Immortalis

i m m o r t a l i s

[four]

“I'm trapped in this world

Lonely and fading

Heartbroken and waiting

For you to come

We are stuck in this world

That's not meant for me”

Not Meant For Me, Jonathan Davis

04: Prisoner of Azkaban

23.12.1997, Tuesday 0807
Port Wolston, Shetland Islands

“Jesus Christ!”

Katherine Bell took a step back from the ‘cargo’ Bernie McNamara was carrying onto shore. This was her third day on the job as Customs Officer in the small town of Port Wolston in the Shetland Islands. There was nothing remarkable about the place except for the fact that it was the closest habitation to the wizard prison of Azkaban. The Order of the Phoenix had sent her here through Arabella Figg, her liaison.

“That’s exactly what I said to meself. The poor lad’s half-dead with exhaustion and cold. Lord knows where he’s come from.” McNamara set the young man down on the dock. His lips were tinged with blue, his eyes just open enough to show a sliver of white. His fingers clutched the ratty blanket that the sailor had wrapped around him. “Spotted a dark red head as me and me mates were gettin' ready to get home.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” Katie knelt beside him, reaching out and taking the prostrate man’s pulse. “Please be alive.”

The sailor pushed his cap back. “D’ye know him then? Healthy-looking young man. I can’t imagine what possessed him to try and drown hisself.”

“He didn’t try and drown himself.” Katie quickly flipped out a cellphone, but hesitated before dialing the numbers. She shut the lid with a snap and turned back. “Bernie- go call an ambulance. I’ll stay with him.”

“Whatever you say.”

She watched until Bernie had turned the corner before taking out her wand and casting a warmth spell on him. “Don’t you dare die on me, Charles Weasley, because George will never forgive me. You hear? You are not going to die on me…” She transfigured the blanket into a thick woolen shirt, all the while checking him over for injuries.

A little colour slowly returned to his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. Charlie saw Katie and tensed suddenly before relaxing into her arms. “I made it…” He whispered hoarsely, between coughs.

“Are you all right? Oh my God, Charlie- you’ve been missing for months! We’ve been so-,” she stopped and hugged him tightly. “Your family is going to be ecstatic…”

“My family. I miss them, Katie…you have no idea…” He tried to get up but collapsed on the floor, wincing. “Damn.”

“I wish Poppy was here to get you some of her Pepper-up Potion. I don’t have any of the ingredients-,” She stopped and bit her lip. “We need to get out of here before Bernie brings back the police. There are just too many questions…are you strong enough to Apparate jointly?”

“I- I don’t know…”

Katie brushed back her hair and made a face. “How stupid of me- obviously you’re not strong enough. It’s so utterly silly of me to even think that you could withstand such advanced magic so quickly-” The combined mix of relief and worry made her babble.

“That’s all right…” He didn’t even attempt getting up, knowing that it would be fruitless.

Katie opened her mobile phone once again, dialing a number she had memorized beforehand. “Phoenix, this is Wooly Sheep, authorization Echo Bravo Niner. Charlie Weasley has been retrieved. Repeat, Charlie Weasley has been retrieved and is in transit to Ottery St. Catchpole. Wooly Sheep out.”

“Wooly sheep?” Despite his exhaustion, Charlie raised one eyebrow in amusement. It was hardly a fitting name for a ‘secret agent.’

She shrugged, smiling wryly. “Yeah, since I’m stationed at Port Wolston in the Shetland Islands. Dumbledore thought it was hilarious.”

Charlie nodded weakly. “I didn’t know we used cellular devices.”

“Ah, took Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, I see,” Katie shoved the phone back into her purse. “It’s our new system- we figured that…Voldemort-” there was still a slight hesitation as she said it. It was Dumbledore who had decreed that this time, they would not fear his name. “-and the Collective wouldn’t be monitoring the Muggle networks as rigorously as the magical communications.”

Crouching on the ground next to him, Katie extended her wand hand and then withdrew it, bracing herself for the inevitable…BANG… The hulking purple monstrosity that went by the name of the Knight Bus stopped in front of them with a squeak. The doors slid open and the conductor stepped out. Katie couldn’t suppress a smile, despite the gravity of the situation.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency trans- blimey! If it isn’t Katie Bell!”

“Hello Stan- could you help me with my friend, please?” She cut off the curiosity that was evident in the youth’s pale blue eyes. “We’re in a bit of a fix.”

Stan Shunpike nodded and offered a hand to help. “Bloody ‘ell, it’s Charlie Weasley!” He exclaimed, even as they mounted the steps. “I ‘eard you were missing, it was in the journal- Veritas- with a picture an’ all.” He gently jabbed Charlie, who seemed too tired to respond, in the chest disbelievingly.

“Shhh…for God’s sake, Shunpike, keep your voice down.” Katie shook her head. “We don’t want the entire world to know.” Her rebuke made him cringe and mutter an apology. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken more advantage of it.

The driver swiveled around in his armchair, disregarding the steering wheel completely. He was aged, but there was a sort of wasted strength about him. It was obvious his limbs had once been muscled, and the wrinkles in the mottled skin were premature. Moss green eyes still looked sharp and astute. “Katherine, darlin’!” He had a pronounced Scottish accent to his speech, which lent it an almost musical lilt. “I ‘ardly expected to see you here.”

Katie quickly laid Charlie down on the nearest bed, telling Stan to make sure Charlie was comfortable before walking over to Ernie Prang and giving him a quick hug. “It’s nice to see you Uncle Ernie.”

He was not her biological uncle in truth, but might well have been related to her. He had played the part of her father in the later years, after the death of Andrew Bell, and it was no secret that he loved her mother. And it was no secret that Madeleine Fitzgerald-Bell loved him right back- but she had made it clear that she would not marry again (‘My last name’s long enough already, Ernest’). Madeleine had told Katie that they had worked together for around twenty years. The thing was, Katie Bell was never quite sure what her mother’s job was. Madeleine claimed, with very little vehemence, that she was a risk assessment officer for a magical insurance company…but the hours that she put in just didn’t match, and Katie knew better than to ask.

“Nice to see you too.” His quick eyes darted towards the figure on the bed. Ernie’s lips puckered and he whistled through his yellowish teeth. “So, yeh’ve found the Weasley boy.”

“He’s exhausted…I think he just jumped in the sea and started swimming.”

“Aye, the boy’s got guts, I’ll give yeh that.” He pointedly did not ask where he had started swimming from- it was highly secret that Azkaban had been converted into Voldemort’s Headquarters, but Katie got the feeling that he knew. “’e doesn’t looked starved, or tortured. That’s a good sign.”

Katie nodded and looked back towards the brass-postered bed. “Let’s go to Ottery St. Catchpole, Ernie. His family will be glad to see him.”

*

23.12.1997, Tuesday 1020
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

“Mum?” Charlie Weasley mumbled, as the auburn-haired woman mopping his forehead danced blurrily in front of his eyes. Stupid. Mum’s dead. You should know that better than anyone else.

Ginny Weasley stopped, dropping the damp cloth, her lip trembling slightly. “Charlie,” her voice broke slightly as she hugged her brother. “Charlie- you’re awake.”

As if by some weird telepathic connection- the rest of the Weasley family streamed in the door. The remnants of the Weasley family. Arthur entered first, Fred and George jostling with Ron to get in the narrow doorway. Bill had not been heard from since he had joined the Department of Mysteries, and Percy was up to his coat tails in work at the Ministry. Apparently pandering to both Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy was taking it out on him.

Charlie lay back on the bed after Ginny released him, his brown eyes shining oddly. “I know you must be wondering where I’ve been-,” he began awkwardly.

“You can tell us when you’re ready, son.”

He nodded gratefully. “Thanks, dad, I-,” his fingers felt for the pouch that had been fastened to his hide belt only to find the hem of his trousers, even his wand was gone. “Where are my things?” He asked, his voice edging on panic. “I need them- I-,”

“They’re here, Charlie, right on your bedside table. Nobody is going to take anything from you here.” Ginny’s voice was soothing, firm in a reassuring way. Being a prisoner has changed him.

Ron finally understood the little difficulties Sirius Black’s friends had felt- just to see the change that Azkaban had on a man. He could see the look in Remus’ eyes so clearly- Sirius can never be the person that he was before that place. Charlie wasn’t as emaciated as Harry’s godfather had been, but the telltale dark bruises under the eyes and the hunted look was achingly familiar: the look of a prisoner of Azkaban.

Charlie didn’t reply, but reached for the belt, pulling it around him with a suppressed wince. Slowly, he unbuckled the pouch and reached inside. His fingers emerged holding a black thread joined to a blue speckled feather with silver clasps. “This is my good luck charm- it’s a feather from a bird I studied in my first Care of Magical Creatures class. Bill made it for me…”

“We love you so much, Charlie.”

He bit his lip, unable to look up. “I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of and betrayed some oaths that I swore to uphold. I’ve done so many things that you could never forgive me for.”

Arthur shook his head, holding his son’s hand with aging fingers. “There is nothing to forgive. We love you, and we always will love you. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past, it’s already forgotten.”

“We’re family.”

*

23.12.1997, Tuesday 2154
Dungeon, Azkaban Island

“Are you a good little girl, Narcissa?”

The pale silver of the moon sliced into the murky gray of the room, illuminating the features of the woman shackled to the floor. It etched her figure in an aura of dove-feathered white, filtering through her goldish locks and dissipating into the colour of watered-down sunlight. She was clothed in a silk nightgown; scarlet ribbon clasping her sleeves and neckline in twisted up bloody roses. The fabric fell to her calves, displaying the angles of her slim ankles encased with steel bands, the starkness of her bony shin in the prison surroundings making her seem malnourished. Darkness stained the skin below her eyes and down the right side of her face in violet-varnished bruises. Her grey eyes, like droplets of mercury, looked up at him.

“Do you tell the truth?” The voice was harsher now, the playful melody to the tone replaced by staccato sharpness. “Will I have to put the Veritas spell on you? I hate doing that, Narcissa. It can cause severe brain damage if the subject resists…and I find vegetative corpses hard to communicate with.”

“Leave me alone, Riddle,” she spat, the words congealing as they passed from her swollen lips. “It doesn’t matter what you say or do…or even what I say or do…” Her speech descended into a sudden burst of borderline hysterical laughter. “Nothing matters any more.”

Voldemort raised his skeletal hand and struck her once more with the back of his hand, the force jarring his bones. Narcissa yielded to the impact, her throat spasmed and she spat out dark blood along with the shiny white nub of a tooth. Almost immediately, the patch above her mouth began to swell, the entire right side of her face thickened. “What did you tell them about us?”

“Them and Us, them and us, who’s them and who’s us? What if we’re them, or some of us are, or none of us are Them, but just us. Not Us, but us, what would it be like, Mr. Riddle?” She asked, not looking up from the sight of her shard-of-moon tooth sliding on the oily burnt umber-vermilion blood. “What would it be like? For me to be I, for us to be we and them not to be anything but exactly who they are and nothing else. There are so many secrets…so many that you could never lay your hands on because you wouldn’t understand why.”

“You’re hysterical.”

Narcissa laughed again, lightly, as one would do at a posh cocktail party after making a slightly rude remark. “I’m not crazy,” she whispered, looking up, the inflammation making her look like some grotesque travesty of a human. Esmeralda and Quasimodo, Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde. “I’m not crazy.”

“For God’s sake, Narcissa. I’ve always liked you, ever since you walked up to me and introduced yourself as ‘Narcissa Havisham, only daughter and sole heir to the family and fortune of the distinguishedly pureblood Havisham line’.” He allowed himself a small chuckle, sounding wrong even as it died away, killed by the cold stone. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, but you seem to leave me no choice. I will have to give you to the Dementors on the eve of the 31^st. I was hoping to save you, perhaps redeem you and snatch you out of the grip of the blind stupidity you insist on following. I thought you saw the truth, Narcissa.”

“Evidently you were mistaken.”

Voldemort shook his head. “Evidently. I do not make many mistakes, and I will right this one. Goodbye, Narcissa Havisham, enjoy your last days of solitude. You will die on the thirty-first of December as planned.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never have him!” Voldemort turned sharply and drank in the desperation in her eyes. They screamed that she did not want to die.

“Desperation is my favorite emotion,” he muttered, under his breath. “Never have whom? Lucius? He turned you in-,”

“Lucius betrayed me because I betrayed the Collective, not because I spied on you.”

“You would say anything, wouldn’t you? Perhaps all that time of teaching was not a complete waste after all…divide and conquer… Do not think that I cannot recognize such blatant stratagems.” Voldemort seemed disdainful, his reddish eyes glinting. “Whom are you talking about?”

“If you kill me, my son will never come to you. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who has been destined to be yours ever since he was conceived! He will turn against you, Riddle, this I swear!”

Voldemort took a deep breath. “Oh, Narcissa, how pathetic you’ve become. Do not forget that it was because of me that he was conceived! Do you forget that the sons of Veela are doomed to bear no children? It was my Dark Magic that gave the Malfoy generation an heir. Marcus refused my offer and it drove him mad. Lucius accepted my terms- the child belongs to me. I have made sure of it with the spell your husband helped me cast!”

“How pathetic you have become…stealing the children of others because you can have none of your own. Why have you no heirs, Voldemort? Because no magic can correct a problem not of magic. How great you are, Master, with a Muggle disease afflicting your body. That is why you have an obsession with immortality.” Narcissa laughed darkly, coldly. “There is a fairy tale about someone like you…who gives a gift and demands the firstborn child as a price…Rumplestiltskin!” She screamed suddenly, her voice echoing on the walls.

“You have taken leave of your senses, Narcissa!” Voldemort drew his cloak around him smoothly and began to exit. “Let us see how amusing your little parables are to the Dementors.”

“Try, try, my dear, to unravel the riddle I have made

For failure, in Royal firstborn’s blood I am repaid…

Could it be Atticus, Theodore, Bobbie or Cain?-

Perhaps Jonathan, Rubeus, Darrel or Wayne?-

Oh, the Queen shall never win this game,

For Rumplestiltskin is my name! Rumplestiltskin is my name!”

Her voice flowly faded as Voldemort left, she curled into herself and tried to ignore the bite of the iron. “But she got him in the end…” She whispered. “The Queen got him in the end…”

*

24.12.1997, Wednesday 0802
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

The fresh aroma of baking bread crept through the house in damp, banana flavored waves. Arthur had bought a Muggle oven a few months after Molly had died and decided to learn how to bake. After a series of failed experiments he had finally gotten the hand of the thing- fluffy, light cakes and delicious breads graced the Weasley table every mealtime. The angrier or unhappier Arthur Weasley was, the more pastries were glazed, iced and set before the family. Ginny, after worrying for an extended period of time, finally let it be, figuring that it was some way for her father to deal with his loss. Ginny just thanked her stars that it was baking and not alcohol, like Deanna Diggory.

Ginny knocked softly on Charlie’s door. “Breakfast’s ready,” she called, twisting the knob.

There was a sudden clatter as the large ladle Charlie was holding fell to the floor and he spun around. “Gin! I don’t remember you this quiet.” He bent to retrieve the spoon with a nervous air and placed it back in the small cauldron that bubbled above the fire.

“Well, I don’t remember you this jumpy.”

The young man grinned warmly and continued to stir. “I was wrong. Same old smart-mouth Gin.” A gentle blue steam rose from it, the smell strong enough to mask out the other odors in the house.

“What’re you doing?” She asked interestedly, stepping closer. She and Charlie were the only ones in the family with any knack at potion-brewing, but Ginny had much more talent than he. People went as far to say that she was gifted. Hell, even Snape had grudgingly accepted that she had skill (‘you are the only Gryffindor to have even an inkling of this subtle art, however miniscule that inkling may be’).

“Making Pepper-Up Potion for myself,” he gave the mix one last swirl and then left it. “It’ll take some more time to brew…shall we go down for breakfast?”

“Exactly what I had in mind. But before…Charlie…I want to know…it’s supposed to be so hard to escape from Azkaban…but I know it’s not impossible, I mean, Sirius Black did it.” Her face was determined, set grimly- she was not going to be easily dissuaded from whatever task she had applied herself to. “How did you do it?”

Charlie fingered the chain of his good luck charm, the pendant tucked inside his shirt. “That’s because I wasn’t…I wasn’t a prisoner. I pretended to-,”

“You don’t have to tell me now.” She stopped him, holding up her hand with a satisfied smile on her lips. “I just wanted to know whether you’d tell me.”

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 0525
Azkaban, Azkaban Island

“Yes, my Lord, you heard me right.” The smile on Lucius Malfoy’s face was one of cool vindication, each word slipped out of his mouth oiled with malicious joy. It was not often that the Dark Lord was surprised, not often that he was proved wrong and one of his followers was proved right. This was one of those times.

Eyes glittering, Voldemort shifted uneasily on his throne-like chair. “He used Sirius Black as his Secret Keeper. Who could have imagined the boy’s utter foolish sentimentality?”

“Actually, master, I did mention-,”

“Wipe that smug grin from your features, Lucius. I remember quite well that you suggested this possibility to me some while ago. It seems I overestimated my opponent’s sense.” He said nothing else, but seemed annoyed. He did not like his servants to best him so openly. Still, it had been his idea that had brought the fact to light… “Make it known everywhere, and I mean everywhere, that Sirius Black has been captured by the Death Eaters. The Daily Prophet, the magazines- I believe Christmas editions are going out today-, all the foreign newspapers. Even the Muggle networks- a little piece saying that the notorious convict Sirius Black has been recaptured. The minute the accursed one finds out his godfather is in our hands he will come running.”

“Consider it done, my Lord. Should I assemble a team to recover him?”

Voldemort held up his hand. “No, Lucius. How is Sarhen doing in her pursuit of our escapee?”

“She has found it difficult to trace Charles Weasley. However, given time…”

“Given time, anything is possible, but we do not have enough of it. Send her up to me. The importance of capturing Black supercedes all others.”

*

Thursday 1023
Unknown Location

“You have done well, little one.”

The darkness cascaded around in silken waves, enveloping him in its sensual caress. Thin pinpricks of artificial light illuminated the woman standing before him, etching her figure in gold. She was beautiful, her dress blood red against the warm brown of her skin; there was an undisputed look of nobility about her. Determination, cool and hard like a glittering diamond, formed her core. And yet, she was not at the heavier end of the balance of power in the room.

“Have I, Gabriel?”

He descended the marble steps, a careful watchfulness about him. He was pale, and more beautiful than any other man that had ever walked the earth. Was he even a man? Red-gold hair gently fell to strong shoulders and deep blue eyes held a tranquil enlightenment within them. Even in his gait he seemed unearthly, somehow godlike yet with traces of humanity. His robes were black, worn open over dark trousers and displaying a stretch of pale chest; they gave him the look of stark majesty. The delicate points of his ears could be seen through the soft covering of hair.

He touched her cheek in a gesture of blessing, his fingers as cold as if they were made from ice. “Indeed, you have done admirably, Astarte. Though you are my protégé, you are but human, and given this fact your feats are astounding.” There was suggestion in his tone, something that inclined one to simply agree with his words. “You will be remembered, Astarte, your name will ring down the halls of eternity. Your fear of being forgotten is…frivolous. Discard it.”

“Yes, Gabriel,” she hesitated, gathering her courage around her before speaking once more. “I have done as my heart has led me, established the Collective of the pure and yet I am troubled. It is obviously something that you wanted, yet I cannot see why. I cannot understand your interest in wizardkind, Gabriel.”

“I have been wondering when you would pose that question to me. It is a long story, little one, a story which rides the saddle of time in the endless circles of infinity and has no beginning nor end. You have earned knowledge. I have helped you, become your mentor, channeled your distaste for the impure into action. Yet what you say is true, I have no interest in the interaffairs of humans, even wizards. Their magic is weak, and their minds are weaker. My interest lies in vengeance.” For a brief moment, hatred flickered in his empty eyes, lighting them up and burning them like stray leaves struck with matches. “You are confused.”

“Yes. Against whom do you wish to seek this vengeance? It seems to me the only ones hurt by my plans will be the Muggles.”

“I shall answer your questions slowly. Many millennia ago, long before the age of humankind, we lived in peace. By ‘we’ I mean the Immortalis, the onëa, in our tongue. You speak of us as the Elven folk. I was the First, I saw the beginnings of this reality, I watched as the universe threaded itself and began to weave it’s complex tapestry, I was there when Time slashed through the fabric of space and marked each creature with Death…but stopped when it came upon us. I felt the swirl of its lips as Time gave me, gave us, the gift of Immortality. There were Six of us at the dawn, but Amaranta, the Second, and I, ruled.” His voice was lost, memory coating his syllables with honeyed sadness. “I know there are powers above us, too, but I know little of their motivations. They tell me their will; I am their chosen messenger.”

“There were soon more of us, but never too many, we created new Immortals only with the agreement of the Six. Then the Fifth became consumed with fire, he said that we had become too complacent, that nothing had meaning for us. It was truth, but now I wish I had not listened. He spoke of creating other beings, those who were like us in every way but one, they would be mortal. Their existences would be meaningful because of their briefness. We agreed, more out of curiosity and boredom that anything else,” Gabriel looked away, but did not stop speaking. “He found four others who had become inflamed as he was and created them- crude, simple beings- and released them upon a beautiful world.”

Astarte’s voice was hushed, expectant brightness in her eyes. “Humans.”

“Yes, that is what they called themselves after they had evolved. It is remarkable, to tell the truth, how you have progressed from your humble beginnings. But that was the problem- the Fifth, Ianis, found the creatures enchanting and mysterious. Unfortunately, so did many others. Against my orders, some interbred with the mortals, creating hybrid children with extended lifespans and the power of magic in their blood. Yes, Astarte, we are your ancestors.” He smiled at her surprise, a cold thin smile without mirth. “I knew that this was wrong, I knew that the powers above us had not intended the taste of immortality for other tongues. The worst was that not all the crossbreeds were so benign- one of ours had a child by a wizard with pure evil in his heart, a great necromancer, and this child was the first of the parasites. The vampires who have to drink mortal blood to keep away the ravages of time. I was furious, as were many others. This was not at all what we imagined. Against all odds, the mortal nothings that we created caused strife between us, a great War.” He paused, recollecting the events, gripping the nearby table more firmly. “Everything had been lost in the War. I knew the only way to right our wrong was to destroy everything we had created, the humans, the vampires, even the wizards, for the Elves would forever succumb to the temptation.”

“As it was, Ianis disagreed, and he led many others with them, those who harbored feelings for the humans. They did not understand that there would be retribution for giving a gift that was not ours. The war was bitter and terrifying, Death visited us often. It ended when I murdered Ianis, murdered one of my own because of a mortal, but that was not before he had spilled Amaranta’s blood. More of Ianis’s followers survived than mine, so I was banished, and the others retreated into darkness, leaving the humans to do as they pleased…do you wish to ask a question, Astarte?”

“Yes, Gabriel. I have heard stories of elves, Erivalli, who helped humans, who healed them-,”

He laughed shortly. “The Clan Erival’ai- Ianis’ blood flows through them. They have aided the humans, but they are not the only ones. The four who helped Ianis aided the wizards, too. But these are small matters, unimportant in the grant scheme of things. The powers above spoke only to me, through nightmares and visions. They have told me great things, but the remaining Elves will not listen. None of the original Six but me remain, they are weak and without resolve, but they can be saved. It is up to me, Astarte.” He gazed into her dark eyes, knowing he would find no comfort there but needing with every spark of life in that immortal soul to unburden himself. “The powers above have told me that they will give us one millennia to correct our mistake, but after that they will strike the Immortals down. Time quickly slips through my fingers; the hourglass will run out of sand on the first of January 2005. If I wish to preserve my race, yours must die.”

Astarte moved back in horror, realization flashing blackly within her. “You’ve simply been using me- using the Collective to maneuver the world into war! That’s what the Purge will do, isn’t it?” Her calm voice and demeanor were shattered into shrillness, every muscle in her body tensed. How could it be?- her mentor, her guide regarded her as she regarded the filthy Muggles?

“It is the perfect solution. I shall let the two subspecies annihilate each other. You have equal power- the Muggles and their technology, the Wizards and their magic- it is the best course. I have been slaying countless vampires over the centuries, but for each one I strike down seven rise up…yet my plans encompass them also. Without mortals to feed upon, the vampires will die. The powers above will forgive us, and the Immortals will rule once more.” Gabriel finished calmly, ignoring the coiled up angry disbelief that radiated from the witch. “If we die, it would be- it would be the end of eternity!”

“I refuse you, Gabriel. You have shown me the way thus far, and I need you no longer. The Collective’s plans will be changed, and there will be no Muggle-Wizard war. We can dominate them without shedding a drop of our blood. I refuse to let you destroy our greatness, I-,”

In a movement almost too swift for her to detect, he was by her side, his hand gently on her shoulder. “Hush, little human, hush now,” her protests died to charged silence. “Forget all that I have told you, forget all your plans of defiance against me. Remember only your goal of wizard domination, the violent artistry of your Purge. Forget, Astarte, we have been talking of nothing but the greatness of the Collective.”

She swayed slightly on her feet, steadied by his hand, her eyes losing their characteristic focus and clarity. Astarte blinked once, as if awaking from some deep sleep and looked into the eyes of the elf with the so recently torn admiration. “My apologies, what did you just say?”

“Just that you have made me proud, my dear. Now go and begin your plans. Time waits for no one.”

She nodded and left, blissfully unaware of the wistfully bitter smile on Gabriel’s lips as he turned and gazed out of the window once more. Alone, as always, in the realm of forgotten memories.

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 1910
The Stables, Malfoy Estate

Draco carefully checked to his left and right before sliding the wood plank out of its groove. With a soft creak, the door opened slightly. The process would have been a lot easier using magic, but Lucius Malfoy had set up wards that detected any spells. The long, ash colored coat wafted around his ankles thickly. It was Tebo hide, prized by wizards the world over for it’s protective values. Underneath it, he wore a grey shirt that matched the coat exactly along with a pair of soft black jodhpurs. Silver spurs glittered at the edges of his black riding boots, making a dull clicking noise when he walked.

There was a soft whinny coming from the darkness; the paddock was large and airy, the bottom scattered with a layer of soft, dry hay. Slowly, a large black horse emerged from the gloom with heavy steps. It was sleek and beautiful, powerful haunches rippling underneath the dark coat. Two huge wings protruded from the shoulder joints, each feather such a dark shade of ebony that it almost seemed to gleam an iridescent blue-violet. There was no doubt that this was a Thestral horse…the rarest kind of winged horse. It had been almost bred out of existence because it was considered unlucky by the magical community.

“Hello there, girl…” Draco spoke gently, reaching out one hand and stroking her neck. “How are you doing, Morwen?”

She whinnied and tossed her head, her black forelocks thrown back to reveal golden eyes. He stood close to her like that for a few moments, just listening to her even breathing and mumbling to her. It was obvious that he was a trained equestrian, but more than that- it was obvious that he loved horses.

“We have an important mission tonight-,”

The paddock gateway was flung open with a cracking noise as Morwen reared up in indignation at the arrival of the stranger. “I knew she meant more to you than that!”

“Be quiet!” Draco’s first reaction was to hiss the admonition and cloak his surprise. “Or it won’t matter what Narcissa meant to either of us. How did you find me, and why in Slytherin’s hallowed name are you here, Celeste?” He turned back to Morwen and slowly soothed her, not giving vent to his annoyance. That’s all I need, my half-sister alchemist crackpot shooting her mouth off and ruining everything…

“I followed you…I’ve been following you ever since I got here. I’ve found out some many interesting things about the Malfoy dragon.” Her grey eyes matched his, their clear gaze a slicing mirror to his own. “For instance, he hides his emotions so well that he could trick any being into believing his lie.”

Celeste Havisham looked sad, faintly wistful, rather than accusing. Narcissa’s features were softened in her visage, lessening their hard, hawk-like angularity to that of a gently molded ivory statuette. Her hand was held out slightly in a gesture of peace…a truce between half-siblings that would be sealed only if Draco grasped her fingers with his. It was a gesture that apologized and pleaded but was wary all the same.

“Sometimes it is better to believe lies than to know the truth…”

Draco was merely sparring for time, probing, testing his opponent. Not nemesis, for despite it all they were on the same side…but then, everyone was his opponent. Narcissa was the only one who escaped such absolute classification. And his father too- both mentor and mortal enemy.

“There can’t be anything horrible enough to warrant such disguising.” She didn’t tell, she asked. Celeste’s tone was carefully modulated, calculatedly gentle and intended to interest rather than provoke.

“You have no idea.” He whispered back, the harsh timbre to his voice thickening slightly in the crisp, cool air of the evening. His eyes seemed like liquid black when he spoke the swords, drowned in the dark that was quietly choking the daylight. With a quick shake of his head, Draco stood a little straighter. “Every moment we waste here is one moment less I have.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to rescue mother.”

“You’re just going to waltz in there and rescue mother.” Celeste placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, yes, now that’s going to be easy.”

Draco raised one eyebrow. “I do not appreciate the sarcasm. And I have a plan, Celeste, that does not involve you.” He turned away from her and started brushing down Morwen.

“Please, Draco,” her voice was low and on the point of breaking. “Please let me help in some way.”

There were a few moments of silence in which he considered. “Fine, Celeste,” he said at length, sounding resigned. “Create a diversion, preferably one that gets the guards away from the Apparation point.”

“It’s as good as done.”

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 1920
Apparation Point, Malfoy Estate

A loud, piercing scream echoed through the evening, followed by the sound of running before Celeste Havisham burst into the guardroom. A dark line of blood sliced through her cheek, beading at a jagged cut. Her grey eyes were wide and frightened, but despite it all; her hair was done up in intricate pins and red gloss coated her lips. She held a trembling hand to her forehead and clutched at the table. Romulus Lupin and Bulstrode were once more the guards on duty.

“Celeste, what’s wrong?” Romulus was on his feet and by her side, holding her shoulders firmly. “Celeste?”

The breath caught in her throat as her eyes darted wildly. “Oh, God- oh God! Romulus, there’s something out there! Something…I don’t know what it is, it just grabbed me as I was walking and…” She lapsed into ragged, dry sobs. “It was like a lethifold…only with claws and…such horrible teeth!”

“Shh…” He gently touched the wand to her cut and healed it. “Are you well enough to show us where this happened?”

“I…think so.” Romulus nodded encouragingly. “Come.”

Lupin and Bulstrode drew their wands on either side of her, following her up the path. “Bulstrode, go up to the mansion and get the others. Tell them we may have a security breach in Sector four.”

“Right. Full countermeasures. Should I contact Lord Malfoy?”

Romulus shook his head quickly. “I think it’s just one of the Lord’s pets escaped from the Labyrinth. If it’s a threat, then and only then do we disturb him.”

The elder man nodded and started walking briskly up the path. Celeste leaned harder on Romulus, breathing quickly. She was concentrating hard on hearing something- the faint, barely there sound of hoofbeats. Her lips quirked into a smile which was quickly wiped away.

Suddenly, she lifted her hand and pointed towards a dark copse of trees. “Over there- that’s where I saw it go!” She cried.

“You just wait here. Lumos!” Romulus pushed aside the thorny bushes, looking around for some sign of the creature that had attacked Celeste. Keeping watch for possible attempts to escape via his post was one of the last things on his mind.

By the time he had given up looking and placated an apparently still-shaking Celeste Havisham, the heir to the Malfoy estate and his father’s prize Thestral mare had made a stealthy escape. Of course, Romulus Lupin didn’t know that.

*

Date and Time Irrelevant
Location Unknown

There were three.

Philosophers in the wizarding world had written books on the mystical number of three, theorized on its seeming significance, wondered at the reason for its choice. Three. The first true prime number. Three was indivisible by anything other than itself or one. Was that the reason it had been chosen? Three faces of fate, three Gods of the Triumvirate, three wars to end a world.

Always three.

The Triumvirate did not know why there were three of them, merely that it was the way things had always been and always would be. Their minds had no conception of birth or death except vaguely when they looked on the mortals. The mortals annoyed them, for no other reason than the fact that they reminded the Triumvirate of their own ignorance, Godlike though it was. Immortals were much better that way- they had similar gaps in their knowledge and did not insist on questioning them as much as the mortals did.

The Triumvirate decided that the mortals needed to find so many things out because they were afraid of time, afraid that they might be forgotten. It did not matter, sooner or later time erased all memories. Still, they were a thorn in their side…even the Elves questioned things- probably due to them… It was a good thing they had made sure that the Mortals would be gone soon. Perhaps it would be better to make it so that even the elves were destroyed. No. That could not be- the Triumvirate needed their entertainment. The Triumvirate had planned things perfectly, or so they thought, affecting minds and whispering in the ears of people that needed motivation. But they still could not reach out and adjust things directly. It was an inherent flaw they could not overcome, a limitation that reduced them from God to Godlike. They preferred, in eternal disdain, to ignore the fact.

Gabriel would not fail- he was too passionate, and he was learning their tricks. The way he had influenced Astarte’s mind was superb. Then there was Voldemort, who would spark off a war if Astarte wouldn’t. The Muggles didn’t need help at all, they were bloodthirsty enough. Like the vampires. The Triumvirate hoped to keep the Vampires well away from the fray. They were Immortals in a way, but not quite. Not quite mortal either.

Let’s watch the mortals for a while… Two ‘said’.

They had evolved into ‘personas’…they identified each other as One, Two and Three…but that was just a superficial distinction. Deep enough, they were one. ‘Said’ didn’t quite describe their way of communication- it was more like thought-knowledge-action, not really separate voices but three facets of a personality in an internal discussion.

You always want to watch the mortals.

Don’t be so generalistic, Three. One sounded amused. Do you have anything better to do? Besides, they’ll be gone in a few pieces of time. You’ve got to admit that they’re far more interesting than the Elven folk.

Fine. Three conceded grudgingly, as they turned their attentions to the mortal sphere.

Without saying it, they knew whom they were looking for and where they were. In every generation, there were a few mortals that caught the Triumvirate’s attention. Those were the ones who did great things, accomplished great feats…it was like Fate pointed out the best show in the world for them…

Two felt excited. Oh, look…Draco’s just off to save his progenitor. I wonder if he’ll make it?

We could just flip a few minutes forward and look. Three reminded, annoyed by Two’s childish antics. We do not wonder. We know.

Don’t be so judgmental- it’s no fun doing a timeskip and it gives Two a headache. Oooh, a double Apparation with an animal of lesser intelligence. That’s difficult for mortals. One seemed to catch Two’s exuberance. Just look at the field disruptions! Aha! He made it!

Three glowered at them both, very put out. That mortal always was your favorite.

It’s not as if you don’t have a mortal favorite. There’s Voldemort, you always have your eye on him…and the amount of things you say to the Trelawney girl! One enjoyed Three’s embarrassment before sniggering. And what was that you said? ‘The Triumvirate are appeased only by strife’? Where did you come up with that?

You’re always so gloomy. Two added.

I’m the only one that does any work around here. I’ve had to plan this entire war. What about all of Gabriel’s visions? I did all of that. All you do is watch Draco and that Harry Potter.

Give One a break. Two interjected stoically.

You’re no better! All you do is watch Hermione Granger. You’ve even been Tampering to get the three of them to be friends. Three crowed triumphantly. Oh, I’ve seen that! And I saw what you’re going to do…how you even changed Voldemort’s plans.

Aw come on. I think Draco and Hermione are sweet together.

Are you crazy, Two? They’re the most mismatched couple in the history of mortal romance. Three insisted.

Yeah. That’s what makes them so great. Two sighed dramatically. Now shut up, we’re missing the action.

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 1932
Shores, Azkaban Island

Draco was mildly surprised when the double-Apparation worked and he appeared on the shores. You’d think they would put some wards around. Morwen didn’t like the feel of the place and whinnied softly, kicking up some of the fine sand with her hooves. “Steady, girl,” Draco whispered, placing a hand on her bridle. “I need you to stay here and wait for me. I need you to hide, all right? Hide.”

His voice was low and hard, the horse’s ears flattened. There was a slow buildup of anticipation, a gnawing feeling of an event about to take place before the air around Morwen began to pulse with magic. In one smooth second, she disappeared. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Invisibility was a known power of these winged horses, but learning to control it…that was more of an art…

Almost eighteen years of training in the Dark Arts had not gone to waste. Draco had cast a protective charm over himself, along with a few simple anti-Detection spells. Still, the magic would not be enough to get him through it. If he was to stand any chance at all, it would have to be using his brain. In Draco’s opinion, that was Lucius Malfoy’s greatest flaw; his reliance on magic rather than intelligence.

He felt a coldness twisting his chest, and with a jolt realized that it was fear. He could take his pick of what- Voldemort, Dementors, fanatic Death Eaters…Lucius Malfoy… This is not the time. Focus. It was an endless mantra in his head. Focus. Discard hindering emotions. Fear, hate, anger, love, joy, sadness…they meant nothing, they were nothing. Just pure white focus.

Senses on high alert, Draco slowly crunched up the shore towards the imposing structure of Azkaban. He was at the huge steel doors when doubt assailed him once more. He was so small compared to the fortress, he felt reduced to insignificance before it- what did he think he could do anyway? He was just a teenager with very little real experience, despite his maturity. But his mother’s life was at stake, and people did strange things for love. Suicidal things.

Draco hadn’t seen a single guard yet; this fact needled him. Voldemort was not colossally stupid enough to indulge in such blatant complacency. Perhaps he was just lucky. Draco tightened his fingers around his wand and pointed it at the bolted, shuttered door. “Alohom-,” before he could even complete the spell, a high-pitched alarm hammered through him.

There was a sudden flurry of action- guards appeared on the turrets, figures hurried past the windows. Voldemort had found him out! Draco took a sudden step back, his plans crashing down at his feet before he realized… But I didn’t do anything. How had the Dark Lord known, then? He looked around once more, only to find that there were no guards advancing on his position. Which means he doesn’t know where I am…or he isn’t even looking for me… Whichever option it was, it didn’t matter.

“Alohomora!” The doors swung open and crashed against the walls, but the alarm drowned out the noise. As quickly as he could, Draco stepped inside, his eyes moving to either side of him. There was a whoosh of air behind him and the door slammed shut; simultaneously, the siren stopped. The corridor diverged to his left and right, both sides seeming much the same. He thought he heard the sound of footsteps, but before he could be sure the heavy march of several people echoed through the halls.

“Find the boy!” An indistinct voice cried. “Quickly!”

Without even thinking it, instinct caused his muscles to move, propelling him in the opposite direction of the hostile sounds. Draco started running, looking behind him for any sign of Death Eaters. His heart was hammering wildly- how did they find out? How could they know?

“Oof!”

Draco felt his shoe catch on something on the floor; there was a sudden jerk before he fell forwards into what he had previously thought was empty space and found-

“Potter!”

The dark-haired boy was sprawled on the floor next to him, one of his feet and bits of his torso invisible. The soft weave of his invisibility cloak lay in billows on the floor. He looked disheveled; scared but determined. There was something in his eyes that made Draco raise his eyebrow. Strength. Well well, so Potter really did have a backbone after all.

“Malfoy?!” Harry hissed back. “I’ll bet your Master’s going to reward you very well for this.”

Draco clamped his hand over Harry’s mouth and glanced backwards, noting the ever approaching sounds. “Shut up, Potter, and move over.” He grabbed the edge of the invisibility cloak and pulled it over both of them as they hurriedly stood up. “Come on.” He gestured for Harry to follow him, and they lumbered clumsily towards the wall, flattening themselves against it.

“Where the hell is he?” Saristine Delacour-Lupin’s voice was muffled with the mask. “We couldn’t have passed him.”

“Maybe he went in the other direction.”

Saristine clenched her fingers. “You can run, Potter, you can even hide- but you’re not getting out of here! Come on, don’t dawdle!” She snapped her fingers and hurried down the corridor.

Harry blew out his breath as she left, though his body was still tensed. “What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Draco replied, infuriatingly calm.

“I don’t have the time for this.”

“Fine,” he muttered, realizing the value of having Harry’s help. There was nothing wrong with using your enemies. “I’m here for my mother,” he elaborated at the other boy’s questioning look. “She’s been spying for your side. The Dark Lord found out. Your turn.”

“Dumbledore told me to use the Fidelius Charm, Sirius was my Secret Keeper. Voldemort found out and captured him. Brought him here.”

“How do you know that?”

Harry resisted the urge to punch him on his pointy little nose. “It was all over the news. The Daily Prophet, everything-,”

“It’s a trap. God, Potter, I didn’t think you were all as thick as that. The Dark Lord owns the ‘Prophet. He probably ran the story to lure you here. And now you’ve gone and ticked everyone off.”

“Malfoy, I don’t have time to exchange pleasantries with you.”

“The feeling is mutual, but we can be of use to each other here. You help me with getting Narcissa, and I’ll help you with father-surrogate Black.”

Narcissa…the Narcissa who betrayed Sirius’ wife. “Why would I need your help?”

“Look, Mister I’m-the-all-powerful-savior-of-the-world, I know a bit more about Azkaban and the Death Eaters than you do. And besides, I have a great getaway plan. Something which, I think, you neglected?” Draco raised one eyebrow and smiled at Harry’s obvious discomfort. Typical Gryffindor. Never thinks things through.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 1942
Dungeon, Azkaban Fortress

Narcissa looked up from tracing bloody patterns on the floor to see a tall silver haired boy with eyes that mirrored her own enter. She lifted a finger and giggled, sitting back comfortably.

“I know you!”

Draco flinched at her lighthearted exclamation, his eyes raking over her bruises. How could he do this to you? “Yes, you do know me,” he lowered his voice, forcing himself to move closer to the barely recognizable woman that had once been his immaculately styled mother. “It’s me, Draco…I’m your son,” he added, as an afterthought. “Don’t you remember?”

An impish smile flashed across her face. “Of course I remember who you are. Silly boy, pretending to be my son. Draco’s a little boy, you’re too grown up to be my little boy…but I know who you are, even though you’ve changed a little. Come and give your sister a hug, Stefan,” she tried to stand up, the chains dragging on the floor and jerking her back. “You haven’t seen me in so long- come and give me a hug! Why are you just standing there? Stefan!”

Instinctively he enveloped her in his arms. I didn’t know she had a brother. “Yes, I was just making fun. Of course I’m Stefan. I’m here, Narcissa…I’m going to take you away from here.”

“I don’t like it here. My jewelry is too heavy,” she held out her wrists petulantly, showing him her manacles. He undid them with a spell, knowing that that would definitely trigger some alarm but hoping that Voldemort was too busy looking for Harry to notice. “Where are we going?”

“To a place,” …I have no bloody clue… “-where you’ll be safe. Just lean on me.” He supported her small frame, trying to ignore the weakness that radiated from her.

She was light, as if something inside of her had been taken away. The tether that anchored her so firmly and made her who she was had been snapped. Weak was not a word Draco ever thought he could associate with Narcissa. She loved him, of course, but there was always a barrier between them that he could never understand. A wall that existed between her and every other living creature, a veil of immovable guardedness. She never showed vulnerability or fear, she was the enduring rock of the Malfoy family. Draco had grown up believing that Narcissa was how a real woman should be. Proud, unyielding…cold, in a way, not showing what they felt. Excesses of emotion were not something that either Lucius or Narcissa encouraged.

If he was truly honest with himself, much of his ability for detachment had come from her. It was Narcissa, not Lucius, who had taught him to trust few, and even then never let his guard down completely. It was Narcissa who was the poster girl for beautiful disillusionment. Bitter. She was a bitter woman…and though Draco made it a point never to think about it, he sometimes had the feeling that if she had to live her life over she wouldn’t do the same things. As in, she would never marry Lucius Malfoy, as in she would never give birth to him. He had always felt that she regretted him…but never regretted Celeste. Jealousy was the foundation of his dislike for his half-sister.

But here she was, weak and terrified, leaning against the son she didn’t recognize. At least she knows I’m family, he told himself wryly. “Now just stay quiet, Narcissa,” he admonished, leading her into the passageway.

It was like something out of a very bad horror movie. The flagstones were worn grey, grimy and stained in unexplainable patterns. There were several brown patches that Draco suspected were remnants of blood. Or blobs of the drab brown paint that had been used to paint the metal-studded torch-holders. All it needed were a few skeletons handing from the walls and some more black drapery to make it perfect for Dracula Part 8: The Bloodbath Continues.

Harry was standing at the mouth of the corridor, his wand at the ready. He turned slowly and, despite his previous thoughts that he would feel nothing for the murderess, pity flooded through him. It wasn’t just her physical state, but the glaze of lunacy in her eyes that was so hauntingly familiar… Nobody deserves that kind of death. “Is she all right?”

“Fine,” he replied shortly, tightening his grip. “We have to move faster, Narcissa. Can you do that?”

She tossed her head of matted blonde hair and pouted. “Why do you keep calling me that, Stefan? That’s not-,” at that exact moment her eyes met the Boy Who Lived’s startlingly emerald gaze. “James? James…you’re here! Is he here, James? Is he here as well?”

Harry jerked his glance towards Draco and saw the momentary expression of surprise, even though it was covered up quickly. How does she know my father? But he didn’t ask that question, the warning look in Draco’s eyes made sure of that. “Is who here?”

“I believe she would be inquiring after her husband, Mr. Potter,” even as Draco’s hopes plummeted, the owner of the slick polished voice stepped out from the half-open doorway he had been concealed behind. “Draco, step away from Mrs Black, please.”

“What?!” Both were too shocked to realize that they had spoken in unison. Draco recovered first, looking from his mother to the man standing so calmly in front of them.

“What are you talking about, father?” It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘Lucius’, but the last time he had done that his father had backhanded him for his audacity. The blow itself hadn’t been at all painful, it was the gesture, the humiliation of it that made the impression.

A sardonic smile flickered on Lucius’ features. “The woman I married, Narcissa Havisham, is completely fictional. She is and always has been a Ministry mole, a deep cover Unspeakable who has been deceiving us all. Her real name is Noelle Vablatsky, and she was married to Sirius Black. Celeste is his daughter.”

“But she’s not Mrs Black any more, she’s Mrs Malfoy!” Draco was looking at his mother, deflated betrayal in his eyes. How could she not tell me? Even though he knew the answer, that didn’t help the anger bubbling inside, resentment at being kept at arm’s length- he was just the byproduct of her mission. “She’s Mrs Malfoy,” he repeated, more calmly.

“Ah, no, that isn’t quite true, son. She never legally divorced Mr. Black, which renders her marriage to me nullified…in fact, illegal,” he spat out the word like a bad taste. Lucius had always been traditional when it came to family values. “Celeste seems to be the only legitimate child she has borne.”

“I’m illegitimate,” he breathed, realization swirling around his head in thick purple vapors. He fought the urge to turn around and take it all out on Narcissa…Noelle…whoever the hell she was, but she obviously had no comprehension of what was going on. Illegitimate children were disqualified from inheriting family assets… I’m not even a fucking Malfoy. I’m a- I’m a Vablatsky! Who was he if not a Malfoy?- it was what he had spent every moment trying to be.“This is…this is…”

“Quite unbelievable. But I have this information from a trusted, personal source.” Lucius was calm, too calm. Draco realized that he had a plan; he had known that he would come after Narcissa.

“How could you turn her in, even though all this happened? She’s my mother! You’ve lived with this woman for more than eighteen years!” Stop it, Draco! This isn’t the time for emotional outbursts.

“Draco…son…I understand that you have a close tie with your mother. It is quite wonderful to see you display the honored Malfoy family loyalty, but I am afraid it does not apply here. This woman has lied to us, has pretended to be a part of our family. She has desecrated everything we hold dear. She spied and lied, not to the Death Eaters or the Collective, but to us. She has made a mockery of marriage itself,” Lucius had become a little flushed. He adjusted his collar with one hand and began speaking in a calmer tone. “These truths, while they needed to be known by you, will do nothing but hurt us. I am prepared to make a deal with you-,”

“What kind of deal?” Harry spoke for the first time in their confrontation.

Lucius waved a hand dismissevely in his direction. “I don’t believe I was addressing you, Mr. Potter, but you are included in my plans. Simply, it is this. Draco, you will return Ms Vablatsky, or Mrs Black, whoever she wishes to be, to her cell and then we will forget all about what has happened here. We will go home and you will be the heir to the Malfoy line as we imagined. Mr. Potter, you and your convict godfather are free to go, the Collective does not require your presence here at all. However, I will not aid you in any way, merely point you in the direction of the closest exit. My offer is more than generous; freedom and wealth in exchange for a traitorous madwoman.”

“That wouldn’t stop people from finding out. Narci- Noelle…mother…is babbling; she couldn’t keep a secret even if she was trying.”

“The Dark Lord has no ears to hear the cries of the sentenced, no vision beyond his own myopia… The Collective will not interfere. Our secret will die with her,” Lucius smiled slowly, a twisting expression like tendril of smoke. “What do you say to my offer? Both of you?”

Draco and Harry turned to look at each other. There was a moment of understanding from one to the other before the silver-haired boy turned to his father with an expression set in stone and eyes glittering like smoke diamonds. “We refuse your offer, father, we refuse to submit. I refuse.”

“Don’t you understand, you foolish boy? When the Dark Lord learns of your attempt, you will die for it. Draco, please, I have lost my wife already. I do not wish to lose my heir,” despite his cajoling words, Lucius was reaching for his wand, as if he knew the battle was lost.

“Petrific Totalus!” Harry cried, just as Lucius hand emerged clasping the wooden stick.

Even as the jet of light hit his father, Draco was already pointing his wand. “Mobilicorpus!” He pried the wand from the cold clenched fingers as Lucius floated past him and through the door to his mother’s cell. He lowered him to the floor gently and stood above him silently. I said I would kill you, didn’t I? His wand hand began to shake as it pointed at him; Harry couldn’t fathom what he might be thinking. Narcissa was mumbling something about James and Sirius in a corner. His hand jerked towards the door as he stepped out of the cell with an annoyed sigh. “Atrium Nix,” he mumbled, sealing the door and tossing his father’s wand on the stone floor. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Why did you do that, Stefan?” Narcissa asked plaintively, looking from one to the other.

“Why does she keep calling you Stefan?” Harry asked Draco in a whisper, his eyes resting worriedly on the figure of…his godmother?… Sirius would be glad to see her, no doubt…once he realized what had truly happened. It would be quite a paradigm shift for him. If they rescued Sirius. When. You mean when. “Who’s Stefan?”

“Her brother,” he muttered, through clenched teeth. “Come on, Noelle, we have to leave here.”

Draco took her arm firmly and attempted to lead her outside, only to find she was not acquiescing. “No!” She cried, struggling vainly in his grip. “Not without Sirius! I won’t leave him behind… Who are you? Stop!” Narcissa managed to jerk her hand out of Draco’s grasp, shrinking away from him.

“We don’t have time for this,” Harry reminded, glancing at the door expectantly. At any moment, Voldemort and his followers could come crashing through and through a magical net over them all. “Malfoy, we really don’t have time for this.”

Harry saw a slight hesitation before Draco composed himself once more, looking coldly determined. “Imperio.” He whispered, the jet of light reflecting bluish in his eyes as his mother caved to the force. Follow me. Follow me quietly. Follow me, Noelle.

The Boy Who Lived looked from the vacant-eyed woman to her son, not knowing what to say. His brain refused to process the fact that Draco had just cast an Unforgivable Curse on his mother… though it was for a good reason. “Malfoy- you can’t just Imperius someone like that!”

“This was she’ll comply. We don’t have the time to dawdle.” Draco smiled coldly, his eyes hard. “Don’t look so shocked. They used to do this during the Goblin Rebellions in the fighting force. Are you coming or not?”

“I’ll use a Locator Charm,” he managed finally. “We’ll find him in no time.”

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 2007
Top Floor, Azkaban Fortress

Sarhen Lestrange sat directly opposite Sirius Black, holding the wand straight at his chest. That was quite an unnecessary precaution; his hands were tied behind his back and his legs bound to the bottom of his chair. A length of reflective duct tape had been fixed over his mouth- Sarhen was obviously a fan of Muggle techniques.

“Are you nice and snug?” She inquired, with a mock-concerned expression. “I’ll bet you are…you’ve spent so much time at this place, it must be like a second home to you.” She grinned blithely. “Being here must bring back so many memories. Isn’t that right, Sirius? Now now…it’s not nice to ignore someone’s questions…” She went on, smiling because there was no way he could answer with his lips taped.

Sirius simply stared back at her with his eyes dark and unfocussed, as if he was somewhere else.

“Did you know…” She began conversationally. “If I had gone to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons I would have known you? I would have been a few years ahead, of course. You had it made, my boy, really you did. But, like all incompetent Gryffindors you went and made friends. Look where it got you! Twelve years in Azkaban. Really, I-,” Sarhen stopped speaking suddenly, holding a hand to her lips and padding towards the door. “We have visitors.”

“Alohomora!” Draco shouted, as the doors began to swing open- Sarhen reacted a second too late, the force knocking her back onto the floor.

She was back on her feet with a snarl, screaming curses even before she could get her breath back completely. “Crucio!” It was only Harry’s Quidditch reflexes that allowed him to dodge that one.

“Protectare!” The silver-haired boy managed to cast the spell around himself and Harry.

“If that’s the way you want to play…” There was pure animal rage in Sarhen’s eyes as she turned to Sirius. “Say goodbye to godfather! Avad- oh!” Her wand was already glowing green when Harry’s Impediment jinx hit her. Her actions slowed, she could barely move.

The protective golden light that had been cast by Draco’s spell flickered out and Harry rushed to Sirius’ aid. “Are you all right?” He asked, peeling off the tape in one quick motion, ignoring his godfather’s wince.

“I’ve been better.” Sirius took a deep breath and then captured his godson in a bear-like hug. “I knew you’d come, Harry…thank you.”

“Oh for God’s sake, save the family reunion. We’re not out of here yet.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love the Malfoy family?” Sirius snapped back, deciding that it was not the time to question why Harry was working with Draco. “But unfortunately…he’s right.”

Even as Harry pushed the ex-convict outside the door, he heard the sound of the Impediment Jinx releasing Sarhen Lestrange’s body. She fell to the floor with a nasty thud, but Harry didn’t wait around to see whether she would get up. He darted into the corridor, a flash of orange in his peripheral vision. As if in slow motion, he looked back and saw a black scorch mark exactly where he had been a mere second ago.

“Move!” He yelled, knocking Sirius into Draco. “She’s back! Atrium Nix!”

Harry needn’t have gone to the trouble of sealing her door- the whole place lit up, the fire from the torches blazing overbrilliantly as sirens began to scream. Sirius helped Draco up from the floor, nearly dropping him when he saw the woman who was with them…

“Narcissa Malfoy!” His snarl was even more animal than Sarhen’s, a low pitched growl building up in the back of his throat.

The silver-haired boy recognized the harsh glint in his eyes, even if he didn’t know why it was there. He twisted free of his grasp and shoving Sirius backwards, against the wall. “Leave her alone!” Sirius reacted instinctively, punching Draco in the stomach. He took a few steps back as his face contracted with pain, but was stopped from smacking Sirius in the nose by Harry.

“Sirius- you don’t know the whole story,” Harry planted himself between his godfather and his ex-enemy, one eye on the corridors for approaching guards. He seemed to be the only one concerned. “Dumbledore lied- Narcissa never killed Noelle. She was framed.” Harry babbled. That would do for now- it was just close enough to the truth. “This isn’t the time- the Death Eaters are after us. We need to work together.”

“She didn’t murder Noelle?”

“NO!” Draco’s patience ran out. “Do none of you realize we’re in Azkaban? This isn’t a soap opera. This isn’t Wrestlemania. Let’s bloody get out of here.”

With that, he started running, Narcissa following dutifully behind him. Harry and Sirius glanced at each other for a brief moment before following. All of a sudden, Draco, who was ahead, stopped dead in his tracks. “They’re coming this way,” he hissed, backing up. “Go the other way!”

All four of them turned…and saw the crazed looking figure of Sarhen Lestrange blocking their path. Draco cursed loudly, wishing that they had just kept going.

“Thought you could leave me behind, huh?” She inquired. “Move and you die! Crucio!” The spell struck Sirius, who had been edging his way around her. The dark haired man fell to the floor almost immediately, writhing in pain- even as Sarhen moved her wand back to the others, Harry lunged at her, tumbling them both onto the floor.

He grabbed at her wand as they wrestled for it. With a feral cry, Sarhen scratched him across the cheek with her long nails, drawing blood. “Shit!” In an explosion of multicolored sparks, her wand snapped in two. In a trice, Draco had held her hands down as Harry chucked the broken pieces out of the frameless window. Sarhen refused to submit to them, her screams and curses punctuating the wails of the sirens. In was utter chaos, the brightness of the torches blinding their eyes.

“Incalescio!” A new voice shouted from the opposite direction, the spell hitting Harry squarely in the chest. Slowly, he felt a warmth all over his body, gentle at first but building up, hotter and hotter. “Let her go!”

A troupe of Death Eaters were hurling hexes at them, most missing because they were aimed to frighten rather than kill. Sirius had recovered physically from the Cruciatus Curse, and had flattened himself on the ground next to Narcissa.

Harry began clawing at himself, unable to halt the burning. “It’s too hot! It’s too hot!” He gasped out ineffectually, the pain numbing his mind. He managed to rip open his robes, the flesh on his chest was getting red and raw-looking, the heat radiating out from the place where he was struck.

“Carcerare!” With that, one of the masked Death Eaters cast a prison-like forcefield around Narcissa and Sirius, turning his attention to the two boys. “Draco?” The startled cry of Gordon Nott was masked by the peals of the alarm.

“Stand still, Potter!” Draco pointed his wand at him, trying to remember a freezing spell. “Dammit! Finite Incantatem!”

Harry fell to his knees and took a few deep breaths, getting out his wand to try and deflect some of the spells. “Expelliarmus!” The wand of the Death Eater who had hexed him flew towards him in an arc. “Tarantellagra! Serpensortia!” A black snake wound it’s way out of his wand and fell to the floor, hissing and spitting in the direction of the Death Eaters.

Draco would have been more amused by Harry using the non-fatal, safer spells of third year dueling class if he wasn’t grabbed around the knees and jerked to the floor. He felt someone crawl on top of him, grabbing his arms from behind as she sat on the small of his back. “I expected more of you, Draco.” Sarhen whispered harshly, laughing in his ear.

The Boy Who Lived noticed the advancing Death Eaters and cast an Impenetrable field around Draco, Sirius, Narcissa and himself. Unfortunately, the field also included Sarhen, something which he wanted to rectify very soon…

“My heart bleeds for you, Sarhen,” he sneered back, well aware that taunting someone sitting on you was not the smartest thing to do. Unless you had a death wish. I must…for God’s sake I’m in Azkaban surrounded by Death Eaters with only an ex-convict, an insane traitor and the biggest showoff to ever walk the earth to watch my back.

She ground her leg into him with a little laugh. “Oh, there’ll be more than just your heart bleeding soon, dear boy. That’s a promise.”

Sarhen would have made good on her word if Harry hadn’t grabbed her from behind and tried to yank her off Draco. Tried was the operative word, as most of the Death Eaters were aiming for him, confused about what role Draco was playing in the melee. Lucius Malfoy was not a man to be trifled with, and everyone knew how protective he was of his heir.

The same heir that had just jumped to his feet and pushed Harry Potter out of the way of a particularly nasty hex. They looked at each other in confusion. There was something wrong. This vague feeling was amply confirmed when he proceeded to pull Sarhen Lestrange into a headlock while Harry pummeled her. She fought back like a wildcat, delivering a kick to Harry that sent him sprawling.

“Get through the bloody field!”

“I’m trying, Jean! You standing there screaming doesn’t help!” Avery tried another unlocking spell, which, much to Jean Lestrange’s anger, failed. “It’s too powerful! I need more time!”

“Look what they’re doing to my wife while you take your time!” He hurled himself against the field with no success, banging against it with his fist. “Sarhen! I’m coming, Sarhen!”

With a sickening crunch, she toppled Draco to the floor again, slamming his face into the stone. He managed to get his hands around her throat, squeezing with all his might. Sarhen grappled at his hands, leaving him free to knee her in the stomach. She crumpled with a loud ‘ooh’ of pain but didn’t give up. Her fingers found the delicate skin above his collarbone and her fingernails dug in and ripped, the blood staining the beautiful grey shirt with it’s redness. Draco pushed her to the floor and stood up, but she was too quick for him.

Sarhen thrust her arms around him, and to his utter surprise he felt her hand delve into his robe. “What the-?” He kicked backwards, the silver spurs attached to his riding boots scratching through her robes. She let go with a cry of triumphant glee, withdrawing her hand- her fingers were clasped around Draco’s wand.

“Avada Ked-,” she was interrupted midcast by Harry, who had tackled her soundly. “Get off me, you worm!”

Draco seized the wand from her fingers and freed Sirius and Narcissa from their prison. It was a flawed spell, one which allowed anyone but the prisoners themselves to break it. “Oh no…” The barrier that Harry had created began to shimmer and destabilize.

“We have to get out of here!” Harry said, after tying up Sarhen. “Let’s Apparate!”

“You can’t Apparate away from the castle! You’re trapped!” The woman laughed, twisting in her bonds.

“We don’t need to Apparate,” Draco pulled himself onto the window ledge and whistled, pure and clear. The sound aggravated the already throbbing headache he hand, focussed on the part of skull where Sarhen had smashed him against the floor. “Come on, girl, you can do it, just come up here.” He mumbled to himself, hoping that this particular part of his plan would work. There was a soft shift of air and a loud whinny. “Morwen! Show yourself!”

Harry’s confusion melted into relief as the very solid shape of a flying horse materialized outside their window. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Narcissa, come here and get onto the horse.” Draco helped his mother onto the ledge and positioned her on Morwen’s back. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze…Black, you’re next. Potter, I trust you can hang on.” Draco waited until everyone had mounted and managed to fit himself into the space in front of his mother, flattened against Morwen’s neck.

The forcefield shattered at that exact moment; Jean Lestrange hurried to his wife while the others scrambled for the window outside which the four of them were hovering. Unfortunately, they were too late..

Draco held her reins tightly and kicked his legs. “Gee up, girl! As fast as you can go!”

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out of his robes. “If you can get your horse to do her disappearing trick, we might all fit under this.”

“Well well, Potter, you are learning.” Draco whispered his command to Morwen, who slowly disappeared. It was a weird feeling, riding on nothing… He bent his head and tried to hold the edges of the invisibility cloak around his fingers as it was passed to him. The throbbing in his head was getting worse, augmented by a feeling of dizziness… Just ignore it for now. “Is everyone covered?”

“Er…yeah…except Sirius’ leg…it’s a little too long,” Harry laughed, his relief at escaping showing through. The Death Eaters had given up casting hexes once they had become invisible. Well, except for a flying leg, anyway. “You know, I have a strong sense of déjà vu, eh, Sirius?” He said, remembering Buckbeak and the escape from the Dementors at Hogwarts.

“I’m bloody glad for that, Harry,” he replied fervently.

Morwen whinnied once more, her wing beats becoming more labored. “We’re too heavy for her…Potter, you and I can Apparate somewhere for now. Black, you and my mother can take Morwen somewhere safe…”

“Easier said than done.”

“The Vablatsky’s.” Harry said quietly. “Go to the Vablatsky’s.”

Sirius almost choked. “With Narcissa Malfoy? Are you nuts?”

“She didn’t kill Noelle, Sirius…quite the opposite, in fact,” Harry mumbled, deciding to tell him the long story later. “Just trust me- she’s on our side.”

“Fine Harry, but just because I trust you.”

Draco’s grip on the reins tightened as he felt the world start spinning around him- he felt like throwing up. “I’m going to set her down…” He muttered thickly, as Morwen began to descend. As they neared land in the form of a nearby island, he felt himself fall against Morwen’s neck…and everything went black.

Behind him, Narcissa awoke as if from a trance. “What’s going on?” She asked plaintively, as Morwen’s hooves touched the ground and she reappeared. Narcissa reached out and touched Draco, shaking him when he didn’t turn. “Draco! Draco, what’s wrong?” Narcissa turned and opened her mouth to demand what was wrong of the other people, but froze when she saw the person behind her. “Sirius?” She managed weakly.

Harry was the first to react, sliding off the mare’s back easily and pulling the invisibility cloak with him. “Lucius Malfoy told us the truth,” he said, looking into Narcissa’s cold grey eyes. Something changed there- there was a sudden click and it felt like the weight simply dropped off her shoulders. Narcissa felt like Atlas relieved. “But Sirius doesn’t know.”

“What don’t I know?”

“I… Where do I start?” Narcissa laughed like a schoolgirl before suddenly remembering her son. Lucius’ son. “Wait- Draco! What’s wrong with him?” She asked anyway, her maternal instinct overriding her hatred for his father.

“He’ll be fine,” Harry pulled him off the horse and supported him. “I’m going to take him somewhere safe. You and Sirius need to go to the Vablatsky’s…no arguments. Just go before they start looking for you. We’ll contact you both when it’s safe. Don’t talk to anyone…except Dumbledore…okay?”

“Right, Harry.”

“Good luck. Both of you.”

“Same to you, Harry…and take care of my son. He’s not a bad kid.”

“I know.”

Harry watched as Morwen took off and was quickly nothing more than a speck on the vast, grayish horizon before looking back at the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy.

“Right. So where the hell am I going to take you?”

*

26.12.1997, Friday 0815
Number 31, Hollybush Road, Hatfield

~

“Hullo,” said the boy, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“My father’s next door buying my books and my mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own…have you got a racing broom?”

“No,” he replied, thinking that the boy seemed rather spoiled.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No.”

“I do. It’s the best game ever. I can’t imagine why you don’t play…unless you can’t, of course,” he added, with a slight sneer.

Harry didn’t quite know what to say. “Er- I’ve never tried before.”

“You’re not…Muggleborn…are you?” He asked, as if struck by a sudden disgusting possibility.

“Er, my parents were wizards, if that’s what you mean.” Harry replied firmly.

“Good. I don’t think they should let the other sort in, anyway. How come you’ve never tried playing Quidditch, then? Your parents must let you.”

“I stay with Muggles. My parents are dead,” Harry didn’t elaborate…he didn’t even feel that he knew enough about his parents…or even about himself. Besides, he didn’t know anything about this boy.

“Sorry, it must be hard,” the other boy replied, though Harry didn’t know whether he was sorry about the deaths or his living arrangement. “Anyway, know what house you’ll be in yet?” The other boy continued, noting Harry’s uncomprehending look. “Once we arrive at Hogwarts we’ll get sorted into one of four school houses. I know I’ll be in Slytherin. That’s where all my family have been. Imagine being a Hufflepuff! They’re a bunch of gorillas, you know. Not a brain between them.”

“What are the other ones like?” Harry asked, interested. He had no other source of information and had to believe what the boy said.

The silver-haired boy seemed only too happy to ‘educate’ him. “Well, there’s Ravenclaw, but they’re boring old swots. They do nothing but study and walk around pretending they’re so bloody smart. Of course…Gryffindor…I’d vote them most likely to get themselves killed in some foolish escapade that they didn’t have the noggin to plan out properly. All flash, no real stuff… Last but not least, Slytherin,” his eyes glittered coldly as he mentioned this house. “Slytherins are all intelligent and ambitious, they plan the best pranks and it’s the best bloody house in Hogwarts. Our symbol is the snake- do you like snakes?”

Harry thought back to the incident with the boa and smiled. “Yeah, I like snakes…”

“Maybe there’s hope for you in Slytherin, eh? People say all sorts of things about us, but they don’t really get what it means to be a Slytherin,” he sounded very confident of being sorted the way he planned. “God, I haven’t met anyone else halfway decent yet. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. My family goes back generations, we can trace our line almost all the way,” he held out his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Er- Harry,” he said, reaching out and clasping the other boy’s hand. “Harry Potter.”

~

Draco’s eyes opened slowly, the room swirling out of focus. He almost expected to see the musty store or Madam Malkin’s mauve-robed figure standing and smiling at him. The room he was in was decorated in white and pale blue, functional yet quite obviously feminine. He pulled himself up with a groan, closing his eyes once more…it hurt too much to keep them open. This has been happening way too often lately. Slowly, he put a hand to his head and felt the tender skin down the side of his face. Slowly, the events that had just occurred flooded back to him…Azkaban, the Death Eaters, Potter, Narcissa…

Celeste.

Vaguely, he was aware of the door creaking open. “I see you’re awake. Lie down- do you want to overstrain yourself?”

No, that couldn’t be…that sounded like…but how could-? “Granger?” His eyes opened once more and the dizziness flooded back. Draco followed her advice meekly and lay back down on the soft pillows rather gratefully. Somehow, the unfathomable mysteries of the Universe [which at that moment included how he was in Hermione Granger’s bed] didn’t seem quite as important as his throbbing concussion.

“Right in one. I see the blow to the head hasn’t affected your razor-sharp perception,” she bent down and adjusted the covers despite her acerbic tone. “How are you feeling?”

“I need to talk to Celeste. She’s in danger, I-,”

“Harry’s got that under control. Celeste is with Narcissa at the Vablatsky home.” Hermione gave him a death glare. “Lie back down now. How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy.”

“Seriously, Malfoy.”

“Yes, seriously, Granger. What brought on this sudden excess of concern?” He was staring up at her quite curiously, with a slight smile on his features.

Which of course, infuriated her. In the time that she and Draco had formed their uneasy academic alliance, Hermione had found the one thing that could push her to violence. That mocking smile which seemed to ooze superiority, as if he was laughing at the amusing foibles of a world that was much beneath him. The best thing about being ridiculously intelligent, in her opinion, was that people respected you for it. They might mock and label her a nerd or geek, but even that was done with a certain awe. After seventeen years of that, it was difficult to a person who just couldn’t seem to get his mind around the concept of ‘respect’.

She swallowed the pride building up like bitter bile in the back of her throat. “I consider us friends…or at least acquaintances, after our project together. I think that it’s only right that you ask after friends.”

Friends. Is that what you think we are, Mudblood? You don’t even know who I am. “Forgive me if I doubt that, Granger. You were friendly with me when we worked together, but after that you went back to your little Gryff paradise and forgot all about your magnanimity in being friends with me. If you want to lie, Granger, lie with a little more finesse,” the silver haired boy raised one eyebrow, masking the slight hurt in his voice. Even the disgustingly good Hermione Granger didn’t think he was worth it. “Why are you so interested in how I’m doing?”

“Harry seems to think that you helped him.” Hermione managed, finally.

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you taking the mickey?”

Draco looked halfway between puzzled and annoyed. “You’re the one who’s not being clear.

“That isn’t enough of an explanation?” She stared at him for a few moments and ascertained that he wasn’t kidding her. What kind of person doesn’t understand friendship? “Harry’s my friend, and from what he says you saved his arse…and- anyone who does that deserves a bit of pillow-fluffing in my book.”

He didn’t say anything for a little while; Hermione didn’t know whether it was because he was thinking or just tired. “He helped me as well, so it cancels out. You don’t have to be nice to me just because it served my best interests to bail out the wizarding world’s bloody hero.” Don’t give me your sodding pity.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” She burst out, allowing herself a large, rather motherly sigh.

“Because it’s amusing to see you so flustered.”

Harry walked in on the two of them glaring daggers at each other. It didn’t seem to be anything serious, just one of the usual fights that Draco provoked and that Hermione insisted on continuing, so he grinned. On later reflection, it was a bad move.

Hermione rounded on him, her cheeks reddening. “Oh, so you think this is funny do you? You think not telling me that you were using the Fidelius Charm and then running off alone to the headquarters of a creature that has wanted you dead for seventeen years and nearly getting yourself killed is funny?” To his surprise, there were tears in her eyes. Anger- frustration- relief?, she certainly didn’t know what they were for.

“She’s got something there, Potter. I thought you would have told all your little friends.”

“Stick your pointy nose out of it, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, taking a step towards Hermione. “I’m sorry…I didn’t want you to worry-,”

“That’s rich! Harry, it’s not your decision whether I worried or not. We’re best friends, I would think you would trust me a little more than that. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I kept writing to you and all I got back were those robotic little letters that talked about the weather and said you were doing fine…do you have any idea what was going through my head? I thought Voldemort had gotten you, or that you had been Imperius Cursed or something!” Her fingers pointed, trembling, to the enormous stack of papers on her table. “I’ve been researching and cross-referencing all the possibilities! You tell yourself that you’re thinking about your friends, but you’re not. You only think about yourself.”

Before Harry could even respond she had already gone out of the room, refraining from banging the door because of Draco. He stood there for a few moments, looking taken aback.

“Close your mouth, Potter. You look like a guppy fish.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco eased himself onto his elbow. “You’ve made a bit of a mess, haven’t you. So why didn’t you tell your fanclub then, Potter? I should think Weasley’s going to be even more annoyed.”

“I told Ron.” Harry replied, in a small voice, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily.

“Ouch,” the other boy grinned. “Granger is not going to like that…oh-,” a sudden light flickered in Draco’s eyes. “So that’s why we came to Granger’s house instead of the Weasel’s. You think he sold you out!”

“He’s the only person I told,” he said grimly. “How else could Voldemort have known that Sirius was my Secret Keeper?”

For the first time, Draco noticed the dark circles under Harry’s eyes and the general exhaustion about him. It was tensed up, as if he had been actively fighting against the tiredness but was now giving in to it. Draco felt something like compassion for him. The Malfoys always repaid their debts and despite what Harry had said about him saving his life, Narcissa was still alive. If the Dark Lord hadn’t been so intent on finding Harry, that might not be true. He raised his arm and tried to say something, feeling rarely inadequate. What do you say to someone who realized his best friend is a traitor?

“The Dark Lord has his ways, you know-,” he began awkwardly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” They remained silent for a few moments, before Harry looked up again. “Draco, why didn’t you take Lucius’ offer? Why do you care about someone who lied to you all your life?”

The other boy stiffened slightly. “You don’t mince your words, do you, Potter?” He laughed, cutting short any apologies Harry tried to get out with a wave of his hand. “I suppose…when it comes to families, you learn to live with what you get. Even if they’re less than perfect. She’s my mother. I have an obligation-,” he stopped suddenly, sliding out of bed and padding to the door with his finger on his lips. ‘There’s someone there’ he mouthed. Harry nodded silently and sidled to the other side of the door.

Tensing, the dark haired boy swung the door wide open. “Who the hell- er…”

“Who the hell- er? Not exactly one of the top ten battle cries of all time, Potter.” But even his usual acerbity was not in such a harsh tone, though it wasn’t exactly gentle. “Next time, knock, Granger.”

Hermione stood in the doorway looking extremely red and biting her lip. It was obvious she had been eavesdropping and now looked rather sorry for what she had said earlier. “I heard- about…what you think about Ron.” She shook her head firmly, too firmly. “It isn’t true, Harry, it can’t be true. There has to be some explanation.”

If this was three years ago you wouldn’t have even considered that this could be true, a small voice inside her said. Things had changed since Voldemort had come back, it was an atmosphere of suspicion and mistrust. Anyone could be doubted- mother, father, brother…best friend…Voldemort and the Collective were gaining in power, and they made sure their agents wallowed in it. Anything the heart desired- money, sex, fame, power- they dealt in the primal forces that guided men. Their lure was not to the mind, but to instinct, to the hidden darkness inside each person that was hidden by layers of polite conversation and social correctness… But now, even I can bring myself to doubt him.

“There isn’t,” he said, dully. “How can there be? They were expecting me, Hermione, they made sure I got the news that they had Sirius even though they didn’t.”

“Arthur won’t believe you. That family has gone through enough already…they don’t need this. I can’t believe this,” she looked up at him, searching for something in his eyes that would betray his determination. “Can’t we wait and see? Hold off telling them until we’re sure?”

“No,” he glanced at Draco penetratingly before replying. “Charlie just escaped, if…he…tells Voldemort where he is they’ll come after him. From what Ginny has been telling me, he might know too much to be given up.”

Hermione nodded and looked down, trembling slightly and shaking her head. “I don’t want to believe it,” she whispered, her voice muffled. “Harry, why would he do this to us?”

He shrugged his shoulders, stepping forward and hugging her rather awkwardly while Draco made choking noises. “Oh God, get a room,” he mumbled, not loud enough to be heard by either of them.

She released him first, taking a deep breath and nodding to herself. “Right, enough being silly about this. If Ron’s betrayed us, then we have to do what has to be done before anyone else gets hurt.” She looked suddenly, quite a lot older and stronger than the emotional teenager she had been just moments before. There was a hardness in her eyes that Draco did not want to push. “We have to find Dumbledore. He’ll know what to do.”

“Just one question, out of curiosity,” Draco drawled, trying to ignore the pain blossoming around his left temple. “Why do you assume that I’m not going to run off and tell ‘my Master’ everything that you just said? You don’t trust me, do you?” He looked as if he was going to laugh if Harry said yes. No one could be that naïve, could they?

Harry looked back at him evenly, deep grey eyes meeting with bright green. Coming under heavy attack from Lord Voldemort and his agents tended to show what kind of a character a person was…and Harry had decided that Draco was all right.

“No, but I don’t think you’re in a great hurry to go back there. Especially since your daddy is going to find out that it was you…and if he had no trouble giving up your mother, I doubt he’s going to think twice about you.”

“You’re wrong, you know. He wouldn’t turn me in-,” –he’d punish me himself. “-I’m the heir to the family and he respects that. But you’re right. I’m not in a great hurry to go back there.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Hermione Granger looked from one to the other with widened eyes- if she wasn’t hallucinating, there had just been the briefest flicker of smiles on the two boys’ faces. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that some kind of odd truce had been called between them. Her gaze stopped questioningly at Harry, who smiled slowly as she gazed on in incomprehension.

If Harry could have explained it, it would have gone something like this: there are some experiences that you cannot share without bonding with the people you experience it with. One of them is facing down a mountain troll in a girls’ bathroom. Another is saving your only family from being murdered by the Dark Lord.

*

25.12.1997, Thursday 2357 [the previous day]
Hermione’s Home, Hollybush Road

Draco was lying on the floor of the not-very-hygienic alley near his feet, and Harry spared a moment to be thankful that he was unconscious. Draco would have raised hell about getting his robes and hair dirty. Best friends were a little like archenemies…both knew each other’s idiosyncrasies quite well. What they did not know or acknowledge was their virtues. He considered using his magic but then decided against it; Hatfield was an almost totally Muggle area. Besides, the Ministry would be down his throat for improper use of Magic…and the last thing he wanted was Ministry attention.

Harry picked up the unaware boy in his arms, surprised by how light he was. Despite that fact, Harry himself was more than exhausted, so it was quite an ordeal. “Now which way is it…” He muttered, trying to remember the directions to Hermione’s house. It came to him in a flash and he started towards the abode, careful not to trip over Draco’s trailing robes. If someone had told him at lunch that in about eight hours he would be carrying Draco Malfoy towards Hermione’s Muggle home he would have told them to go check themselves into St. Mungos. As it happened, he didn’t think Malfoy was all that bad…considering what he had for a father.

Ignoring the unabashed stares of passers-by, Harry managed to stumble up the three steps to the porch and press the doorbell. “Please be in…” Harry hadn’t even considered the possibility that Hermione might be somewhere else. It was Christmas, after all…they could be at some Muggle relation’s house for all he knew. If they weren’t in, he’s just have to force the lock and rest there till morning…they could use one of the upstairs bedrooms and be gone before Hermione even returned…his planning was interrupted by the door creaking open.

“Yes?” A stately-looking woman with hair like Hermione’s opened the door, her eyes taking in the boys’ injuries before the boys themselves. “Harry…you look terrible! Come in, come in…” She ushered them into the living room, helping him set Draco down on one of the long sofas. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story, Dr. Anne…I’m so sorry to just arrive like this, so late in the night…”

“Nonsense. We were just watching A Christmas Carol.” Harry almost smiled- it was such a normal thing to be doing, it sometimes astounded him how unaffected people could be by huge events. Voldemort probably meant little to Robert and Anne Granger. To Harry he was almost everything. “Both of you look like you’ve been through hell and back…” Anne inspected him worriedly. “You’ve got some bad bruises there…and a nasty scratch on your cheek. I’ll go get you some ice and call Hermione.”

Harry nodded gratefully, leaning back and allowing himself to sink into the warmth of the plush sofas. It felt like years since he had managed to sleep…the last good night of sleep he had gotten was the night before Dumbledore had asked him to use the Fidelius Charm.

“Oh my God, Harry!” Hermione’s smile froze when she saw him- Harry supposed he looked worse than he felt. She, on the other hand, looked immaculately neat, highlighting his torn clothing. A grey pleated skirt fell just below her knees, a well-pressed white shirt tucked in and covered by a grey and navy v-neck sweater. “Oh my God…where have you been?” The sleepiness was quickly dissipating, replaced by worry.

Harry looked for a sign of her parents- they were still in the kitchen. “Azkaban. I went to Azkaban to get Sirius.”

She accepted his reply without missing a beat, but there was a look in her eye that said she would be demanding an explanation later. Hermione only displayed shock when she recognized the form stretched out on her living room couch. “What the hell is Malfoy doing here?”

“I met him there…Hermie, it’s a long story…” Harry winced and readjusted his position so that he didn’t aggravate a sore spot. “Though he saved my life.”

“Draco Malfoy saved your life?” Hermione sighed when Harry nodded. I knew there was something more to him, she caught herself thinking with surprise. “You’ll have to tell me the whole story once you’re rested. The guest room is being redecorated, you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

The green-eyed boy muttered his thanks, his eyes moving toward Draco. “But I think he needs a good night’s rest.”

“I know,” said Hermione, as her parents bustled in. “He can sleep in my room. I’m not tired anyway.”

“I could really use some Pepper-Up Potion…if you don’t mind, of course,” Harry managed a smile, which faltered quickly as he saw the warning look on Hermione’s face.

Anne dipped the edge of the soft cloth into the mug of water and slowly began cleaning Harry’s cuts. “Potions?” She laughed, a little derisively. “What you need is some aspirin and a tetanus shot. These look like scratch marks…”

“Er- yeah…”

Robert Granger was advancing toward Draco with a cloth and some bandages. “Oh my Lord!” He exclaimed, turning the boy’s face so that the right side was seen. “Anne…look at this…his face has been reduced to almost to pulp! Blunt force trauma- I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an orbital bone fracture under there...”

Anne looked similarly horrified. “What have you boys been doing? Who would do such a thing?”

“V-,” Harry stopped abruptly when he saw the expression on Hermione’s face. It clearly said that her parents knew nothing about Voldemort and what was going on in the wizarding world. What a thing not to tell them, Hermione. “Ve…er- we, were mugged…Draco fought back. He doesn’t know about thievery and such, you know, there’s very little crime in the Wizarding World,” he burst out, improvising and hoping that his story sounded less farfetched than it did in his head. “This was the nearest place I knew…”

“Oh,” Anne sounded a little disbelieving. “Anyway, this boy needs a hospital!”

Harry raised his hand. “No! No hospitals.” He would have elaborated further if his attention had not been caught by the unnatural angle at which his ring finger was bent. Now that he noticed it, he could feel dull waves of pain radiating from the area. He had assumed it to be an after-ache.

“You have a broken finger! Robert, get a splint…and things to suture these two up.” Anne ordered grimly, getting up from her position at Draco’s side. “Fine. No hospitals, Harry, but I will need an explanation when you’re better. Do you have any other injuries?”

“Er…” Harry opened the folds of his robe gingerly to display the raw skin on his chest. “There’s just this…”

Anne drew her breath in sharply. “You’ve been burned as well. Okay.” She seemed to be looking for something efficient to do. “Okay. What about your friend…he’s the Malfoy boy, right?” Harry nodded. “Was he hurt anywhere else?”

“You might want to check his collarbone. I pressed on it with his robes to stop the bleeding…and he was hurt pretty badly in the stomach…” Harry supplied, trying not to look at his twisted finger. He had experienced worse injuries and survived. “Hermione- I think you should heal Draco’s cuts. He doesn’t submit well to Muggle things. No offence, Dr Anne.”

“None taken, but-,” she blanched as she saw the white of Draco’s collarbone exposed through a violent dark slash in his skin. “-this boy needs a doctor, not some voodoo mumbo jumbo. Magic is all fine for little tricks and turning things pretty colors but I wouldn’t trust my life to it.”

“Well I would!” Hermione flared up. “It’s not mumbo jumbo…it’s- it’s a science!”

Anne glared at Hermione. “If I had my way, young lady, you would be in University by now. Wasting your brain with all this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense!”

Harry hadn’t realized how narrow-minded her mother was. “Dr Anne, your daughter is the most intelligent witch I have ever met. She’s saved my life so many times- I would trust my life to anything she believes in.”

“My daughter could have been the most intelligent doctor you’d ever meet.” Anne took a deep breath and shook her head. “This isn’t the time to discuss this. Both of you need help, medical or otherwise. If you’d prefer Hermione to fix you up, fine. Go ahead. Hermione, you and I will be having a little chat later on.”

At that precise moment Robert Granger walked in, his arms overflowing with bandages and bottles. He seemed to sense the tension in the room, his features sliding into a pleading expression. “Oh, Anne-,” he began, placatingly.

“No, Robert. Not this time. Apparently our daughter has surpassed the powers of twentieth century medicine. They won’t be needing the help of two Muggles,” she sounded a little hurt, as if this was a point that had been in contention for a long time. “Come on. Let’s leave them to it.”

He watched his wife’s departing figure and sighed. “I’m sorry, darling. Anne just doesn’t like feeling that she doesn’t know enough...about anything.” Robert set the bandages down on an armchair, and with a last apologetic glance at his daughter, left the room.

“Are you all right, Hermione?” Harry asked, a little taken aback. “I wouldn’t have said anything-,”

She waved his apology aside wearily. “It’s not your fault, Harry. Mum just doesn’t understand about magic.”

“They don’t know, do they? About Voldemort and our struggle? They don’t know how much you’ve been through or how many lives you’ve helped to save,” Harry raised his hands in angry disbelief. Was he angry at Hermione or her parents? He didn’t know. “They don’t know that you’ve faced horrors they haven’t even seen in their nightmares!”

“Do the Dursleys know?” She snapped in return, obviously uncomfortable.

It astounded Harry how little he knew about Hermione’s home life, despite knowing her for six and a half years. Everyone knew about the Dursleys, and of course Ron’s family; but they had never really discussed her parents. Come to think of it…she knew much more about them than they knew about her. “No, but that’s different-,”

“Not by much. I know that very little can compare to what you endured in Privet Drive, Harry…but at least they’re not your parents. They’re gits, the entire lot, and you know that. These are my actual parents and…I love them so much…but they can’t possibly understand. They think the wizarding world is some kind of extension of Eurodisney,” she sounded bitter, her fingers clenching into a fist. “But if they thought knew about Voldemort, I would be out of Hogwarts and in some Muggle school before you could snap your fingers. They think I’m a little girl- they think they know me so well but they know so little about me, Harry. They just have this ideal that I have to live up to…that I have to be…and they can’t see me behind their ideal. They’re never going to see me. All they see is 110%-Hermione.”

“I…never knew you felt so strongly…”

“You have enough problems of your own,” she replied crisply, raising one hand. “Accio!” Within seconds, her polished wand was rushing across the room into her hand.

“Professor Flitwick would be proud!” Harry said, a little teasingly, even though his voice was impressed. “Won’t you get in trouble with the ministry? Underage magic and all that?”

Hermione almost glowed. “No…Professor McGonagall got me permission to practice over the vacation since I’m taking so many N.E.W.T’s. Now, stay still,” she gently prodded the scratch marks on his cheek with her wand and they healed almost immediately. “Who scratched you? And show me that burn…” She mumbled an incantation under her breath, a healing white light played over the surface of his skin.

“Like I said. Long story,” he quailed under her tell-me-now-or-else gaze and replied meekly. “Sarhen Lestrange.”

“That family is made up of deranged scratching madwomen,” she muttered darkly, remembering her own experience with Sarhen’s daughter Sycorax’s nails. “Where’s that broken finger, then?”

“Be gentle.”

Hermione grinned, repairing the bone easily. After seven years of life with Harry as a best friend, you learned how to heal injuries. “Oh, is the great Harry Potter afraid of a little pain?”

“Terrified.”

She shook her head and straightened up, looking worriedly at Draco. “He’s lost quite a bit of blood. Maybe it would be better if we let his family deal with him.”

“I’m not sure he has much of a family any more.”

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