Dawn

Chapter 5 : Chains

CHAINS

Your arms are warm but they make me feel
As if they're made of cold, cold steel
A simple kiss like a turnin' key
A little click and the lock's on me
Can't move my arms, can't lift my hands
I won't admit to where I am
But I know baby, I'm in chains
I'm in chains

I pretend I can always leave
Free to go whenever I please
But then the sound of my desperate calls
Echo off these dungeon walls
I've crossed the line from mad to sane
A thousand times and back again
I love you baby, I'm in chains

I'm in chains
I'm in chains
I'm in chains

Should have known passing through the gate
That once inside I could not escape
I never thought this could happen to me
Never thought this is where I'd be
But baby, baby, baby, look at me
Baby, baby, look at me, I'm in chains
I'm in chains
I never thought this is where I'd be
Never thought this could happen to me

(Tina Arena)

~*~

Studiously bent over the old, yellowish spellbook, Draco's sleek features brightened in a triumphant smile. Here it was, the spell he had been looking for since the beginning of the term... It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and at this early hour all of Hogwarts' population, or what was left of it, slept soundly. A light white mantel was now covering the grounds, and the atmosphere had considerably chilled. Icy winds hissed with low moans in the Forbidden Forest, which looked even grimmer than usual because of the snow.

The silver-haired Slytherin scrutinized the bright blue for what seemed to be the thousandth time that morning. Even if he would never willingly admit it, he feared his father's reaction to his cheeky defection. His very silence spoke volumes. He knew what Lucius was capable of, and therefore couldn't suppress the nagging feeling of dread in his stomach. But Draco was sure of one thing: he would not back off. Not this time.

Draco picked a blank piece of parchment from his school bag, and carefully copied out the precious incantation, often stopping to calm his trembling hand. With each new burst of Cruciatus it took him longer to recover. At first it was only hours, then days. This time, however, he was still suffering from the aftermath after a week . His resistance was slowly but steadily diminishing, and he was sure it would shatter like glass one day. He got up, headed to the Transfiguration shelf, then put back the spellbook with infinite care. It was probably even more ancient than Llewelyn House, and that was no mere fact.

As he turned on his heels to leave, he glimpsed a flash of unruly brown hair just before he bumped right into...

"Granger!" he groaned, half in surprise, half in pain.

Hermione winced, shot him a disgruntled look, then quickly kneeled to gather her belongings and books that were spread on the parquet floor.

"Stop gaping at me like a whiting, and help me!" she snapped eventually.

"Honestly, I can't," he replied with an innocent smile.

"Excuse me?" choked the Gryffindor.

"You would not want me to taint your precious books with my filthy Death Eater's hands, now, would you?" taunted the boy. She noticed the faint flicker of anger crossing his proud gray eyes, and she sighed heavily.

"I know I was unfair with you, Malfoy. That's not a reason to be such a jerk!"

"Did I ever need a reason?" Draco smirked.

Hermione snorted and busied herself again with her books until she had them all in a steady pile on her arms.

"You've forgotten your quill," stated Draco. Hermione moaned, then leaned over to pick it up, but he beat her to it. He drew his wand, and with a flick of his wrist and a promptly muttered Wingardium Leviosa, he carefully levitated the quill on Hermione outstretched hand.

"See? I'm helping," he offered, smiling mischievously. To his surprise, she merely chuckled.

"You are impossible, you know?" She shook her head, amused, soft curls flowing around her face. She was styled like the last time they met, a large brown plait holding back her bushy hair.

"One of my greatest qualities." He was about to pocket his wand when she stopped him.

"Poplar wood?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows. He nodded. "Quite unusual. What's in the core?"

He hesitated. "A single sîmorgh feather," he replied finally.

"I never heard about this kind of wand." She frowned.

He considered his answer for a moment. "My great grandmother was wandmaker. In Wales," he simply said. "She liked to use exotic material...especially from Persian magical beasts and... I don't know why I am telling you all this."

"Perhaps you realized, about time, how marvelously normal Muggle-borns were?" Hermione acidly suggested.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Granger."

She beamed triumphantly, but her smile suddenly disappeared and she stared at him seriously.

"I have a debt toward you. And I owe you an apology."

"Yes, you do," he acknowledged curtly, not seeming too disconcerted by her rather abrupt topic's change. "Not that I care. I have nothing to do about your apologies."

"Because I'm a Mudblood?" Draco's face closed, a sinister laughechoing in his mind. The crack of a whip on a bare back... He gritted his teeth.

"No, you ninny! I haven't called you like since fourth year. Don't you think it's time you let it go?" He turned angrily away from her.

Hermione, for once, was at a loss for words. "Why do we always make it so hard, Malfoy?" she pensively whispered as she watched his retreating form storm off the library.

~*~

Draco Malfoy was hurt, and he hated that. Fury was a good way of shutting his heart up. He walked quickly through the deserted hallways, his fists clenching and unclenching sporadically, anger coursing through his veins. He had made a mistake...by letting his guard down. A Slytherin, really! I should have known better than that!

Suddenly, he stopped, his breath caught in his throat. He keeled over hard on the cold stone slabs, gasping, unable to breath properly. He panicked, hopelessly clutching his neck, a red mist clouding his vision. No, no... not again, no, no, please, no!

All his muscles contracted at the same time, and a wave of pain overwhelmed him. He passed out.

~*~

When he slowly regained consciousness, vanilla was surrounding him. A tenacious, but sweet smell, bathing him... He was warm, he noticed, and someone was shaking him gently. He groaned softly. Sleep...

"Malfoy! Wake up!"

"Mother?" he mumbled sleepily, his eyes still half closed. Gods, I'm so tired...

"No, you idiot! Granger? Know-it-all? Remember?" She looked at him expectantly, but when he failed to answer, concern swept across her fair face.

"You mustn't fall asleep! Malfoy!" A faint edge of fear in her voice, she slapped him. Hard. His gray eyes shot open, and he wearily looked at her.

"Granger..." he said, feeling rather silly. His whole body was aching madly, and he felt burned out, but at least he was able to merely think. He was cuddled under a heavy cloak. He tried to sit up, and she immediately placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back. He protested weakly.

"I'm not a baby, Granger!"

"Fortunately not. However, I don't think you are in position to protest," she said sardonically, dismissing the matter with a smile. Exhausted, his defenses down, Draco smiled back tentatively before he could stop himself. Embarrassed, he quickly looked away. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She drew her wand out her left sleeve to mask her disconcertion, and began to take his readings. He squirmed uneasily.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I have had top marks in Advanced Healing for two years! Stop being so reckless! I'm not likely to kill you... not immediately, that is," Hermione exclaimed, exasperated, in the bossy tone she had successfully used over the years to tame her unruly friends.

Draco stilled reluctantly as she examined him, but caught her wrist when she tried to turn up his black sweater. She shot him a stern look, and he let go of her hand. He closed his eyes tightly, unable to suppress a shiver as her cool hand touched his sore chest. Oblivious to his agitation, a cry escaped Hermione's lips as she discovered his torso hideously marbled with bruises.

"Merlin..." She stared at him as he hastily lowered his pullover. "Who did that to you? Why didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Draco's steel gaze hardened, and he stayed silent. Then he wearily got up, pushing Hermione away when she rushed to help him.

"I don't need your help," he informed her coldly, his whole body stiffening in pride.

"Fine." She backed away from him a little, and crossed her arms under her breasts, a slightly wry smile dancing on her lips. The silver-haired boy collapsed after a few paces, as she had expected. Breathing hard, he tried to go on, but only succeeded in crawling pitifully on the cold stone floor. Hermione approached him calmly, then lifted his prone body enough for her to slip her head under his arm, while hers sneaked around his waist. He was trembling.

"You don't have to put on the show, Draco. Not with me," she whispered, feeling confident enough to call him by his given name.

They walked in silence to the hospital wing, the Slytherin leaning on the Gryffindor, both aware of the strange magical bond between them. They neither had wanted nor asked for it in the first place, but today, they were strangely glad it existed.

~*~

Draco looked around him. He was alone in a brightly white world. No floor, no walls, no ceiling... he realized with a pang of panic. The sudden creasing of silky fabrics behind him made him wince. He whirled round wildly. A woman, seated on a stool, was gazing intently at him. Her small frame was draped in a toga which seemed at first white to him, but then she moved her arm in a greeting of some sort, and colors swept on the material like a odd rainbow. Her eyes were strangely fascinating, deep pools of gold without pupils or irises.

"Well met, Draco," she said in a musical voice, as she turned back to the large weaving loom in front of her. She resumed spinning the huge tapestry on it, intertwining woolen threads of various colors, activating her silver shuttle without respite.

"Who are you?" he warily asked.

"I am the Spinner." She smiled. "Come near me. What do you see, Draco?"

Curious in spite of himself, he approached her slowly. He leaned in closer to peer at her work.

"I see a wolf pack under the moon, a steel chain around their necks, tied to a black snake above them. The last one is white, and his link is defective." He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I don't understand," he said. "What does that mean? What does it have to do with me? Why am I even here?"

When she did not answer, he understood that impatience was not an option in this weird place, whatever its name was.

"It is the Tapestry of Destiny," she said, pointing a long finger to the weaving loom. "The Wheel of Life, turning and turning, never stopping, without a beginning, without an end."

"You are weaving our lives? My life?" he inquired, incredulous. "Freedom is a mere illusion, then..." he added a heartbeat later, bitterness coloring his voice.

The Spinner's fair face broke into a weary smile. "Humans are free, Draco. Their choices lead my hand. They are more free than they could ever imagine, and that's fortunate, for they would be scared to death if they only knew."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone who cast a stone cannot catch up with it. However, it was in his power to cast the stone or not. It depended of him. It's the same for humans: they can avoid being unfair, mean or evil. When they are, it's deliberate... and they always can change. Do you understand, child? You are what you decide to be. Only death will prevent you from changing what you are. You are free, Draco."

"That's no so easy, and you know it."

"Who said life was easy? The Wheel of Life needs blood to revolve."

Draco shuddered.

"You have an advantage over many. You know you have the choice."

He sighed heavily. "Why me?"

"You have a task, like every mortal."

"People usually don't talk with a goddess..."

"Does that make you better than them?" asked the Spinner, her golden eyes glittering.

"No. Different, probably."

"Exactly. And what you will do with your difference will weave your future and the man you will become."

"Am I worthy of all this?" He suddenly felt extremely tired.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. In the end, only you will decide..." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't let anybody force you to be someone else. When the moment will come, remember who you are."

"Is it so simple?" He blinked in surprise.

"To be himself, Draco, easily is the most difficult task one has to face during his life."

"I am afraid..." he whispered, closing his eyes. "Terrified."

"Only dead persons ignore fear. Follow your heart, little child of Llewelyn. We will meet again."

~*~

Draco slowly awoke in his hospital bed. Was it a dream? He stirred under the white sheet that kept him warm in the dusk's chill, and gazed through the window. Sunset? How long did I slept?

"Nine hours, twenty four minutes and seven seconds," came the brisk reply. Hermione Granger was comfortably seated on a nearby chair, an open book on her knees. Her smile was an uncanny reminder of the Spinner's.

"I wasn't aware I was thinking out loud," he said, wincing slightly. "What are you doing here, Granger?"

"Hermione," she corrected lightly. "Madam Pomfrey asked me to keep an eye on you. As a part of my mediwitch training," she lied.

"Did she? Well, at first I thought you were practicing Arithmancy. Seven seconds, really?" teased Draco.

She had the grace to blush profusely. "I..." she began.

"Ah, you Gryffindor lot were never one to lie. Nil novi sub sole," he cut in. In his eighteen years of life, he had rarely felt so relaxed near anyone, with the notable exception of Gregory. Never in front of a potential enemy. I must be softening, he mused.

"Latin? I presumed I would never see the day you would interest yourself in the Muggle-world." She looked vaguely puzzled.

"Granger, for a know-it-all like you are, it's quite a shame. Most of the great Romans were wizards," Draco pointed out. "How do you reckon Julius Caesar would have conquered Gaulle, if he had been Muggle?"

"An accurate assertion if I ever heard one," a voice drawled coldly. Draco's throat tightened painfully.

"Father," he stated. Mobilizing what was left of his might, he got up, the infirmary's ground feeling like raw ice under his bare feet. If he was to face Lucius, it would definitely not lying on a bed. Appearing weak in front of his father was a mistake he was Slytherin enough to avoid.

Lucius' face, as usual, revealed nothing, but his eyes gave him away. Draco had never seen him so furious. He swallowed hard, fear rising in his stomach.

"Get dressed."

Draco did not move a muscle. He simply stared back to his father.

"Have you gone deaf, or are you simply stupid? I said, get dressed," he commanded.

"And I say, get lost." Lucius Malfoy paled, unable to contain his anger anymore.

"What did you say?" he hissed in a dangerously low tone.

"And I'm the deaf one? I said, get lost. Go to hell. To Greece. Wherever you want. I'm not coming with you." He felt more assured now. Surely his father wouldn't attack him in front of another student. Would he?

"For the last time, boy, get dressed before I loose my temper!" shouted his father. Oddly enough, I was under the impression that it was already done.

"Mr. Malfoy ! What do you think you are doing ? Vociferating like that would wake the dead!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. Alerted by the commotion, she had left the side of another patient in a hurry, her round face flushed by the run as well as indignation. The mediwitch stopped dead in her tracks when she realized that the father and the son had kept glaring at each other, oblivious to her interruption.

"You have nothing to do with them, son, and you know it. We are too different. Do you think they will welcome you with open arms? How deliciously naive. You are a creature of the night, Draco. Your place is among your clan. Come back with me," said Lucius more softly.

The feral fear of the unknown overcame Draco. He took a step forward, then stopped abruptly. Something broke in him, and he stayed frozen on the spot, unable to move or even think. Silence fell on the hospital wing, Hermione and the nurse too astonished to react, Lucius merely waiting for his only heir to move on.

You are free, Draco. Remember who you are. The Spinner's gentle voice soothed him. Breathing deeply, he finally managed to get a grip on himself. His decision was made. Reaching behind his neck, he undid the clasp of his amulet, then looked straight into his father's steel gaze.

He slowly outstretched his right hand, the dragon pendant curled into his palm. "I, Draco, son of Lucius, son of Vladan, disown my clan and repudiate my wow, breaking the link that bind me to them, and them to me. Malfoy I am no more, and never will I be again." His voice quivered slightly as he recited the incantation.

It took a few seconds for Lucius to recover his voice.

"So be it," he replied, spitting the ritual answer with sheer disgust. Snatching the medallion in his son's fine hand, he shot him a venomous glance.

"You will regret it, boy. Oh, yes, you will regret it dearly," he said silkily, his gray eyes glistening with malice, before he stormed out of the infirmary, his black cloak eerily billowing. The door slammed shut behind him.

But Draco did not hear it. Deprived of the powerful magic that had protected him since he was born, he suddenly felt empty and vulnerable. He sank to the cold floor, oblivious to everything but the strange sense of loss that overwhelmed him. He was shaking.

You are free, Draco.

Yes, he was.

And, for the first time in fourteen years, Draco cried.