¤ On my thread, we tend to call these "Castles" . . . they're like a fanfiction of a fanfiction. Ibegan to explore the idea of what could've happened in Chapter Twelve of Powers of the Prophecy in The Scars of Betrayal - Part I (if you haven't read Chapter 12 OR Part I yet, wait to read this until you do—this contains spoilers.) I was pressured to continue the "one-shot," and I had some good ideas, so here it is. Two-shot? Just like Part I, it goes with Heir of Voldemort and Powers of the Prophecy, BUT IS NOT PART OF THE SERIES! Like I said . . . a fic of a fic. ¤
Canon Placement: Same as The Scars of Betrayal - Part I. Lke an alternate reality to Harry's decision with Voldemort. As the name suggests, this fits with Part I.
Setting: Three years after Part I, making it a total of eight years after graduating from Hogwarts. Our characters are now in their mid-twenties.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot. Harry Potter™ is the sole intellectual property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and various others who all aren't connected to me in any way. No money is being made with this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
§ ¤ § The Scars of Betrayal - Part II § ¤ §
"Merlin, you look dead on your feet! Come, have a seat . . . you'll be wanting the usual, then, dear?"
"The usual, yes—but I wouldn't object if you spiked that coffee with something a bit stronger if you know what I mean, Rosmerta," the slim, cloaked figure replied, sitting down at the bar.
It was just past midnight and The Three Broomsticks was nearly empty. There was a small circle of hags at a corner table, and a young man—he looked like a university student, no younger—was sitting on his own, reading a book while he absentmindedly stirred the air in his empty teacup with a spoon. He went to take a sip, obviously didn't end up getting a sip of anything, and obliviously continued reading his book.
"Something stronger?" Madame Rosmerta questioned in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "I've never heard that request come from your lips!"
"I know," the cloaked figure said with a sigh as she turned her attention away from the poor college boy. "I haven't drunk in three years—I'm starting to think that maybe I should."
"Bad day?" Rosmerta asked sympathetically as she busied herself behind the counter.
"Bad three years," she replied sullenly. "You'd think I'd joined the circus the way I'm running in circles—not the Auror team. Thanks," she added as Rosmerta slid a cup of steaming coffee across the bar.
"Troubles at the Ministry?" Rosmerta asked, almost managing to hide her eagerness behind a calm façade.
"Oh, when aren't there troubles at the Ministry?" the cloaked figure spat. "If they're not denying the damage Voldemort has done—well, you saw it, the way it was here in Hogsmeade while I was at Hogwarts—if it's not that, then they're pulling our forces away for trivial security, convicting innocents, or letting Death Eaters bribe them into declaring innocence. I'm surprised the world hasn't been destroyed ten times over by now," she mumbled, taking a sip of her coffee. She immediately sputtered and spat it back into the cup.
"What's in this?" she asked, glaring at the cup as if it had tried to bite her.
"F-Firewhiskey," Rosmerta said, sounding surprised and slightly frightened. "Y-You said you wanted it laced with something a bit stronger . . ."
"I did?" she asked, looking at the cup and raising an eyebrow quizzically.
"I can get you a fresh cup if you'd like—if you don't fancy the taste—"
"No, no, Rosmerta," she replied, raising a hand in dismissal of the subject. "I just forgot, I suppose. It's not bad, just not what I was expecting." She cautiously took another sip, savoring the unexpected flavor. She glanced back up and was surprised to notice Rosmerta looking a bit skittish.
"Oh, Rosmerta," she sighed, putting a hand on top of the older woman's, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. Like I said—first drink in three years." She smiled reassuringly, then went back to her coffee as the door the pub opened again, bringing a rush of warm summer air in with it. She looked over in time to see the edge of a black cloak as its wearer crossed behind her to the bar.
The poor college boy was still drinking nothing, and still not noticing. The woman at the bar pulled her wand out of the depths of her cloak (behind her, Madame Rosmerta was saying, "Hello there, what can I get for you?" presumably to the new arrival). She pointed her wand surreptitiously at the teacup and muttered a quick charm to refill it.
"One Firewhiskey, coming right up!" Madame Rosmerta said cheerfully. The stranger was seated at the other end of the bar and would probably encompass Rosmerta's attention for at least fifteen minutes . . . good. Rosmerta was sweet, but she made silent contemplation a bit difficult.
"Here you are—hang on—dear Merlin, are you . . . oh!" Madame Rosmerta exclaimed delightfully upon giving the stranger his or her Firewhiskey. "I haven't seen you since your Hogwarts years! Merlin, you've changed! No glasses anymore, I see . . . where have you been all this time?"
The cloaked woman rolled her eyes and chuckled as she took another sip of her coffee. From the sounds of it, Rosmerta would be distracted for more than just fifteen minutes with this new arrival.
"Of course, I don't see many of the old groups in here nowadays; Ron, Hermione—well, they used to pop in frequently, but after they died several years ago . . . And Fred and George Weasley, they live in Diagon Alley, of course. I remember when they'd sneak over here late to get Butterbeers after a Quidditch victory! Those are the only Hogwarts alumni I've seen from your lot . . . Oh, but KayKay! She comes in here all the time, you know, likes to visit . . ."
The cloaked woman laughed silently again as she lifted her cup to her lips.
"But enough with all of that. Tell me what you've been up to, Harry!"
CRASH!
The coffee cup fell and shattered on the bar, splattering coffee everywhere.
"KayKay! Are you alright?" Madame Rosmerta asked in surprise. KayKay's heart was pumping very fast, and she looked down the bar at the stranger, who wasn't a stranger any longer. He was looking right at her, harsh green eyes boring into brown ones.
KayKay had always boasted that she'd never ran away from anything in her life—but she ran out of that pub faster than she'd thought possible, losing a bit of time by tossing a few coins down on the bar. She left without even apologizing for the broken cup.
She heard Harry run out the door right behind her, both of their feet echoing eerily on the deserted street. As she turned abruptly down an old alley, skidding and almost falling in her haste, KayKay drew her wand.
There was a reason she was running—no one knew it, no one save for the very top members of the Auror Team.
Harry Potter was one of the Aurors most-wanted wizards. He'd eluded them so far, but they couldn't afford to send more people out after him—the news of his betrayal would leak out, and soon the whole world would know that The-Boy-Who-Lived was Voldemort's right-hand man.
KayKay had to lure him away from civilians . . . she could face him head-on when there was no one around to wonder why—
"Stupefy!" came a shout from behind her. KayKay dropped and rolled to the side, and the curse passed just inches from her face. She wasted no time in scrambling back up and continuing. Harry was much closer now; his curse had served its purpose as a distraction—something to slow her down.
Knowing she had no other options left to her, KayKay turned on the spot and Disapparated with a crack. Unfortunately, Harry managed to grab her arm before she did. Her sense of direction thrown off (she hadn't been prepared to have Potter try hitching a ride with her), they appeared far from Auror headquarters.
They were, in fact, in a forest clearing. There was no light of any sort—for all KayKay knew, the land was deserted for miles—but the moon was full, and the stars sparkled brightly, bathing them in ample light.
"Oh dear," Harry said mockingly. "We seem to have gone astray."
"Potter," KayKay growled, tightening her grip on her wand. She still remembered the last time they'd met. The entire time, he'd been in control of the situation—she wouldn't let him do the same this time. "We meet again."
"Mmmm, quite dramatic aren't we—and a little cliché." He merely smiled calmly at her. "But really, KayKay, The Three Broomsticks?" he sounded slightly disappointed. "You may as well have put a neon sign above the establishment saying, 'Determan is here.' It wouldn't have been any less of a challenge to find you."
"So sorry I deprived you of your fun," she replied sarcastically.
"Ah, but the time I saved by finding you quickly can now be applied to other pursuits," he said, smiling coldly.
KayKay glared at him, formulating a plan in her mind. If she could surprise him with an attack he didn't expect, she could use the momentary distraction to incapacitate him and bring him back to Moody—just like she wished she'd been able to three years earlier.
She raised her wand quickly. "Incen—"
"Adstringo!" Harry said, flicking his wand like a whip. KayKay didn't see anything happened, but it felt quite suddenly like an invisible line was around her waist, and she stumbled forward a few steps.
"No . . ." she hissed quietly to herself, trying to feel around for the "invisible" rope. She couldn't touch it—there was nothing to touch—but she was still bound tightly. By the looks of it, she was connected to Harry's wand, because when he tugged at slightly, she was forced a few steps closer.
A binding charm . . . how had she let him get a binding charm around her! This was worse than their last encounter when he'd been so condescending—now she was his prisoner!
"Let me go," she growled.
"I don't think so," he replied, quite obviously pleased with himself. "I think,"—he gave his wand another tug and KayKay almost tripped as she was yanked over to him—"that I'll take you with me."
He smiled darkly and they disappeared in a flash of light.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
KayKay awoke several hours later, not shackled in a dungeon cell, as she'd grown accustomed to, but in a magnificent room. There was a vast window with the red velvet curtains drawn, carved mahogany furniture, and, on the bed, a blood red coverlet that matched the curtains. The coverlet, however, appeared to be silk embroidered with gold thread.
What? What? What? her mind chorused as she looked around. She sat up, pushing back the downy coverlet.
"What?" she said out loud, rubbing her forehead to banish an advancing headache. There was a movement in the shadows of the room, and KayKay suddenly realized that someone had been standing by the door.
"Ah, you're awake," the person said, and KayKay barely got a glimpse of platinum-blonde hair and dark robes before he was gone.
She shook her head at herself, getting out of the large bed and crossing to the window. KayKay peeked out before letting the curtain fall back into place. It was still nighttime—or it was the next night? Surely someone had noted her absence by now . . . or had they?
She observed her surroundings again, glancing up at the dazzling crystal chandelier that cast golden light around the room.
I must be in Harry's . . . house? she wondered to herself. A chill settled over her and she immediately began searching for her wand. When it failed to be in her robe pocket, she began to think that it had been confiscated—and why not? —when she noticed it lying on a bedside table.
Amazed but pleased, KayKay pocketed it immediately, then flopped into an overstuffed armchair next to an ornate fireplace. A plan . . . she must think of a plan, quickly . . .
There was a soft rapping on her door. Before KayKay could even consider getting up or calling out to answer it, the door swung inwards, and a man entered—the same one that had been standing guard over her earlier.
Malfoy! she thought in wonder, flying to her feet and reaching for her wand before realizing that Draco wasn't holding his. In fact, he wasn't even dressed like a Death Eater. He was wearing trim dress robes of a deep midnight blue, and no mask adorned his face.
"Please follow me," he said with a politeness and decorum he'd never directed at KayKay during their Hogwarts years. "Mr. Potter would like to speak with you."
KayKay blinked in surprise several times, then cautiously followed Draco out of the room. He led her down several hallways and a few staircases, all of which were richly decorated with plush rugs, magnificent tapestries, and breathtaking frescoes.
Finally, KayKay could quell her curiosity no longer.
"What is this place?" she asked Draco. He turned and glanced back at her without stopping.
"This is Mr. Potter's Manor. It belonged to the ruler of a principality during the thirteenth century," he said, still polite but distant.
"Is he the only one who lives here?" KayKay pressed.
"Besides myself and the servants, yes. I am always nearby." He said nothing further, and KayKay asked nothing more. The very aura of the Manor seemed to emanate a need for silence.
Presently they came to a set of double doors. Draco knocked on the carved mahogany as he had at KayKay's door, but he didn't even touch the handle until a voice from within said, "Enter."
Draco pushed open the door, then stood aside, indicating KayKay to enter before him. As she passed him, he bowed his head respectfully, his stubbornly blonde hair hiding his expression. Again, KayKay's mind reeled. What? What?
The door clicked shut behind her and Draco stepped up next to her. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Potter?" he asked, bending at the waist in an unmistakable bow.
Harry was next to the fireplace, staring into the flames and leaning with one propped arm against the mantle—a silhouette.
"No, that'll be all for now. Thank you, Draco."
Draco bowed once more, then turned and exited, closing the door quickly behind him and leaving KayKay alone with Harry. She hadn't realized until that moment that Draco's presence, though extremely bizarre, had been oddly comforting.
Harry looked over at KayKay and smiled—the sight of it was enough to send shivers down her spine, though she forced herself to maintain a straight façade.
"Please, have a seat," he offered, gesturing to a long table flanked by numerous chairs. Still watching him warily, KayKay cautiously walked to the table and stiffly sat down.
"So, tell me, how have you been these days?" Harry asked casually, strolling over languidly and sitting down across from her.
KayKay thought for a moment. "You know, I really haven't been doing that well," she said sincerely.
If Harry was surprised by her tone, he didn't reveal it. "Oh? Why is that?"
"You're still alive," KayKay muttered darkly.
He threw his head back and laughed, once again making KayKay force herself not to shiver. He'd become even more austere since the last time they'd faced each other.
"You never fail to amuse me, KayKay," he said.
"It's 'Determan' to you," she growled. "My first name is reserved for friends and family; not coldhearted, back-stabbing murderers!"
"You know," Harry commented calmly, "despite all of your contempt for dark wizards and 'murderers,' you'd be one yourself if given the chance."
"I beg your pardon?" KayKay asked, caught off-guard.
"You and I both know perfectly well that your strongest desire as of this moment is to kill me—which I don't quite understand because, as I mentioned before (you may recall), were it not for me, you would be quite dead by now." He smirked, then twirled his wand to make a tray with two goblets and a bottle of wine appear in midair.
"Well, aren't we sticklers for tradition?" KayKay asked, observing the tray with a scornful eye. If she kept up the banter, it would keep her focus away from the dangerous gleam in those familiar green eyes and the malice in that classic crooked grin.
Harry, for his part, smiled wider. "I see we are having quite a similar conversation to our last one as well," he said. "So, before we digress in that same fashion, I have something to show you that might interest you."
"I sincerely doubt it," KayKay said coldly.
"We shall see about that," Harry said, handing her a goblet and taking one for himself. He waved his wand again and something like a thin sheet of ice appeared, suspended in midair. Another flick of his wand made colors from around the room fly to the ice panel, creating an image that began moving, like a video.
"A nice little neighborhood—do you, by any chance, recognize it?" Harry asked, taking a sip of his wine and nodding at the screen. KayKay gripped her glass tighter. Yes, yes, she recognized it. How could she not? It was her house, in the small, sprawling suburbs of London. Above it hovered the Dark Mark.
"What is this, some sort of joke?" KayKay sputtered, staring at the image in disbelief.
"I never joke," Harry said seriously. "Shall we take a closer look, hmmm?"
KayKay said nothing but simply started as Harry flicked his wand and made the picture zoom in, as if they were walking up the sidewalk and through the front door. There was a sudden, resounding crash—KayKay looked around the room she and Harry were in to see what had fallen. But nothing was out of place, and Harry hadn't even blinked.
"That wasn't here. It was there," he said, nodding towards the sheet of ice, which now displayed KayKay's kitchen.
"Goyle!" a sharp voice commanded (again, it sounded as if the speaker was in Harry's study along with them), "stop bumbling around. Broken trinkets will mean nothing to the Mudblood when she's dead, and right now you're only succeeding in giving her fair warning!"
"Yes, Malfoy," the responsible Death Eater replied. KayKay seethed at the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice—oh yes, he was certainly next on her list. Her hand was now shaking with anger and disbelief, causing wine to slosh out of her glass and onto the table. Harry merely took another calm sip.
"Malfoy!" another voice hissed. The two Death Eaters in the kitchen looked towards the stairway. "She's up here! Asleep!"
Lucius eagerly shoved his way past Goyle to the stairway. KayKay expected the image they were viewing to follow his progress, but it remained stationary. The only indication that something happened was Lucius Malfoy's triumphant cry of, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
CRASH!
For the briefest moment, KayKay thought she'd dropped her goblet—but it was the sheet of ice, shattering into thousands of shards. The color that had occupied it flew back into the corners of the room, making the candlelight seem suddenly brighter.
"When was that?" KayKay asked, pleased to hear that her voice was steady.
"That was approximately an hour ago."
"An hour ago?" KayKay replied incredulously.
"Indeed."
"But I'm right here!"
"Obviously."
"Then—then who—"
"Who did the ever-brilliant Lucius Malfoy murder?" Harry asked, a trace of sarcasm lacing through his words. "A woman by the name of Stacy Taylor."
"What?" KayKay asked sharply.
"Of course, he thought it was you—and why wouldn't he? By all observations, it was you, asleep in your own bed."
"What—did—you—do?" KayKay growled, gripping her goblet tighter than ever.
"You'd be surprised at the extended capabilities of a potion if you—"
"Skip the introduction!" she snarled, slamming down the goblet and spilling even more of the wine.
"Temper, temper!" Harry admonished. "It was a simple matter of brewing a Polyjuice Potion with your hair, rather than adding it in at the end. The effects of the potion lasted much longer—as, of course, I knew they would. A Confunding Charm here, an Imperius Curse there . . ."
"You mean to tell me that you kidnapped me and put some poor woman in my place to be killed!" KayKay screeched, her chair falling with a clatter as she jumped to her feet.
"Poor woman? Hardly," Harry snorted, waving his wand to straighten KayKay's chair and force her to sit down once more. "She was a witch under my command, in this very manor. A servant." He refilled KayKay's goblet and pushed into her hand, but he didn't let go when her fingers automatically closed around it. He bent closer and said huskily, "But I'd rather have you here than her any day."
Not even waiting to evaluate the emotion running through her—disgust, fear, anger, spite?—KayKay wrenched the goblet away, splashed the wine into Harry's face, then hit him hard across the jaw with it before letting it fall to the table with a clatter. Without pausing, she jumped to her feet and flew to the door of the study, yanked it open and fled down the hallway.
KayKay had no idea if he was pursuing her or not. As she darted around a corner she looked back to see if he was.
It was then that she ran straight into Draco Malfoy.
"Hey—hey!—hold on a second, Determan," he ordered, grabbing her shoulders as she twisted to get away.
"Malfoy, don't you dare—"
"Calm down! Now come with me . . . and be quiet!" he hissed, grabbing her hand and leading her down the hall. He only spared a moment to glance over his shoulder before pulling her through a small door and onto a tightly winding staircase.
"Where are we—"
"Shhh!" Draco ordered, leading her down the stone steps. "Do you want him to find you?"
KayKay was actually shocked into silence. Draco, helping her? It had to be a trick.
They ducked through a tapestry and started walking upwards again. "This is the quickest route to my chambers," he said suddenly. "Or at least, the most obscure. It's one of the last places he'll look for you—not that it'll help much. But it'll buy you some time, at the very least."
He stopped suddenly at a seemingly ordinary torch bracket and tapped it with his wand. The wall behind suddenly disappeared, and Draco led her into the dark void beyond. She could feel something soft and silky brushing against her face and sides, like a warm breeze. It stopped quickly though, and a vertical crack of light appeared, quickly growing, accompanied by the squeak of old hinges.
It was a wardrobe. The things she'd felt brushing against her were fancy robes hanging within its confines.
"Here," he said, letting go of her hand and grabbing a chair. "Sit."
For once, KayKay complied without argument or apprehension. She surveyed the room. It was much like the one she'd woken up in, except it was quite a bit larger and was decorated in a deep, rich blue instead of blood red. Plus, this seemed to merely be a sitting room or office. Other doors in the room suggested that he also had bedchambers, a bathroom, and a few other rooms at his disposal.
"Would you like something to eat? Or maybe to drink?" he offered as he checked the lock on the door and closed the curtains on the window.
"Anything but wine," she replied. Actually, she was feeling quite hungry. Whenever she'd last eaten, it was a long time ago.
Draco laughed—not a scornful laugh that KayKay had heard so frequently at Hogwarts, but a sincere, understanding laugh.
"I thought you might say that. Tea?"
"Tea would be perfect," she sighed. Moments later she was being handed a steaming cup.
"So," Draco said, sitting down in his own chair, "I'll assume you have plenty of questions you'd just as soon not ask Harry . . ."
KayKay nodded. "The first of which being . . . since when are you two on a first-name basis?"
"You know my father was a Death Eater," he said unnecessarily. "I was expected to join the Dark Lord's ranks as soon as I was through with Hogwarts. However, I was given a choice by Voldemort: I could either serve him or serve Harry.
"Naturally I didn't want to call Harry 'Master,' but it was the first choice concerning my future that I'd ever been given. I decided to stick with Harry. Others might've as well, but he made it clear that he wasn't really interested. Then, he did something strange."
"What?" KayKay asked.
"He treated me like a friend. I wasn't a groveling servant in a mask that was kicked around like a dog—I was an advisor and a confidant. Of course, he's still the one in charge. But I'm not a pawn for his disposal."
As much as she hated to admit it, KayKay wasn't surprised. It seemed that at least some of Harry's traits from Hogwarts still existed.
"So if you're his friend, why are you helping me?"
"To be honest? He's not well. Oh, he's perfectly healthy physically," he added quickly at KayKay's raised eyebrow, "and intellectually. His plans are seamless, which is more than I can say for the Dark Lord."
"What plans?" KayKay asked shrewdly.
"World domination, of course," Draco said casually, reminding KayKay that she was still with an enemy, not an ally. Or was she? He leaned in closer to her and confided, "The only reason I can tell you this is because I know perfectly well that beyond Mad-Eye and a random Auror or so, you can't say a word about this whole thing. Otherwise, the whole world will know that Harry is on the Auror's most-wanted list."
KayKay scowled but didn't say anything. How could she? It was the truth, and Draco knew it.
He smirked and sat upright again. "He's quite brilliant, actually. While Voldemort is being outrageously publicized about all of his goals, Harry is laying low and gaining power. There are two ways to go about becoming a supreme leader . . . slowly climb the ladder or attack from above. Voldemort is working his way up, using fear and blackmail to help him along. All Harry has to do is make the 'rungs,' if you will, slippery and more perilous. Voldemort won't realize his danger until he's almost to the top of the ladder. And when chaos installs, Harry will 'reluctantly' step in."
"But what does that have to do with me? You said he's not well . . .?"
"Mentally. Since he talked to you three years ago, he's gotten a bit . . . not crazy, but obsessive. Part of him still expects you to be grateful to him and volunteer to work alongside him. He longs for your company that way . . . and in other ways as well."
Draco's tone of voice and Harry's earlier behavior made it perfectly clear to KayKay what "other ways" Harry wanted her.
"But to be truly honest, I can't blame you for turning the way you did. I may say otherwise to Harry, but I'd see it as a sort of betrayal as well. Then again, I understand his point of view—"
" 'His point of view' ?" KayKay echoed incredulously. "Because of him, I have to know how it feels any time he tortures, or kills or—"
"He doesn't."
"Don't tell me he doesn't, Draco, I can feel it!"
"But can you see or hear him? I told you: he doesn't have a horde of followers, and he gains power silently—not by going on killing sprees. It would make sense if it was Voldemort you were feeling. For example, did you feel any of the spells he cast on Stacy Taylor?" Draco questioned. At this mention, KayKay felt her anger flare again.
"You mean that innocent woman Harry passed off as me?" she asked. Draco laughed.
"He was doing you a favor, and I don't just mean by saving your life. That woman was a Death Eater and spy not only against the Ministry but against Harry himself. She passed herself off as a servant in this house."
Just then, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. A voice unfamiliar to KayKay called out, "Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco wordlessly grabbed KayKay's arm and pulled her from her chair. Unprepared, KayKay dropped her teacup, creating a telltale crash as it broke on the wood floor. Draco closed his eyes briefly as if praying for patience and shoved her into the wardrobe.
The knock sounded again, louder this time. "Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco pointed his wand at the mess and made it vanish; he also pushed KayKay's chair back over to the desk with a flick of his wand. He'd just leapt into the wardrobe with KayKay and closed the door when they could hear someone else open the door to his room.
KayKay couldn't see anything in the darkness of the wardrobe, so it was quite a shock when she suddenly felt something being wrapped around her shoulders as she was shoved further in. She almost blurted out a question, but Draco's hand instantly covered her mouth.
KayKay felt her shoulders to see what was there. It was the same silky smoothness as the robes around her.
I get it, she thought. This way, even if they look inside, we'll blend in with the clothing.
She felt a small thump as her back was finally pressed against the inside corner of the wardrobe.
"Mr. Malfoy?" the voice came again as footsteps sounded on the floor. They were uncomfortably close. "Hello?"
Draco pressed up even harder against her, as if willing her to become part of the woodwork. The steps stopped right by the wardrobe. KayKay held her breath.
Suddenly, whoever was outside seemed to decide that Draco was, in fact, not in his sitting room. The noise of their footsteps faded quickly, probably to check another part of the suite.
KayKay sighed with relief. She wasn't sure what would've happened if she'd been caught, but she didn't care to find out.
"Who was that?" she tried to ask, but with Draco's hand still covering her mouth, it came out as, "Mmph hmmm hmmm?" He took no notice.
KayKay gently bit at his hand. "Who was that?" she hissed the moment she was free. He bent forward so his mouth was right next to her ear.
"Just a servant, but no doubt coming on Harry's orders. Not a good thing for you," he whispered. His breath tickled her ear.
"Why are you helping me?" KayKay asked again. She paused and then added, "Why do you care?"
There was a long silence before Draco replied quietly.
"Because I know what he could do to you; what he's tempted to do to you. And no woman—especially you—deserves that."
Something about his voice made KayKay suddenly forget about her situation and what "sides" she and Draco were on. All she was aware of was his breath on her neck and his heart pounding against her own—and he must have realized the same thing, because somehow in the blinding darkness his lips found hers . . . gently—at first. She slid her hands up his chest and around his shoulders to the back of his neck, running her fingers through his hair while pulling him closer. He stepped forward slightly—she was pinned to the inside wall of the wardrobe, but she barely noticed as she sighed deeply into the kiss.
The servant called out again, "Mr. Malfoy?" but this time neither Draco nor KayKay noticed. All KayKay could think of was his hand on her hip, his fingers trailing up and down her arm, his hair between her fingers, his mouth now taking possession over hers, kissing her as if it might never happen again . . . it felt so familiar, like something she'd experienced when life was happier and simpler . . .
And then, suddenly, it was over. Gone too was the unbidden image of Hogwart's Astronomy Tower and a dark-haired boy. KayKay turned her face to the side, gasping for air as quietly as she could (more to calm her spinning head than anything), her hands now resting limply on Draco's shoulders. Draco, for his part, was resting his forehead against the wall behind KayKay, perhaps breathing more deeply than normal, but otherwise normal. He kept one hand on KayKay's hip as the other traveled up and down her arm, delighting her with goose bumps.
In some vague, detached part of their senses, they heard the servant walk out, finally giving up the search, but Draco and KayKay didn't move.
"Harry—" Draco paused, then whispered again, "Harry would kill me if he knew."
KayKay moaned and dropped her head to his shoulder. She didn't even want to think about what her fellow Aurors would say if they found out about what she'd just done. "Fraternizing with the enemy" was just one term they'd throw at her.
"I should go. Now. Thanks for helping me Draco, but—"
"Go where?" he asked. Even though she couldn't see his face, KayKay could tell he was confused.
"Back to the Ministry, of course," she replied. His hand stopped its trail along her arm, and she found herself wishing it hadn't.
"But you can't."
"Draco, I have to."
"No, I really mean that you can't. There's no way out of this place. Harry is the only one who knows how to get out. Even I don't know how to leave," he confessed.
KayKay sniffed. "Some friend. It sounds more like he's keeping you prisoner. Well, I don't care. I'll find my own way out."
She tried to step around Draco, but he pressed her back against the wall. This time, however, it wasn't as enjoyable.
"There's no way you'll escape before he catches you. And do you know what he'll do then? He won't be as charming and polite as when you talked to him earlier. He'll know he has to force you in order to get what he wants. And he'll do it."
An image flooded KayKay's mind—Harry, as he pulled KayKay closer in the forest clearing using a binding charm . . . the power and smugness that seemed to emanate from him as he grinned . . .
She sighed in resignation and nearly crumpled, but Draco held her up.
"Perhaps we should get out of here and try to think of a plan," KayKay suggested. She secretly wished she could go back a few minutes to when all she had to think about the feel of Draco's lips against hers.
"Why leave the wardrobe?" he asked, and KayKay could tell he was grinning. "I'd much rather just stay in here with you."
KayKay smiled in the blackness. Her mind was screaming about her loyalties to Mad-Eye Moody and her fellow Aurors, but right now every physical fiber of her being was calling out for Draco and the ghost of a memory that teased her mind.
§ ¤ § ¤ § ¤ § ¤ § ¤ § ¤ § ¤ § ¤ §
Harry paced in front of the fireplace in his majestic study. Eight years! For more than eight years he'd been watching out for KayKay when she didn't even suspect it. Besides saving her life from Voldemort, he'd sent Death Eaters chasing after the wrong person or a false trail (several times); he'd sent his own spies to feed Voldemort false information about her whereabouts—he'd even tracked her down and put someone in her place to make Voldemort think, even for just a little while, that she was taken care of.
But no! Nothing was ever good enough for KayKay Determan! She couldn't see past his cloak of power to realize that as a teenager, he'd sacrificed everything—everything!—just to save her life. She assumed his existence was just darkness and hatred, when it was really based on love!
Oh, this crazy notion of love he'd had then! He thought it'd be enough, that she'd understand, that she'd try to help him out of his servitude . . . But no, the love that made him give up his former life wasn't enough for KayKay. All she had was hatred, hatred so black that she'd been trying to kill him for the past eight years, while he still fought on to save her life . . . again and again.
He lifted a wine bottle to refill his goblet then stopped halfway through the motion, staring at the crimson liquid within. As red as blood . . .
He threw the bottle into the fireplace, where it shattered and fueled a fresh spurt of flames.
He'd known. He could tell the moment he looked into Voldemort's red, pitiless eyes that something was going to happen to make him different; evil. And while he certainly didn't command legions of masked fighters that murdered innocent Muggles and wizards, all other observations marked him as wicked.
First was how he spoke. He couldn't speak sincerely, with kindness and honesty. His words twisted themselves somewhere between conception and delivery so they came out with a different kind of meaning than he meant them to.
Worse than that were the thoughts spinning through his head. Anytime he wanted something or wondered something, truly despicable means to achieving his ends came to mind. In only a few cases was it vaguely acceptable: for example, sending a Death Eater to die in KayKay's place.
Still, despite the wickedness threatening to overwhelm him, he was sure . . . he was so sure that KayKay might try to help him. He'd been delighted when she'd shown up three years ago. But his words became twisted and he struck her without really wanting to. She made it clear that her only intentions were to either drag him back to Mad-Eye Moody or kill him.
Since then he'd been spiraling into despair: longing to be free of the darkness within him, being unable to escape, and all the time knowing that to KayKay, he was just a traitor, filth that belonged on the same level as Wormtail.
And Draco . . . oh, he was Harry's best friend in all of this madness, but Harry knew that Draco thought he was going mad with desire for KayKay. How sad that he could be so close to the truth and still so far!
There was a light tapping on the door.
"Yes, yes, what is it?" Harry asked wearily, not moving from his position of leaning against the table and staring into the flames.
"Mr. Potter, I—"
"For the love of Merlin, just open the door, Cassandra. I can't hear you from out there," he said, massaging his forehead with one hand.
The door opened behind him and a woman—no, not even a woman, barely more than a child—poked her head in. (Anyone pressured into working for Voldemort with no actual desire to was claimed by Harry to serve in his home. That was the only good point of his status.)
"I—I found them," she said hesitantly.
"Both of them?"
"Yes. Um—together, actually." The way she said 'together' didn't leave much room for interpretation.
"I see. Do they know?"
"No. They were hiding in the wardrobe, but I'm pretty sure they think they fooled me."
Harry nodded wordlessly. "Thank you, Cassandra. That'll be all for now."
There was a soft click as the door shut and then silence. Harry stared into the flames, brooding.
He couldn't blame Draco—not really. If given the opportunity, Harry would probably do the same. And as much as he wanted to, he had no claim over KayKay. He hadn't for years.
Still, there was a deep, silent part of him that lost even more hope. KayKay's abandonment in his time of need felt like a betrayal of sorts.
He ran his fingers over the jagged scar left on his jaw from her goblet, and for the first time in three years, Harry Potter wept.
I don't know that I ever responded to reviews from The Scars of Betrayal - Part I, so . . .
Nick: I'm not so sure about the other one-shot . . . but hey, here's some more of this one!
Danielle: Thanks! As you see, I decided I couldn't resist writing more . . . and I'm sure that the next thing that'll happen is people will ask for a Part III!Not sure that there'll be one . . . it sort of demands it, but I don't know what I'd have happen.