Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Everything you see here mostlikely belongs to the author, J.K Rowling.
Warnings: There are spoilers for the 6th book in this fanfiction. Also, there is possible slash ahead. If you haven't read the book, or if you don't approve of slash, I suggest you hit the back button now.
"This is kidnap! You can't just - just drag a man from his home for no reason, and - " Declan O'Grady exclaimed for what felt like the hundreth time. His throat was raw, his voice already growing hoarse from all the shouting he had done since the weirdos appeared. All they did was grunt and nod, feigning interest in what he was telling them. But he knew better than that. What he marvelled at was how stupid these men must believe him to be.
"Come on," He actually began to plead, "I haven't done anything, haven't broken any laws, so just - "
Finally, one of the men - the one with shoulder length blond hair - lost it.
Declan was sure the man was going to hit him. The grip on his arm tightened, only heightening his fears. The man's gray eyes widened in a way only a mad man's could. Declan instinctively flinched away.
But he wasn't struck, much to his relief. "Shut it, boy! We've heard enough of your complaints. There's no point in pretending...we know who you are..." He grumbled. The man drew in several deep breaths and then calmed down after that.
"Who I...?" Declan mumbled, frowning.
"Shush!"
They walked on in silence, though Declan had no choice, they held him so tightly by the arms. "Got the Portkey, Malfoy?" The younger one grunted after a few seconds.
"Yes. Is anyone looking?" The longhaired one, Malfoy, inquired. He glanced around furtively, no doubt to check whether they were being spied upon. Declan glanced either way, too. There was no one...no one to hear his cries for help.
"Does it matter if a couple of Muggles see us now? Honestly. We've got the boy. Let's just go..." The other male responded haughtily.
Malfoy snorted derisively and pulled what appeared to be some old shoelaces from his pocket. "Grab hold, boy." He commanded.
Declan stared from the shoelaces to the men incredulously. Were they off their rockers? What was the point of this? Perhaps it was some ritual they had their victims perform...just before they sacrificed said poor soul to whatever or whoever they believed in. Both men were glaring at him expectantly. Not wanting to test their dwindling patience, he reluctantly grabbed hold of the strings.
They stood there silently for several seconds, which soon bled into a minute. Two minutes. They each grasped a bit of the string. Declan coughed, breaking the heavy silence. He was starting to feel rather foolish.
Just when he opened his mouth to ask, however, he felt an odd tug - and then he was being wrenched irresistably forward. A surprised yelp burst from his throat, and his fingers automatically slackened on the string. He would have let go entirely, if one of Malfoy's hands hadn't been clutching his, preventing him from doing just that.
The town with its modest shops and winding roads, the forest just beyond that - everything that was familiar and reassuring to Declan - vanished in the blink of an eye. It was replaced with a dark, unfamiliar corridor. When the sensation of being jerked forward ceased, he stumbled forward drunkenly, gasping. A hand grabbed him by the neck of his T-shirt, holding him upright.
"Your acting skills are pathetic." Malfoy said snidely.
"I'm not acting! That was - what was that? - it was...weird." Declan choked out.
Malfoy gave a yell of laughter. "'What was that' he says! You would think he was some brainless Muggle, wouldn't you, Lestrange? Too bad. Too bad, you won't be able to get out of what's waiting for you in the Headmaster's office, Po -"
"Stop teasing the boy, Malfoy, we're nearly there now." Lestrange hissed, his grip tightening on Declan's arm, bruising.
Declan followed them silently, making sure his expression remained blank, unreadable. He couldn't tame his emotions though; they were running wild by now. Fear, uncertainty, and confusion coursed through him, robbing him of all intelligent speech.
What waited for him in the Headmaster's office? Where had his home gone, how had they reached this school, for it had to be a school if there was a Headmaster - so quickly? Who were these people! What had he done wrong? And what the bloody hell was a Muggle?
Those maddening demands swirled through his head, and he opened his mouth several times to voice them, only to close it a second later. His voice had fled him at the worst possible time.
They rounded the corner and found themselves in a corridor that ended in a rather ugly stone gargoyle whose face was fixed into a permanent snarl. Declan did not look around. He was gazing at the gargoyle, transfixed by the hideous creature.
If he had taken the time to glance around, he would have noticed a woman in the portrait to his left scratch her nose and even more questions would have presented themselves to him. He failed to see it, though, and within seconds found himself face-to-snarling face with the gargoyle.
A shiver slid down his spine. He turned his face sharply away, an odd thought occurring to him. If he continued to stare the beast in the eye much longer, it would tear his face off. He was an intruder in this school. It was an irrational fear, but in his frayed state it seemed like a very real possibility.
"Scared?" Malfoy chuckled in his ear.
Declan did not respond. The truth was, yes, he was very scared.
"Fang of the Basilisk." Lestrange drawled almost boredly.
He blinked. Basilisk, Basilisk...where had he heard of that before? Before he could ponder it, however, the gargoyle suddenly sprang to life. It uttered a throaty growl, as though it were letting them in against its better judgement, and leapt aside.
Declan uttered a low cry at the frightening sight. He had been right! He tried to tear away from his captors, to run, but their grip only tightened. It felt like they were trying to break his arms. He barely managed to suppress a low, terrified moan.
Malfoy shot him a curious look but said nothing.
The two men proceeded to drag him onto the spiral staircase, which started to wind slowly upward of its own accord. They soon reached the top. Lestrange raised his hand and rapped the wooden door twice with his knuckles.
"Enter." An unfamiliar voice commanded from the other side of the door.
Both men hesitated. Then Malfoy, apparently having gathered his nerve, pushed the door open. Lestrange shoved Declan over the threshold and into the room beyond.
It was a circular room, decorated with various objects that he felt no inclination to study further. He could only focus on who they were there to meet, the Headmaster. He was both scared and excited. Finally he would be given some answers.
Before them stood a large oak desk. And behind that desk sat a young man with dark brown eyes and even darker hair, which clashed greatly with his too pale skin. Judging by his smooth complexion, Declan automatically assumed that the man could be no older than he was - eighteen.
Declan felt his eyebrows shoot up, and was sure they were in danger of disappearing completely into his hair. "I thought we were going to see the Headmaster?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Do not mock our Lord." Lestrange snarled, his grip tightening painfully around Declan's arm once more. He exhaled sharply.
Lord? Even more dizzying questions swam through Declan's mind as he tried to tug his arm away from the enraged man.
"Release him, Lestrange." The dark haired man behind the desk - their Lord, the Headmaster? - insisted. Lestrange automatically released Declan's arm as though he had been burned. He mumbled what sounded vaguely like an apology.
Declan rubbed his bruised flesh fervently, shooting a glare toward Lestrange. Finally free of his captors grasp, he considered bolting for a second...but quickly decided against it. He needed answers. Then, once he was certain his life was in danger, he would make a break for it.
"Why have you brought me here?" He asked boldly. At his side, Lestrange's fingers twitched, as though he would like nothing better than to strike him. Declan ignored him and took to staring at the Headmaster - only to find him staring straight back.
The Headmaster's gaze wasn't full of uncertainty, as his own was, however. The brown, almost black eyes were filled with something odd...it wasn't happiness, no...but it had its distinct differences. Declan looked away, feeling unnerved.
"You should know that. Five times. You have defied me five times...and then you vanished before I could repay the favor! Surely you are not so surprised...now. Tell me, Harry...where have you been all these years? I was most surprised to find the 'Chosen One' fled; and right when Dumbledore was out of the picture, right when your friends needed you most." The Headmaster breathed.
Declan gaped at him. "You've got the wrong guy." He said at last.
"Do not think you can deceive me, Harry. I would think that I, Lord Voldemort, would be able to identify my supposed 'downfall' without any trouble. You are Harry Potter. Now, answer me. Where did you go? Do not lie!" He hissed venemously.
"I'm not, I'm not lying, my name is Declan O'Grady. These lunatics just dragged me from my house for no reason at all. I'm not who you think I am, I'm not this Harry Potter person!" He screamed.
Voldemort stared him straight in the eye for several seconds. He didn't even blink. Declan gritted his teeth, his frustration beginning to hit its peak. He didn't look away. It seemed the two had suddenly engaged in some bizzare staring contest. Voldemort was the one to break it. He glanced away, breathing a sigh.
"You are him. There is no denying it. Your eyes, your voice, your hair...you even have the scar." He said, though he sounded puzzled.
Declan's hand shot up to the jagged scar on the forehead. "That? I got that when I was really little." He murmured.
"No, you did not. You received that scar when I attempted to cast the killing curse on you seventeen years ago. The curse rebounded and...you should know this story!" Voldemort growled, suddenly angry. "Lestrange, Malfoy - leave."
Declan felt as though his blood had frozen over. Now what?
Malfoy and Lestrange didn't hesitate.
"Yes, my Lord..." Malfoy mumbled.
"Goodbye, my Lord." Lestrange chipped in. They disappeared, almost as though they were only too happy to get out of their lord's presence.
Declan exhaled slowly, staring at the only thing that stood between him and safety - the door. His mind commanded him to run, but when did he ever listen to anyone, let alone himself? His jaw set stubbornly, he looked around at Voldemort.
"We're alone at last...there is no Dumbledore here to protect you, no friends to rush to your aid at the last second..." He mused, rising from his chair. He side stepped the desk and started toward Declan, his pace slow but purposeful.
"I will not fall for your antics. The time for games is at an end, Potter." Lord Voldemort said softly.