Bear Me Safely Over

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Bear Me Safely Over

Chapter Two: The Truth

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I know why the caged bird beats his wing
till its blood is red on the cruel bars,
for he must fly back to his perch and cling
when he fain would be on the bow aswing.
And the blood still throbs in the old, old scars
and they pulse again with a keener sting.
I know why he beats his wing.

I know why the caged bird sings.

-"Sympathy" by Paul Laurence Dunbar

***

Harry packed his bags as if he had less than ten minutes to leave the country before a host of Colombian drug lords descended on his house. Hermione followed at a far more sedate pace. She was half-afraid to get in his way; one could lose a limb in the mayhem.

Sitting on the edge of their bed, chin thoughtfully resting on her arms, she chanced a haphazard guess that he hadn't come up with a plan. Harry was far more of a doer than a thinker. Seeming to sense her gaze on him, Harry turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in question. "Do you have a plan?" she asked quietly, without recrimination. He just shrugged in answer and turned back to his packing. Hermione sighed loudly and tried to stomp down her mounting irritation.

"Harry," Hermione said exasperated. "We just can't rush in there. For once, we need a methodical, well-thought out plan."

In an unexpected show of good humor, Harry, slightly smiling, replied, "I'll leave that to you. After all, that's what I married you for."

Hermione rubbed her forehead tiredly; she failed to see any humor in this entire situation.

***

"Um, er..." Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Down with Harry Potter," she finished, nervously meeting the eyes on the other side of the slotted door. Her fingers dug into her palms with the effort not to swat wildly at her face, partly from sheer nervous energy and partly because the material of the cloak was making her face itch. For a bunch of rich Death Eater elitists, they sure didn't splurge on the robes. Cheap cotton blends were nobody's friends.

From the other side of the door, she could hear the bolt being noisily scraped out of place, as a voice muttered, "Welcome fellow Death Eaters."

The large room they stepped into was more of a cavern; a large, empty chamber filled with Death Eaters milling about in dark robes and masks with a heavily guarded, raised platform in the middle. She was grateful for the masks right now, not necessarily because they hid her identity, but because they hid the others' identity from her. She didn't want to know how many of these Death Eaters she had gone to school with, how many had been her friends.

Hermione and Harry stood near the back of the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The room suddenly filled with a dark, malevolent sort of silence that hadn't been there a minute ago. Hermione realized why, when the whole crowd fell to their knees. The Dark Lord was taking stage.

In some distant part of her mind, Hermione thought that this was all more than a little inflated. Voldemort was such a drama queen.

Bowing close to the floor, she looked up through her eyelashes. Behind the unmistakable form of Lord Voldemort, she could see a thin, pale wisp of a person with shockingly pale hair.

Surrounded by a sea of black, in his thin white robes, Draco Malfoy looked like nothing more than a flickering candle at night. With a careless flick of his hand, the group got to their feet. When Voldemort began his speech, Hermione felt her hair stand on end. His high voice was like nails across a blackboard; there was something innately unpleasant about it.

She forced her eyes to the objective of the mission, Malfoy, who was standing on Voldemort's right, a little behind him. Draco's face, impassive at best in the past, was pure marble now. She sent a meaningful glance at Harry, and the uneasy feeling that had been plaguing her since they accepted the mission doubled when she realized that Harry hadn't taken his eyes off Draco.

She was distracted by a small, muffled clang, no more than a whisper of a sound. She strained to hear it again, but it was being drowned out by Voldemort's voice. Just when she had convinced herself that it had been her imagination, she heard it again.

Hermione glanced at Harry, but she couldn't tell anything from his expression. Her eyes swept the crowd, puzzled. No one else seemed to notice. Everyone was anxiously straining forward, hanging on to every word that fell from Voldemort's lips. Belatedly, she realized that the steady stream of words had ceased. Hermione followed their gazes to the front.

Draco had stepped out of the shadows and moved forward on the stage. He visibly took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. Sweat started to bead on his brow, and he swayed slightly. There! Hermione heard it again. Then almost by accident, she glimpsed it. A sick wave of understanding passed over her, threatening to drown her in horror. Harry seemed to sense that something was wrong, and shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head mutely, indicating that she would tell him later.

After the ceremony was over, and people began to mill about, Hermione still felt rooted to her spot. She watched Voldemort walk off the stage, surrounded by a procession of Death Eaters, Draco following closely behind. When she saw it, the confirmation, her stomach clenched painfully. She was startled when Harry gently shook her arm to get her attention. He opened his mouth as if to ask her something, but apparently a glance at his surroundings made him think better of it. He led her outside, toward the back of the building.

They both sat down on the cold ground, neither person saying anything. Hermione leaned back, face to the sky, trying to collect her thoughts, while Harry waited, uncharacteristically patient. She took a deep breath, then began relating what she had seen during the ceremony.

When Draco had faltered, his robe shifted and she had gotten a glimpse at his feet. His feet were covered in scars, with dried blood caked around the shackles, fresh blood traveling in rivulets over his feet. As he had walked off stage, against her will, Hermione's eyes had been drawn to the bloody footprints left in his wake and the heavy, metal chain that bound both ankle cuffs to each other, dragging slowly behind him.

***

Harry and Hermione had received information from one of their spies that Draco had a private room in the west wing of the old abandoned manor adjacent to the cave the ceremonies were held in.

While gaining access to the meeting place had required a password and a complex number of spells to evade the magical sensors, the manor was oddly unprotected. Hermione and Harry had approached the front doors with trepidation, wands drawn, expecting an ambush, or at least guards and alarms.

Harry seemed mildly disappointed when the only thing that marked their entrance was the squeaky front door. "Some Death Eater Fortress," Harry muttered. Hermione silenced him with a motion. She didn't trust this. It was too easy. Harry sighed loudly. "You know, Hermione, stealth isn't exactly a high priority in an, oh, say, empty building."

Hermione put her wand away and snapped, "Fine Harry. You've made your point, and when we get captured, tortured and killed, remember your words."

Harry frowned. "Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired."

"Oh, do shut up," she snapped. Harry grinned fondly and ruffled her hair as he jogged ahead to the main stairwell. Hermione rolled her eyes as she followed him. The stairway led to a long hall lined with heavy tapestries depicting great war scenes, with the occasional family portrait jammed on any free wall space. Each portrait, though moving, glared silently as they passed. The effect made what was really just an old house, seem menacing, full of silent intention.

Once they reached the right bedroom, before Hermione could stop him, Harry tried the doorknob. It swung open easily. The first thing that registered was the complete darkness, then the bitter cold. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed two gray eyes peering at them curiously. Draco Malfoy sat on a chair beside his bed, and stared at them as if old schoolmates bursting into his bedroom were a common occurrence. "Hello, Malfoy," Harry said softly.

"Potter. Granger." Draco acknowledged each with a small nod of his head, then calmly picked up the book resting in his lap and flipped a page.

"Well, that was pretty anticlimactic," Harry said flatly. Hermione was flabbergasted. Seeing Draco was equivalent to having a bucket of ice water thrown in her face. It was hard looking into the face of someone that she had thought she was ready to kill. This had been such a cut and dry assignment, but somehow Draco had changed the entire perimeters of the mission. Now, she wasn't sure whether to kill him or save him. And she didn't know if she had the strength to do either.

Harry had no such qualms. He strode forward, grabbed his wand, and pointed it a Draco. Gray eyes uninterestedly flicked to Harry, then Draco insolently licked his index finger and turned the page. After reading a couple more paragraphs, Draco marked his book with a small ribbon, laid it on his bed, and looked up, finally acknowledging Harry. "All right, go ahead."

Harry looked confused. "Go ahead with what?"

"What do you think I mean?" Draco spluttered. "Kill me, you great lummox."

Hermione strode forward, taking out her wand. "That's not really the way to talk to people who are trying to save you." Draco merely raised his eyebrows. Aiming his wand at the shackles that bound Draco's legs to the wall, Harry muttered a spell.

"I wouldn't try that one if I were you..." Draco tried. The unlocking spell was reflected back at Harry giving him a nasty shock. "Idiot," Draco muttered. "Do go ahead and keep trying, I'm in the mood to be entertained, but these babies aren't regular chains." He added with the faintest hint of pride, "They're magical chains."

"Yes, I gathered that," Harry replied dryly. Hermione was still trying more complex unlocking charms, and each time, was rewarded with another painful shock.

"Not too bright, huh Granger?" Draco asked suddenly. "Of course, being married to Potter will do that to a person. Always thought he'd marry the littlest weasel. They would hatch a whole flock of little, speckled, mop-haired kiddies."

Harry paused. "Wait, how did you know Hermione and I were married?"

"Death Eaters are quite the chatty fellows."

"Death Eaters sit around and talk about people's love lives?" Harry asked doubtfully.

Draco looked mildly reproachful. "We can't exactly talk about torture, killing, and great big evil schemes all the time, now can we?"

"Well, no. I guess not."

"You know," Draco said thoughtfully, "just last week, Higgs told me that he was torturing a family near the old Manor, when he overheard someone say that Mordred, the sixth year from Hogwarts, is expecting her first baby. They plan to name it Gadwing."

"Gadwing?"

"Old family name," Draco said dismissively.

Hermione, who was becoming frustrated and worried that they were running out of time, wasn't making any progress, and neither of them seemed to care. It was hard to enough to concentrate without Harry and Draco gossiping like two old women. She sighed loudly, hoping they would notice and set back to work.

Harry shot her a sheepish look and started working again. Draco obviously didn't notice or didn't care. He continued on obliviously, switching from topic to topic without pause.

Finally, Draco sighed. The lull in the constant stream of words caught Harry's attention, and he paused to look at Draco. "Look, Potter, Granger, it's been nice, but you should leave. Trust me, there is no way to get out of these chains. I've been trying for two years. You might as well leave and then kill me." He paused. "Preferably in that order."

"We're going to get you out," Hermione stated stubbornly.

Draco, getting frustrated, burst out, "Are you both completely daft? Look at where you are!" He gestured wildly around the room, "In case you haven't noticed, you are in the middle of Death Inc., Death Eaters' Headquarters. As much as we would all like to sit down and have a nice spot of Earl Gray, you don't have the time! Someone is going to bring me dinner in a few minutes. I would prefer you two not be here, so we aren't all tortured and killed. You shouldn't waste your time trying to unlock chains that are impossible to remo-" Draco was interrupted mid rant by the deep *thunk* of a chain hitting the floor. Harry held up the metal plate that had fastened the chains to the wall in his right hand.

"Fortunately for us, they aren't immune to screwdrivers," Harry said with a small, sardonic smile.

Draco sighed. "Oh, bloody hell. I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

***

As ridiculously easy as it ended up to be to enter the house, it proved easier to get out. Without the worry of setting off any magical alarms, the three strode out of the house; Harry holding the chains still attached to Draco's ankles.

Hermione was reminded perversely of a dog on a leash, then felt ashamed for the thought. Truthfully, she hated to see Draco walk; it had to be painful, though he insisted he was fine.

As they neared the gates to the property, Draco seemed to falter. He stumbled, and Harry caught his arm. It was the first ungraceful thing Hermione could ever remember seeing Draco do. Harry helped him limp to a nearby tree and let him sit down next to it. Draco leaned back and shut his eyes tiredly.

Studying him with the impassive eyes of a scientist, Hermione had to admit that Draco was good looking, no matter how much of a prat he was. She searched his face for a flaw, a blemish, something to make him real. She found nothing.

He should have been a joy to look at, but there was a remoteness that made him untouchable; a hardness around his mouth that suggested hidden cruelty and unexpected strength. It didn't detract from his looks, rather to some it would make him mysterious and even more desirable. But to Hermione, his beauty was painful; it reminded her of their mutual history, which had made him the right hand of an evil overlord and had made her willing to kill an old classmate without any qualms. If not evil, he was corrupted nonetheless; the past could not be undone.

As if aware of her scrutiny, Draco smiled slightly, nothing more than the slight upturn of lips, but it was enough; it broke the spell and she looked away.

Angry with herself for losing focus, even for a few minutes, Hermione almost slapped her own head for her stupidity. She took out her wand and aimed it at Draco. Gray eyes opened to meet hers. "Going to off me now, Granger? Went to a lot of trouble just to kill me in old Voldy's yard."

"Shut up, Draco. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to heal you." Hermione muttered a few healing spells to cauterize the wounds and reduce infection. Examining his ankles, she was finally satisfied. It wouldn't last; the chains would just keep rubbing the same skin raw, but it was better than nothing.

"Thanks," Draco said simply, getting to his feet with Harry's help.

As if mirroring her surprise, Harry said quietly, "The old Draco Malfoy wouldn't have thanked Hermione."

"Yes, well, it is very easy to be superior when one is as rich, beautiful, and charming as I was at Hogwarts," Draco replied haughtily.

Harry snorted. "You were hardly charming."

"Charm is in the eye of the beholder."

"Isn't that beauty?"

Draco looked down his nose at Harry, an impressive feat since they were roughly the same height, and managed to give him a withering look that suggested that he pitied Harry's complete imbecility, as he swept past him towards the gate.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that you have a knack for pissing people off?" Harry called out to Draco's retreating back.

Draco's reply was muffled. "Hasn't anyone ever tell you that you have a knack for saying really stupid things?"

"Er, no."

"First time for everything. You're an idiot who says incredibly stupid things."

Harry looked amused. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Potter, you couldn't handle it."

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To be continued...

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