Palindromes

Chapter 3 - Mad am I, madam?

Back in his room, Draco began undoing the buttons at the top of his robes, his gaze fixed on the birdcage. His owl had been out for weeks now, though it wasn't this that preoccupied him; rather, it was the cage itself.

It was versatile and clean, all black metal that seemed dull against the gold on the walls. So odd against the room. He had used it most of his life, as long as he had owned the owl, but it had been Father's before that. Draco hadn't asked why there had been streaks of old blood on the sides. It was useful enough. The bars were charmed to adapt, so the cage held a smaller bird equally well.

Like a canary. He had let it get away last night. Draco remembered thinking that it was as good as dead, but still it escaped. He had practically sent it away. His eyelashes flickered down for a moment, remembering shame.

He had written to his father the day they had studied thestrals in class. He couldn't recall exactly what he had said, but when he thought of the letter he saw himself gloating, thinking about having Hagrid leave for good.

His father had not replied. Draco had then written a second letter, leaving out thestrals and Hagrid. Only then did his father's owl arrive, with a response that ignored Draco's first letter completely.

When Draco arrived home that summer, a paddock had been built in the center of his Quidditch pitch. Father had walked him out to it and, smiling, asked him if he liked his gift. Draco had smelt the bloody stench of raw meat on the air and he had seen a carcass pulled apart my invisible jaws.

And he had told Father that he loved it. The point was clear, could not have been clearer had Father locked him in with the beast. Draco had walked away that day ashamed, seeking death.

The thestral had made him wonder why he had not looked for it before. It wasn't fear. He knew fear just well enough to recognize its taste. And he hadn't cared enough for the bird spy to spare it, that was true.

But he hadn't hated it either. It had seen what he saw his whole life and was allowed to live through. Draco had crushed it and thought of his father, and imagined crushing himself.

He shrugged on a clean robe. It would have to be clean, after all, before he found and killed Harry Potter.

<>

One of the Muggle women came in as Draco was opening the cage.

Looking at her for a second time, Harry saw that she was closer to a girl. A bird's view distorted things dramatically, but now the childish, fawn-colored hair and the rounded cheeks became evident. She couldn't have been more than ten, perhaps eleven.

Draco looked at her idly. "What do you want- or, I suppose, what does Father want for you to want?"

She smiled quietly with eyes cast downward. "My name is Rebecca." Harry saw then that she rarely blinked. Perhaps Lucius had forgotten that. Her eyes were round and watery even while she smiled. And blank, always blank.

"Is it, now?" Draco seemed tired. He closed the cage, and the girl looked up at the sound.

"Yes."

"Well, Rebecca. Tell Uncle Lucius that Draco doesn't want to play." Draco gazed intently at Harry through the cage bars before turning his head back to look at her. His eyes never quite met hers, but glanced at her small hands and the tears in her dress. "It's late and Draco is tired of his games."

"But I'm not tired. I'd like to play with you, please."

"You'll have to..." Draco trailed off voice sinking into a low purr in his chest. He slid a finger through the bars and Harry pecked feebly at it. He could barely hear their words anymore.

It was enough to draw blood. Draco looked satisfied at this. He withdrew his finger and then flicked the latch open. Harry found himself lifted out of the cage and shoved towards the girl.

"Here. You like birds, don't you? I saw you looking at it. Take it. Whatever you do, just...just leave me alone." Harry was suddenly cupped in gentler hands. The girl giggled with him up against her cheek and skipped away.

Stunned, Harry looked back at Draco over her shoulder. He had sunk into a chair, head in the nook of an arm, and he looked somehow weaker than Harry had ever seen him.

But why?

He did not have time to think about. The girl had reached a door, another door. A door, Harry realized, that must lead to the inn. It was shaking slightly on its hinges but gave no sound to show it.

'If only,' he begged. 'Open it, please, just turn the handle-'

She turned the handle. Harry felt as if his heart might burst. The door opened slowly and soundlessly under her hands.

Standing there, mouth open, was Zacharias Smith.

There were deep circles under his eyes, and he gaped for a few moments at the girl, Rebecca.

A high, shrill scream came from the sitting room, and the empty sound of slow clapping. Pain burst where his scar should have been and Harry screamed. The sound was disjointed in a bird's throat, but came through clear; the girl's eyes flickered closed and opened, and she dropped him in fright.

He wanted to comfort her. Zacharias was making shouting motions through the doorframe- he couldn't seem to get through. Neither could sound. Harry could do nothing.

Recovering, she picked him up again, but her eyes were half-closed. She saw Zacharias through the door, and rushed towards him but could not pass through.

She passed Harry through the door instead. He shuddered in her palms and his blood yellow feathers came away in her fingers.

Zacharias had rougher hands. Harry could hear him screaming, screaming for Becca, but now she was the silent one. Harry saw her eyes fall closed. When they opened, they were blank once again.

<>

He remembered feeling tears as he fainted. It was the last thing he could recall.

Clearly, it was morning now. The sunlight was warm against his face, and it made him feel drowsy and safe, but uncomforted. Harry glanced around blindly for a while and then fumbled for his glasses.

Zacharias was sleeping on a bed across the room, on top of the sheets rather than under them. The trunk, books, and broomstick that Harry had left back on Privet Drive were stacked neatly at the end of the bed. Hedwig's cage sat up on the table, and Hedwig herself blinked sleepily at him from within it. Harry looked away.

Canary feathers were left strewn across the floor; Harry picked some out of his hair and sat up. He brushed a hand across his ribs and found that they were healed.

What had happened? Morning noises came from the pub downstairs: a clattering of silverware, voices from the kitchen. A faint smell of eggs in the air meant breakfast. Yet he could not focus on the present, which was odd, since...

...the pain was gone in his scar. Startled, Harry rubbed it with his thumb.

As it was, the pain was not all that was gone.

His scar was gone...his scar was...

He didn't know whether or not to laugh or scream. His forehead was smooth and uninterrupted by lightning, and he wondered, he wondered-

He wandered numbly towards the door. When he reached to open it, he did it carefully, and then waved his arm through it to be sure there was nothing hidden there.

And there was the closed door, just down the hall. An elaborate "Malfoy" was carved above the doorknob, which gave off the hazy golden glow of a charm. Most likely several.

Abruptly, there was a hiss behind him, and then he was yanked forcibly backwards and out of the doorway. He stumbled over his feet and fell flat on his back on the floor.

Zacharias flung the door shut and then rounded on him. "What the hell was that, Potter? Trying to get yourself killed?"

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, glaring. "I-"

"Well, you got pretty damn close, I can tell you."

"What's the matter with you?" asked Harry angrily. "What was that for?"

Zacharias seemed just about ready to kick him. At the last moment, he seemed to change his mind, and kicked the bedpost furiously instead. "This is the thanks I get-"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "I never asked to be here- I was supposed to go to room twelve-"

"This is room twelve, at the end, you sod. But rather than come straight here, you had to wander around with Malfoys. I waited here for hours."

Harry quieted suddenly. He sat up, feeling his ribs again, not knowing what to say.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Zacharias sneered scornfully.

"You were standing there, in the doorway. Why were you there? Why wouldn't you just...come in?"

His face darkened with a sharp, crazed smile. "I wondered when you were going to ask that."

"What does that-"

"Shh. We're in enemy territory. This is war. They take captives. Beyond that pretty door is a pair of monsters and then, a happy little family. That is, three-fourths of one." He laughed, a horrible sound. "And standing here with you is the rest of it."

Harry's mouth went terribly dry.

"Sickening, isn't it?"

"Why-" Harry faltered, looking up at him rather helplessly. "Why didn't you save them?"

Zacharias closed his eyes. "Don't think I haven't tried. And Lupin, too- they have up wards, but stronger and more permanent than ours. They bought off the innkeeper years ago, and he gave them his word and that room. You have to be one of a few very specific people to get through that door."

This baffled Harry. "But I got through- she pushed me through the door."

Zacharias shrugged. "Maybe they're holding out on you just wandering into their evil clutches.

"I seem to have done that anyway," Harry replied darkly.

A knock came from the door. Zacharias drew his wand as he went to open it.

But it was only Professor Lupin. He walked in and Zacharias moved to shut the door.

"No, don't bother, Zacharias. It's time for breakfast, and I wouldn't know when Harry last had a decent meal. Which reminds me," he looked towards Harry. "Feeling all right? You had some nasty breaks. Though, I did manage to get a Healer to put a numbing spell on that scar of yours."

"So that's why..." Lupin looked at him queerly. Harry ran a hand across his forehead. "I woke up this morning and thought my scar was gone." Zacharias snorted.

"No, it's there. Come look in the mirror, Harry- you see? You still have your scar. Perhaps it's just that the pain is gone now, and you had gotten used to it?" Yes, the scar was still there. Harry could see the faint bolt of lightning etched where it had always been.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. Lupin smiled, and then gestured at the door.

"Let's get breakfast then. Zacharias, do you-"

"No, thanks, Professor. I'll stay."

"If that's what you want, then. Harry, get your invisibility cloak, would you?"

Together, they made their way down the stairs. Tom was serving breakfast and he eyed Lupin as he walked past, seemingly alone. When he finally greeted him, his voice was not quite as friendly as Harry remembered it.

Once outside the wall, Lupin allowed Harry to take off the cloak. They made their way down to a little café that the Lupin said was usually quiet in the mornings.

"I hope so," Harry replied. The door gave a tinkling symphony of notes as it opened, rather than the single ring of a Muggle café. They stepped in. "I think I've had enough of my share of excitement."

<>

Later, as Draco took his tea, he spied a yellow canary feather in Harry Potter's hair.

Chapter 4 - No devil lived on

Harry looked away.

Hours passed by in the blink of an eye- but it was still morning, still bright on Diagon Alley and the little café. Harry watched Malfoy walk past through the window and couldn't help but feel as if he had been discovered; but of course, that was unlikely.

Wasn't it?

Still, when they left a cold shiver ran down the back of his neck and the length of his spine. He saw blond flashes that were really tricks of the light, ad perhaps his mind, but he didn't mention any of this to Lupin as they ran their errands.

Once he was sure that he heard a whisper in his ear, three simple words, but when he turned his head there was nothing there. It left him winded and searching for something he couldn't see.

Rather, it came to him.

Lupin steered him towards Madam Malkin's after they had paid a visit to Fred and George.

"Watch your back," the twins had told him. "We saw Malfoy by here earlier."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Harry had replied.

He hadn't told them about the incident with the creams, or anything about his arrival and the night before. They hadn't asked but he got the feeling they suspected him.

But it wasn't until he found himself staring into Robes for All Occasions that he was forced to face what must have been inevitable.

"Go on, Harry. Let me buy you some new dress robes- you're going to need them." Harry gave him a quizzical look, but Lupin was focused on a rack lined with various clothes and did not answer. Madam Malkin had greeted him then, so he couldn't escape.

Lupin handed him a few galleons as he left. "I'll wait for you outside, all right? Take care of yourself now,"

Madam Malkin was trying to coax Harry into green velvet when Draco Malfoy strode out of a back room.

"This color doesn't suit me," he said, raking Harry over lazily with his eyes. The shopkeeper looked up from her velvet, glancing at the sleek red cloth in Draco's arms, and then turned back to Harry.

"Then let him try it. You're near the same size, I reckon," she said. "And really, Mr. Malfoy, you needn't be so choosy- I'll have to check our stores in the back." She hurried off, muttering measurements under her breath.

There was something faint in Draco's eyes, which had never strayed. 'Are we sharing a smile?' Harry wondered, feeling himself get angry at the very thought. Of course not.

"Can you catch, Potter, or have you lost all skill as a seeker while I had my back turned?" He tossed the robes over- Harry snatched them away just before they hit his face.

"You would wish that, wouldn't you, Malfoy?" Harry said roughly. "Or else you'd never manage to win the Cup."

"Now, now, Potter. I've got things more important to take care of than Quidditch victories."

Harry laughed. "Like being a Death Eater? Supporting Voldemort and your father in their plans?"

Draco recoiled a little, though the expression on his face remained unchanged. "Don't say that."

"You'll never change, Malfoy. You were a frightened little Death Eater before and you still are! Just following along like a sick little dog, is that how it is? Don't deny it. Voldemort-"

"Shut the hell up," Draco said softly, under his breath.

"How loud do I have to scream it, then? Voldemort! Voldemort, VOLDEMORT you bloody fuck!"

In a single feline movement, Draco lunged for him. Harry drew his wand with lightning rapidity but Draco knocked it away. Their collision sent Harry backwards into the rack; it collapsed and all Harry could see, plunging backwards, was a storm of fabric. It was almost hypnotic, a shower of colors that caught on the air like new fallen snow. Unlike anything he had ever seen.

When it all finally settled, both he and Draco were submerged. Harry was gasping for breath, fear and fury constricting his throat. A jade green cloth that felt like rough silk had fallen across his eyes. Draco thumbed a corner of it and, doing so, just grazed Harry's cheek; his touch was icy and recalled a place above the clouds.

"Finally, the right cloth. No," He slipped a hand over Harry's mouth. "Don't you dare say that again, Potter. I mean threats when I give them. I might've killed you last night."

"You knew," Harry tried to say, but it was difficult to form words under Draco's fingers. All he could see was green, but he heard the hiss of cloth against cloth and the distant humming of Madam Malkin in the back room, and Draco's voice, dominating foreground. The fingers of Draco's left hand pressed lightly into his throat, a mock-strangulation. Draco's voice, Draco's lips. And when the silence came, Draco's breath that seemed to mute his own.

Did you think I was always like this, Potter? Drinking my own blood like some dirty vampire? Killing birds? You're so gullible.

"How'd you like my acting, Potter? I thought drinking blood was a nice touch. You always thought I was some sort of psychotic. I knew you'd buy it. I've gotten better since third year, wouldn't you say?" Draco was enjoying this, Harry realized; it woke him out of whatever idiotic...stupor he had fallen into. He shoved the hand away.

But then his arms were pinned to the ground; Harry struggled and the cloth slid off one eye. "Get off me, what do you think you're doing, Malfoy? GET OFF!"

Draco sneered. "You think you're so great, but what is this? No wand, no self-defense; are you enjoying this as much as I am?"

"More," Harry said between clenched teeth.

"You had got feathers in your hair, Potter. How disgustingly predictable of you. And there, my wand? Do you see me holding it in my hand?"

"No."

"Do you feel it brushing your scar?"

"Yes."

"Then, surprise- you're going to die Potter."

Harry felt his wand at his fingertips and scrabbled for it desperately. It seemed to roll into his hand and Harry did not think, only reacted; the same primal instinct that guided him in Quidditch told him to jab at Draco's heart. "Reducto!"

Draco barely knew what happened. A pain flew through his chest and out the other side like an arrow fired at close range. He cried out and pushed himself backwards, off Potter, only to fall to his knees three feet away. His eyes were wide and his mouth parted slightly in shock.

He had pulled the cloth from Harry's eyes in the process. Now, it was clutched in his fist and pressed against his chest and the pain. Looking down on it, he seemed afraid to let go of and see. It swept the floor beneath him, tangled between his knees.

He drew it away. Harry made for the door, not wanting to watch death again.

He never made it out. There was blood on the cloth and Harry saw Draco's eyes roll back as he fell. With his hand on the doorknob and Madam Malkin whistling nearby, Harry watched and wondered what he had done.

Then he returned, working quickly, but it seemed that Draco would not wake. Swearing, Harry grabbed one arm and slung it over his shoulder. Though Draco was thin as anything, it was difficult moving with limp legs dragging on the floor behind them. And besides, he thought morbidly, dead weight is more ominous than weight otherwise.

Harry swore every curse he knew, and then swore them all again, a constant muttering under his breath. They made it to the door. Getting his invisibility cloak across the both of them was a difficult operation, with Draco propped against his back. He was forced to master an awkward sort of flick with the cloak between his teeth.

But somehow he managed, and afterwards when they walked by Lupin, unnoticed, Harry's heartbeat and restless breath sounded together and the excitement set him at ease.

After all, action was his expertise.

<>

Draco blurrily opened his eyes.

Harry was asleep in on a couch nearby, next to Zacharias Smith, a player Draco recognized from the Hufflepuff team. Zacharias was awake. A wand turned slowly at his fingertips, ever watchful. The room, bathed in a gold-tinted, afternoon light, lit his eyes a faint yellowy-green, like a sphinx.

Lying on his stomach, Draco felt suffocated by his own body heat. He could not focus, but there was that lolling motion of the wand, like driftwood rocked by the sea; he held onto it as if shipwrecked and no one else would come along. Meanwhile, Zacharias was studying him quietly, rolling it back and forth in his fingers.

"You're awake?" he heard, but it was as changeful and erratic as a dream. Sound shifted in and out and sometimes seemed like a roar in his ears. Other times the world was entirely too silent.

"Hello, are you awake? I can see your eyes open, like slits." A dull pain in his heart.

"When did I become some sort of caretaker? First Harry, and now, you. I don't know why I bother." He breathed so damn loud. Like a windstorm. Draco wondered if he would go deaf. He groaned and stirred and the heat broke around him.

"You don't deserve anything of this. Harry practically killed himself getting you here, and then trying to heal you. I wouldn't have done it, and he wouldn't have done it for me." Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

But it would not stop. "So has your father killed them yet? My family, that is. I'm just trying to make conversation, so make an effort if you would; I haven't got anything else to banter about." Draco thought of the scream.

"Hmm. You feel ill, is that it? Well, then. I don't bloody care."

Draco's tongue was dry in his mouth. When he spoke his words were parched and dry. "Yes..."

"What?" asked Zacharias sharply.

"They...my father...they were killed..."

Zacharias went so pale. He stood up with his hands hidden away in his pockets; they were shaking.

"He...he didn't want to...quarantined...they amused him, but I told him that I would kill them for him...spared them..."

"Spared them shit!" he spat. He flew to his feet and threw down the wand, his shoulders trembling. "Get out! I don't care if Harry's noble- I'm not and I feel none of his bloody pity for you! I'll give you this last chance before I kill you, I swear I will, I-"

He stopped with his eyes still glowing with rage. They quickly went unfocused, empty, carefree.

Draco lowered his wand. "Go home," he said softly. "Your family will be along soon." Zacharias smiled hollowly and left.

Draco watched, one hand pressed against the sore spot on his chest; the Smith family would never come home, only Zacharias.

Slats of light came through the blinds. Harry slept on. Draco rounded on him, sitting down where Zacharias' body warmth still lingered. He leant over and whispered into Harry's ear, swaying slightly, and then planted one hand near Harry's knee for balance.

"Did you see that, Potter?" he began, barely audible. "I gave your friend a Memory Charm and sent him on his way. I spared him." He brushed the hair away from Harry's eyes with unsteady fingers. "And perhaps I'll spare you one last time, what do you say?" A pause. He steadied his trembling voice. "You're much more companionable when you're asleep, Potter. You can't disagree with me. No, the world would be better place if people agreed with me more."

Damn Potter's lack of healing skills. He felt on the brink of collapse and Harry's breath along the line of his throat. "Why don't you speak your mind, Potter?" Another pause. "I'm sparing your life, god knows why, does that mean you're in my debt?" A weak laugh. "But only this time. I never go back on my word.

"Obliviate."

Harry slept on, and Draco rose. A gold watch gleamed in Harry's pocket and, intrigued, Draco took it. It swung open precariously just as he was about to put it away; he glimpsed black hair, a minute hand, and a frown before flipping it shut.

Before flipping the door shut as well.

"Be ready next time, Potter."