Draco and Harry: Escorts

Chapter Eleven

Only years of discipline enabled Draco to keep his features impassive. He cocked a brow at Maeve.

"Excuse me?"

"Really, now. You can't go round calling yourself Dean Thomas when you're the bleeding image of Lucius Malfoy."

Draco weighed his options. The question of whether or not she was a witch had been answered. Her intentions were quite another matter. If Draco continued to play innocent, he might simply anger her.

"You knew my father, then?" he asked calmly. She picked up on the past tense immediately.

"Knew?"

"He died in the war. We had quite a nasty one over there, you know."

"Yes, some Muggle-born upstart," she murmured. "I heard. So... dear Lucius is dead. And your mum?"

"The same," Draco said, though his voice was not quite as aloof.

"My, my, my," said Maeve thoughtfully. "I'm terribly sorry."

Draco's eyes narrowed. She did not sound sorry at all. She sounded... disappointed. Maeve heaved a great sigh.

"Oh well," she said. "A pity, but I suppose it doesn't really change things."

"What things?" Draco asked warily.

"Don't worry your pretty, pretty head about it, dearie," she said airily.

For some reason, the bland words set alarm bells clanging in Draco's head, which was also beginning to develop a headache.

"How did you know my father?" he asked.

Maeve leaned forward.

"Oh we were lovers at one time," she admitted almost conspiratorially. Draco waited, wondering--and somewhat dreading--what was coming next. His father was no saint, but Draco did not need his memory sullied with information he had no desire to hear. Had Lucius had a fling with Maeve during his marriage? If so, Draco would rather not know. Instead of clarifying, she surprised him with a question.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?"

"I was sent here," he said and blanched. Why the hell had he admitted that?

"By whom?"

"Ron Weasley."

Draco set his wineglass down with growing anger. He glared at Maeve, who smiled prettily.

"Yes. Just a drop of Veritaserum. Quite handy when asking questions of those genetically inclined to lie."

Veritaserum. Fuck.

"And why did Ron Weasley send you here?"

"Jealous rage, I believe," Draco said dryly. Maeve sat back with a delighted laugh.

"Well, well, well. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

Draco suddenly felt a bizarre weakness steal over him and his anger became something more alarming. His vision blurred and he blinked quickly to clear it.

"What... do you want?" he asked.

"Revenge, of course. You don't know just how much I would love to avenge myself on Lucius Malfoy for tossing me aside like some cheap British harlot." Her green eyes glittered and her face twisted until it was no longer pretty. "Not good enough to marry, was I? My blood traces pure all the way back to Queen Maeve, but that wasn't good enough for your father, was it?"

Maeve stood up and quickly walked to a small desk beneath the window. She yanked open a drawer and took out a slim wand.

"He had to have that pale bitch Narcissa Black. The bloody bastard had it planned the whole time."

She glared at Draco.

"Where is your wand?" she asked.

"About thirty kilometers outside London, last I saw it," Draco replied, though it was becoming difficult to concentrate. He was incredibly tired. Maeve smiled in satisfaction.

"So, the Weasley sent you here without your wand. I shall have to send him a note of thanks."

"Did you drug the wine or the food?" Draco asked and noted that his words were slurred a bit. Her face went cloudy and swam out of focus and her voice seemed to come from a great distance.

"The wine. The Veritaserum was in your glass--just a little swirl at the bottom. But the potion was in the bottle. I took the antidote before I brought it out."

"What... potion?" Draco managed. He felt his head loll back against the sofa and decided if he managed to get out of this one he would never put himself in a position of helplessness again.

"Just a sleeping potion, lad. I can't have you trying to run off while I make preparations, can I?"

"Preparations... for what?"

If she replied, he did not hear her as the fog closed in.

Draco's first awareness was of discomfort, quickly followed by the discovery that he was wet.

He opened his eyes reluctantly to find himself looking at a darkening grey sky. A wet, grey sky. A few trees dangled branches overhead, but not quite enough to shelter him from the steadily falling rain.

His hands were stretched over his head--he tugged experimentally--and bound.

Judging by the unpleasant and cold sensation against his back, he lay on some sort of weathered stone. Unclothed. Draco shifted slightly. Mostly unclothed. The vengeful bitch had at least left him his boxers. He snorted. Like that was comforting.

He craned his head and found himself sprawled on a boulder at the edge of a small clearing. He seemed to be alone.

Had she staked him out for the wolves? Not that any self-respecting wolf would eat a human unless they were starving to death. If there were any wolves left in Ireland. More likely she had just left him for dead.

Draco jerked at his bonds. As expected, his feet were tied, also. He cursed. Just his bloody luck to stumble on the only damned woman in all of Ireland with a psychotic grudge against his father. Draco thought about that for a moment and realized that it probably wasn't all that unlikely. It was quite possible that half the women in Ireland had a similar rancor toward his father.

He lay still and concentrated, trying to ignore the rain tapping endlessly on him. He seemed to be bound with ordinary ropes. Foolish woman. Draco began to work on the knots while muttering the words to a loosening spell.

What would have taken an instant with a wand took an impossible amount of time without one. Draco worked on the ropes for ten minutes and felt only a slight loosening, which might have been his imagination. Meanwhile, his shoulders were screaming from the strain and the unyielding rigidity of his bed. Bloody hell, he had never been good at patience.

Draco stilled when he heard movement and Maeve's face appeared above his. She was dry--sheltered by an umbrella spell--and for a moment the rain stopped pelting Draco's face.

Maeve moved closer until her lips were near Draco's ear.

"You're a fine specimen of a man, Malfoy. Maybe I should place an Imperius on you and turn you into my willing slave." Her hand trailed over Draco's chest and down his abdomen. "Or perhaps a love potion."

Draco refused to give her the satisfaction of a response, although his heart jumped in alarm. Bloody hell, he wasn't ready to leave Harry, not even under the influence of a love potion. What would happen if you were already in love? Would the potion cancel the original feelings? Most likely they would simply be drowned in the magically induced lust.

"No. Too much trouble," she decided. "Imperius Curses can be fought and the effects of a love potion grow tedious. All that adoration becomes cloying."

Not to mention the pesky knowledge that it's not real, Draco added mentally, but he was disturbed by her words. She spoke as if from experience.

"I'll have to stick with the original plan and sacrifice you on the altar, here, Malfoy. I have a protection spell on the land here to keep the Muggles from destroying it... and from discovering my presence. Every so often it needs replenishing."

Sacrifice. Suddenly, the love potion did not seem like a bad option.

She set a wicked-looking dagger on Draco's chest and drew her wand. She stood and raised her arms with a flourish and Draco heaved upward, nearly wrenching his arms from their sockets. The knife flipped off of his skin and sailed to the far side of the altar.

Maeve glowered at him.

"Don't irritate me, Malfoy," she warned. "Or I'll start cutting off pieces before I administer the coup de grace."

She marched around the altar and bent to retrieve the knife. Draco worked on his ropes, though his shoulders burned agonizingly.

Maeve stepped up again and this time she tucked the dagger into her belt. She raised her wand once more and began an incantation. Draco felt power begin to gather and was reminded of Harry's odd ability. Malfoy decided to try the same thing and he cast out his senses for whatever intangible thing caused magic to work.

Draco felt something--a heaviness, but it was more likely Maeve's spell beginning than any special ability of his.

Maeve's voice rose to a shout with the words of ancient arcane magic and she snatched the dagger from her belt. She lifted it over her head.

Draco tried Harry's trick of siphoning the magic out of the very air--with no result. Maeve's voice did not falter.

Just when Draco began to think he was done for, a white shape hurtled through the air and nearly clipped Maeve, who ducked with an enraged shriek. The gathering magic seemed to shatter. Please let that be Hedwig, Draco thought. His hope was answered an instant later when a blast of light hammered into Maeve before she could recover. Draco heard her scream and then a warm body pressed against his.

"How did I know I'd find you like this?" Harry asked and Draco's relief and joy were nearly overwhelming. Then Draco's bonds were gone and Harry's hands were on him, touching him everywhere as if to ascertain his reality. Harry dragged Malfoy away from the altar and held him tightly, propping him upright. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry even though they were three-quarters numb and one-quarter tingling with the fire of returning circulation. He nuzzled his face into Harry's wonderful neck.

"Harry Potter," Draco murmured giddily. "Did I mention that I love you?"

"Not recently, no," Harry said seriously.

"Foolish of me," Draco muttered and kissed him. He clung to Harry tightly, devouring him, borrowing Potter's strength until he could move his limbs again. Harry returned the kiss as though he'd been starving without Draco. Malfoy reluctantly broke the kiss, knowing they couldn't stand in the rain snogging all night.

"Want to tell me who your latest enemy is?" Harry asked breathlessly with a glance at Maeve.

"Old friend of my father," Draco said.

"That explains it. Sort of." Harry took off his cloak and slung it over Draco's shoulders. Draco clutched it together with one hand. Harry held out Draco's wand. "I suppose you'll be wanting this?"

Draco took the smooth wood with an incredible sense of liberation.

"Yes. I'll need this to kill Weasley."

Draco waited for Harry to protest but Potter simply had a delighted grin on his face that made Draco's lips twitch in response.

"You aren't listening to me, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "Not in regards to that subject. Besides, I'm so bloody glad to see you I can hardly contain myself. I was afraid I'd have to fly to bloody Irkutsk to rescue you."

"How did you get here so fast? It's impossible by broom."

"I cheated. Let's get you out of the wet. What shall we do with her?" Harry gestured at the fallen woman. Hedwig had perched in a nearby tree. The owl fluttered her wet feathers and looked at Harry reproachfully.

"Maniacal Maeve? I'll deal with her."

"You won't kill her, will you?" Harry asked nervously.

"Of course not. That would be damned callous and bloodthirsty," Draco replied.

"And you've never been either of those."

"Certainly not."

"I brought you some clothes. Do you know where we are?"

Draco laughed. "I know exactly where we are." He marched over to the unconscious Maeve and spent a bit of time modifying her memories to exclude all recollection of Draco and events following. He snatched up the knife and returned to Harry.

"Are you going to leave her there?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Yes," Draco said adamantly and gave Harry a hard look.

Potter acquiesced with a long-suffering sigh and Draco led the way down the gravel path to a jumble of huge jutting stones and another path nearly overgrown with greenery. A sign conveniently read Druid's Cave.

"Amusingly, the Muggles don't realize that this really is a magical place," Draco said and pushed his way into the close set stones. He cast an Alohomora spell and one stone wall swung aside to reveal steps leading downward. Draco stepped inside and followed the stairs to the bottom. Harry followed and the door grated shut behind them. Draco lit his wand to reveal a large cottage-like room cut from the stone. It contained rudimentary furnishings--a large bed, small table, washstand, and a large wooden tub. Draco sent a jet of magic to several of the oil lamps scattered around the room and they flamed into light. He tossed the knife on the table.

"Wizards have used this as temporary shelter for centuries," Draco said.

"How did you know this was here?" Harry asked in amazement.

"My mum brought me here once for some sort of history lesson, I believe. Back when it was safe to Apparate. As if I cared about Irish history." Draco laughed. "I think I was eight. I remember being bored out of my bloody skull."

"You probably whined the entire time."

"Malfoys don't whine," Draco said absently. "I do remember thinking this cave was excellent, though. Apparently it was here long before the castle."

"What castle?"

"Bloody hell, Harry, you had to have flown right past it. Tall edifice... made of stone?"

"I passed hundreds of those. I was concentrating on following Hedwig. Didn't notice."

Draco shook his head, but smiled fondly. "Well, you're nearly under Blarney Castle. In fact, there is a passage here that leads to the tunnels beneath the castle." He waved at a blank wall near the tub. "I'll give you a tour later, if you're interested."

"I'm only interested in one thing at the moment," Harry said seriously and Draco grinned wickedly as Potter stepped forward and slipped his hands under Malfoy's cloak to pull him closer.

Harry's lips fastened on his and Draco surrendered to the pure bliss of kissing Harry. Potter's hands curled in Draco's wet hair.

"You're cold," Harry murmured against his lips. "Let me warm you." Potter slid his hands over Draco's skin at the same moment Malfoy tore Harry's shirt open.

"Damned buttons," Draco said and trailed his lips and tongue over Harry's collarbone while his hands caressed Harry's ribs. Potter made a breathy sound that made Draco pull him forward until their bare torsos touched. Harry's flesh was warm against Draco's chilled skin.

Malfoy kissed him again and maneuvered him toward the bed, but Potter suddenly slipped out of his grasp and darted to his pack.

"I have a present for you," Harry said. "I almost forgot."

Draco sat on the bed and watched in amusement until Harry pulled out a small earthenware jar. The wicked look in Harry's eyes caused Malfoy to raise a brow.

"What is it?"

"You'll see." Harry chuckled. He gestured imperiously. "On the bed, Malfoy."

"I am on the bed."

"I mean lie down, damn you."

Draco sighed, but obediently shrugged off Harry's cloak. He cast a quick spell to remove the dust from the bed and changed the tatty old blankets to something more comfortable and luxurious. He then slid back onto the improved bedding and put his hands behind his head. Draco waited expectantly. Harry shrugged his torn shirt off and sat on the bed next to Draco. He scowled as he ran a hand over Draco's torso and saw the bloody scratches.

Harry pulled out his wand and began to cast a healing spell over each one.

"That's not necessary, Potter," Draco said but shut up quickly when Harry pressed his lips against each one as it healed. Seven wounds later and Draco was feeling delightfully aroused. Potter finished with Draco's upper body and examined Malfoy's legs--scratch-free, mostly--and drew in a breath when he reached Draco's feet. He quickly healed the torn gash, blisters, and assorted scratches.

"Ron has much to answer for," Harry said grimly.

"Did you at least hit him?" Draco asked hopefully.

Harry flushed. "No, I was too intent on finding you."

Draco frowned. "Not even an angry slap or two?"

"I yelled at him," Harry said defensively.

Draco sighed. "You yell at everyone, Potter. It's a Gryffindor trait, I believe. I see I shall have to get my own revenge."

"I'm sure Hermione wasn't too happy to wake up and find us both gone."

"Yes, I'm certain she gave him a stern talking to," Draco said dryly.

"Let's not talk about Ron," Harry snapped. "We've got better things to do. Much better. Starting with your lovely feet, I believe."

Harry unscrewed the lid.