Rondo

Spring was cruelest, trees bursting mercilessly into emerald blooms, flowers daring to show their flaming colors after months underground. He had always preferred winter, the sharp gray skies reflecting the color of his eyes, the pale earth a relentless reminder of his heritage. As nature unfolded new life Malfoy Manor grew darker, ivy unkempt twisting over the walls, rains dampening the air in the stone fortress. Ten years had passed since that final day of their seventh year at Hogwarts, and all it took was one movement in the shadows or a flicker of a candle to bring him back to that dungeon, to the rage and loss. Harry Potter, dead, checkmated in the dangerous multigenerational game of human chess. Lucius Malfoy, the grand master, hiding his war tactics until the lethal end.

Damn this game. Toward the end of breakfast I felt my lungs constrict, the way they do when my father steps into the dungeon when he's locked me up. As I stood from the table, I pretended to catch the hem of my robe on my chair, and while freeing it I looked over my shoulder to the Gryffindor table. Granger and Weasley were there, but Harry's usual seat was empty. I must have stared too long, because the Mudblood started giving me a funny look. Turning away, I almost wished I could talk to them, anything to alleviate the sensation that something was wrong.

Crabbe and Goyle had gone ahead without me, and I was thankful to be rid of those two imbeciles for the time being. Unable to get rid of my sinking feeling, I placed one hand on my wand inside my robe and began touring the hallways. Passing the Charms classroom, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me backwards and slamming the door. I spun to confront my assailant, wand ready, and was surprised to see Macnair and Nott, two Death Eater friends of my father's.

"Expelliarmus!"

My wand flew into the air and Macnair caught it. "What are you two doing here?"

"Your father sent us to take you home."

"I'll take the train, like I always do. Give me back my wand."

"Your father sent us to take you home." Menacing.

"Really, that's very kind of you gentlemen but--"

"Stupefy!"

When I regained consciousness, I groaned at the piercing pain in my head. I was on my back someplace cold and terrifying, yet familiar. Home. I'd spent too many hours in this room trying to dodge my father's whip not to recognize the dread that was filling my stomach. Chains binding my wrists and ankles clinked as I turned on my side and pushed myself to a sitting pose with my hands. In the candlelight I could make out a naked figure in the far corner, curled into the fetal position, screaming in his sleep. Harry. I stopped breathing in shock.

Every outcry wrenched my psyche, and I fought against my restraints to get to his side of the room and wake him. Watching him suffer brought me to a new level of torment. Much as he was my foe, the game we played was about power, not torture. What did he see? How many horrors had he endured that he was now forced to reenact? Helpless, I could only remain where I was and wait.

My father entered as Harry's shrieks reduced to whimpers, and stood over him. He turned his head briefly to me, as though to ensure I was watching his every move. I couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, but somehow I knew they held that same enraged, empty look I saw when he spoke of James Potter. He pointed his wand down at Harry and murmured an incantation. Harry awoke, tilting his head up toward my father.

"James, we have a visitor. My son has come. He's been failing miserably at the game." His intonation was dark and smooth yet incomplete, like he was playing a bass with one string just out of tune.

"Father, that's not--What are you--"

"Crucio!"

I doubled over, feeling as though I was going to explode. Faintly, I heard Harry calling my name as I pulled my knees into my chest and waited for the pain to pass.

"For eighteen years I have been lost without you, James. Everything I have is nothing if not acquired to give me an advantage over you. Do you think I married Narcissa for any reason other than for her to give me a son? Why do you think I have raised Draco to be who he is, powerful, cunning, a great Dark wizard wrapped in the perfect gentleman's cloak? He endeavors to overpower Harry, but no matter his accomplishments he will never fully have the upper hand. How could he, when the entire wizarding world sees your son as its redeemer? Draco has the ambition and talent, but Harry has the Dark Lord's inheritance. Where does that leave us, my love?"

Harry shivered in silence on the floor, too bewildered to make a sound. My hands ached to warm him, clothe him, but I stayed where I was. Father knelt beside Harry, robes forming a puddle. I strained to hear his whisper as he stroked Harry's hair and cheek, and a sense of violence pervaded me. The silk of Harry's body should be no one's but mine, and I longed to curse my father senseless and reclaim my opponent. I caught the words "beautiful," "traitor," "eternity," before my father spoke so I could hear.

"You have lost, James."

Time thickened in the air, coming to a standstill, and the taste of copper permeated my mouth. As my father parted his robes and grabbed Harry by the hips, I forced oxygen into my defiant airways and began to scream with all the strength I could muster.

Father's gaze snapped to meet mine. Another Cruciatus Curse hit me, leaving me too exhausted to continue begging my father to stop. Harry remained taciturn, though he must have been in pain as his body shook beneath my father's. Weakened, I sank into the wall, feeling the weight of my chains. After what seemed like hours, my father finished with Harry, who collapsed on his side. Father then turned to face me, wand raised to strike.

A pawn. That's all I had been.