Draco and Harry: Escorts

Chapter Ten

Harry flew straight Diagon Alley. Before he entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he paused and quickly sent a Patronus message to Draco, uncertain if he would even get it. He had debated sending Hedwig, but what if Malfoy were halfway across the world?

Fred and George were both helping customers, but when George noticed Harry's turbulent expression and impatient attitude, he quickly pawned off his client on the shop assistant and ushered Harry into the back room.

Harry snarled, "The Portkey you gave Ron--where does it go?"

George lifted a red brow. "Ron used it, then?"

"Yes. He used it. Now I need to know where the fuck he sent Draco so that I can go fetch him back."

George gaped at him and Harry realized absently that he had apparently never used strong language around the twins, but he also thought he was doing an admirable job of not springing upon George and strangling the answer out of him.

"Malfoy is far from helpless, mate. I'm sure he'll get back on his own. You might want to start thinking of ways to protect Ronald once that happens. Little brother apparently didn't think that far ahead." Harry scowled. Neither had they, as they had given him the damned thing.

"Just tell me where Draco is!" Harry said, trying not to shout and failing. Protecting Ron was the last bloody thing he cared about at the moment.

Fred wandered in just in time to catch Harry's outburst and the two brothers watched each other for a moment before George replied, "We don't know."

Harry had to sit down. He groped blindly for a chair and Fred scooted one beneath him with a quick spell.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"We nicked it, mate. We didn't look around for operating instructions."

"It was in a case labeled 'Portkeys,'" Fred said.

"You only took one?" Harry asked.

"Well, no, three actually," George admitted.

"We already used that one that leads to Athens."

"That was a great vacation."

"Why couldn't you have given that one to Ron?" Harry snapped.

"Harry, it's Malfoy we're talking about. We couldn't send the git to paradise."

"You have no bloody idea where the other one led?"

"Fred, can you recall anything?"

Fred perched his mottled burgundy body on the desk and tugged at his green hair. It looked particularly heinous with the red roots poking through.

"Let me think. Were they labeled at all?"

"Well, the bottle Portkey was sitting on that tag that said 'Greece,' remember? That's why we grabbed it."

"Yeah, I remember that label now. But the other two?"

"One was blurred. Like it got wet. I think it started with an 'I,'" George said, snapping his fingers. Harry sat forward.

"Like Iceland? Ireland?" he asked.

"India? Irkutsk?" Fred added.

"Idaho?" asked George.

Fred gave George a look of disgust. "Idaho? Who the hell would make a Portkey to Idaho? No one even knows where that is."

"Somewhere in America."

"Exactly. Who would go there?"

"Who the hell would go to Irkutsk?"

"Russians."

"How many fucking Russians are at the Ministry?"

"Knock it off!" Harry yelled. "Can you please focus?"

The twins relaxed from their positions of preparing to throttle one another and George cocked a brow at Harry.

"Why are you so keen to find Malfoy, Harry?"

"I need him," Harry admitted quietly and something in his tone caused George to give him a measuring look.

"I'd try Ireland, mate. It's the most logical."

Fred nodded. "Most of the Ministry Portkeys go to places in Europe. We think our last one goes to Exmoor."

"I would wager Ireland or Iceland."

Harry sighed, realizing he would not be getting any better information from the twins. Ireland. Great. Where in Ireland? He stood up.

"I'd better get started. It's going to be a long flight."

A bloody long flight over some bloody dangerous country. He headed for the door.

"Hey, Harry?" George called and Harry paused.

"Sorry. We didn't know you... cared about the git."

Harry nodded and went out.

ooOoo

Draco had moved beyond plotting Weasley's demise straight into the realm of utter boredom. Wherever Weasley had sent him, it was about an interesting as watching Polyjuice Potion ferment. It seemed to be acres upon endless acres of oak and holly trees, interspersed with hellish thickets of bramble bushes festooned with dried berries. Draco was tired of being scratched and scraped and at one point he had blundered into a veritable hedge of nettles that left him with itchy, stinging welts on both feet and hands.

He admitted there was a slight possibility that he had taken the wrong path and was going in a completely different direction from any sort of assistance. However, being a Malfoy, he refused to admit his chosen path was in any way wrong and therefore continued to blunder onward rather than turn around and begin again.

He was glad when it stopped raining.

At one point he gashed open the side of his bare foot on some sort of demonic object that lurched from the ground to attack him. All right, it was simply a bloody sharp rock that he hadn't noticed after stumbling through another fat lot of brambles. But it bled quite nastily until he was forced to remove his shirt and tear at it with his teeth until he could rip off several strips to bind around the wound.

He continued on, limping, and pondered the Patronus message he had received from Harry.

Stay where you are. I'm coming for you.

Draco snorted. Stay where you are. Sorry, Potter, but I choose not to spend one moment longer than absolutely necessary in this horrid forest and intend to locate myself a broom, wand, food, and bed in whatever order they happen to be located.

ooOoo

Harry returned to Number Twelve Grimmald Place and pelted down the stairs to collect some things for his trip. He nearly bowled over Tonks on his way to the kitchen.

"What the--Harry, what's wrong?"

"Damned Ron sent Draco away with a Portkey. I hope to hell he's in Ireland, since that's where I'm going. Bloody six hour flight, isn't it? At top speed and ignoring all the horrors lurking between here and there..."

"Six hours?" she asked. "Why don't you just fly?"

He looked at her unblinkingly. "I am flying. Didn't I just say that?"

Tonks giggled. "Sometimes you need to think like a Muggle, Harry. An aeroplane can get you there in a bit over two hours. I know, my dad took me there, once."

Harry stared at her in astonishment. Bloody hell, she was right. He ran to her and kissed her soundly on the lips. She blushed and laughed.

"I'll need Hedwig--and my broom. I should be able to take the broom if I throw my invisibility cloak over it. But Hedwig...? Do they allow animals?"

"Why are you going after Draco? Can't he get back on his own? He's not exactly helpless."

Harry made an angry hissing noise. "Good old Ron sent him away without his wand. And I have the oddest feeling that Draco is in danger."

"Of course he's in danger," Tonks said dryly. "Every time he opens his mouth someone wants to put a fist in it."

Harry couldn't argue with that.

ooOoo

Draco was in no danger at the moment, but it was out there. He could sense it. Draco swiveled his head and stared into the brambles, certain he had heard a whisper of sound.

He waited, unmoving, with senses strained for long minutes. Finally it came again--the slightest rustle (cloth against leaves?) as though someone tried to move silently through the undergrowth.

Draco muttered a curse. Anything lurking in the brush trying to be quiet could not be good. He sighed and looked around for something to use as a weapon. Sticks and rocks. Lovely. That should be effective against all manner of magical horrors.

Regardless, he located a fairly straight branch on a nearby deadfall and broke it off. He twirled it experimentally to check the balance and then spent a few minutes sharpening the tip into a deadly point on a nearby rock, pausing now and again to listen for the lurker.

Thus armed (sort of) he started off again.

Draco began to feel like he was being herded. The rustling had grown louder and came from both left and right. He considered turning around and going back the way he came, intentionally provoking a confrontation, but the knowledge of his current weakened state made him pause.

Truthfully, he felt much stronger than when he had been deposited in this place. He still wasn't fully recovered and probably wouldn't be without a decent meal and a good night's sleep, but at least he no longer staggered, nor needed to rest every twelve minutes.

The stand of oak trees he'd been pushing his way through suddenly thinned and he found himself entering a beautiful, grassy meadow. At the far edge of it stood a cottage.

Draco walked across the wet grass, turning now and again to examine the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of those that shadowed him. He saw nothing and turned to look at the cottage critically. If he had been driven to this place he was quite certain he wanted no part of it. However, alternative options seemed to be in short supply.

He sighed. He would just have to pretend to be a Gryffindor and march boldly up to the front door. Draco preferred the Slytherin method of waiting until dark and spying on the place before breaking in and taking what he needed, but he was too bloody tired, annoyed, and impatient to wait--sunset looked to be a number of hours away yet.

He continued through the meadow and walked through the wooden gate that bisected the low stone wall. The place looked quaint and well-tended with shorn lawn, flowers, and ornamental plants. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney; someone was definitely home.

Draco quicly put his shirt back on--he'd been using it to swat at the hoards of insects determined to feast on his flesh the instant it had stopped raining--and tucked it into his trousers to disguise the ragged bit where he had procured his makeshift bandage.

The lack of shoes would be hard to explain... No help for it. He stepped forward and knocked on the door. It swung open after a single rap and a woman gazed at him appraisingly.

"I wondered if you would stand out there all day," she said. Draco studied her curiously. She was tall and slender, of indeterminate age, though Malfoy would place her in the same realm as Remus Lupin or his parents. Her hair was dark red, only lightly shot through with grey, and she had bright green eyes and a pleasant smile. At the sound of her quiet accent, Draco knew where he was.

Ireland.

She stepped aside and gestured for Draco to enter. She seemed like a perfectly ordinary woman and it seemed like a perfectly ordinary cottage, but stepping over the threshold gave Draco a sudden sense of trepidation, as if he suddenly walked into the lair of a very hungry beast.

"What brings you out here on such a dreary day?" she asked as Draco sat gingerly on the sofa, well aware of his muddied state. "And, if I might ask, where are your shoes?"

Draco had found plenty of time to concoct a semi-plausible lie for that one. Semi-plausible as long as one had no clue as to Draco Malfoy's character.

"I'm afraid I wandered into a bog and became quite stuck. I escaped, but the boots were not so lucky." He grinned innocuously, thinking there was no way in hell he ever would have wandered into a bog, nor left it without his favorite boots, but this red-haired (Muggle?) need not know that. She poured him a cup of tea from and picked up another for herself.

His eyes warily scanned the room, seeking clues to the woman's identity, be she witch or Muggle. He saw no magical accoutrements at all but for random baskets of growing herbs. He began to relax.

"Are you lost?" she asked in amusement. Draco grimaced.

"I'm afraid so. Stepped away from the path for a call of nature and got completely turned around."

She had to think he was a complete imbecile. The bright green eyes measured him carefully. She sipped at her tea and said nothing. Then again, perhaps she knew Draco was lying through his teeth.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Dean Thomas," Draco replied. It was generic enough to be unrecognizable. A smile touched her red lips. Enigmatic.

"Well, Dean Thomas, I am Maeve."

Malfoy's eyes measured her this time.

"As in Queen Maeve?" he asked. She laughed brightly and set her cup down.

"Do I look that old?"

"Not at all," he acknowledged, but he wondered. Maeve was a witch's name, although he was certain Muggles were not excepted from using it..

"You look uncomfortable," she said suddenly. "Would you like to freshen up while I prepare you something to eat?"

"That won't be necessary. If you could just point me in the right direction, I'll be off."

She shook her head and her curled bobbed.

"Oh no, I couldn't let you wander off shoeless and hungry. And your foot needs tending. Come along--I'll run a bath for you."

In the end, Draco could not think of a graceful way to extract himself from Maeve's enforced kindness and he unwillingly handed her his clothing through a crack in the door before sinking into a steaming hot bath.

He was far too uncomfortable to spend his usual ludicrous amount of time in the tub (as Harry would put it) so he merely scrubbed until his skin gleamed, washed his hair (even thought it wasn't necessary) and climbed out.

Draco's clothes--clean and dry--sat on a bench near the door, although he had not seen Maeve enter.

He borrowed a shell comb from a nearby washstand and pulled it through his hair before walking back out to the main room. Draco sat down again and wished he could rid himself of the nagging sense of unease. Perhaps it was simply the lack of magic at hand that bothered him--he had not realized how much he depended on it until it was gone.

He wondered suddenly where Harry was and sighed, knowing Ireland was a bloody long flight from London. Malfoy likely would not see Potter until morning. For a moment Draco considered bolting, but at that moment Maeve returned from another room carrying a tray laden with food.

"You look so much better, lad. I'm certain sure you're starved, also." She set the tray across his lap and looked at him shrewdly.

"I'll bet you're a wine drinker. Red, correct? Chateaux Lafite-Rothschild?"

Draco nodded curtly and dug into the food as Maeve departed again--likely for the kitchen. He was ravenous after dragging through the Irish countryside all afternoon.

Maeve returned with a bottle and two goblets. She poured a glass for Draco and one for herself and then sat back to watch him eat.

Draco noted that she was quite pretty. A few months ago, he might have been tempted to repay her kindness. The thought made him grin ruefully. Bloody Potter had completely ruined him for that sort of thing. He sighed. Damn, but he missed Harry.

He set the tray aside and sipped at his glass as Maeve did the same.

"So tell me, Malfoy," she said after a moment. "How is your father?"

ooOoo

Harry got off the plane in Dublin and carried his invisible broom in one hand and the cage containing Hedwig in another. He decided that Muggle flight was faster, but far more nerve-wracking than broom travel. Being trapped inside a large metal box as it jolted and shook with every errand wind was so stressful he had finally ordered some sort of alcoholic drink to steady his nerves. He was never so glad to have his feet touch ground.

Once outside, he ducked into a spot shielded from view and slung his cloak over himself and the bird and took to the air. He quickly flew out of town and into a secluded spot of green. Hedwig was quickly released from the cage and Harry gave her an owl treat and stroked her feathers for a moment.

"All right, girl. Find Draco."

The white owl flapped her wings and immediately darted off southward. Harry kicked off and followed her, giving thanks that she had not flown northwest, toward Iceland.