The Parkinsons' garden at the fashionable end of Manchester was floodlit with Chinese lanterns that each flashed a different colour and wafted down a different perfume. While the hired goblin quintet played violins and flutes, Daphne snuggled into Blaise's arms in a slow waltz. Pansy's covert glances at Draco revealed that she would have liked to waltz too, but her duties as our hostess did not allow it. It was her seventeenth birthday, and the evening was too warm and bright to permit an indoor celebration.

Vincent and Gregory were stuffing their faces with chicken drumsticks and cream horns at the buffet, and Millicent was exchanging coins with Montague and Warrington in a card game that looked decidedly illegal. But most of the other guests were tapping our feet to the music, hoping to attract a dance-partner. For the first time, I didn't feel frumpish, because I had been able afford real dress-robes – skirts and sleeves of violet and purple taffeta billowing out of a silver bodice that shimmered with (fake) diamonds. I had even had the cash to lend Cecilia the last ten Galleons on the price of her robes. In her confection of white lace and pink roses and with a crown of rosebuds in her dark curls, Cecilia still looked unfairly pretty, but I finally felt I could stand next to her without being invisible.

"Theo isn't here," she remarked, scanning the guests. "I think Pansy didn't invite him. He's been dead weird for months."

"Theo doesn't care," I said. "He must have noticed that no-one invites him anywhere any more, but he simply doesn't care."

"Lots of people think Blaise broke friends with Theo," Cecilia chattered on. It was the three hundredth time she had discussed the story, but the topic was as fresh as newsprint in her mind. "They keep asking me if it was because Blaise wanted to be best friends with Draco instead, and I have to keep on explaining that it's the other way round. It was Theo who didn't want to be friends with Draco any more, and when Blaise tried to stay friends with both of them, Theo dumped Blaise as well. He's mad. We all need our friends in wartime, and Draco's dead important among the Death Eaters. Do you know what Pansy told me? She thought about holding her birthday party at Malfoy Manor, but there wasn't space because the whole manor is being used for Top Secret Business."

Draco turned around. "Cecilia!" he admonished her tolerantly. "It is secret business!"

She giggled. "But we're all friends here, Draco. Besides, you've never said what these secret people do."

"They do the Dark Lord's work. And that's all any of you needs to know for now. In two or three weeks, it won't be so secret, and you'll all know a great deal more."

"But tell us, Draco," Cecilia persisted. "Did you really watch Snape kill Dumbledore? Were you actually a witness?"

"Of course I was. I was standing inches away when Snape shot out the Killing Curse." Draco swaggered. "If Snape hadn't been so quick, he would have been the witness, because I was literally a second away from killing the old codger myself."

"Oooo-oooooh, Draco," sighed Pansy, just as if she hadn't heard the story before. "Won't you be in terrible trouble if they find out that you nearly did a killing?"

"Who are ‘they'?" scoffed Draco. "I promise you, the Dark Lord is very pleased with both Snape and me, so why should we care what anyone else thinks? The Ministry of Magic counts for nothing. It won't dare hunt down anyone whom You-Know-Who is protecting."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Draco seemed so sure that the Death Eaters were more powerful than the Ministry of Magic. I plastered on my tell-me-more-good-news face.

"Pansy, if you want to liven up your birthday party with a small titbit of insider's news..." Draco held out his arm nonchalantly, and Pansy clung to it eagerly. They knew very well that we were all listening now.

"Is it about Potter?" she prompted.

"I said it was small news. It's about old Gallus Cobbler from that downmarket shoe shop in Diagon Alley."

Dad's employer! I held my mask stiff and steady, but suddenly my bones were cold all over.

Draco boasted on. "The old fool has been chattering to his customers about how Mudbloods are our equals, and it has come to the Dark Lord's ears. We've decided to make an example of old Cobbler, so that's the target of our next raid. In two more days, Cobbler's Cordwainery just won't be there any more."

Millicent thumped Draco's free arm. "That was a stupid thing to tell us, Draco. What if one of us decides to warn the old man?"

"So what if the old fool does escape with his life? He's small fry, and nothing can save his shop. But I don't think anyone here will be dense enough to betray our trust. After all, anyone who deliberately sabotages a Death Eater raid is just pleading to be the next victim. And who here cares about Gallus Cobbler?"

I tried to creep backwards into the shadow of a large beech tree. I had my Apparition Licence. I could be home in one minute if I could only be sure that no-one would miss me. But suddenly the Chinese lanterns were blasting all over my face, and Draco was looking straight at me.

"Tracey cares," said Millicent. "Her father works at Cobbler's. It will take her about one minute to Apparate home and warn Mr Davies not to go to work on Tuesday."

Thanks a bunch, Millicent. You're always so aggressive in forcing the obvious down our throats.

"I don't think so." Draco nearly yawned. "Tracey has always been very sensible about supporting the people who matter. She won't let that Mudblood father of hers compromise her loyalty to the Dark Lord. Will you, Tracey?"

I couldn't keep the polite mask on my face any longer; I knew I looked as appalled as I felt.

"Will you, Tracey?" Draco repeated.

Somehow, Millicent was standing on my left and Gregory was on my right. I couldn't see Vincent, but I realised he was behind me. I'd be stupid to admit that I couldn't care less about the Dark Lord. My head jerked in a very nondescript gesture.

"Tracey wants to survive," Draco confirmed. "She won't tell her father about the raid on Cobbler's because, if he did mysteriously survive it, the Death Eaters would only return and destroy the whole Davies family. Tracey herself would be dead within a day. You see, Tracey once did something very foolish – something that seriously compromised her loyalty to our cause."

"What?" I found my voice. "That's absolutely ridiculous! I've always been a staunch supporter of the Dark Lord and completely faithful to my friends in Slytherin House! When did I ever compromise my loyalty?"

"About four years ago." Draco drew something out of his robe pocket. It was a small, grey exercise book with frighteningly familiar dog-eared corners. He held it up so that everyone in the floodlit garden could read the title:

"It's an interesting little diary," he informed the party guests. "It's full of libels – a surprisingly spiteful collection, given its author claims to be our friend."

Was Draco bluffing or had he actually read my stupid little collection of temper-tantrums? I frantically searched my memory for some reassurance that I had protected my indiscreet words with Invisible Ink or a Sealing Charm. But I knew with a dreadful certainty that any naïve charms I might have cast in second year could easily be broken by an adult wizard. Draco would have read my petulant emoting.

"Of course," Draco continued, "these notes were written a very long time ago. Tracey has probably changed. I expect she's very grateful for this golden opportunity to prove her loyalty to the Dark Lord. All she has to do is keep silent – and none of us will ever doubt her loyalty again. If Tracey keeps quiet for the next two days, I'll rip up this silly book and forget all about it."

And what will happen if I do decide to warn Dad?

There was no need to ask. Tracey's Book of the Dead would end up in the hands of some Death Eater, and that would be the end of Mum and me as well as Dad.

Draco shoved the book back into his pocket and drew Pansy into a ballroom hold. That was the end of his public speech, but as they both swayed past me, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Tracey, don't bother mentioning the raid on Cobbler's to the Auror Department. Cecilia's father works at the Ministry of Magic, and he has already warned the Aurors that you're a madwoman. He'll block any application from any member of your family. Just stay out of politics and you'll probably stay alive."

Pansy giggled into the shoulder of Draco's dress-robes.

I rounded furiously on Cecilia. "Did you know about all this? How dare your father plot to kill mine!"

Cecilia's eyes welled with tears. "Tracey, I don't know what Draco's friends told Daddy! I didn't know about all this until a minute ago. You know I don't speak to my father!"

"Well, you can start speaking to him now. You can tell him that the Death Eaters are planning to murder innocent people and that he has to make the Aurors stop it."

"I can't, Tracey. Don't you understand? Daddy supports the Dark Lord and he'll be dead chuffed about the raid on Cobbler's. If you complain, he'll be more likely to send the Death Eaters to attack you next. In a few more days, You-Know-Who will have control of the Ministry, and it's dead dangerous to interfere with his actions."

"So are you going to leave my father to die? Cecilia, I thought you were my friend!"

"I am, Tracey, but I have to think of Mummy! If her little shop in Knockturn Alley was ever reported to the Aurors – or to the Death Eaters; it doesn't matter which – she'd land in Azkaban. Daddy hates Mummy and he will report her if we annoy him. Oh, it's dead mean of you not to understand that!"

Cecilia probably sobbed her way through the rest of the party, but I took no interest. I danced once with Arnold Bulstrode and once with Miles Bletchley, but my feet were only tapping out my impatience to escape. I mouthed the words of "Happy Birthday" to Pansy, but my voice was soundless, and I watched Pansy open her presents without noticing what was inside them. I gazed at the sunset with one eye on my watch, calculating how many minutes it would be before I could go home. But in the end, it was nearly midnight before I was kissing and congratulating Pansy, assuring her that I'd had a wonderful evening at her lovely party and that we must meet up for tea or shopping next week.

Finally, finally, I could Apparate into my own living room in Croydon, into a dark and silent house where my unsuspecting parents lay asleep.

I couldn't sleep, of course. Staying out of politics was all very well, but this bunch of politicians had decided to murder Dad just because he worked for Gallus Cobbler! So of course I would warn Dad not to go to work, but then the politicians would only come round to our house to murder him, and Mum and me as well. So I had to make sure we were all hiding somewhere else by then.

But where could anyone go where the Death Eaters would never find them?

And how long would we have to stay hidden? Months? Years? Forever?

My head ached. Blast Roger and his stupid blabbing that Dad was a Muggle-born! If the Death Eaters hadn't known that little detail, they would have just killed old Cobbler and not cared if Dad escaped.

The Aurors were supposed to protect us from criminals, but if I appealed to the Auror Office, Albert Runcorn would report to You-Know-Who's gang that the whole Davies family needed to be eliminated. Since the Aurors were too much afraid of the Death Eaters to stand up to them, they were a waste of time.

Where did I go to find people who were not afraid of the Death Eaters?

Dumbledore had never been afraid of anyone, but Dumbledore was dead. Harry Potter was supposed to be leading the resistance against Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but Potter and I weren't exactly on speaking terms. I sat down on the threadbare sofa, trying to think of some member of Potter's mob who was not a snooty anti-Slytherin. I ran my exhausted mind through the register of students in our year... in the year above and in the year below... I had to recite the whole list twice before I recalled a person who might, just possibly, be willing and able to help my family.

Susan Bones was something of a Potter-lover, and her family had always proudly opposed Dark magic. Her Muggle-born mother, my Aunt Angela, had mysteriously disappeared a few months ago, but Susan hadn't seemed at all upset about it. Susan might... she must... know how to rescue people from the Death Eaters.

I jumped to my feet. I wasn't really supposed to Apparate into a Muggle area, but it was still dark outside, so who would ever know? I focused determinedly on Susan's front porch and deliberated my way there. As the Bones household seemed very asleep, I crept around to their back garden and sat on Susan's creaky old swing to continue my nerve-wracking wait through the night.

The swing was creakier than I remembered. I swung high and loudly, daring the world to ask why I was trespassing. When the sun rose, my creaks scared off the wakening blackbirds. As they fluttered away, an upper window flew open.

"What's going on out there?" called Susan's voice. "Tracey! What are you doing in our garden at five o' clock in the morning?"

"I've come to see you, of course! Let me in, Susan – it's chilly, and your swing is giving me splinters. Besides, this is an emergency."

When my hands were wrapped around a cup of tea in Susan's kitchen, I explained about the plan to raid Cobbler's. Susan listened very quietly, without interrupting, until I had finished explaining why the Aurors could not help us.

"So you see why I'm depending on you, Susan," I finished. "You know Harry Potter. You must know of a way to hide Dad."

Susan became even quieter.

"You will help us, won't you?" I coaxed.

Susan poured me another cup of tea. "I would help you if I thought that Uncle Brian was really in any danger."

"I've just told you – "

"But, Tracey, why should I believe what you tell me? You're Draco Malfoy's friend, and you admit that his house is full of Death Eaters. Perhaps they're tricking you. Or perhaps you're even their spy. They might be using your father as bait because their real target is my father or some kind of secret information about, um, Harry Potter."

I was shocked. "Susan, how could you even think I might be in league with people like that? You've known me all your life. I can't stand Death Eaters, and you ought to know it. I just want to rescue Dad – and Mum and myself – before the Death Eaters blow up Cobbler's."

"That is exactly my point," said Susan levelly. "I've known you all my life, Tracey, and you've never given me any reason to trust you. If I did have some kind of secret information, I wouldn't trust you to keep it secret. Now you've asked me to rescue your parents, but you don't say anything about saving Mr and Madam Cobbler or their apprentice – or even your own brother. If you don't care about saving four innocent lives, why should I believe that those lives are at risk?"

"What?" I felt the blood drain out of my face. "I didn't say I wanted those other people to die! Save them too, if it makes you happy – I just, um, didn't want to burden you with a too-complicated task."

Susan remained quiet.

What had I said wrong? She seemed less convinced than ever.

As a whole minute ticked by, I prompted, "My Dad, Susan."

Finally she spoke. "Tracey, it's possible that I know someone who might help your father, but I can't discuss it with you. There are too many other lives at risk. If this murderous plot is real, and if you want to stop it, then send your brother to me. I'll discuss it with Roger."

"What?" This was the most ridiculous event of the ridiculous last twelve hours. "Would you really trust Roger where you don't trust me? But Roger's a fool – a pretty-boy – a show-off – the king of his own world with no interest in anyone else! How can you possibly trust him with other people's lives?"

She removed my empty teacup. "That's the deal, Tracey. If you seriously have seven innocent lives to save, you can send Roger to me, and I'll see what I can do."

"I hate my brother! And he won't listen to me anyway."

"It's up to you. What do you want more – to save your father or to carry on hating your brother?" She glanced out of the window. "The milkman's just leaving. You can safely Disapparate as soon as you're out of his line of sight."

Susan's mouth – and mind – seemed firmly closed, so there was nothing I could do except Apparate home.

How could she trust Roger?

And how on earth could she think of trusting him when she didn't trust me?

When had Roger ever shown that he cared about Mum and Dad? When had he ever kept a secret? When had he ever supported Harry Potter? When had he ever taken a stand against You-Know-Who?

Susan was absurdly selfish to insist that I negotiate with Roger. She knew I didn't speak to him. Why should I change my habits just to please her whims? She had no right to play such petty games at such a desperate time. I had a good mind to sit and home and do nothing at all. Then she'd see she shouldn't have manipulated me!

She would also see that Dad was dead.

If I didn't beg favours from Roger, I would as good as murder Dad. And I wasn't a Death Eater; I wouldn't commit a murder; and I shouldn't be forced to run to Roger to prove it. It was the wrong time to prate about weighing my father's life against the everyday irritations of living with Roger.

But today was the only time I would ever have.

Today was the day I had to decide whether or not Roger would needle me into allowing a murder.

Furious and nauseated, I cursed Susan's officious interference and Apparated to the Caerphilly Quidditch practice pitch.

Roger was lounging against the changing-room wall, his arm draped around a dark-eyed Welsh girl whose robes were half undone. How could he do this outdoors in front of his whole team!

"Roger," I gasped, "we need to talk."

The girl giggled and snuggled up to him.

"Push off, Gwen," he told her lazily. "My sister has something urgent to say."

Gwen pouted and expressed doubt that I was really Roger's sister, but she tripped off around the corner of the changing hut.

"So tell me, Trace. You look properly shaken up."

Didn't he even understand how much I'd always despised him? How would I make him understand this crisis?

"Roger," I blurted out, "they want to kill Dad!"

"What?" He sat up straight and became perfectly serious.

I was so choked with the effort of speaking normally to him that I could hardly produce the words. "Death Eaters," I said. "Raid on Cobbler's Cordwainery tomorrow! If they don't find Dad there, they'll come to Croydon looking for our whole family. Need to get out!"

"Leave Britain, you mean?" He tried to pull me over to sit down next to him, but I resisted. "Have we become targets? No, don't bother telling me how we managed to annoy You-Know-Who. Whatever his insane reasons, we need to make a plan to get out."

I drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Susan Bones," I told him. "She knows what to do but – urgghhh – she didn't believe me. Go – tell her it's real – persuade her to help – "

Oddly enough, Roger believed me immediately. He didn't waste time asking how I knew about the raid or why Susan hadn't believed my story. He simply took my arm and Apparated both of us straight back to Susan's house.