The Dragon and the Dark One

Chapter Two: Lost and Found

Draco got off of the Knight Bus outside his penthouse, feeling rather ill. He had the girl awkwardly hoisted over one shoulder. He wasn't entirely sure why he was bothering to drag her back with him, beyond the fact that he was somewhat intrigued by the fact that a beautiful stranger managed to faint on him, albeit after accusing him of being the son of a demon. He figured, at the very least, he could discover exactly why she had said something so cryptic. Besides, he just couldn't shake that haunting look in her eyes when she held out that long, accusing finger. Maybe he was being superstitious, but better safe that sorry on Halloween night.

"Happy birthday to me," he muttered sarcastically under his breath as he set her on the living room sofa and sat on the arm, glancing down. "Too bad I'm not a necrophiliac," he added, as it suddenly became a little clearer as to why he might have bothered to lug her home. Still murmuring several things addressing the girl, himself, his father, and the world at large, very little of which was complimentary, he headed to the kitchen to fix himself a Margarita. He had just performed a charm to have the tequila pour itself, since he was feeling far too lazy, having already taken care of his physical exertion for the night, when he heard a voice drifting in from the other room. He strode quickly back to where he had left the girl. She still appeared to be asleep, but her lips were slightly parted, and she seemed to be speaking very quietly and so quickly he could only make out a few words.

"Baddock's eyes... demons... Grayson... Mum, stop it... death... going to find... the eyes, the eyes are the same... failing them... demon, the demon was there... stop it..."

Draco was rather startled. She was rambling, obviously, and he didn't really know what any of it meant. He bent forward to try and see if she was awake, his face only about a foot from hers, when her eyes flew open.

She immediately let out a blood-curdling scream that had Draco slamming his hands over his ears, just as she sprang up to a sitting position like a Jack-in-a-box, crashed her head against Draco's, and both of them fell backwards, her with her eyes flicking around in every possible direction like a trapped deer, and him collapsed against the sofa with one hand to his head and one to his ear, letting out a string of very crude words.

The minute Draco stopped to draw breath, she jumped in, backing away into the corner of the sofa so as to be further from him and almost whimpering, "Who are you? Where I am? What have you done with me? How did I get here? Why-"

He rolled his eyes and cut her off abruptly. He was too frustrated to put on any sort of impressive pretense, so he spoke with his usual drawl. "First of all, I'm not going to eat you. My name is Draco Malfoy, and you are in my house. You are my guest only because I tried to flirt with you, and you had a conniption fit, called me a demon child, and fainted on top of me. I had the good grace to bring you back to my home mainly because I am curious, but also so that you would be able to re-cooperate. You repaid me most kindly via both busting both of my eardrums and rending my skull in two, for which I can assure you, I am as grateful as I can be. Now if you don't mind... Wait a minute; something's oozing out of the kitchen... Oh bugger, my bloody tequila!" Draco raced back into the kitchen, nearly slipped on the tequila that had covered the counter and floor, and quickly counter-acted the charm placed on the never-empty bottle. The tequila container settled back on the counter, and Draco got the distinct impression it was pouting. He stared at the full-to-the-brim glass for a minute, then shrugged, grabbed it, and stalked back into the living room, taking a liberal swig.

"So anyway, what's your name, and does your head hurt as badly as mine does?"

"Ella," she said, a little cautiously, although she was sitting straight on the sofa now as opposed to being curled up like a mouse and had tucked her hair behind her ears. "And yes, I would imagine so." Draco gestured towards her with the glass, and she gratefully drank an amount in one go that Draco found rather impressive. "You're Draco, then? That explains it." She gave a little smile that made her look even more dazzling.

"That explains what?"

"Your eyes," she replied calmly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "By the way, where's your brother?"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, sounding like a little girl having just been given a new toy. "You're that one!"

Before Draco could question her further, he heard the familiar popping sound that heralded his father's head's arrival in the fireplace. Acting purely on instinct, Draco held a finger to his lips and gestured for her to duck down where she wouldn't be visible behind the sofa back from his father's point of view.

"Draco?" The perpetually smooth and calm voice rang out across the room, but there was a hint of anger. Casually, Draco rose from where he was seated, leaving the glass on the floor beside him.

"Yes, Father? Am I allowed to call you that, or have you disowned me already?"

"Why were you sitting on the floor, Draco?"

"You'd be amazed how comfortable carpeting is now-a-days. Do you begrudge me the right even to sit on my own floor?" Draco raised his eyebrows in a mock challenge.

"Don't be a fool, Draco. I need to speak with you face to face."

"I believe both of our faces are currently present."

"Shut up! Just get over here immediately. That's an order."

"I'm absolutely trembling, father. Tell me, if I disobey, with you feather and tar me, or just have me spend a few hours on the rack?"

"I don't find you amusing, Draco. I am not as easily taken in as your little friends. Now get here quickly, we require your assistance. We need to find a boy your age; He's the son of a Death Eater, Grayson Baddock, and you always were one of our best trackers. Not that you aren't dispensable." With that, the head popped back out of the fire place. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Nothing like fatherly love, is there?" He turned to look at Ella, but something inside her seemed to have snapped and her eyes had regained that same glassy quality as they had when she had called him the son of a demon. She was rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

"Oh, shit. You don't hold your alcohol very well, do you?" he muttered distractedly, totally at a loss.

"Baddock... demon..."

"Oh, don't start that again!" he cried out with a voice brimming with frustration, and using all his self-restraint not to just slap the beautiful and yet wraith-like witch on his sofa. "Look, just stay here; I'll deal with you when I get back." She didn't respond, but just continued her strange babblings. Draco just shook his head, downed the remaining tequila, grabbed a handful of floo powder, flung it angrily into the fire, and yelled, "Malfoy Manor!" He stepped into the fire, and was gone.

When he stepped out of the fireplace of his childhood home, he was not at all disheveled. Draco was just one of those people who had a gift for always looking tidy. As he watched his father blaze into the room, he couldn't help but acknowledge that it was hereditary.

"I have a proposition for you, Draco. We need to find this boy. If you help us to get a hold of him, you will be released from the Death Eater's society with all of our blessings, your inheritance in tact. If you refuse, you will not only be considered our enemy, a very dangerous position in which to be, but I will also cut you off from all of the resources your status as a Malfoy provides. Do you accept, or not?"

"Thank you for that overwhelmingly joyous welcome, Father, I've missed you too."

"I do not have time for games or petty banter, Draco, decide."

"Well, why is this boy so important? I would like to know what I'm getting into."

"The boy is Adrian Baddock, son of Grayson Baddock. He is the same age as you are at this moment. His father trained him in the deepest and most dangerous portions of the Dark Arts from the day he could hold a wand, with every intention of creating the most powerful dark wizard since Lord Voldemort himself. If we had only been able to harness that sort of power..." Lucius sighed. "Let us just say that he has the same strength and drive as you once had, but training beyond your spectrum of comprehension. His powers are immense. However, for reasons still unknown to us, the boy murdered his father earlier this very day. If he has decided to turn against all Death Eaters, our noble order could face extinction before the Dark Lord could return. Yes, I know how you feel about that particular subject," he added as he noticed Draco's barely detectable sarcastic snort, "But if you help us in this task, as I said before, you will be released. So, do you choose friendship or enmity?"

Draco's mind was working faster than it had in months. Adrian Baddock. Obviously, this must be the same Baddock who Ella had been so hysterically referring to. She must have some sort of information regarding his history or his whereabouts. He could get the information out of her, one way or another, turn in this supposedly all-powerful boy to his father, and spend his days free of pestering parents but with his inheritance secure. And perhaps so long as he kept Ella sober, they could enjoy themselves later. Really, it was all working out perfectly.

"For you, Father? Of course."

~*~*~*~

The eighteen-year-old Adrian stared around at the vaguely familiar city.

He had only been there once before, but he remembered this part vividly. He had been thrilled; leaving their pathetic hut, staying at a modest motel, the whole nine yards. His father had said that he had business in London. "Visiting an old friend", had been his exact words. Adrian had recognized the dark glint in his father's eyes that showed quite clearly that Grayson would be the only one enjoying the visit, but for ten-year-old Adrian, that was just an accepted part of life. After all, what was there outside of the Dark Arts? Surely whoever it was... he thought it started with a K, or something... deserved whatever was coming to them. That was just the way the world worked. He had had it drilled into him his entire life; Good and Evil weren't real concepts. Simply Power, and being willing to reach out and take it whenever it was offered. And if it wasn't offered, then you took it anyway, and made those who had refused to offer it sorry that they hadn't seen who truly deserved it in the first place.

However, apparently this time the Power was great enough that Grayson became somewhat enthralled with it. Enthralled enough that he left his only son in safe, comfortable rooms, but with absolutely nothing to eat. Adrian only lasted about forty-eight hours before he decided to strike out alone in search of food. After all, he hadn't been forbidden not to. Grayson Baddock had never been particularly keen on rules. In a busy London market place, one small boy could easily just slip in among the crowd. He had been taught how to blend in, more or less regardless of the situation. It was necessary, considering what he was being raised to do.

What he was raised to do. That was the essence of what Adrian had been. A tool, a vessel that could be filled with everything that Grayson had learned, along with everything that could be learned, with no previous scruples that might get in the way. Adrian was a clean slate, which could be used to create the ultimate weapon.

And yet, at that particular moment, all Adrian cared about was that that clean slate was very hungry.

He slipped past the posh ladies, the street sweepers, and the drug dealers, until he zeroed in on his destination, led by his nose. One stall was filled with warm, fresh loaves of bread sitting out across the counter. It would be child's play simply to grab one of the smaller items and smuggle it off. Very appropriate, since he was, in fact, a child.

He had just felt the delicious sensation of fingers digging into the soft roll when something not quite so pleasant also made contact. A large, rough hand had closed very determinedly around his wrist. Glancing up, preparing his most innocent 'Who, me?' face, he met the eyes of a round, crinkly sort of gentleman wearing an apron and suppressing what just might have been a smile.

"Well, what have we here?" he inquired, eyebrows raised, as he swung Adrian around behind the counter. "Polly, hold the fort for a minute," he called over to the young woman who was working on the other half, who nodded absently back at him.

Adrian was seriously debating whether or not to run, but he found he couldn't quite move his legs. It was, after all, the first time that he had ever been caught committing a crime.

"And tell me, what would drive an upstanding young man like yourself to take one of my loaves?"

Even at such a young age, Adrian couldn't help but see the irony in being called upstanding when if he had wanted to, he could kill the man in at least five different ways. He wouldn't, and they both knew it. Was that what it meant to be upstanding? Confused, Adrian just shook his head.

"You do look mighty hungry; I'll give you that much. So tell me, lad, did it ever occur to you just to ask for some food?"

Adrian just blinked, stupidly.

"You listen to me, lad. I'll give this to you, and we'll call it quits, but I want you to remember something. Not everyone's out to get you, and you clearly don't realize it by the fact that you look as though you still seem to think I'm going to lock you up any minute now. But the fact is, some people are just good people, without any angle. Most people are. The bad ones give us all a bad name, but really, a 'please' can go a long way. You promise to remember that, lad?"

Adrian nodded anxiously. Was this man just having him on? Nothing he said made any sense. It didn't fit with what he'd been taught. Good, bad, it was all a lie that the powerful used to manipulate the weak. Either this man or his father was right, and surely it had to be his father.

Surely.

The eighteen-year-old Adrian snapped back to reality and kept walking. Isn't it funny, he mused, how something like that can haunt you for so long? And now his father was dead, and unless he kept his mind firmly in the present, he would be too, sooner rather than later.

After all, not everyone was good.

~*~*~*~

Narcissa Black gripped the edge of the toilet basin as she once again wretched violently into it. She was a fool. She would be hitting herself if it weren't for the fact that her insides emptying themselves was enough pain and punishment. She was certain she would hack up a kidney any minute now. She was a blind, stupid, fool, and she may have ruined everything for one night of satisfying revenge. She would have been Mrs. Lucius Malfoy. She would have been famous, respected, rich, and powerful. She wasn't going to have been the slut that got pregnant with Grayson Baddock's baby out of wedlock.

And yet, here she was, with nowhere to run. She'd done the tests, and she couldn't simply ignore the results. How long did she have before people began to notice? She couldn't even talk to Pandora anymore; her friend was far too infatuated with that stupid, Gryffindor mudblood. Pandora had ignored Grayson's warnings and followed her heart, and now she was disowned.

Which just goes to show where following anything besides your brain leads you, Narcissa thought bitterly as she once again heaved into the basin. Lost and alone and poor. Money was power, and Narcissa had allowed the power to slip through her fingers because of one crazy, drunken night. Her future was flushed down the toilet along with her morning sickness.

She sighed and leaned up against the bathroom wall. She was still young, she was still beautiful, but for how long? It couldn't last. Not under the circumstances. She hadn't told Grayson yet. She didn't dare; logic screamed at her that the only respectable course was to marry him now, but spending her life as a middle class house wife would be unbearable. A tiny, irritating voice inside her even pointed out that he might not ask her, even if he knew. After all, he didn't have the same pride as ancient, respectable, noble houses like the Blacks and the Malfoys. Was that the sort of family she wanted to be a part of?

"If it was Lucius' baby, I'm sure he would marry me," she muttered aloud spitefully.

It hit her, then, like a lightning bolt. If it was Lucius' baby, it would all work out. Her future would be secure... It would be perfect...

Narcissa raced upstairs, stung by her inspiration, and threw on the skimpiest dress she could find in her cupboard.

Who was to say it wasn't Lucius' baby?

One way or another, she thought as she slammed the door and stormed out to visit her unsuspecting boyfriend, she would be Mrs. Lucius Malfoy.