The Dragon and the Dark One

Chapter Four: On Their Wicked Way

For the second time that day, Draco stepped deliberately out of his father's fireplace, this time even more vehemently cursing the Oriental rug he stood on. He was really beginning to loathe the Manor. This time, however, it wasn't simply his father who awaited him. Sitting on various sofas and chairs, leaning against walls, and standing with folded arms, and of course, glaring at him viciously, were what remained of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Draco surveyed the room, noting those who remained. He quickly figured out who most of the survivors were, although he did register a few surprises: Avery had managed to cling to the shirttails of various important people and avoid imprisonment, although he kept a considerably lower profile these days; Antonin Dolohov had been convicted, and was in hiding, no doubt in some hide-out that his wealthy benefactor Lucius Malfoy had provided; Goyle's father, who was miraculously still lumbering around, unencumbered; Rodolphus Lestrange, who lived in hiding alongside Dolohov and his brother, Rabastan (Neville Longbottom had killed Rabastan's wife, Belatrix, in Draco's seventh year); Mulciber, who had somehow managed to save his own hide; Walden Macnair, who had resumed his old post as an executioner; Nott, Rockwood, and various other goons. Also present, of course, was Lucius Malfoy, who had bribed his way out of any form of punishment beyond a tainted family name. Three or four faces were younger ones that Draco didn't recognize; they were probably the next generation of Death Eaters, out to avenge various family members, or simply thinking that Voldemort had had the right idea, like a woman in her early twenties that Draco knew to be Olivia Karkaroff.

"Well, well, well, isn't this a happy little reunion!" Draco exclaimed, with a mockingly large smile. He knew it wouldn't pay to make enemies of any of those present, but his twisted sense of humour got the better of him. They really were pathetic. Rodolphus Lestrange stood and narrowed his eyes even further.

"Lucius, he's nothing but a little boy, treating it all like some frivolous game! How can you trust him to see who we all are?"

Lucius rose in a fluid, cat-like manner and met Lestrange's stare unabashedly. "Although my son and I disagree on many accounts, I by no means raised a stupid boy. I would imagine that he already knew the identity of every person here. At any rate, I have leverage that he will be unable to refuse. If we are brought down, Draco comes with us, so he will not betray us."

"Can't you feel the fatherly love simply radiating outwards?" Draco tossed out casually. "Actually, Father, there were a few surprises." He turned to Vincent Crabbe's father. "You look different. Tell me, have you lost weight?"

Lucius was on him in a second, looking up slightly to compensate for his son's height, and hissing, "You will not make a fool of me, boy. Not in this company, nor in any other. I have tolerated you this far because you are blood and because you are useful, but do not test my limits." Draco held up his hands in a placating gesture, and Lucius backed off. Lestrange wore a sarcastic smirk.

"Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, shall we have tea, or jump straight to business as usual?" Draco inquired, cracking his knuckles and turning back to face his audience.

"Have you found Adrian Baddock yet? What action have you taken?" Lucius inquired directly.

Draco casually strolled over to the chair Rodolphus Lestrange had just vacated, nodding politely at the man as he slid into his seat. "Well, you haven't given me much time, obviously," Draco began, but added quickly when he saw the dangerous glint in his father's eyes, "But I have, naturally, begun searching. The boy, however, is so far proving to be quite elusive. Still, even the best make mistakes, I assure you."

He knew that he was rambling, but he had to play for time. He had originally planned to find Baddock, and then turn him in. Hooray, he stayed rich, his father got to kill someone new, and they all could go home happy. He debated turning Adrian in anyway, but he actually doubted that he had stayed in his apartment. Besides, why call down the wrath of Death Eaters who discovered he'd considered aiding their quarry? And there was something about the oath he had sworn... It was binding. Draco didn't know how, but he was now forced to play this game through until the bitter end. The only trick was to make sure he still ended up on top. At any rate, he needed someway to throw this lot of old fogies off of Adrian's trail without making it obvious he was doing so. Better yet, to make them believe that he was actually helping them. He continued, forcing his face to remain unreadable.

"I assumed that you had all already used any standard tracking spells that you could get your hands on. Hence, I used those spells that I had either devised myself or modified in various forms. I went to the address that you had given me where the murder took place." Draco made a mental note to actually go there as soon as he could, in case they attempted to verify this by magically searching for traces of his presence at the site. "Considering that he had just committed murder, Baddock showed an extraordinary presence of mind, and covered up his tracks carefully. However, using the picture you provided and various items I found at the site, I used a spell of my own creation. It was a much more crude method than I would have liked, but it essentially allowed me to follow, on foot, the path that Baddock took after fleeing the 'scene of the crime', to coin a phrase."

There were a few sharp intakes of breath from those of the younger Death Eaters who weren't as well practiced at control. The majority of the faces remained totally pan blank. "Unfortunately, there is a hitch in this particular method. Since it involves concentrating on the essence of he whom you are tracking, it will only last for so long. The minute the one who is being traced comes into physical contact with another human being, it is impossible to continue following the tracks. He avoided physical contact for an extraordinary amount of time, and so I was able to follow him into the outskirts of London. If those of you who are in a position to venture outside in daylight would like to join me, we could go on a little field trip out to see aforementioned position. I can continue my explanation with a demonstration once we all arrive." Draco glanced down at his fingernails, watching the reactions to this suggestion out of the corner of his eyes. Various people began murmuring, and Lucius leaned in to discuss the possibility with those who gathered around. From the varied tones, there was clearly some dissention in the ranks, but try as he might, Draco couldn't make out the exact words. Rodolphus Lestrange didn't move from where he stood beside Draco, staring at him as though trying to have his gaze act as a laser and burn straight through Draco's skull, leaving his brain exposed and his true intentions laid bare.

When the Death Eaters straightened from their Rugby-style huddle, Lucius turned to face his son. "Macnair, Goyle, and myself will accompany you to the site."

"Excellent!" Draco smiled and stood. "In that case-"

"I will also come." Rodolphus Lestrange's voice rang out across the room, cold and steely.

"Rodolphus, you are a wanted man, and could be recognized. It would be a pointless risk."

"No. Not pointless. You may trust this child," Draco winced inwardly at this patronizing term, "But I do not. I will come too. I assure you, Draco, that if I have even the slightest inclination to believe that you have betrayed us, not only will you regret joining the other side, but you will rue the day that your mother ever considered conceiving you." Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly at this reference to Narcissa Malfoy, but said nothing.

Draco gave a grin and an equally patronizing bow, and said, "Of course, Sir. Now, does anyone object to apparation?" As the five of them noted the co-ordinates he told them of the alley that Draco had left not so long ago, it occurred to him at this rate, he would be ruing his birth without any aid from Rodolphus Lestrange.

~*~*~*~

The minute Draco left the house, Adrian immediately severed the floo link in the fireplace. He then sat down on the sofa and set the locket open on the coffee table, alongside a map of London he spread out beside it. She couldn't have left the city yet. Allowing his wand to hover over the map, he spoke clearly, "Compertum!" The wand immediately fell down with an audible clatter. Clenching his fists to siphon off a little of his nervous energy, he watched as it finally stopped rolling around and came to rest with the tip pointing to a small street getting towards the outskirts of London. Not a particularly family-friendly area, but he'd certainly manage. It would make a nice change to visit somewhere besides the woods, at any rate; in the past twenty-four hours, he had travelled more than he had in eighteen years. He grabbed his wand and shoved it deep into his pocket, slipped the locket back around his neck, and headed towards the door. On his way out he grabbed the lone coat that was hanging on a hook by the door, a long beige trench coat. It registered on some level that it was probably the first time he had ever had clothes that actually fit him, although he did feel conspicuously bright once wearing something other than black. Still, he wasn't in a position to be picky. As soon as he stepped outside of the building and felt the grim October breeze slapping across his face, he apparated onto the corner of the street he had to search.

Once he actually arrived, he stood out only more starkly in his khaki. All of the houses up and down the narrow road radiated gloom and doom. It was as though an enormous velvet blanket had been dropped over the whole area, silencing any bird that might have dared to sing s cheerful melody. Most of the houses were grey, looming, and had an air of mould about them. Against his better judgement, he glanced around anxiously. It occurred to him that he was standing in the middle of an unknown street, without a clue as to even the last name of the girl who he was looking for. She could be in any of the rotting, corpse-like houses, and there was no guarantee that she wouldn't just apparate away the moment she caught a glimpse of him. What the hell am I doing? He had gone his whole life without caring about anyone, and now, in the course of mere hours, he felt totally responsible for the well-being of some child he'd never met. He hadn't even known she existed the previous day. Ah well, he mused casually, maybe murdering your own father can do that to a guy.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a boot scuffing the pavement behind him. High-strung as he was, Adrian immediately span around to face what could be a possible attacker. An elderly, rather dirty witch glowered out at him from under a wide-brimmed hat. "And what might 'appen to bring you 'ere, young Mister?" she croaked sarcastically at him, staring him down in a way that made it clear she not only knew he already had his hand closed around his wand in his pocket, but didn't care, either.

Adrian leaned casually against the chipped and faded lampost. Playing on a hunch and ploughing ahead recklessly, he replied, "I'm looking into a family that I believe used to live on this street. A husband and wife that were both Aurors, and a daughter. They died several years back."

The witch marched over to him, pushing her hat up higher so as to intensify her stare. "Aye, I know them. I've lived 'ere nye on thirty years now, and I'll be damned if I don't remember everyone who's ever lived 'ere. The question is being, though, what you would be wanting with the Kahlans."

Got you. Ella Kahlan.

"I am trying to ascertain some of the more unsavory details of their death. The Kahlans were good friends of my father. I was hoping to examine their house for clues. No doubt you know that they were-"

"Murdered. Aye, there wasn't a blind fool 'oo didn't know that much. Seventh 'ouse on the left side o' the road. Best o' luck to you." As she turned to continue hobbling down the road, she called over her shoulder with a brief and mirthless cackle, "You won't be needing no key, either!" As Adrian glared at her slowly retreating profile, he couldn't help but think that it had been far too easy. Even so, he wasn't one to dismiss good luck, so he crossed the street and walked briskly to the house she had directed him to. Once he stood at the base of the front path, he understood her parting comment. The entire top half of the door had been blasted away, leaving splinters littering the narrow porch. Careful not to disturb the clutter, he stepped over the door and into a dim hallway. He couldn't be bothered to worry about the footprints he was leaving in the thick layer of dust. Clearly, the Kahlans had been the house's last tenants. As he turned into the first room and picked his way around the broken glass from multiple shattered windows, he understood why. The room had clearly been a living room of sorts. Most of the stuffing hung out of the moth-eaten sofa, and the table lay sprawled on the floor, one leg having met an unknown fate, beside the remnants of a large vase. He imagined that the dark stain on the carpet marked the final resting place of the flowers it had once contained. Thieves and vandals had removed anything that looked to be even relatively of value, so a few torn photographs and one wooden frame were all that remained on the crooked mantle. It didn't take long for him to become so disgusted with the faded, broken memories that he moved on to search another room.

He moved quickly through the downstairs before moving cautiously up the steps and into the master bedroom. It was here, with huge chunks of the wall blasted away and splintered furniture and rubble creating a morbid sort of carpet, that he found Ella Kahlan. She was leaning against the end of the bed, hugging her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. As he stepped through into the room, she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and rather vague. "Oh, hello. Have you come to finish it? He burned all of it, you know. It took me ages to put out all the fire, and afterwards, there was nothing left to bury."

For nearly a minute he stared at her, silent, raking in every detail. "I am not going to hurt you."

Without letting go of her knees, she raised her head, to turn the full effect of her harsh blue eyes upon him then rang out almost mockingly, "You ask that I place my faith in the word of the devil?"

Adrian took a step backwards. "No!" Realizing how violently angry this outburst had sounded, and that she might run at any moment, he took a deep breath and slowed down. "I am not a devil, or a murderer. Well," he amended reluctantly, "I did not murder your parents," on the off chance that she didn't know, he decided against adding, 'That was my father.' "And I am not going to kill you. But you can't stay here."

She uncoiled one arm and set it on top of the bed, slowly and shakily rising to her feet. "I have every right to be here. Do you question that?" Ella tilted her head imperiously, daring him to disagree. "This is where my family lives. My mother and father will tell you that." Her eyes were beginning to glaze over slightly.

"No, that isn't..." He shook his head exasperatedly and began again. "Listen to me. This place is not secure. The Death Eaters have marked me to die, and they are not going to think twice about eliminating you too." He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to judge her reaction. Her eyes were becoming steadily glassier, and it occurred to him that she was probably losing touch with reality. She had, after all, just referred to her parents in the present tense. Still trying to gauge her emotional state, he continued by way of explanation, "Your situation is my responsibility, so I am going to keep an eye on you. Isn't there somewhere you could go, or someone you could stay with?"

He crossed the room quickly and grasped her firmly by the shoulders, heedless of the fact that she was now shaking slightly. The minute he touched her, she screamed aloud, "Don't touch me!" He caught her wrist even as she brought a hand up to slap him across the face.

"I'm only trying to help you, damn it!" he yelled back, his temper boiling over. "It isn't safe! I don't trust Draco yet, and if they find us, we're dead."

"Let me go," she whispered softly.

"You're shaking."

"Let me go," she repeated, her voice growing even hoarser. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but rather, straight through him.

Slowly, he released her and stepped backwards. She stood for a full fifteen seconds, staring into nowhere, before hitting the ground.

Adrian sighed and hoisted her up until she was leaning against him, then apparated back to Draco's apartment. It had been a very, very long day, and it wasn't over yet.

~*~*~*~

"I'm not going to tell him."

Narcissa Black spun around to face Grayson Baddock, who had entered the room soundlessly while she sat working at her desk. Shocked, she didn't reply; she simply gaped at him without rising. Grayson quickly crossed the length of the room and leaned against the desk beside her. "You precious fiancé," he prompted, speaking with a patronizing, exaggerated slow pace and clarity. "I'm not going to tell him that the baby isn't his."

"Wh... But... You said that..." Grayson smiled as Narcissa stumbled dumbly. She could feel a crawling sensation at the back of her neck from the sheer evil radiating from that cocky smirk. He raised a finger to his lips.

"No, don't try to talk. I'm not expecting you to come out with anything intelligent; I would never dream of forcing you to stretch yourself in such a manner. After all, you will be a great lady soon, and then how would it look if you had to strain yourself, when you will certainly have many servants at your beck and call to do thinking for you?" It was obvious that he was mocking her, and she opened her mouth to protest, only to have him raise a threatening hand. Not so gently this time, he reiterated, "You will stay silent." She shut her mouth, and the smile returned. "Good girl. Now then, I am going to let you live out your little fantasy, and I am going to tell you why."

He stood back up and began pacing the narrow study. Narcissa shrunk back into her chair as far as she could manage. "You are going to have your little happy ever after, Narcissa. You will marry your Prince Charming, and be whisked away to a castle in the clouds. You will spend the rest of your days with a man who you not only do not love, but who values you only as a figurehead. He will hold his career, his position, far above you, and you will be utterly miserable. You will have a child, and when that child fails to resemble his father, the fight that ensues will be spectacular, of that I am certain. Still, when all is said and done, you will continue to live, caring for your child, the perfect wife."

"And not once, though the years will pass, will I spare you so much as a glimmer of a thought. I will leave this room, and I will never consider, even wonder about your existence. Because I will not, do not care. You are weak, pathetic, spineless, and powerless, but I will not so much as waste my pity upon the likes of you. Enjoy your life, Narcissa. It will be cold, it will be lonely, and you will have to carry your secret to the grave. For I will never tell, because I do not care enough about you. Who could ever care for the likes of you?"

Without another word, Grayson swept out of the room, closing the door behind him. For one full minute Narcissa did not move, shell-shocked. As his words finally sunk in, she turned back to her desk, rested her arms and head upon it, and began to cry.

She cried for her child, the father of her child, and most of all, for herself.