a look at the upper floors. Perhaps a window had been left open? As it turned out, he didn't need to go that far. There was a gaping hole in the first floor, opening into a large, empty room. Even from where he stood outside, he could make out the layer of dead leaves littering the floor.
Whoever was using the place didn't put too much stock into house-keeping or security, apparently. But then he supposed that finding the building in the first place was the real challenge.
Draco cast Leviosa and hovered himself upwards until he was suspended just outside the room. He ducked his head around the edge of the hole to check that the room and attached corridor was well and truly deserted.
Where was everyone? There were noises. He could make them out now. Someone had either opened or shut a door further along the corridor. There was a man's voice, low and urgent. This was followed by rapid footsteps.
Quickly, he stepped into the room, wincing at the crunching noise his hiking boots made as he stepped on the carpet of dried leaves. Thankfully, the wind had started up again. More leaves blew into the room from outside.
The footsteps were approaching. Whomever it was, was not exactly light on their feet. The thunk-thunk-scrape combination was suddenly familiar. Draco crouched in the darkness under a collapsed beam.
And came eye to eye with a family of doxies.
They were as pleased to see him as he was to see them. The largest one, a muscular, black, hairy thing which looked to be the patriarch of the family, darted forward and gave the tip of Draco's boot an experimental nibble. It didn't like the taste of it, but thankfully its frustration seemed to be spent.
The doxies cleared off to a higher perch and Draco strained to listen, almost painfully, to the noise outside the corridor.
It was Goyle! It had to be. His friend's recently broken leg had given him a slight drag in his walk.
The arrival of the footsteps did indeed produce Goyle, who appeared to be in quite a hurry. He walked right past the door-less threshold. When Draco was satisfied that his friend was well and truly on his own, he ducked from under the beam and stepped out into the nearly pitch black, corridor.
There looked to be a set of stairs located at either end. Goyle was heading for one of them.
Greg, you stupid fuck, turn around!
But he didn't. He kept right on and then turned the corner at the opposite end of the corridor, to use the steps.
Draco nearly called out to him before he caught himself. Silently cursing, he sprinted to the stairs nearest to him, thinking to catch Goyle on the next floor. Draco crept down the first three steps, which squeaked and protested mightily.
He stopped on the fourth, but only because his foot went straight thought it. The smell of rotting wood came rather belatedly.
"Oh, shit."
The whole thing gave way. Where there had been two flights of wooden steps leading to the upper and lower floors, there was now a big, gaping hole.
It seemed a miracle that Draco managed to find the time to roll his eyes before he fell through.
Chapter Forty-Two
From Chapter Six -
"What would you do if you had your freedom again?" Snape asked.
There was no hesitation or artifice in Lucius's response, which was almost as unsettling to Snape as the reply itself.
"Take my son, willing or not, and run," said the former Death Eater.
"You really would condemn him to that kind of existence?" Snape questioned. "One where he would have to forsake every person he has ever known, always running, always hiding?"
The flames were gone, reduced to a faint wafting of green smoke, and the image of Lucius wavered. "I would," Lucius said, his voice now sounding like an echo. "In a heartbeat."
The Floo transmission ended with the sound of a snuffed candle.
All that was left to mark the conversation was the sooty, coppery scent of Floo fire, and the fact that Snape was wide awake, alert and more shaken than he would care to admit.
He walked over to his desk and sat down. It was a fine desk, a claw-footed, rosewood and mother of pearl creation that had been in his family for three generations. It was the one of the few things in his life that he felt a sentimental attachment to.
The outside observer would have noted that the desk had four sizeable, brass handled drawers, two located at