'If Thine Enemy...'

{ If Thine Enemy... }
Chapter One: Apparate!

Ragged breaths puffed the air ahead of him. His glasses, too, were fogged - robes catching at the rough underbrush. Harry stumbled, disoriented, as sickness filled his stomach again. Apparating without complete training was a fool´s thing to do, but being ambushed by Death Eaters in Diagon Alley - Diagon Alley, of all places! - had left him no choice. Not to mention it was illegal - but Harry doubted the Ministry would complain if he pointed out the number of civilians who´d have been caught in the ensuing battle, had he stuck around. Not that he knew where he was now.

As it was, he was feeling rather sick; the bones in his body felt loosely held together, and Harry felt a growing fear that the Apparate! charm had damaged him in some way. If Harry´s body hadn´t been put back together properly he was in deep, deep -

`Shit.´

He nearly fell as the brush suddenly gave way to open space, it´s resistance abruptly disappearing. Harry found himself staring at a vast - vast - expanse of perfectly level grass, gleaming silver in the moonlight. In the distance he saw the large shape of what looked like a considerably luxurious mansion, with lights glinting from its warm windows. A mansion? Harry thought. And all this grass, so perfectly maintained - not a tree in sight though. Not even a flower, as far as he could see. It all seemed like a surreal moonscape, the hulking grace of that distant mansion across a glimmering sea of grass... Harry was reminded suddenly of the first time he´d seen Hogwarts, surrounded by the gasps of first-years in that gently rocking boat.

Harry shook his head. The apparating really had done him in. Nothing to worry about - he´d just march up to the mansion, and ask whoever was inside where this was. Something about the unnaturally sudden boundary between the grass and the brush, and the remarkable evenness of the grass´s growth, spoke to Harry of magic. Professor Sprout wouldn´t mow a territory this huge. A wizard lived here. A very rich wizard. And, if Harry was lucky tonight (he tried not to remember the Death Eaters) the wizard just might be able to send him back to Hogwarts.

Taking a deep breath, and gripping his wand, Harry started towards the mansion. He didn´t notice a pair of sharp eyes glinting in the brush, or the winged shape that took off silently above, swiftly moving ahead of him.

***

Wacchen swooped silently onto her master´s table. He didn´t glance up; the quill flowing just as steadily upon the gleaming vellum of his parchment. The script was as neat, sparse and sharp as his features - the harsh line of his jaw not softened by the solemn mouth. A black leather band held back his long, pale hair, glinting faintly in the firelight.

Wacchen hooted softly. Finally, her master´s grey eyes rose to meet hers. She hooted again, and cocked her head towards the window. The urgency in her round, feathered face was plain to see.

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow. An intruder? A trespasser, upon the Malfoy Estate? Wacchen was not a familiar sight to him, being one of the watch-owls to nightly circle the grounds. No one had ever dared to approach the Malfoy Estate, thus he hadn´t seen much of her or the other watch-owls.

So Wacchen was finally paying for her keep. Lucius rose gracefully, slinging his cloak over his shoulders and heading out of his study. It would be interesting to see which fool had dared to enter the Estate. Not that they'd get anywhere near the vicinity of the mansion, of course, without meeting Lucius´ detection spells.

Still. It was pleasant to have an owl warn him before that happened. Enough time to go and see the trap being sprung. A pleasure, as always, to watch the struggles of a trapped thing.

Lucius Malfoy allowed himself a smile.

***

Harry became more sure of the presence of magic as he neared the mansion. The grass really was the same height everywhere - as if someone had taken a ruler and measured each blade inch by inch. Either that, or cast a really strange florae spell. Not one flower cast its shadow in the moonlight, not one tree. It was almost as if the resident was loath to see anything mar the flat sheen of the grass, was unable to enjoy the lovely disorder that flowers bring with them. Someone who preferred the earth to glint flatly in the moonlight, like the blade of a knife. What kind of soul could live here?

Such ruminations flew promptly out of his head, though, the moment the air touched him.

Harry jumped. What was that? The air around him had warmed momentarily, and Harry felt as if the wind was brushing against him, rather like a blind man´s fingers. He shivered. Something dark seemed to be shifting in every breath he took - the air seemed to be thickening...

Harry drew his wand in a panic, not knowing what to point at. Everything around him seemed to be distorting, as if through a haze. A strange scent filled his nostrils, a metallic yet oddly living scent, blood-rich... Harry began choking. What kind of magic was this? It was like nothing he had felt at Hogwarts - it was overwhelming, it was... dark...

Dark. Horror flashed with the sudden realization in Harry´s mind.

Dark. Dark magic. Dark as in, as in -

Something flicked sharply around Harry´s neck in a tightening coil. Harry immediately raised his hands to pull it off, but they went through... nothing. His nails scratched his own throat.

What!?!

Then Harry realized. The air itself. The air he had felt thickening... was now working around his body in darkening coils. Coils that smelt of... He made a retching sound, dropping his wand. His fingers clawed uselessly at his throat. Drawing blood. He thrashed, constricted throat unable to push out a scream. Darkness began to cloud his sight. Harry thought he saw a tall, cloaked shape separate itself from the air. Through the thundering of his pulse, he heard a laugh. A quiet and satisfied laugh, spiking the sickening heat of his panic. The tall man extended a hand towards him (No wand, Harry thought brokenly), and a few words were murmured in the same pleased tone. The coils loosened around him, but Harry had already lost too much air. He doubled over, gasping for breath, the ground swimming beneath him. The burning in his chest subsided as the darkness took over. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

***

Lucius had arrived on the rather pleasant scene of seeing his constrictus spell trap the unwitting intruder, hearing a panicked gasp as the coils sprang into action. So very snake-like, that spell. So very Slytherin. It was gratifying to watch it in action knowing that Draco and Narcissa were away, with no one to interrupt him at his pleasure.

As he drew close, Lucius was surprised to note the small size of his prey. The darkening air wrapping that thrashing form hid it from view, but he could see that it was rather much smaller than he would have expected, and slender beneath the writhing coils. Still, he couldn´t resist a satisfied laugh at the weakening struggle of the intruder. Arms tore past the coils to claw futilely at the exposed throat. Lucius shook his head, as if in mild admonition. No no no, he smiled. Wouldn´t want you dying on us before we find out what you´re doing here, isn´t that right, little one?

Raising his hand, he murmured: `Finite constringere. Release it, my dear.´ The spell loosened slowly as a breath, almost reluctantly. The coils thinned and returned to the normal transparency of the surrounding air. The gasping intruder floundered for a moment before collapsing on the grass, presumably unconscious.

Lucius stepped closer, confirming his suspicions of wizardry when he saw a wand lying by the crumpled body. He did a quick Accio on it, and returned to his inspection of the catch. A small body, he noted again - like that of a boy. About fourteen, perhaps, about Draco´s age. He resisted the urge to laugh incredulously. What would such a young wizard be doing here, of all places? A ridiculous dare of some sort? He snorted.

Deep scratches marred the young throat. Lucius grimaced at the stupidity of the boy, to use his hands against a spell when he should have used his wand. He bent down, captured by the light glinting off - spectacles?! Dark hair framed a face that was pale in the darkness, thin shoulders unmoving beneath the wizarding robes. Suddenly anxious that his captive might choose to expire without giving him the satisfaction of an answer - and due punishment, Lucius thought - he reached out to hold a hand over the parted mouth. Quick breaths warmed his palm, as if still desperate for air. He moved his hand up to brush away that dark hair from the boy´s brow -

And froze.

Beneath his fingers was the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

***To Be Continued***

Notes: `Wacchen´ is a watch-owl, kind of like a watch-guard for the Malfoy Estate. The name comes from the Middle English wacchen, meaning to watch, be awake. `Constrictus´ is Latin for to constrict, and `constringere´ is a variation of that form. Thus, when Lucius says `Finite constringere´ he´s basically ending the constricting spell on Harry.

Please review if you want more! I should be done with the next chapter soon, but still...