Lucius was going to love that.
"He'll be allowed access to the most basic magical amenities but I daresay his existence will be vastly improved. I'm sure you'd want the best for your father."
"Oh yes, of course," Draco agreed. "The very best."
There was a very long pause, during which the only sound in the room came from the whirring magical mechanics of Dumbledore's many contraptions.
"Outside of Britain, you say?" Draco finally asked.
Snape was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.
Chapter Thirteen
It occurred to Hermione, just before she stumbled outside the Gryffindor portrait hole and nearly twisted her ankle on a bit of upturned carpet, that she had lost her knack for sneaking around the castle since her appointment as Head Girl.
For one thing, no matter how muted her Lumos was, the strength of the spell still managed to light up a five square meters of stairway. Harry had mentioned something similar the previous term, with much resignation.
Long gone were the days when it actually took a bit of thought and practice to cast a Lumos that wouldn't snuff out after a few minutes.
Groping around in the dark was made a great deal easier, however, when one was able to rely on one's excellent memory of the castle. Suit of armour to the left, mouldy, old tapestry to the right, sixteen or so meters of what should have been bare stairway except some bright spark had left a pair of Quidditch boots on the tenth step down.
Thankfully, the full moon was shining through from the tall windows along the upper floor corridors, and so Hermione narrowly avoided tripping over the offending footwear. Hanging on to the banister, she allowed herself a few calming breaths, imagining - with a half amused snort - the scene that could possibly have greeted students in the morning. First year Hufflepuffs would emerge tousled-haired and puffy-eyed from their dorms, only to run screaming at the sight of their Head Girl, lying broken at the bottom step of the foyer, pink bedroom slippers askew...
In addition, perhaps her baggy, old, Kermit the Frog t-shirt and a pair of raggedy, too-long pyjama bottoms that had previously belonged to her father did not constitute ideal attire for sneaking about. The t-shirt snagged on a bit of rough stone wall, and she had been forced to roll up the hem of her trousers to avoid tripping over.
With the amount of noise she was making, she was liable to be discovered by one of the Aurors who were currently patrolling Hogwarts grounds. There were six Aurors, in fact. Three more were stationed at Hogsmeade, where they would stay for the remainder of school term.
Following the tense questioning in Dumbledore's office, Hermione, Ron and Millicent had been ushered back to the Great Hall by Professor Lupin, where the entire school had been waiting for a briefing by Dumbledore.
Hermione supposed she might have been buoyed by the lack of panic among her fellow students, but then she reminded herself that their relative calmness was due to the fact that most of them had experienced similar disturbances before. Death Eater appearances were thankfully scarce, but they were always well documented, right down to the tiniest detail. Arthur Weasley was keen to distance himself, as much as was humanly possible, from Fudge's delusional policy of 'keep quiet and it'll go away'. The press reported everything. A third of it was pure hyperbole, but what mattered, in Hermione's opinion, was that it was reported. Even the youngest children knew what to do in the worst case scenario- run, if possible, and hide, if not.
They were all learning, Hermione decided, Dumbledore as well.
Granted, the old man still had enough secrets to keep scholarly investigators busy for a few centuries, but he no longer practiced the 'need to know' edict that had been in place during Harry's early schooling years at Hogwarts. Harry respected him for this, but Hermione could well understand that blind trust was no longer on the agenda. Not since Sirius died.
In the Great Hall, on that unfortunate Wednesday afternoon, a thousand curious students had listened with complete attention as Dumbledore relayed the truth of the events that had taken place in the forest.
There were only about fifty different versions of the Dark Mark sighting going around the tables, each as ridiculous as the next. The truth seemed no less remarkable however, and at once, the students began to speculate on the likely whereabouts of Lucius Malfoy's (by now infamous) stolen wand.
By the end