. Harry really doesn't know what to say. 'I told you so,' somehow doesn't seem very appropriate. Ron hadn't appreciated Harry and Hermione airing their suspicions about his sister Ginny's mental health over the years, and he wouldn't appreciate a reminder of his own stubborn refusal to see anything strange now. Of course, neither Harry nor Hermione had ever dreamed that Ginevra Weasley had joined Voldemort, but there had definitely been something up. She hadn't been the same person for years. But that was neither here nor there. Draco Malfoy, under the influence of Veritaserum has accused her with conviction of being a traitor. Harry knows what Ron's line will be. Innocent until proven guilty from her own lips. And Ginny Weasley's lips are who knows where, possibly spilling valuable information to Lord Voldemort at this very moment.

Harry glances at Ron warily. It is going to be a trying morning. He wishes Hermione were here to say the right thing.

"Ron," he says, standing awkwardly. Ron glares at him,

"It's not true, Harry," he says fiercely, "Malfoy's a lying git!" Harry winces,

"Ron-"

"And you're a git too! I know what you think! You and Hermione! You've hated her for years! Like you know her better than her own family!" Harry runs a hand through his hair wearily. He knows better than to argue with Ron, because there is so much at stake, but he can't help defending himself a little,

"Ron, I've never hated Ginny-"

"Oh yeah? You haven't said a pleasant thing to her in ages! No wonder she ran off!"

"Ron," says Harry, a little heatedly, "I don't think Ginny would run off because of me. You have to accept that she wasn't…the way she was…because I wouldn't be with her or something – whatever you seem to think should have happened-"

"She always liked you, Harry, you know it, you rejected her-"

"She had a crush on me as an eleven year old, Ron, she's been over me since, oh, I don't know when-"

"You rejected her, and she got depressed, you hated her for no reason other than you thought she was a slut!" Ron was on a rant, oblivious. Harry is shocked that he would even think this. He's obviously been hiding his resentment.

"Give it a rest, Ron!" he says angrily, "I did not think your sister was a slut! I do not hate her! I just don't trust her!" Ron looks up at Harry tone of voice, and to Harry's shock there are tears in his eyes. Harry, in a fit of wisdom, realizes that now is not the time to convince Ron of Ginny's guilt. There is, after all, a slight possibly that if Voldemort counteracted the Fidelius Charm, then Malfoy counteracted veritaserum. Not to mention the fact that in Ron's position, Harry can see himself acting in exactly the same way. Feeling more than a little embarrassed, Harry gives him an awkward hug and steps back,

"I'm sorry, Ron. And, well, because I didn't hate Ginny-"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Harry-",

"-and because I didn't think she was a slut-"

"She wasn't, she isn't"

"-and because Malfoy is a lying git, I'll give Ginny the benefit of the doubt as long as I can. But don't expect everyone else to. I know old Mad-Eye has been going on about the possibility of traitors for months." Ron gives a half hearted snort,

"He'll be torn. Won't know who to mistrust more. Malfoy or Ginny."

(iii)

There is a high pitched scream. Malfoy mumbles incoherently, his brain foggy. Sleep, he thinks, sleep…and suddenly the point of a wand is digging into the back of his neck. He has rolled onto his side in the night, and cannot see his attacker. Before remembering that he is fact a prisoner, and that the wand most probably belongs to Hermione Granger, Malfoy contemplates leaping up and disarming his opponent with a swift kick and a well aimed punch. He then recollects that when in comes to unarmed combat his skills leave much to be desired.

"S'alright, Granger," he says instead, "Jus' sleeping…leave me alone…"

"Malfoy, stand up," comes Granger's shrill, panic-laden voice.

"Oh, fuck off, won't you?" He mumbles, "Not going anywhere. No where to go."

"I said stand up!" these words are accompanied by a sharp jab.

"Alright," he scrambles unsteadily to his knees, his brain not fully awake. Heaving himself to his feet, he turns to face Granger, an ugly scowl on his face. He is a full head taller than her, he is glad to note. He has never been particularly tall, but it would be horrible to be on equal footing with Granger. Her wand is pointed at his chest. He rolls his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeats irritably, "But I wasn't going to stand for being tied up in that chair all night. All the thanks I get for saving your miserable lives. And anyway, it's your fault. You went to sleep." Granger grits her teeth.

"It's eight o'clock. We're going to see Dumbledore." Malfoy scowls even more fiercely,

"What for? Everything's already been forced out of me. I've nothing to tell."

"I know. I really wish I didn't. You really are atrocious, Malfoy."

"What? Oh, I let on a little two much for you to stomach, didn't I? I see." Malfoy smirks. He has offended all their Gryffindor sensibilities. An unexpected bonus.

"Don't look so smug Malfoy. You didn't do yourself any favors. Dumbledore doesn't have any soft spots for people who torture muggles for fun." Malfoy raises his blond eyebrows,

"I've never tortured anyone," he says, "I haven't the strength," he raises a skinny arm, grinning. He watches her face, still smiling. He is gratified to see that she can't work out if he is being serious. It is not like him to highlight his own deficiencies, "And it's below me, of course. Being a Malfoy." Malfoy feels a little shocked at himself. He never says anything even slightly self-depreciating. It just goes to show what can happen to a person when everything they've ever believed is taken away.

"Leave that to your cronies, do you?" Says Granger obliviously,

"Well, I don't know." Malfoy's moment of humor suddenly drains away. His father's face floats before his eyes, cold and sneering. So like his own. "I never did have much control," he says in a low voice, more to himself than to Granger.

(iii)

It is midday.

"We have twelve hours," says Dumbledore gravely, "And two choices." The entire room is staring at him, in a horrified daze. Every member of the order currently in residence at Grimmauld Place are at hand. The greater part of the order that were to be present at the doomed meeting have been informed and ordered to lay low. Hermione glances around. She avoids looking too closely at the assorted Weasleys in attendance. The looks on their faces range from complete horror, to anger, to utter disbelief. Harry sits beside Ron, glancing nervously every so often at his red-headed friend, as if afraid he might explode. Ron is glaring venomously at Malfoy, who has been chained securely to his chair and is clinking his manacles irritably whilst disdainfully avoiding eye-contact with anyone. As well he might. No one has quite processed the idea of Draco Malfoy actually helping the order. Images of Lucius Malfoy at his worst are a little too fresh in their minds.

Beside Malfoy sits Snape, whose wrathful expression speaks more than any snarky words could. Across from him is Remus Lupin, his usual worried-and-thoughtful self, Mad-Eye Moody, tapping his peg leg impatiently, and Nymphadora Tonks, her hair a surprisingly somber shade of olive green. Professor McGonagall is looking older, Hermione notes, and her typical rigid posture is slightly slumped.

"It'll be Christmas in a couple of days," says Ron's brother Fred gloomily. Everyone, including Dumbledore, blink at this pronouncement, and Mrs Weasley begins to sob.

"Yes," says Dumbledore, recovering first, "It will indeed. A good thing, in these desperate times. As I was saying, we have two choices. And I am afraid the second is not really a choice once we think about it. I deeply sorry to say that we must take the word of Draco Malfoy to be true at this point. We have no other option. There is no logical explanation for Malfoy to be able to lie to veritaserum. Whatever the case, we must do something. We must either evacuate this house and abandon it permanently, or we must try to rid it of the Oleander gas Malfoy asserts has been planted here by Ginny Weasley." He looks sorrowfully over at Mrs Weasley, who is being comforted her husband, and at Ron, who is quivering with anger.

"I would like to remind you all that there are…possibilities…that we may reserve judgment on Ginny before we know the true facts. However, for now we must assume the worst." He smiles sadly, and Hermione notices a tear in his eye.

"I must say for myself that I do not think there is enough time to be completely sure the house is safe. Whatever happens, this place can no longer be our headquarters."

Hermione looks at Harry, wondering how he is feeling. This was Sirius Black's house, and Harry's godfather left it to him. Now it is going to be ravaged by deatheaters. Hermione smiles at him weakly, and then turns to ask Dumbledore the question everyone has been wondering about.

"Sir, about the Fidelius Charm…" she trails off. The Fidelius Charm is supposed to be unbreakable. No one is supposed to be able to blurt any secret included in the Charm unless they are the secret keeper. And the secret keeper for the order is Dumbledore. For the first time, Hermione sees a flash of fear in Dumbledore's eye. But it is gone as quickly as it arrived, and no one else seems to notice anything. He sighs.

"I must confess…I do not know. I have thought on it all morning. I am afraid it will probably take some time to puzzle out. Unfortunately, the Fidelius Charm is so old that there is a possibility that there was once a way undo it, that has been lost. I have said it before: Lord Voldemort has powers I will never have, and I am sure he knows things I do not." Dumbledore smiles sadly, and Hermione is reminded that he is not infallible. She hopes he won't go on, because she knows that it will not do the order any good to have their confidence in Dumbledore undermined. There is a prolonged silence in which everyone avoids everyone's eyes.

"Well," says Moody, after a while, "It seems we will have to leave, set up somewhere else. This place is useless now they know about it. All this about the Fidelius Charm – I think it means only one thing. The time of secrecy if over. I don't know about you, but I reckon we're facing open war." There is not a sound in the room except for an occasional hiccupping sob from Mrs Weasley. Hermione feels her insides turn to ice. Open war. She looks at Harry. He has turned white, and his green eyes are bulging. She knows he is remembering the prophecy he discovered four years ago, in the Department of Mysteries deep within the vaults of the Ministry of Magic…and either must die at the hand of the other…Harry has to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. There is no sort of logical advise Hermione can give to an ultimatum like that. Harry is shaking, because he knows that 'open war' means that the prophecy is that much closer to being fulfilled. None of the three friends ever talk about it openly. They're the only ones who know, apart form Dumbledore. Moody is continuing to talk,

"And as for Malfoy, he can't be trusted. Once a turncoat, always a turncoat. We can't let him go and we can't let him be privy to our plans, so-"

"Alastor, the Order of the Phoenix does not…dispose of its prisoners," cuts in Professor McGonagall, looking stern,

"I wasn't suggesting that," says Moody, who does not even look mildly affronted at the implication that he is suggesting murder, "But we should keep him chained up somewhere out of the way, until all this is over," Moody leers horribly at Malfoy, who has gone even paler than usual, "And if we remember him, we can give him a trial, if not, well-"

"Alastor, you-"

"At least until we can reach a rational decision about his loyalty," cuts in Dumbledore diplomatically. He looks at Malfoy imperiously,

"If you do decide you want to be further help to the order, it may be to your advantage in the future," he says, "As you know, I believe in second chances. But only where they are deserved." Hermione can see Malfoy's adam's apple bobbing up and down in fear as he tries to nod offhandedly. She turns her head at the sound of a scuffle. Ron is struggling against the restraining arms of Fred and his twin, George,

"Second chance!" he shouts, "I'll give him a second chance-"

"Ron!" says Mrs Weasley in a broken voice, "Stop it!" Hermione feels tears well in her own eyes and sees Ron's angry, washed out face. She crosses and sits in the spare seat next to the one his brothers have forced him back into. She places a hand on his arm, feeling intensely sorry for him.

"Oh, Ron," she says. Next to them, Harry puts his head in his hands.

"Wake me when this is over," he says in a muffled voice. Hermione sighs.

(iii)

It is four o'clock in the afternoon now. Harry spends his last hour in No. 12 Grimmauld Place staring at the Black family tree, which Sirius Black, his godfather showed him once, long ago. He is reminded forcibly of how ridiculous Voldemort's pureblood regime really is. All those little names joined up. The Weasleys, the Malfoys, the Blacks, all interrelated. Except the Weasleys were chiseled out for being filthy blood traitors. Harry thinks of Ginny Weasley. Whichever way you look at it, innocent or guilty, she is just that. A blood traitor. It's ironic in a horribly sad kind of a way.