Winter's Flame

"You might practice instead of simply sitting there."

Draco yelped and fell off the bed, bashing his head on the base of a bookshelf. Morgan's lush lips curled into a faint smile as she gazed down upon him. In the dying light, her blue-tinged skin made her look almost vampiric when paired with her long, dark hair. "The canine within you grows stronger, I see."

Draco shook his fringe out of his eye and pulled himself into a seated position, rubbing the back of his head. "I thought this place was a secret. Where've you been, anyway?"

"Very little is a secret to me, Love," she said calmly. "I can reach you always, no matter where you are. And where I have been is my own concern."

Draco frowned. "Does the… um… does You-Know-Who know where I am?"

A faintly amused look played about her eyes. "That's the first time you've referred to him thus. Your association with these people must be rubbing off on you."

Draco had been in Grimmauld Place for a week now as Lupin had bluntly refused to let him out. He didn't accept the fact that he had been branded or that he was working for Dumbledore and Snape. The older Werewolf had been locked in a room with the two Professors all week debating the issue. The boy had been forced to spend a week amongst an extremely angst-ridden but horny Potter, who spent the day either yelling at everybody or in a room with Looney Lovegood, and a solitary Weasley who seemed to busy himself studying maps with his older brother Bill and another young wizard with equally long hair and a curious silver bolt through his left eyebrow.

"I'm not associating," Draco muttered.

"No, you're sitting in your room, sulking," she pointed out. "When you could be practicing the earth magic I've been encouraging you to learn. What can you do so far?"

Draco shrugged. "I made a weed grow out of a table a month or so back."

Morgan raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Growing a weed out of a slaughtered block of wood will not help you beat him, Draco."

"I don't understand you at all, you know that?" Draco pulled himself back onto his bed, exasperated. "You're working against him, but you stay with him and you're making this goddamned winter last all sodding year. Why don't you just leave?"

"Because he knows my name."

"So? I know your name! How does that even work? Anybody who calls you Morrigan owns you?"

Morgan sighed. "Why must you know everything?"

"Because I'm a stubborn little git with a lot of time on his hands. Enlighten me."

"The Dark Lord does not own me. I am tied to him, and therefore must return to him after a certain period of time. I cannot go more than twenty-four hours without seeing him, else I grow weak, and I am bound to go to him whenever he calls me. It is the same with my brother, Rhun, though he is less tightly controlled. He has no time limit placed on him, for the Dark Lord has not such a great need for him.

"Why'd he catch him, then?"

"Rhun is my younger brother," she shrugged delicately. "The Dark Lord makes me do his will by threatening him. My own pain I could endure, but not that of my brother. He believed no ill of anyone until now, and I regret the loss of his innocence. But perhaps it is better this way. He will not throw his true name about so readily if we are ever free. He is also kept to stop him from fighting the force of my winter, though it draws nearer to my true winter months." She sighed. "It will not be as hard to hold the weather then, for it is natural, though I know he will make me create a far harsher winter than any we have seen."

"But what's with the name thing?"

"My name is an essential element of the binding spell," she shrugged. "The Dark Lord spent long years going through old myths and folklore until he found me. Rhun was much less difficult to find."

"Why? What's his real name?"

She gave a wry smile. "Rhun. The names we use in general are our preferred names. I always hated Morrigan. I found the name Morgan in the old stories of King Arthur."

"Morgan Le Faye?" Draco laughed. "The bird who sleeps with her brother?"

"Half brother."

"So if you're the Queen of Winter or whatever, and Rhun's in charge of Spring, there must be two more of you out there."

Morgan nodded. "Our eldest sister, Nimrodel. She was once known as Vanora, but changed her name when she first read The Lord of the Rings. She was fascinated by the story. At first she wanted to rename herself Galadriel, but we suggested she be slightly more subtle. She is the Summer Lady. The last of our kindred is Rowan of Autumn."

"Fan of rowan trees?"

"Rowan Atkinson," she said with a perfectly straight face.

Draco laughed. "Are you serious?"

"No. I was sent to find you for a reason, my love, though I do enjoy our talks together. The Dark Lord…"

"…wishes to know how my task is progressing?" Draco mimicked her voice. "It's not."

"That's what he thought," Morgan nodded. "Though your mother is steadfastly maintaining otherwise. Fortunately for you, I have some information that may help you prolong your life."

"Do share with the class," Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Hermione Granger is being kept by the Dark Lord in the place where the Dragons sleep," she said cryptically. "He is taking advantage of the absence of life in Malfoy Manor."

Draco frowned. "She's in the Manor?"

Morgan shook her head. "She is beyond the eyes of Drake Malfoy," she insisted. "Find Drake, then go beyond him. You will find yourself in another place… proceed to where the Dragons sleep and you will find the girl. But you must hurry, for she will be executed twelve days hence."

Draco stared at the Winter Queen. "How does this help me?"

She sighed, frustrated. "Think very carefully about all I have said. It will make sense. Tell Harry Potter and his friend, then take them with you."

"But what if Potter gets himself killed? Dumbledore'll murder me."

"The boy will not be in danger if you practice what I've been telling you to," she stressed. "I shall inform the Dark Lord that you have begun your task," she said pointedly, disappearing. For a split second, Draco felt rather proud that, for once, he had pushed the elusive Winter spirit to exasperation, rather than the other way round.

~

"Would you like some potatoes?" Luna asked him kindly, offering a plate loaded with broccoli.

"Ah…" Draco stared at them. "…No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" she pressed him. "They're good for you. And they're Cloud Hopper repellents."

Draco did not want to know what Cloud Hoppers were. He knew that any reaction at all to anything odd she said - which, to be honest was almost everything that she said - served as an open invitation for Potter to go completely mad again. "I'm sure," he said, looking down into his plate of roast lamb, "but thanks anyway."

"That's alright," she said happily. "Would someone pass me the celery?" Harry wordlessly handed her a bowl of carrots.

It seemed the two boys were the only silent diners at the table that night. At the other end of the table, Remus was having an in depth discussion with Professor McGonagall and the elderly man from the meeting. Beside them, Albus Dumbledore was telling Ginny and the Weasley twins a story which required a lot of hand movements. His three listeners were giggling like mad, and for a brief moment, Draco wished he could join in. Mundungus Fletcher was speaking earnestly to a very interested Arthur Weasley, whilst Molly Weasley glared at them from the other end of the table, where she sat with Charlie. Tonks had engaged Luna in a conversation about the hidden dangers of Hedgehogs, and Ron was speaking quietly with his eldest brother.

Draco gazed around the table, feeling somewhat alone. Instead of dwelling on the feeling, he concentrated on deciphering what Morgan had told him. Where the Dragons sleep? Was that symbolic or did she actually mean for him to find some Dragons. In either case, this Dragon place was beyond the eyes of Drake Malfoy. He didn't know what the hell the eye thing meant, but the only place he knew of that had anything to do with Drake Malfoy was his fathers secret meeting room. Wait… that was it! He is taking advantage of the absence of life in Malfoy Manor. There was nobody at the Manor - Remus had told the servants to go home. Narcissa could open the door to the room and so could the Dark Lord. It was the perfect place to hide somebody. His head shot up but nobody noticed, bar Ron, who was regarding him with a thoughtful gaze.

~

Taking a deep breath, Draco raised his hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

Draco grasped the handle and opened the door, but didn't enter. Ron was sprawled on a bed, pouring over several maps of Scotland. In between the maps, Draco could see a bright orange bed cover.

"Never picked you as a Chudley supporter," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Ron looked up, frowning slightly but not throwing anything at him, which was a positive beginning. "What did you pick me as?"

Draco shrugged. "The Prides?"

"Meghan McCormack?" Ron asked, smiling slightly. "She's worth it. Why, who do you go for?"

"Falmouth."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "'Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads?'"

"Better than 'Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.'"

"We give it a go. What are you doing here?"

"I came across some information you might find interesting. Where's Potter?"

Ron sat up. "You found Hermione?"

"Might have done," Draco shrugged. "Nothing's certain, but I might know how to get to her. I got a tip off."

Hope flared in Ron's eyes for a moment, then faded. "So you don't know for sure."

"Let's leave as I'm fairly certain."

Ron nodded. "Harry's in with Luna."

"How'd that come about, anyway?" Draco asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Ron shrugged. "He doesn’t really tell me things anymore…" his voice faded, as if he realised he was sharing a problem with an enemy. "He'll be in soon."

"A two minute man, is he?"

Ron snorted. "I really don't want to know."

~

The two boys had fallen silent. Ron was probably wrapped in thoughts of gallantly rushing and saving Granger from the clutches of evil. From the pictures scattered about the room, Draco suddenly understood why the taller boy was so eager to get her back. Apparently Luna and Potter weren't the only new romance to spring up. With a slight twinge of envy, Draco looked at pictures of Ron and Hermione grinning at each other, their arms wrapped about the other and seeming perfectly content. Potter may have been falling apart, but his best friends seemed to have been managing just fine.

The door burst open and the object of Draco's musings strode into the room. Potters bright eyes fell upon the blonde boy. "Why is there a Malfoy sitting on my bed?" he asked, addressing nobody in particular.

"He says he might know where Hermione is," Ron responded, and Draco couldn't miss the distinct coolness in his voice.

"And where's that?"

All of a sudden, Potters high and mighty attitude irked Draco . He might be the only person in the world with a hope in hell of killing the Dark Lord, but he didn't have to be such a prat about it.

"Just a little place I know," Draco said nonchalantly, determining to out-prat Potter as best he could. After all, he'd had more practice.

Potter folded his arms. "Which is…"

"My place."

Ron frowned. "Hermione's at your house?"

"I told you he took her," Potter snarled.

"She's not in my house, she's… The Dark Lord uses a room in my house as a meeting room. I just found out that there might be some sort of secret passage that leads to where Grangers being held."

"Fine," Potter glowered. "We'll go there tonight."

"Tonight?" Ron gaped. "But we don't-"

"We will go there tonight," Potter said again. "When everyone is asleep."

"It might be wiser to go during the day," Draco spoke up.

"We will go-" Harry repeated yet again.

"-there tonight," Draco rolled his eyes.

"When everyone is asleep," Ron pitched in dourly.

Potter glared at both of them.

~

Draco sat still on the floor of his bedroom, the book of Earth Magic open in front of him. His legs were folded and his eyes were closed, not that they were visible under the growing mane of his silver hair. Both of his hands were placed on the floor, palms facing down. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration.

Come on, he whispered in the depths of his mind, urging with everything inside him. Grow. Just grow. His frown grew deeper. For fucks sake, just fucking shoot out of the fucking ground… it's not that sodding hard, just bloody grow… His yellow eyes opened and he angrily swiped his fringe from his eyes and pulled the magic book towards him, staring down at the page.

'Many things are possible through will alone. As humans are sprung from Mother Earth herself, so are they a part of nature. Many humans allow this connection to fade, however, and must renew their relationship with the earth if they wish to take part in the flow that is natural magic. One cannot use this flow in anger, for rage also causes the connection to grow dim…'

Draco frowned, then put the book back down on the floor. Glancing out the rain-spattered window, he noticed the tall, skinny tree that grew just outside. He stood up and slid the window open, receiving a face full of water for the effort. Ignoring the downpour, he reached out into the night and plucked a small green leaf. "Sorry, Mr Tree," he muttered, sliding the window closed again and flicking the water from his face. He sat back down, holding the leaf in one hand and beginning to concentrate again, this time taking several deep breaths and keeping himself in a neutral state of mind. Grow… You know you want to… He bit his lip as he focused on the small leaf, sending all the power he could summon within himself to that one little bit of greenery. He opened his eyes with a start as he felt something slide up his arm. He gave a yelp and moved to shake it off, then stopped, staring in wonder as he realised it was not some evil creepy crawly, but a dainty vine curling around his forearm, sprouting leaves and tiny red and white blossoms. Smiling, he focused on it again, and to his astonishment the vine wound itself further up his arm. Unsure of how a little vine with flowers would help him against the Dark Lord but still proud of his efforts, Draco gently disentangled the vine from his arm and wound it around his bedpost.

"What's that?" Remus asked, coming inside the room and pulling off his shirt. A thick rug of fur covered his chest and he quickly replaced the shirt with an old jumper.

"What does it look like? It's a vine. I found it outside the window and thought it would appreciate coming in out of the rain."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Very pretty. But I'm afraid it'll die inside."

"No it wont," Draco grinned. "It's a magic vine."

Remus looked at him strangely. "You're in good spirits." Draco merely shrugged, and Remus smiled at him. "You won't appreciate my saying this, but you're a good sort, Draco." The werewolf yawned widely. "Full moon next week. Our first together. Shall we gnaw a bone to celebrate?"

"Only if it's Potters leg," Draco only half joked, climbing into bed. "Night Remus."

"Goodnight, Draco."

~

Draco awoke an hour or so later to the faint noise of tapping on his door. He lay still for a moment, hoping the evil knocker would go away, but the noise persisted. With a low groan, he rolled out of bed, his feet making no noise on the wooden floorboards. Draco opened the door a crack and was met by Ron's tall figure ghoulishly lit by the green light of his wand. Draco stared at him. "Potter was serious?" he groaned softly.

Ron nodded. "We both want her back."

Draco closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them with a sigh. "Give me a minute. I need to get dressed."

Ron nodded and disappeared. Draco closed the door again and crept over to the chest of drawers, pulling out a pair of faded blue jeans, a loose grey jumper and a plain black t-shirt. He may not be overly fond of Muggles, but he wasn't about to dress like a sixteenth century kook like his father did. Pulling on the clothes, he stuffed his wand and the small Earth Magic book in his pocket, glanced at Remus, and silently left the room. Waving a cheeky salute at an extremely sour Mrs Black, Draco found the other two boys waiting by the front door.

"Took long enough," Potter said pointedly.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't prepared to madly dash out into a rainy night."

The two glared at each other, then Potter opened the front door and the three boys left the safety of the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix.

"So how do we get to your house?" Ron asked softly as they stood out on the road, sheltered by an umbrella the Weasley boy had so wisely brought. The only problem was that he was easily half a foot taller than the other two and they were getting quite wet.

"Knight bus, I'm assuming," Draco shrugged. "Remus told Jacques to take some time off."

"Jacques?"

"My chauffer."

"Trust you," Potter muttered.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "It comes with being filthy rich. You should try it sometime."

Ron cast a fleeting dark look down at the blonde boy, but said nothing.

A shimmer appeared in the air before them, and they straightened, anticipating the warmth and dryness of the gaudy purple bus. But instead of the large vehicle, an image of a pimpled young man appeared. "I am sorry," the man began, reading from a sheet of parchment. "The Knight Bus is currently out of order. We hope to be back in business soon, and we apologise for any inconvenience." The man vanished.

"Sodding public transport system," Draco murmured.

"What do we do now?" Ron demanded.

Potter didn't say anything. He merely stared at the space where the young man had been.

"Hello? Potter?" Draco asked. "Any bright ideas?"

Potter didn't say anything, but his jaw was clearly clenched.

"He's a man of few words," Ron observed.

"Maybe if he read more, he'd have a larger vocabulary," Draco quipped. He suppressed a grin as Potter shot him a dark look. "We could always take one of those Muggle cars."

"We can't steal a car," Potter muttered.

"No, one of those yellow ones. The ones that take you places. Like public chauffers."

"Tootsies?" Ron asked.

"Taxi's," Potter corrected, then frowned. "We could… But we don't have any money."

"Just give them a Galleon," he shrugged. "They big and shiny. Morons like shiny things. They melt down alright, too. Uncle Rodolphus always used to make me little men out of them. Artistic, he was…" he trailed off as the two boys shot evil looks at him. "What? He was!"

"How to we catch a tootsie?" Ron asked, changing the subject.

Potter scratched his head. "You call them on the phone, sometimes. Or you just wave them down. If you see them, that is. I've never really caught a taxi before, though. Uncle Vernon didn't let me go out, anyway."

"I thought your family were all dead?" Draco asked curiously.

Potter shot him with yet another glare. "Not all."

As luck would have it, a yellow car drove haphazardly down the street and distracted Potter from any violent thoughts he may have been harbouring.

"Is that one?" Draco asked.

Potter ignored him, stepping forward and waving his arm. The taxi drove across the road, parking halfway up the curb.

"Where d'you wanna go?" the overweight driver with a bushy moustache asked them, burping loudly.

Draco curled his lip, not noticing that the other boys were looking at him expectantly. "…what?"

"Where are we going?" Potter asked him. Draco noticed his jaw was clenched again.

"Wiltshire." Potter, Ron and the driver all gaped at him. "...what?"

"The Wiltshire border is over a hundred kilometres from London," Ron pointed out.

"Is it?"

"I can't drive yeh all the way t' Wiltshire," the driver slurred. "I ken take yeh to the edge of the city."

"Let's do that then," Draco shrugged climbing inside. "Come on."

"You don't understand how far a hundred kilometres is, do you?" Ron demanded as they followed him inside. "We can't exactly walk it, you know. Where exactly do you live?"

"Near Stonehenge."

Potter rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"Stonehenge?" Ron croaked. "That’s, what, a hundred and thirty kilometres?"

"You're overreacting," Draco said calmly as the driver pulled off of the curb and knocked a rubbish bin over. "We have broomsticks."

"What yeh gonna do, sweep yer way over?" the driver chuckled.

"Paid to drive, not to talk," Draco reminded the Muggle with a sneer.

"Not on us," Ron stressed in a whisper. "And mine shattered in the last Quidditch practice. Our bludgers hit the ball in the wrong direction."

"You can ride on mine," Draco shrugged. "And I'm sure Potter will have his Firebolt on call. We'll Accio them to us as soon as this moron drives off."

"A broom won't hold two of us! I'll fall off and die and then you and Harry will kill each other and Hermione'll be ripped apart by that stinking bald git." Ron buried his freckled face in his hands. "It's bloody useless."

"It's a Shadow Spear," Draco said, as if that explained everything.

"You have a Shadow Spear?" Ron looked up. "Really? I'd have to sell all of my brothers, my mother and my sister to afford one of those."

"Always the best for a Malfoy," Draco said wryly. "Birthday present. When I was still in the good books."

"You're in the bad books?" Ron raised his eyebrows, his panic attack seemingly forgotten. "How's that?"

"Father thinks I'm getting a little too evil and mother doesn't think I'm evil enough."

"Your father?" Potter snorted. "He's a self righteous bastard. Since when were you too evil for him?"

"He's not a bastard," Draco growled. "He's changed."

Ron sniffed, as if agreeing with Potter.

"You think he'd support the Death Eaters after what they did to him?"

"That a Biker Gang, then?" the driver asked.

"Concentrate on the bloody road," Draco snarled.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Potter said spitefully. "He set up Ginny to be possessed by Tom Riddle."

"Yeah," Ron spoke up. "He put my sister through hell. And he hates my family."

"All purebloods hate the Weasleys," Draco gritted. "And he only did that because… he's changed now. He's sitting in a cell in Azkaban talking to a… You can't judge him. You don't know what he's been through." Draco suddenly stopped, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown in his face. "He doesn't even know Pansy's dead."

Potter laughed. "Parkinson? Why should he care? Hell, why would anyone care? She was a nasty cow."

"And you're any better?" Draco growled angrily, a low rumbling coming from his throat. "Laughing at a dead girl? You think she didn't have any friends, just because she was one of the masses of kids who made fun of you?"

"Made fun of me?" Potter said, unblinking. "Who makes fun of me now? I'm a hero. I faced Voldemort."

"You're a prat," Draco shot back. "You're so fucking full of yourself that you-"

"I'm full of myself? Who's been walking around school for the last five years, going on about being the best because you're a pure-blood, because your father is the most powerful man in the world…"

"Yeah, I did do that," Draco admitted, angrily pushing the hair from his flaming eyes. "I was a git. But unlike you, I've gotten a bit of damn maturity. Because I've realised that there's more to life than just me. My father's in prison, I had to watch my friend bleed to death on a goddamn tree, my mother's completely insane and you're making me leave a werewolf back at the Order who cares more about me than anybody has in my entire life! Look at Weasley, even! He used to be out for my blood but now he's realised that there's more at stake than our fucking family rivalry. But you? You've let everything get to your head. Aw, how sad… poor ikkle Potter. His parents died when he was a baby, but he stood up to the Dark Lord… and he saw poor Cedric die, and his Godfather went and got himself killed. But he's a hero. The Boy Who bloody well Lived can't do anything wrong, can he?"

"Who are you to tell me how to act?" Potter yelled. "I've been through hell, my whole life! Up until now you lived with everybody at your beck and call. Aren't I allowed to feel sorry for myself? Don't you think I've earned it?"

"No, I don’t!" Draco retorted. "You haven't got time for self pity. You know what the Dark Lord's ordered his teenage army to do? He wants them to hurt you even more. That’s why they took Granger. That's why they tried to take Weasley over the holidays. He knows who's close to you and he's out to get them, because he knows it'll make you even crazier. So mope all you want, Potter, but all it's going to do is get your friends killed. Or do you want that so you'll have even more of a reason to whinge about your life?"

"Well you're obviously in league with him if you know so damn much-" Harry responded hotly.

"Would you both SHUT UP?" Ron yelled, being in the unfortunate seat between the two of them. "You're both arrogant gits. But arguing isn't going to help us find Hermione. You can scream at each other all you want after we find her, I don't give shit. But is there the slightest change that you can both bloody shut the FUCK UP for one minute?"

Silence fell upon the taxi, and for once the drunken taxi driver didn't speak up. He merely swerved dangerously over the road to avoid a pedestrian who hurled abuse after him. The boys in the backseat didn't speak, but sat in a sullen quietness as the car lurched along the London streets.