The Enemy's enemy
"Wormtail, get over here," hissed a cold voice from the chair. A small, balding man with a ratty face scuttled over, half-cowering, half-bowing at the same time.
"Y-Yes Master?" He whimpered, avoiding the three pairs of eyes watching him.
"Read the list," the cold voice hissed again. Fumbling with a piece of parchment in his callused fingers, Wormtail unrolled the paper and began to read, looking only briefly up at the body on the chair.
"The bone of the Father, unknowingly given,
The Flesh of a servant, willingly sacrificed.
Blood of the enemy, forcefully taken." Wormtail paused as the gangly figure in the corner walked forward wearing a psychopathic smirk.
"Master, I would be able to set a plan to get all of those things," the man said, grinning and licking his lips with a sharp tongue.
"Even the boy?"
"Yes... though it will take time." His smile grew, and a delicious glint entered his eyes, as if he was anticipating a luxurious treat.
"I can wait," The cold voice mused, audibly pleased. The conversation seemed to hold before a trembling stutter broke the thoughtful pause.
"M-Master?" it was Wormtail who spoke.
"What, Wormtail?" The hiss snapped, as a dark snake slithered across the floor and wound itself around the chair. The figure in the chair began to coo over it.
"T-T-There's another part." The cold voice didn't hesitate to ask him to continue. "Lastly, Tears of the enemy's enemy, cruelly provoked."
There was again another pause.
"Master, are you not the boy's enemy?" The gangly man asked, his voice subdued now.
"True, but in this form I would be uncapable of something as human as crying."
"Then..." The gangly man paused, suddenly a lot less sure of himself.
"Master, I believe I have the solution," came the snide drawl of the one Lucius Malfoy. The Gangly man shot a dark, hateful look at him, his spotlight now stolen.
"Really Malfoy? Continue." The hiss prompted, sounding just marginally surprised.
"Well, my son, Draco, is also considered by Potter an 'enemy'. They have had several fights at school, and both attend Hogwarts. I'm sure he could be worked into junior's little plan." Lucius ended on a sneer, though he still remained facing his master.
"Really, your own son Malfoy?" The hiss sounded impressed.
"Of course, Draco would be extremely grateful to serve such a cause."
"Very well. This will work with your plan, yes?"
The gangly man, still looking bitter, brightened at the return of attention. "Of course master, I will send written details of how everything goes via owl. Good Evening Lucius." He walked to the door, and lingered only for a moment to smirk at Malfoy. Then he was gone.
"M-Master, must it be the boy?" Wormtail stuttered, the loudest thing he'd said all evening.
"Yes Wormtail, now escort Lucius out," his Master snapped angrily. Tripping over his feet, Wormtail hurried to show the taller man out.
"Malfoy and Potter are the key to my ressurection then," the hiss mused as a shaking, deformed finger stroked the snake's head. "I wonder how this'll pan out. Of course I'll win, but to think Potter has another enemy." There was a clear smirk in that voice now. The snake gave a low hiss, wrapped herself around the chair once then snaked out of the door.
***
"Sounds like the irish are getting their game on." Laughed George, as the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione sat around the magically expanded tent, fully excited and exhausted after the events of the Quidditch World Cup, what with Victor Krum catching the snitch yet the Irish still winning. There certainly was a lot of noise going on outside. Yet just as George and Fred got into their victory jig because they'd won their bets with Lugo Bagman, Arthur Weasley came in, terrified."It's not the Irish. We have to get out of here. Now. Fred, George, Ginny's your responsiblity. Out. NOW."
It took a moment, and then the panic set in. In a confused rush, everyone poured out of the tent.
Fire. That was all Harry could register, as he looked around to the screaming crowds running around chaotically. He stood, rooted to the spot as he watched the masses fall, scream and cry, children running loose from their parents, adults sobbing on each other. Harry's hero-complex kicked in, and he started to move towards the closest wailing child, three years old at the most.
"Harry!" Screamed hermione, who was being carried away by the tide. but Harry lost sight of her as her bushy brown hair disappeared into the mob of other heads; even the flame red hair of the Weasleys had disappeared. Harry made towards the small child, and pulled it away out of the tide before it could get knocked over, out onto the edge of the camp site, under a tree where the fire and screaming masses had yet to swarm.
"Where's your parents?" He asked the kid gently, trying to stop himself from shaking.
"Mama, mama ran," the little boy whimpered, fresh tears on his cheeks. "She got knocked down by a hooded man. He was scary." Hooded man? Harry began to get that empty feeling in his stomach, the one that always cropped up when a certain dark lord was involved.
"Did you see what he looked like?" Lord voldermort couldn't possibly have...? No, he was sure it couldn't be. The little boy nodded and looked behind Harry at something.
"He had hair like that boy." Harry turned round, spotting the trembling figure that was hunched up under a tree just a few metres back. There was no way he could mistake it. That hair, the pure, snow white blonde.
"Malfoy," he muttered darkly, stepping away from the child, closer to to Malfoy. The blonde looked up, grey eyes startled, scared. For a second, Harry felt the strange need to protect him, but then Draco's eyes flattened, and a cold sneer spread over his mouth. God, Harry hated it when Malfoy did that, when he acted so... fake. He was so obviously disturbed, yet he still had to sneer at harry?
"Saving another child, Potter?" It was the same sneering drawl as always. Malfoy straightened, striding closer, quite concealing the shaking of his shoulders.
"Hiding from another fight, Malfoy?" Harry retorted, surprised by the bite in his voice considering his own fear. Malfoy looked strained, the redness to his eyes obvious now they were in close proximity of each other. It occurred to Harry that he'd been crying.
"Some day you're going to get killed, doing all this hero crap," Malfoy hissed, almost threatningly, though there was that weird undertone present that Harry heard from Draco on the most abnormal of occasions.
"And some day you're going to have to face a fight properly," Harry replied cooly, very pleased at his ability to hide his fear of his predicated destiny. Malfoy's face changed again, becoming stricken, gaunt.
"You'd best be going Potter, Weaslebee and the Mudblood will be looking for their precious Wonder Boy." Malfoy sneered, noting the terrified child that was clinging to Harry. Harry glared, 'Wonder Boy' was probably the most annoying nickname Malfoy had ever assigned him, even compared to the ones during his fear of dementors, because it made him feel so sick. He didn't want the fame. He didn't want to be 'Wonder Boy'.
But now wasn't the time for that. He lifted the small boy into his arms and turned away, returning towards the sounds of screams. Giving himself some lame excuse, he glanced back just to look at Malfoy again, for no real reason. The boy had repositioned himself against a tree, arms tightly hugging himself again, that same look of terror on his face. If there was one thing Harry would never understand, it was Draco Malfoy. Ignoring his hero-complex impluse, Harry turned back and hurried to find Ron and Hermione again.
Draco watched as Wonder boy hurried off, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.
Why did it have to be his father?
Why did he have to the be the one in such a terrifying situation?
And why did Potter always act so goddamn nobly in such situations?