Coming Of Age

Coming of Age

Chapter Five - Hedwig

Saturday 18th August 2001

Emily stood by the kitchen door and watched Harry mow the lawn. He had already finished the flat area bordering the patio and was now working his way up a rather steep grassy slope. The electric mower ran noisily over the grass, spraying him with cuttings. He was attacking his work as if it was the most important thing in the universe even though the grass didn't really need cutting.

She was finding him difficult to understand these days, with his constantly shifting moods. One moment he would be fine, and then he'd drop down into a brooding morass again. The problem was he refused to talk about it. He would just say he was fine and then go out and do something stupid like chopping wood or, as he was doing now, cutting the grass. And, she noted with irritation, he was still wearing that stupid bit of string on his wrist.

"Harry." She walked across the patio to the edge of the lawn. "Harry!"

"What?" He shouted over the noise of the motor, but didn't stop.

"You should come and get ready."

"I'm busy."

"We need to be off soon." He didn't respond.

Emily tapped a foot impatiently on the granite then turned on her heel. She strode to the power outlet and pulled out the plug. The motor ground to a halt. "I refuse to have a conversation over the noise of that thing."

He remained on the slope, bracing himself on his left leg, his right leg forward and the mower above him. "I am cutting the grass." He leaned against the mower handle, which reached to just above his waist. "You've been bugging me about it enough."

"I have not." She climbed the slope and stopped beside him. Harry was breathing deeply from the exertion and damp hair clung about his flushed face. "We need to be off in an hour." He didn't look at her. "To get to London. The Party. Remember?"

Harry let go of the handle and it fell to the ground. Pulling off his glasses, he grabbed at the hem of his vest and wiped his face. "I don't want to go."

"What?"

"I said I don't want to go. Cancel it."

"Now you are just being silly. There are nearly 100 people on their way to London to celebrate YOUR birthday."

He turned toward her, his chest still heaving. "It's my party. If I don't want to go, then it's up to me."

"For goodness sake, Harry, what is wrong with you? You've been in this ... this petulant mood since Professor Thingy..."

"Snape."

"...came yesterday. What on earth did he say to upset you so much?" He finally met her gaze. "Harry, will you please talk to me. If there's a problem, we can sort it out together."

"Nothing is wrong." Apart from, he wanted to tell her, the fact someone has poisoned me and is using another poor bugger to torture me. And, I'm being dragged back into a world I thought I'd gotten rid of.

And that world was one of wands and magic.

He was very aware of his own wand, which hung beside him. Not in a pocket or up a sleeve as he used to keep it, but floating there - all by itself. The wand felt alive to him now, more so than he was ever aware of in the past. It seemed to be able to communicate with him mentally and if he wanted it to be in his hand, or to race around the garden, all he had to do was ask. Go on then, he said to it and he could sense it moving off behind Emily. It appeared very briefly, as if it were winking, and disappeared again with a couple of silent sparks. He didn't understand it and what had been a novelty the previous day was now beginning to unnerve him. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he reopened them, he let out a long sigh. "Sorry, I'm just not sure I can deal with all those people."

Emily reached out to him and cradled his face in her hand. "Oh, Harry. Come on. You'll enjoy it when you get there." She kissed him. "They are your friends and want to celebrate with you.'

He opened his mouth to argue, but knew it was pointless, and a hint of a smile slowly spread across his face "Okay."

"And will you promise to talk to me about what's wrong?"

"There isn't anything."

She glowered at him. "Yeah, right! I'll go and run you a bath." She kissed him again and scrambled down the slope.

Harry watched the woman disappear into the house and then reached for the mower handle, dragging it down to the patio. There, he paused, again leaning on the handle. He couldn't get out of his mind what Snape had said to him. "Did you really believe you could just leave?" It had been playing over and over in his mind all night, and it made so much sense. He had destroyed Voldemort, so why shouldn't his followers want to get rid of Harry? But why wait so long? Why didn't they do it three years ago? Had they been waiting for someone like Lucius Malfoy to rise to power? Was Malfoy really powerful enough to control Voldemort's armies? And what about Sirius? How did he fit into all this?

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hands. It was probably his imagination, but he thought he could feel the poison in his body - in his very cells. Was Snape right? Should he give up everything he had here and go into hiding? He hadn't hidden from Voldemort all the years he'd fought the Dark Lord, so why should he run from his followers now?

And how did he know Snape was telling the truth about the curse? Dumbledore may have trusted him, but did his old headmaster really know whether the potions master was on Voldemort's side or not.

Down at his feet, Harry saw Thomas staring up at him. The cat let out a meow that sounded like he had smoked 20 a day all his life."Hi, Tom." Harry dropped a hand down and the animal rose on his haunches, butting his head against it. "What do you think I should do?" Meow. "Yeah?" Meow. "Will Emily mind?" Meow. "Oh. Okay." The cat weaved his way around Harry's legs before strolling off up the slope.

Harry watched the fat animal waddle away. Now, if ever there was an animal that was part Kneazle, Thomas fitted the bill. He shook his head and finally managed a proper smile as he set about winding up the power cord.

********************

The party was not the horror Harry had envisaged. The hotel was nice; there was plenty of room, good food and pleasant music. He mixed happily with people, danced with others and even managed to be polite to his relatives. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to be the only ones not happy. They moaned to the lady on the reception desk about their room, tut-tutted over the buffet and complained about the vintage of the champagne.

Harry did not want to meet them and for about an hour managed to always be in a different part of the room from them. It was inevitable, however, that the Dursleys would eventually corner him and when the inevitable finally happened Harry mentally prepared himself for the onslaught.

"Harry, darling." Aunt Petunia all but threw herself at her nephew. She wrapped her long spindly arms around him and planted a big wet kiss on the corner of his mouth. Harry's face set in a hard line; at least he had moved quickly enough to prevent her from kissing him on the mouth. "Happy birthday. I know it was a couple of weeks ago, but it's lovely to see you. Did you get your present? Did it fit? Did you have a good time?" In between each sentence, Harry tried to answer, desperate to wipe the wet mark from his face, but she just didn't stop. It couldn't get any worse he told himself. He was wrong. "Oh, look. I've got lipstick on your face. Here, dear, let me get rid of it." She rummaged in her bag and produced a tissue, proceeding to wipe his face as though he were a five year old.

Harry did nothing. It was pointless arguing, just as it was pointless reminding her of the years he hadn't been her 'darling'. Outside of the circle of Dursleys he could see Emily grinning at him, mouthing that he should behave. One day he would tell her the whole story of his life with these people, and then she might understand why he disliked them so much. In fact, he would like nothing more than to never see them again, but the memory of Dumbledore telling him they were his only family and, thus, important, had always stayed. Despite everything they had done, he couldn't ignore them.

"Hello, Petunia," he finally managed. "Thanks for coming. Vernon." He nodded at his uncle.

Vernon held out a hand waiting for Harry to shake it. It was fat and damp with perspiration. "Well, Harry, good to see you've made it to 21 and managed to make something of yourself at last."

The smile on Harry's face was so forced he thought for a moment it might crack. "I guess I've got you to thank for that. Always spurring me on." The sarcasm was lost on both aunt and uncle. Finally, Harry turned to his cousin, Dudley. His childhood tormentor, who had made Harry's life a misery.

Dudley was a few months older than Harry and had been spoilt rotten all his life. He had grown extraordinarily fat on the attempts of his parents to feed him everything and anything he wanted. Seven years before he had reached the size of a small whale and even his school matron at Smeltings intervened (mainly because he couldn't get a uniform to fit rather than on health grounds!).

Harry studied his cousin for a moment. Dudley was still overweight, but had lost a lot of weight since the gross-out days of his youth. Compared to Harry he was still huge, but then a sick insect would probably look like a log next to Harry. Harry was only five feet eight inches - tiny compared to Dudley's six feet one! And he never managed to put on weight even when told by one doctor that he was underweight for his height.

Dudley also looked like a criminal, Harry decided. His hair had been shaved almost completely off, as was the fashion, and he looked like a bouncer on some nightclub door (or, for those who watch the TV programme EastEnders, like Phil Mitchell!). He still had no neck to speak of, and Harry wondered how he managed to wear a tie. Hanging on Dudley's arm was a girl who was actually quite attractive considering who her date was. Well, it takes all sorts.

"Hello, Dudley," Harry finally spoke. "How's university?"

Dudley smiled a thin-lipped smile as false as the one Harry wore. His mum and dad might have decided Harry was a 'good egg' after all, but Dudley still remembered his cousin was a wizard and how one of his wizard friends had made him grow a pig's tail. "Great. Start my final year next month." Dudley was studying something to do with engineering at Oxford, no doubt so he would be able to join Grunnings, his father's company, and make drills. "This is Pia. She's in one of my study groups." He waved a hand at the woman. "Pia, this is Harry, my cousin."

Pia smiled at Harry. "Dudders tells me you take photographs." She had a posh upper-class accent, Harry nodded. "Anything risque?"

Harry smiled broadly, deliberately turning on the charm. His green eyes shone like emeralds. "Sometimes," he whispered breathlessly, The look on Dudley's face was classic.

"Well," She moved closer and touched his arm with a long fingernail. "If you ever need a model, I might be available."

Harry debated for a split second how it might upset Dudley even more if he kissed Pia and decided he didn't care. He took Pia's hand and kissed the back of it just where the fingers joined. "I'll bear it in mind. Have a lovely evening, Pia. Maybe we can dance later."

She giggled and looked suitably miffed when Dudley dragged her away.

Vernon and Petunia trailed after their son and Harry waved a hand at them. "See you later." Then more quietly, "when hell freezes over." He heaved a sigh of relief and wiped the back of his hand across his face. He could still feel the Mark of Petunia burning on his skin. He needed to find a bathroom to wash his face.

He turned, straight into a group of people and nearly knocked a woman over. "Oh, sorry." He steadied her and she turned to look at him. His mouth dropped open. She was astonishingly beautiful, with platinum blond hair, reaching almost to the middle of her back and the most incredible golden eyes. She wore no make up and her skin was coloured by a slight tan, but it retained a translucent, Mother of Pearl, quality. Her fingers were long, ending in the perfectly manicured nails.

"Did I say I was sorry?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, I think you did." He had expected her voice to be high, but it was deeper, like an oboe rather than a clarinet, and it seemed to sing to him. She held out her hand. "You must be Harry. I recognise the eyes."

"Oh." He was used to people saying they 'recognised the scar', not his eyes. He took hold of the fingers, his own normally graceful hands feeling very clumsy. "Do I know you?"

She smiled, the feathers around the neck of her white dress fluttering slightly. "Well, in a manner of speaking. We have mutual friends, which is why I'm here."

Harry was so flummoxed he didn't even think to ask who the mutual friends were. He also forgot to release her hand.

"Will you dance with me, Harry?"

"If ... if you like."

The band had just started playing a slow number. She led him onto the dance floor and turned him towards her. She put his hand on her waist, and Harry felt the warmth of her skin through the sheer silk. Her left hand rested gently on his shoulder and their free hands entwined.

Harry could have remained like that all night, just standing there on the edge of the dance floor. He couldn't remember how to dance. All there was were the golden eyes and the pressure of her hands. Later, Emily would tell him what a graceful couple they had made, how she hadn't known what a good dancer he was. But Harry didn't remember dancing a step.

When the music finished, he became aware of how close they now were, the length of their bodies almost touching, her feathers tickling his skin. "Thank you," he whispered, taking in for the first time they were the same height and the woman's face was perfectly aligned with his.

"It was a pleasure." She moved her hand from Harry's shoulder and touched his face where Petunia had kissed him. It felt like the touch purified his skin. "Do you mind if I give you a birthday kiss?"

Harry shook his head and whispered, "No." He had expected a kiss on his cheek, but she leaned forward, her lips resting on his, the contact as gentle as a feather. The touch was the most sensual he could ever remember experiencing and he though the might just pass out at her feet.

She pulled away. "I have to go now. But I will be there when you need me."

"But..."

"Shh." She placed a finger on his lips. "No questions."

"I don't know your name."

"Of course you do." She reached to her sleeve, pulled a slim white feather from it and handed it to Harry. Then, without a word she walked into the crowd.

Too shocked to follow, Harry stared at the feather in his hand, partner to the one back at the lighthouse. "Hedwig?"

********************

The August sun was setting over the Malfoy Estate, low over the treetops. The Elizabethan castle, complete with battlements, stood on the site of a much older building, destroyed during the persecutions of the 1500s only to rise from the ashes years later. The Malfoys were one of the oldest Wizarding families in Britain and they had always had no qualms about exploiting their wealth and position to further their aims.

Draco Malfoy stood at the top of the stone steps leading down to a formal garden, complete with fountain and topiary hedges. The sun shone into his eyes as it just tipped above the trees, but he didn't shield them with his hand. Eyelids fluttered closed and the insides where bathed bright red from the light with the tree outlines etched in negative below. The image slowly faded to black and he turned to lean against the stone balustrade.

He had spent a great day in London at Diagon Alley, the first great day since his disastrous birthday. Of course, he could have arranged for the new books from Flourish and Blotts and other supplies for a new potion he wanted to try to be delivered, but he needed an excuse to get away from the house, wanted someone other than his mother and servants to talk to.

Lucius - at least the physical form of his father - had been away since the night of Draco's birthday and the only person actually missing him seemed to be Narcissa. Of course, Draco realised she knew that the Dark Lord had taken over Lucius' body and it was actually Voldemort, rather than her husband, who she missed. She wandered around the house in a daze, mooning about like a teenager. Draco certainly didn't miss his physical presence, but Voldemort was with him constantly. He felt a sensation of the Dark Lord's aura in his mind all the time now, like an electrical tingle reminding him he had been marked.

The books and potion were Draco's attempt at finding out what Voldemort had done to him. He needed to find out what spell Voldemort had used on him. Only then could he even attempt a counter-curse. He didn't really expect to get answers from such mundane books, but the castle library had been locked and he was forbidden to use it. He hadn't realised how much he took access to the extraordinary collection of books for granted until it was taken away from him. Voldemort must know how methodical Draco was at research and clearly didn't want him to have access to anything that might help him.

Draco had been lucky. With no financial worries, he had graduated from school without concerns of career or job satisfaction. He's spent the last three years playing Seeker on a team owned by his father and indulging in test flying broomsticks during the out-of-season periods. Lucius had made him resign at the end of the previous season - something about Narcissa being worried about her son's safety. Draco had thought it strange, but who was he to argue. He was used to doing what his father wanted, normally without question.

Now, of course, the reason was clear. Lucius didn't expect him to be around when the new season started. It would probably be a good idea, Draco mused, for him to cancel his Readers Wizarding Digest subscription!

He knew he should leave. Just pack his bags and go. But where would he go? He was rich, but everything was tied up in Lucius' name. Draco had no cash to speak of, everything was charged and that facility would be turned off the moment his disappearance was noted.

Of course, he could steal the family silver, but who would buy something with the Minster of Magic's monogram all over it?

********************

"Who was that lady?" Emily slid an arm around Harry's waist and spun round him as they jived across the dance floor. He caught her hand and let her spin out until both their arms were straight and then pulled her back, body-to-body. "The one in the white dress."

"Don't know." He turned her to face him and kissed the tip of her nose. "She said she was here with someone from Ron's" He cringed - lying again Potter! It was becoming par for the course these days and he seemed to be doing it so well.

"I'm beginning to think you have a very shady past, Harry Potter. All these strange people you seem to know. Snape, the woman in white, that trio of red heads by the door."

"What?" Harry stopped so suddenly Emily nearly lost her footing.

She clung to him, steadying herself. "Over there, by the door. They said you were at school with them." She saw a strange look flash across his face.

"Can you give me five minutes? I haven't seen them for years."

Harry untangled himself from her and started across the dance floor. The red hair and freckles were unmistakeable. Ron and George and Fred. Did George have long hair, or was that Fred? He didn't know. Didn't care. His pace quickened and he pushed his way throughthe throng.

And fell into Ron's arms.

The four grabbed at shoulders, slapped backs and hugged as only a three-year absence could cause.

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed to say, his voice rising above the noise of the room.

"Would we miss your party?" The twin with the long hair slapped him on the back again.

"Would we miss any party," the one with the stud retorted.

"George?"

"No, George has the hair - I'll just stick with the stud."

"How did you find out about the party? How did you find me?"

"Ron's a seer remember - crystal ball gazing." Fred smirked.

"You should have seen him - 'I see loads of drink'!" George put on a spooky voice.

"I don't believe you are here." Harry had a stupid grin on his face.

The small group continued with back slapping for a moment, then Ron's face suddenly became serious, and he leaned close to Harry's ear. "Harry, we need to talk about what Snape told you."

"What, now?" Ron nodded again and Harry gave a small shrug. "Okay, let's find somewhere quiet."

"There's a room next door. We've checked it out and it's empty."

Harry nodded, following the Weasleys to the room. Fred opened the door and ushered everyone in.

The small meeting room was empty apart from a few round tables ... and Hermione Granger. They stood ten feet apart, looking at each other, neither knowing what to say or do.

Harry knew he was staring. He could see the changes three years had brought. She seemed taller, curvier than he remembered. Her hair was drawn back from her face in simple curls, several tiny shimmering butterfly clips holding it in place. He realised their wings fluttered as she moved and wondered whether it was magic or not. Her dress was a deep red, and its simple cut accentuated the lines of her body.

Hermione studied him with the same intense scrutiny. He hadn't changed that much. His profile was more defined, more masculine now, but the expression shining out of those green eyes was the same she had been watching since she was 11. The same sad, haunted gaze that had greeted her on the Hogwarts Express their first year. The same wounded child looking for a place to belong, dressed in his ill-fitting cast offs, which made him seem even smaller than he actually had been.

Tonight the clothes fit. His dark trousers were like a second skin and the silk sweater he wore was so fine it seemed to float on his frame. Its pale teal colour made his eyes burn deep sea green. And it was the eyes which made her want to hold him and warn him that he could run and run, but the past would always catch up with him.

Harry crossed the ten-foot gap and grabbed Hermione into his arms. He clung to her as if his very life depended on it, fingers digging into her arms and back for fear she might vanish.

Then he kissed her, hard and with passion as though the last three years had never happened and they were back at Hogwarts again. At first Hermione didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. Then, slowly, she fell into the emotion and her mouth opened under his, bruising lips together with a shared eagerness.

Ron stared, aghast. The rational part of him said the two hadn't seen each other for years and Harry didn't know about Ron's relationship with his ex-girlfriend. The unreasonable part was seething at the gall of his friend. Did Harry really think he could just pick things up as if the last three years hadn't happened?

Fred folded his arms. "Well, they haven't seen each other in a while, you know."

George nodded. "And it is only a little brotherly kiss after all."

Ron's face slowly began to redden and he stepped between the two, pushing them apart. "Okay, enough greeting!" They looked at him, bemused expressions mirrored on each face. "Hermione, let me introduce you to an old friend of mine, Harry Potter." The sarcasm was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. "Harry, this is Hermione, MY girlfriend." He caustically finished.

Hermione looked between the two, her face flushed. "I... um."

Harry blinked in confusion, hearing Ron's bitter recriminations echoing slightly around the edge of the emotions still burning within him. "Oh. I'm..." He looked at Ron, then down at the floor. "I didn't mean to." He stepped back, feeling guilty for all sorts of reasons, the list headed by Emily. Tugging his sweater straight, he gave a nervous smile. "Hermione," he nodded at her

George finally broke the silence, which hung in the room. "Hexes and curses anyone?"

"Talk." Ron pointed to a table.

No one moved. No one looked at anyone else.

Finally Harry held up his hands. "Okay, can we back track and start over. I've just met up with you all again and I don't want it to end like this. Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. You just look so nice and..." He gesticulated with his hands then shrugged and turned away, towards Ron. "Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't think and I didn't know."

"Yeah, well," Ron sulked.

"Fred, George. Sorry you had to witness that."

"We don't mind," they echoed together.

"By the way, like the stud, Fred and the hair, George. Bet it drives the girls wild." The twins grinned and Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione, putting a hand on each person's shoulder. "Thank you for my presents. They took some explaining though." He held out his right arm where the cord bracelet still hung. "Cool magic too. Very impressive."

The three stood very quietly for a moment and the connection linking them together slowly re-ignited.

"Isn't it sweet," Fred tilted his head to one side, watching the trio.

"Do you think they'll stay like that all night? Cos if they are, I've got a date with a raven-haired beauty who tried to seduce me up earlier."

"Better wait a while. Ron's getting his serious 'Percy' look again. Any minute now he'll be dishing out orders."

Ron glared back over his shoulder and gave his brothers a vicious look. "Harry," he turned his attention back to his old friend. "We need to talk." His words broke the trio apart, but the connection between them remained.

"Okay," Harry gestured to the table Ron had early pointed out and they sat down. It might be his imagination, but Harry got the impression he sat alone on one side while the rest grouped opposite. "So, Snape tells me you're some sort of hit squad."

"Something like that." Ron let Hermione speak. He was still upset by what had happened and wasn't sure he could be rational at the moment. The trouble was he couldn't decide why he was so upset. Harry kissing Hermione like that was good cause, but there was something else niggling at him deep down. "Sirius arranged it back after you left."

"Why?"

"Why?" Ron leaned forward. "Because people were trying to kill you, that's why."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Let me deal with this."

"No!" Ron suddenly realised what the niggling was. Harry had just waltzed into the room as if nothing had happened, as if he'd never left and everything was just as it used to be. "You don't know what it's been like, Harry. You went off and we had to pick up the pieces. People like Lucius Malfoy have been destroying everything you tried to protect. Do you know how many people have moved overseas to get away from him and his thought police? Even Hermione's parents are living in France now because she's too scared to let them live here. If it wasn't for Sirius things would be even worse than they are now."

Ron suddenly came to his feet and his chair toppled to the floor behind him. "Do you know what he told me a few weeks ago? That it's almost as bad as when Voldemort was around twenty-five years ago. Actually he said it was worse because at least back then you knew who was on what side. Today we have no idea. People are just so damn scared they will say anything to save their own skins. Make up lies, shop their friends, anything to stay out of Malfoy's prisons and away from his version of Aurors." He strode round the table and stood over Harry. "And you ask why we've been protecting you." He leaned towards Harry, inches apart. "People like Malfoy want you dead, that's why!"

Harry looked deep into Ron's blue eyes. "Oh. I've never heard you say Voldemort's name before."

Ron turned away, looking skyward. "For fuck's sake, Harry. Have you listened to ANYTHING I have just said?"

"Well, you haven't."

"Harry." Hermione tried to break into what was turning into a very personal battle. She had never seen Ron so angry, hardly every heard him swear. And Harry most definitely wasn't helping. "We..."

"I didn't ask you to look after me."

"What?"

"I never expected you to do that."

"You ungrateful git."

Now Harry was on his feet. "Me? Ungrateful. Haven't I done my share? How many times have I gone up against Voldemort in the past? Didn't I stop him this time? I don't need this." He turned away, and then spun back, "And don't go throwing things about like a spoilt brat just because I kissed your girl friend. I said I didn't know. I apologised. What do you want me to do, get on my knees and beg?" Green eyes blazing, he turned towards the door. "I don't need your help. I'll sort this out on my own, just like I've always done."

********************

"You left the grounds without my permission."

Draco spun, stumbling down a step at the unexpected voice, which he heard not only through his ears, but also inside his head. Lucius was there, beside him, the setting sun turning his white hair blood red. "I..." Draco steadied himself against the stonework. This man looked like Voldemort now, any trace of his father was lost in the twilight. "I needed to go to Diagon Alley."

"You will not leave the grounds without my consent. In fact I have arranged it so you won't be able to leave. There are now blocking spells around the grounds that will prevent you. I suggest you do not try." The man's eyes bore into his son's. "Do you understand?"

Draco nodded. The man's presence was so overpowering it was difficult to do anything but comply.

"I will not allow you to ruin my plans, Draco. If you follow my instructions to the letter, I will allow you to live through this. If you disobey me - if you try to leave - I will hunt you down and your miserable life will be worth nothing." Draco's eyes widened with fear, his mouth dry. "Now you must be punished for your disobedience."

Lucius held up his hand, palm outwards and pointed it at Draco's chest. "Crucio Fractumus Spina."

********************

Bristling with an anger he didn't understand, Harry strode towards the door. Halfway across the room he felt the floor disappear beneath him and he fall into darkness.

********************

As the curse hit, Draco fell backwards, plummeting down the stone steps. Breath knocked out of him, he lay in a crumpled heap for a moment, wondering why he felt no pain from the curse. Cruciatus was supposed to hurt, but he just felt winded from the fall. Then he tried to sit up and realised what the other words Lucius had spoken meant.

Every bone in his body had been smashed. The damaged pieces scraped together, leaving sharp daggers of tortured pain in their wake. He sucked in a lungful of air, but as his chest expanded the shattered ribs ripped into his lungs and he tasted blood in his mouth, choking him. Don't breath, his mind told him, Don't move.

A blossom of agony ripped through his leg and he realised his smashed femur had broken through muscle and skin.

He tried to scream, but the action shattered his jaw.

********************

Hermione saw Harry's legs give way. He plummeted to the floor like a stone. She let out a cry and sprinted towards him, dropping down at his feet. "Don't touch him," she hissed, waving the others away. "Dark magic again."

"Make sure no one comes in." Ron gestured to his brothers and George quickly locked the door. Ron joined Hermione on the floor and he ran a hand a couple of inches above the fallen body. "I can feel it, but I don't understand the curse. It's been twisted, changed from the original into something else."

********************

Harry didn't know how long he fell for, but when he finally collided with the ground it was with a spine-jarring crunch. Sparks of fire flashed through his bones and he thought he would never move again.

A glimmer of a thought developed deep in his mind and he knew he had to get to safety.

********************

From somewhere deep inside, Draco tried to control the torment, but it was almost impossible. The pain overwhelmed him and his mind cried out for darkness, to pass out into oblivion, but Voldemort blocked any possibility of that. Despite the white-hot shards of pain it inflicted, he held out a hand, pleading for mercy.

After an eternity, a hard voice grated through his skull. It whispered "Finite Incantatum." and then laughed.

********************

Harry looked around for the boy, but the cloud was empty. He wanted to call out to him, but he didn't know the boy's name or how to find him.

He picked up the toy lion club and looked over the cloud's edge to the building below. This time the roof was in place and it took him a moment to locate the boy. He was sat on the wall surrounding a fountain, and he was crying.

Harry called to the boy. He needed to be up on the cloud where he would be safe. But the boy was too upset to hear him. His pain was too much. Then he heard a voice. It was calling to him, pulling him up and away from the cloud.

Up towards the light.

********************

Harry opened his eyes, blinking in the bright light, and looked at the concerned faces staring down at him. "What happened?" he finally managed to ask, trying to sit up.

"You collapsed." Fred sat down at Harry's side and reached an arm around the younger man's shoulders as he tried to rise. Harry didn't get far and he leaded back against Fred for support.

"It was the curse, the one Snape told you about." Ron's hand hovered above his fallen friend, using it to discern whether the dark magic had dissipated or not. "It's gone now, but you've been unconscious for a good 15 minutes."

"Doesn't feel like it's gone," Harry hissed with pain. The lingering ache in his bones felt like each had been snapped and then put back together again. "Wow." He ran a shaky hand across his brow and held his aching head.

Hermione remained quietly by Harry's feet, her wand in her hand as she tried several charms to ease the pain. Nothing was very successful and she swore at her own inaction.

Harry watched her through watering eyes, seeing her full lips still red from their kiss, and a raised mark on her bare shoulder where he had held her so tightly. He wanted to sit up on his own, without using Fred for support, but he couldn't. He couldn't remember ever feeling so weak and helpless. In the back of his mind the image of the crying boy burned and he remembered Snape telling him that what he felt was only an echo of the pain experienced by the trigger. He had to find out who the boy was; needed to know who the caster was using to hurt them both.

And he knew Snape was right - he couldn't deal with this on his own.

"Ron," Despite the pain it caused him, Harry reached for his friend's hand, holding it tightly. "Please forgive me. I don't know what's been going on and I apologise for sounding off like that. I do need help and I can't do this on my own." He looked at the four people sat on the floor around him and realised he had trusted them all once before and needed to do the same again. "I need help from all of you. I have to find out who the trigger is. Someone is torturing him to get at me and I have to find out why. Please will you help me before both of us die?"

********************

By the time Draco felt able to move, it was dark and had been for hours. Lucius had gone almost as soon as he ended the curse, but Draco couldn't help but feel the man was still watching him from somewhere within the darkened building.

Uncurling himself from the foetal position he'd ended up in, Draco hissed at the pain left in the wake of the curse. He felt like he had fallen from his broomstick in a very big way. All of his muscles seemed to have locked up and he had to carefully stretch the pain out of each one before moving. Finally, he managed to sit, despite the wave of nausea accompanying the action. He wiped a hand across his mouth and found blood on it; blood from punctured lungs. He touched his mouth again and realised he had bitten through his lip and the side of his mouth. That was where the blood came from, not from his lungs.

And then he realised it had all been in his mind. The after-effects, the pain and blood where there, but the whole incident had been played out in his imagination like some macabre nightmare. It made sense really. How could Voldemort continue to inflict such torment physically? He would end up with a broken dead body long before he had finished with his torture. In fact, Draco knew he would not have survived had this been for real.

A sudden cold realisation hit him and he thought he might pass out again. If this really did only affect the unconscious, Voldemort could continue his torture for years until he finally drove Draco mad.

Draco knew he had no option but to get away from Voldemort and from the estate. When Voldemort decided to curse him again, he wasn't sure how he would cope. And he knew it was 'when' not 'if'. All he needed to do was get through the Dark Lord's blocks around the estate. All! Such a small word for such a big task. But he couldn't do anything about it at the moment. It was taking all his strength to just exist at the moment and with pain radiating through his body.

Very slowly, Draco used the stone steps to help him to his feet and like an old man he dragged himself up the stairs, each like climbing a mountain.

It took him a while to find an unlocked door into the castle. The pain in his leg, where the phantom bone had broken through, shot from foot to hip with each step, forcing him to limp. Most of the lights in the deserted corridors had been extinguished for the night and Draco walked through them in near darkness. Except the corridors were not deserted. Occasionally he would feel he was being watched and see people in the portraits scrutinizing him, hissing out comments as he limped by.

The 'living' portraits had never bothered him before, but now they sent a shiver down his spine as each become part of Voldemort's army of spies - watching, reporting back, betraying.

He paused outside what had been his father's study. No light spilled under the door and he hoped it would be empty. Draco pushed the door open, closing it behind him. He was in darkness.

He fumbled for his wand and pointed it in the general direction of the desk. "Lumos." The desk lamp flared into life and he tiredly crossed the room. Beside the desk, he rested a hand on the imposing leather chair, but couldn't quite bring himself to sit in it. An image of his father sitting there sprang to mind. Always his father in that chair and Draco stood on the other side of the desk. Lucius talking in that very quiet voice he used to chastise - never raised above a whisper - a voice you had to listen to very hard and which chilled the blood.

Draco let go and crouched down to a cupboard in the desk pedestal, wincing as pain flashed down from his hip. He took out a small bottle and glass and kicked the door gently closed. Then, sitting on a smaller, hard-backed chair, he poured a generous measure of clear liquid into the glass. He swallowed the Goblin Vodka in one gulp, feeling it burn a tract of fire down his throat and into his stomach.

That was good! Almost immediately, he felt the familiar sensation of its warmth washing through his body. He closed his eyes and let out a heart-felt sigh. The Vodka took the edge off the pain left by Voldemort's vindictive attack. The man was a psychopath, he decided.He opened his eyes and reached for the bottle.

His hand never touched it. Instead it exploded, sending shards of glass around him. Without thinking Draco's arms shot up to protect his face, his heavy robes offering protection, but he still felt several splinters strike his hands and face. He hissed in pain and tried to pull one splinter from the back of his hand.

"Leave it."

Draco froze like a deer caught in headlights at the voice. That quiet whisper. He didn't move, didn't look round, just kept his eyes focused on the desk lamp, conscious of the blood on his face.

"You took your time." The voice was closer and Draco could sense the man stood a few feet behind him. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Draco tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn't work. He struggled for seconds to speak and then said simply. "Why?" Lucius didn't respond. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The soft chuckle made Draco shudder and he tried to concentrate on the light before him, using it as a focal point.

"You have the nerve to ask me why I choose to do something?"

"I don't question."

"I do it because it pleases me. Because I want to. Does that suit your inquisitiveness?" Draco's back stiffened imperceptivity. "I am doing it because through you I can make Harry Potter suffer."

"Potter?"

"Yes." The voice was suddenly beside him and Draco could feel it like a huge weight bearing down on him. He wanted to pull away, but knew he dare not move. "You felt my Power didn't you? Saw him suffering in the scrying bowl. You and he are linked now remember. When I curse you he feels it. He suffers too. You were chosen, Draco, to carry out this great service to me. You should be honoured to serve me so. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Draco and I am giving you the chance to repay all the insults and degradations Potter forced on you at Hogwarts."

Draco was grateful Lucius was behind him. He didn't want the man to see the fear on his face, the abject horror at what he had just been told. He could feel his hands shaking and then realised his whole body was trembling. He finally found a voice. "You are torturing me so that Potter experiences the same thing?"

"Of course." A hand lightly touched Draco's shoulder, the fingertips brushing the scar by his throat. "Surely you don't think I would hurt you just for my own pleasure." Voldemort felt the boy's trembling body and smiled. "I have told you. Do as I say and I will let you stand with me as my heir and successor. You have it within you to be great, but only on my terms."

Draco realised Lucius was bending towards him, his mouth close to his ear, his breath stirring the fine hair. "You are mine, Draco. Your father promised you to me when you were borne and I will collect." The voice was so low he felt rather than heard it. "You will submit willingly."

"And if I don't?" His voice was a squeak, like it had just broken.

"There are more things in your mind I can use. Fears you don't even realise you have." Lucius' hair brushed against Draco's face, cold like icicles. "I am your Master and your Lord. Cross me if you dare. I won't kill you, but I will do things to you which will make you beg for death."

A slender finger ran along the boy's cut cheek, drawing the blood into a line. It stopped on his lips and Draco tasted his own blood.

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