"Entirely Devoted"
Chapter Two
By 'the_scribbler'
the_scribbler shadowgard (d*t) com
Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, 17 U.S.C. §§ 512, 120 1–1 205, this work is copyrighted 2012 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion, or hosted on any website, without the express written and notarized permission of the author.
Disclaimer: I do not own rights toany of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, © 2003, to whom I am deeply indebted. The Harry Potter series is property of Joanne K. Rowling, and Arthur A. Levine Books, Inc., a division of Scholastic Press, Inc., © 2003. I make no money from any of this. WHATEVER IS LEFT IS MINE.
CONTENT Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and as such, it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is mostly coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein
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From Chapter One:
"….Drawing his wand from his back pocket – Harry pointed it at the fireplace and said softly, "Like this". Hermione watched as the silent, almost-invisible spell shot from Harry's wand and hit the fireplace. Almost before she had time to comprehend what was happening, patrons were running for the door to the outside or Apparating away. Then she saw what Harry had done. All over the floor were big, black, aggressive, biting ants – the kind that she had studied in Herbology as being the worst possible pest to have anywhere near a tree that produced wand-quality wood. The ants were drawn to magic and began biting and chewing anything that had a magical signature.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes…but how do we get past the ants?" Hermione had never heard of anything that would deter them.
"Like this" Harry said, and then pointed his wand at a salt-shaker that was on a nearby table. The salt-shaker rose into the air; the cover popped off, and the salt burst forth in a magical cloud that momentarily filled the room, before settling down on every surface. Hermione watched as every ant that was touched by the salt exploded with a small !pop!.
"Now, Hermione. Let's go!" he whispered, before pulling her across the long main room and out, through the door, and into the freedom of Muggle London.
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And now….the continuation of "Entirely devoted"
Muggle London was always busy – just more so now that it was high summer. Tourists were everywhere. Even at eight o'clock in the evening, the streets were still busy. Not too busy, however, for a plethora of proper London cabs. Hailing the first one he could get to, Harry guided Hermione by the elbow towards it. As he did so, he tilted his head in her general direction and said, "Just follow my lead, okay?"
Hermione nodded and did exactly as she was asked. Harry ran to the cab's side, opened the door for her, and she crawled in. Harry then ran around to the other side and crawled in.
"Where to, please?" the cabby called back in what sounded like a Caribbean accent.
"Canterbury Cathedral, please" Harry said quickly.
The driver turned his head in surprise. "That's a fair ways to go, mate. You sure?"
Harry nodded quickly and then reached into a pants-pocket; pulling out a large sheaf of bills. "I've got it right here. Please…. let's go". He didn't want to sound nervous or desperate, but he had a hard time keeping his voice under control. The cabbie looked at him and then shrugged.
"Right then. It's more than an hour to get there, so just sit back and get comfortable."
Only when they were safely out of the city and running south along the M20 did Harry feel comfortable enough to sit back and relax a bit.
Hermione, for her part, did what she could to get Harry to relax. Finally she got him to lie down in the back seat, with his head on her lap. As she began running her fingers through his hair, she whispered to him, "You sure about this?"
He nodded to her and then said as quietly as he could – because he was concerned that their driver might eventually be found by someone in the Order and magically interrogated, "I'll tell you when we get to Canterbury. It's not safe right now."
Hermione was no dummy. She knew instinctively that the Order would be looking for them. Even though Harry hadn't really said anything about why he had asked Dobby to whisk them away from Grimmauld place, she had already surmised that Harry must have had a falling-out with one or more members of the Order – including Dumbledore himself – and that he'd now be on the run from them and concerned about 'operational security' as some of the spy-thrillers she had read had called it.
All of their 'worldly goods' - their trunks, school supplies, clothing, extra books, invisibility cloak, and the entire contents of Harry's school vault – were in Hermione's purse at the moment and would stay there, safe and secure, until they got to wherever they were going. She hoped that they would have access to Gringotts and in fact, she was counting on the fact that they would, as she didn't think they could stay on the run for long without it, even with the small fortune in galleons from Harry.
Eventually Harry's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. So lost in thought was she about the things that were going on that the change caught her off-guard. She smiled down at him. It was an amazing thing to see him peacefully sleeping. The number of times that he had done so in her presence she could count on one hand – and that wasn't nearly enough, in her estimation.
After another twenty-five or so minutes, the driver called back to her. "We're almost at the Cathedral, Miss. Where do you want to be dropped off?"
She thought about it for a moment; trying to recall the time that she had visited the Cathedral on a school trip. It had happened in the fall of 1980 – just after she had turned 11. Hoping she was right, she said "Somewhere on the north side. Not too far from the front, if you can."
"Yes, Miss. I think I know the spot."
Content for the moment, Hermione leaned back. She wanted to give Harry every possible moment of sleep that she could. He was her rock and her mainstay – and would be the one to defend them if it came to that. She prayed that, at least for this night, nothing would happen and that they would have time to talk, plan, and sleep.
Unobtrusively, the black, sleek cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Cathedral. Harry had woken up moments before and was still a bit disoriented – though not disoriented enough not to know exactly where his wand was. Hermione had paid the cabbie generously, though not overly so, and had taken Harry's hand in hers.
Looking about, Harry neither saw nor felt with his magic anyone who he classified as a problem – so he guided Hermione towards the front door. Finding it open, he stepped back and let her enter ahead of him.
Once they were inside, Harry slowly relaxed. It was obvious that he felt safe inside the Church, or at least safer than he had outside. Not letting go of her hand, he walked down the center aisle slowly; taking in the quiet magnificence of the place.
His eyes brightened when he saw movement in one of the alcoves and he steered her towards the person. Hermione wondered what Harry was thinking as he did so, but was willing to trust his instincts, as they had pretty much always proven correct previously – the bit about following his other self into Hagrid's hut the night they had jointly used the time-turner to save Sirius notwithstanding.
After about thirty seconds, the two were inside the alcove and Hermione saw that the person Harry had spotted was, in fact, a priest. She also saw in Harry's eyes that this was exactly what he had hoped for when they had talked in the cab not forty minutes earlier.
Hearing their approaching footsteps on the hard, stone floor, the priest turned. He was an older man – maybe in his early to mid-60's, had a trimmed, gray-white beard, glasses, completely receded hair, and dark green-brown eyes. He also wore a black cassock and a plain, gold cross about his neck.
Seeing Harry's expression, the priest said, "May I help you, my son?"
Harry smiled, squeezed Hermione's hand gently, and then said, "We claim sanctuary from persecution, as is our right."
The smile that the priest had shown them stopped and became something altogether different. It wasn't anger or anything even close. It was more… curiosity and a need to know something. "Hmmm. Well …. That's very interesting. From what are you running, my son?"
Harry turned his eyes to Hermione and then said very quietly so that only she would hear: "Show him your wand". This caused her eyes to grow wide… but she trusted that he knew what he was doing, so she slipped her wand out of her sleeve and held it up, so that the man could see it.
It was to Harry's intense relief that the priest didn't flinch, smirk, or show any outward sign of immediate disbelief. After a moment's pause, the man said quietly, "I take it that that is not a toy?"
Hermione shook her head and then slipped it back up her sleeve. "Do your trick, Hermione" Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. Squeezing his hand so that he knew that she had heard him, Hermione brought her now free hand upwards a little bit, palm upwards. Into it sprang a glowing ball of soft, bluish Gubraithian fire. It was the single bit of wandless magic that she could do – but it put her light years ahead of any other girl that she knew. It was also completely untraceable, as far as magicals were concerned.
Extinguishing the fire with a flick of her will, Hermione smiled at the man and said softly, "No, the wand is real. I just don't always need it."
"I see. Are you both...?" He let the question trail off.
Harry met the man's gaze and nodded. "I didn't want to let go of her hand to show you, but the answer to your question is yes."
Having his answer, the man said with a soft smile, "Very well then. Follow me. The Archbishop will want to speak with you."
The priest led them down several passages and then up two sets of stairs before he stopped inside a quiet, understated office that was decorated, mostly, with photos of the same man who stood before them standing with various dignitaries from around the world. Hermione's eyes fell on one particular image of the current British PM. It was then that the pieces fell into place for her. From Harry's expression, she could tell that he had already deduced the man's identity. He was the Archbishop of Canterbury.
"Now my children, what brings a young witch and wizard here at this time of night?"
A wave of tiredness passed through Harry and he asked, "May we sit? This could take a while."
The Archbishop nodded and motioned for them to sit. When they had done so, Hermione snuggled closer to Harry and interlaced her fingers with his. "What do I call you?
The man smiled. "Vicar would do. I'm not overly fond of pomp and circumstance and I dislike the many titles I've accumulated. That's why I take my turn being rector of the Cathedral, just as the others do. It makes me remember who and what I truly am."
Harry nodded and then let go of the breath he had been unconsciously holding. "Thank you. I need to know how much you know of our world before I can explain why we're here. It will make it easier."
"Not very much, really" the Archbishop began. "I know where your powers end – or at least I think I do – and where mine own begin. I know a little bit about the magical government here in England and about that big school of yours – Hogwarts, isn't it? – up in Scotland. Beyond that, it's pretty limited."
The Archbishop was, by necessity, circumspect about his own powers. It was the most forbidden subject of conversation with lay-people and he knew that even witches and wizards might be very disturbed to learn just how powerful a gift lay in the hands of the vicars of the Church. While he wasn't omnipotent on hallowed ground, there were very few things that his God put beyond his powers. He couldn't raise the dead, for example… but he could call God's judgment upon the living. If someone was found wanting…. well, he or she didn't have a prayer. Literally. Additionally, while in his presence and under his protection, no soul could be taken or slain, if it wasn't that person's appointed time.
He could also banish foul creatures from other realms back to those realms and could deal with the evils that inhabited this world. That meant that Dementors, Lethifolds, and their ilk could not violate any hallowed space where he or another Vicar was present.
Sitting back some, Harry thought for a moment about the high points – the things that the Archbishop would absolutely need to know – and the things that he did not. He wondered as well about how far he could go in talking about Tom Riddle and the unspeakable things that he had done in trying to return to power.
Finally he said, "There's a war on in the magical world and Hermione and I are at the center of it." It was the truth, more or less, and it got the man's attention, just as Harry had intended.
"A war you say. I had wondered about some things recently and that might explain it. Please…go on. I think I need to hear all of this."
And so Harry, and occasionally Hermione, talked. For more than two hours they told the Archbishop everything that they had seen, done, or knew about through others. At the end, the Archbishop looked considerably more concerned than he had when they had begun speaking.
"So you are telling me that this Tom Riddle has found a way to cheat death and in so doing, killed others… and as if that wasn't bad enough, has created a group of followers just like the Nazis, who believe in 'blood purity'?"
"Essentially that's it, Vicar" Harry said; not expecting to have to say more.
"And he's planning on trying to take over all England?" Hermione nodded.
Hermione noticed that the man was clutching the cross that hung around his neck; as if it was somehow reassuring to him. It was a habit that she had seen in others and it moved her in a strange way. She wondered if she had any nervous habits that others had seen in her. She made a mental note to ask Harry about it later.
"How long will you two need sanctuary?" the Archbishop asked softly.
Hermione thought about this and then leaned to Harry so that she could whisper in his ear. After a moment, Harry nodded and then said, "Probably three, maybe four days at most. We need to have our trail grow cold enough that those who are looking for us start looking elsewhere. Once they do, we can move. All that we need to buy we can get in town. Once we're fully supplied, we can get away."
"Where will you go?" the Archbishop asked.
"East" Harry replied. He had several destinations in mind, but didn't want to give up too much.
"If you need contacts, ask me. I know many people and most all of them would help without inquiring as to the whys and wherefores."
"Thank you, Vicar. That is a kindness and we are grateful. This war is not going to end easily or quickly and we need time to prepare."
The Archbishop nodded; his brow furrowed with evident worry. "Aye, son. That seems true enough. I will do what I can to help as well."
Hermione yawned. "Oh my. I didn't realize the time. Good heavens. I should let you two get some sleep."
Harry's weariness had caught up with him as well. "Thank you. We can sleep on a couch or whatever. We're not fussed."
"Are you two…. Together?" The Archbishop asked as politely as he could.
Harry looked at Hermione for a moment and saw the blush in her cheeks as she silently nodded to him – answering the question that was written in his expression. "Yes, sir. We are. We've exchanged magical vows already."
"How old are you, son?"
"I'll be sixteen in a few days, sir"
"And you, young Miss?"
"I'll be seventeen on the 19th of September, but I'm almost 18 biologically, because of some time magic that I used a few years ago."
Their answers gave the old priest pause. When he spoke again, he looked thoughtful but not unhappy. "Then it is no shame and no sin to offer you room together. I have the sense that you are fully committed to each other and that's all Jesus could ask of anyone."
Hermione felt Harry's hand squeeze hers comfortingly. They had not spoken about what they would do each night, but it seemed right to both of them that they would sleep together. "Thank you, vicar. It's more than we would have asked of you."
"You didn't ask, young man. I offered, you two accepted, and it's settled." He stopped for a moment and then spoke again. "I don't suppose I've asked your names."
"Hermione Granger, vicar." She offered him her free hand, which he took in his.
"Harry Potter, vicar." The name caught the Archbishop up short. He stroked his beard and then said, "Are you really?" Harry nodded; wondering why his identity hadn't come up in conversation previously.
"Now that's a name I have heard before. The PM spoke to me about you actually not that long ago, I seem to recall." That earned an eye-roll and a small 'hmmpf' from both teens. "Too much printed about you with too little truth?"
Harry nodded. "I've been famous since I was 15 months old for something I didn't do. My parents sacrificed themselves to protect me. I owe them and the people I love the willingness to do the same." His tone wasn't bitter or sad and in it the Archbishop heard something quite miraculous: Acceptance of a terrible duty for reasons too profound to put into words.
Hermione heard the same thing and her heart melted. If loving her was his reason for fighting against Riddle, Harry was more extraordinary and more wonderful than she could describe. It transformed the promises that she had made to Harry while they were together in the vault at Gringotts into her sole focus and her love for him into something more profound than she could have ever imagined.
"Come with me. I will show you your room. It's not fancy, but I don't suspect that either of you have pretentions that way." He rose and the two teenagers followed him out of the office where they had been sitting and towards the safest place in the entire cathedral: the Archbishop's sanctum sanctorum.
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Early evening, July 29, 1996 – No. 12, Grimmauld Place – North London, UK
Four days had passed since Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had fled No. 12 Grimmauld Place and the Order of the Phoenix was in a complete uproar.
The continual din of loud, bitterly angry voices and occasional exchanges of spell-fire was proof of it. Not only had members of the Order turned on each other, they had provoked the children of the Order – namely the Weasley clan and those closest to them - into open revolt. Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George had barricaded themselves inside one of the 3rd-floor rooms, behind strong blood wards of Fred and George's devising, after both Ginny and Ron had leveled borderline curses at their mother. Molly had attempted to curse them with severe pain-inflicting 'punishment' curses ('a parent's prerogative', she called it dismissively) for their supposed insolence and disobedience. Not even Albus Dumbledore, whom Molly had called in a fit of irrational rage and panic, had been able to penetrate it – even after repeated attempts to do so. The adults, Arthur, Molly, Albus, Severus, and Tonks had no idea that the four children had co-mingled their blood to build it, so as to reinforce the ward to the point of almost total invulnerability.
Worse, from the perspective of the Order, was the newly arrived news that: (1) Harry and Hermione had completely dropped off the map of England and could not be found, by means either magical or mundane, and (2) that Sirius Black, without Dumbledore's knowledge or consent, had turned his back on the Order and managed, with the help and collusion of Gringotts, to give his entire estate to his Godson and adopted heir, Harry Potter. It was a thumb-in-the-eye to Albus Dumbledore and to his notions of a 'greater good' and a colossal problem for the Order's continued existence. It also had the beneficial effect of precluding Draco Malfoy from ever getting his hands on the Black family's gold – which was something that Sirius suspected Dumbledore might have used as a means of controlling Draco and keeping him beholden to the Headmaster.
Of course, the news that Harry had been given all of the vast Black Family fortune, including No. 12 Grimmauld Place, was cause for cheering as far as the Weasley children were concerned. No one they knew was more generous with whatever resources he had or more protective of his friends. The uproar itself was also cause for celebration, as the Weasley children all deeply resented being kept from full Order membership and they all hated Severus Snape. Beyond that, each had a reason to be angry at the adults in the group for the way that Harry had been treated. They knew, because they had seen it for themselves, that Harry had been terribly abused by his relatives – and that the Order's members had completely ignored it.
Only one person was smiling and calm amidst the sea of frothing anger at No. 12 Grimmauld Place: Sirius Orion Black. His would be the coup de grâce to the neck of the Order and for that reason he was almost giddy with self-satisfaction. Among the causes for celebration, as far as Sirius was concerned, was that Dumbledore could no longer steal from the Black Family's fortune in order to support the Order. The loss meant that Alastor Moody's 'retirement' (read 'drinking and whoring') fund was gone, Molly Weasley's hoped-for home remodeling 'wind-fall' was reduced to a fast-fading day-dream and best of all, Albus Dumbledore's flexible slush-fund was suddenly quite inflexible. The 'old guard' was, of course, furious – which made Sirius even happier. "HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?" Molly had raged at him – until he had grown sick of her ranting and stunned her hard into a wall. Mundungus Fletcher – thief and drunkard – was dead after being caught red-handed trying to steal the Black Family's ornate, extensive, and incredibly rare silver-service. Not that anyone in the Order would catch on to his disappearance though. Sirius had used an old, rarely used and little-known curse to (magically) desiccate Dung's body; leaving a small pile of calcium (from the bones) carbon (from the blood and soft tissue) and organic silicates (teeth, hair, & nails). The dried remains Sirius transfigured into a small, irregularly-shaped stone, which he then casually tossed down into the deep, dark basement of the house. The nice thing was that Dung's disappearance would eventually be chalked up as another unmourned death to be laid at the feet of the Death Eaters – before being forgotten about entirely.
Even Remus - the only other living Marauder – had been frustrated with him for a short time… at least until Sirius had reassured him that Remus would never, ever do without and that the friendship between the last of the Marauders meant that he would never suffer a month without wolfsbane and he would never, ever be homeless or friendless. After that, Remus had begged Sirius' forgiveness and had withdrawn from the chaos and turmoil of the Order; choosing rather to retreat back into the house's extensive library, thus removing himself from the anger being expressed by the rest of the Order.
Tonks, for her part, had tried to curse her cousin from ambush and learned the hard way that a Hit-wizard like Sirius never loses the bit of self that originally made them hit-wizards. As a result, it would be a cold day in hell before she tried it again and a very long time until she could sit down comfortably. Hestia Jones – the Order's only other young adult woman and a beautiful, fairly powerful black-haired, blue-eyed witch – learned that the Black Family library could be full of unwanted surprises. Hers came in the form of a curse that caused debilitatingly delicious, powerful orgasms at the most unpredictable and inopportune moments – rendering her useless in a fight against Death Eaters or anyone else. Sirius planned to make her suffer until she renounced her membership in the Order and instead, irrevocably pledged her loyalty to his Godson, Harry Potter.
The only people who hadn't tried anything were Minerva McGonagall, because it had always been her habit to keep her own council and not go off half-cocked at anyone; Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Severus Snape. Sirius thought that Kingsley either respected him too much as a former hit-wizard to try anything or that he just didn't have a dog in the fight and therefore couldn't be bothered. Snape, on the other hand, was a mystery. Yes, the man was the quintessential Slytherin, but that didn't explain to Sirius' satisfaction, the man's almost obvious approval of what he had done. It was just very odd.
What no one knew was that a very peculiar…well, really singularly odd… house-elf named Dobby had made surreptitious contact with Sirius during the intervening days since Harry and Hermione's escape. Sirius, of course, immediately put him into league with the Weasley children, and the Goblins of Gringotts – and through them, with Harry.
Immediately (as it was a pressing need) Dobby became the food-connection for the Weasley children and the most reliable taxi-service in and out of the house… right under Albus' overly-large, intrusive nose. His movements couldn't be tracked and he could keep secrets like nobody's business.
So good was he, that in the few short days it was immediately obvious that he would become the strong glue binding an entirely new group together; a group destined to be far larger and more effective than the fabled Order of the Phoenix. It would be headed, as if it could ever be aught anyone else, by Harry and Hermione Potter.
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271 miles Northwest of London, England – at the Longbottom Estate – Falstone, England – later the same evening
"BONG!"
The sound of the estate's large, brass cymbal rang through all of the lower floors of the main house, announcing the wish of a visitor to appear at the home's designated apparition point.
As tradition dictated, Neville and not the Matriarch of the house (his grandmother, Augusta) moved to the home's foyer with his wand in his hand, and sent the magical signal outwards that indicated that they were ready to receive the unnamed visitor.
A moment later a small house-elf appeared. Neville noticed immediately that the elf didn't stand as most house-elves did, which was to say slightly stooped over and giving all of the outward signs of complete subservience. No, this elf stood straight and tall, with pride in his appearance. He, Neville, was disconcerted by the fact that the elf was wearing a full, clean, handsome uniform. One that bore the crest of House Potter.
"Are you Master Longbottom?" the elf asked, unhesitatingly
It took Neville a moment to shake off his surprise. When he did, he looked at the elf – really looked at him – and said, "Yes, I am. Who are you?"
"Dobby, Master Longbottom. I am Dobby the house-elf and protector and helper of the great Harry Potter. He is in need of you."
The elf's words shook Neville. Maybe not so much as they might have once done, but they shook him nonetheless. Even after all they had gone through against Delores Umbridge – "Umbitch" as most still called her – and against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, Neville still wasn't used to being needed or wanted. "M…me? Harry Potter wants me?"
Dobby was strong in his insistence. "Yes, Master Longbottom. The great Harry Potter is needing you. He asked me to bring you to him."
"Tell me how you came to serve Harry first"
"Harry freed Dobby from bad, bad old Master with one of his own socks. Bad Old Master served he-who-must-not-be-named. Master Longbottom fought bad Old Master at the Department of Mysteries."
Neville smiled. It was exactly the story that Harry had told him about Dobby, and only a very few people knew the story. He felt safe that the elf was exactly who he said he was and that it was alright to go with him. "That's what I needed to hear, Dobby. Let me send a message to my grandmother, telling her that I'm going with you."
Dobby nodded. Master Longbottom was a careful wizard, just as Harry had told him. When Neville finished sending his Patronus-message to his grandmother (just as Harry had taught him to do), Dobby took his hand and the two disappeared.
Moments later, Neville Longbottom found himself on the grounds of a massive cathedral – which one, he didn't know. "Neville!" a voice called out. "Over here!"
Spinning in place, Neville saw his friend and supporter, Harry Potter, standing just inside the front door of the Cathedral. Next to him, her fingers clearly interlaced with his, was the girl so many thought would be Head Girl some day, and maybe even Minister of Magic eventually: Hermione Granger. How long her last name remained Granger was a matter of dispute. The current Hogwarts (student) betting pool had it lasting no longer than July 31, 1997 – the day Harry turned 17. The Professors' betting pool put the date earlier than that, but no one knew why.
The distance between where Dobby had left him and the front door was no more than 60 feet and he crossed the distance quickly. The moment he was close to them, they grabbed him and pulled him inside. "Where are we? And what's with the secrecy and all?" Neville asked.
"All in good time, Neville. What spell did Hermione use on you the year that we stopped Quirrell from getting the stone?"
"Petrificus Totalus" Neville answered. Harry nodded. Neville was slowly catching on that something was more than just a little amiss. Harry had never, ever asked him a personal security question before.
"What's going on, Harry, Hermione?"
"We're being hunted by the Order, Neville. Harry's had a major falling out with Dumbledore and the Order has turned on him. We caught Nymphadora Tonks intercepting my letters to Harry – well, rather, Harry did, but that's beside the point. Anyway, Harry's been made Sirius' sole heir. Plus, Harry inherited a bunch of stuff that we need to tell you about at some point. However, now's not the time. We have to flee here and get somewhere safe. Harry remembered you saying something about one of your uncles who's a squib, living in New Zealand or somewhere like that. We need to get out of the country and disappear for a while."
It was a lot to process, but Neville was no dummy. Not the best in Potions or History of Magic perhaps, but far from stupid. "I've got two uncles, actually. Both squibs. One's in Singapore and the other's in New Zealand. That's the place to go, I think. Once you're there, you've got options and can really disappear."
"Would you be willing to let us charm this conversation away, so that you can never talk about it, except to us?" Hermione asked.
"You mean… like a Fidelius or something?"
"Not that complicated. It's called the Obscurare charm. It hides the information from you with a password that only we know, so that only we can cause you to remember it. It's quick, painless, and takes a great deal less energy than the Fidelius charm."
If Neville hadn't been impressed with Hermione's breadth of knowledge before, he was now. He wondered just how many students, or adults for that matter, knew of the charm she had just described. Damn few was his bet.
"Yeah. Let me give you the name and the contact information and then you can do your bit, Hermione. I'm not sure I want to remember this anyway. Not that I'm happy about it, of course, but if Dumbledore is after the two of you, I'm not one to get in his way."
Harry nodded. Even though the Headmaster was the current target of Harry's anger, that didn't mean that Harry didn't recognize and respect the Headmaster's vast and rarely matched magical powers. With Fawkes by his side, there were damn few places on Earth that the Headmaster couldn't get to instantly. There was also nowhere that could be blocked from entrance by a phoenix - which was one reason that Dumbledore was so feared.
"Let's do it then. The sooner Hermione and I are out of here, the better. Nowhere in England is safe, if Dumbledore gets wind of our presence, and we don't want to overstay our welcome here."
Producing a pen and a small notebook, Hermione copied down the information that Neville dictated. Once it was done, Hermione and then Harry hugged him fiercely. When Harry and Neville broke their hug, Harry said, "We'll miss you, Neville. You're one of our best mates. Please protect Ginny and the rest. Tell Ron and the twins that we'll be in touch when we can, and that we love them all, okay?"
Neville nodded. "Alright, Hermione. Do it. I don't want to remember what I've told you."
Hermione lifted both hands, her wand in her right, and muttered a long incantation. When it was done, Neville's head glowed a soft white for a moment and then the light faded.
"Dobby!" Harry called into the air.
!Pop!
"Yes, master Harry, sir?"
"Please take Neville from this place back to where you found him, okay? And then come back here. We need to strategize." Harry was confident that Neville would not remember anything that could be used to trace their location – and gave silent thanks once again for Hermione's brilliance and love of learning.
The irrepressible house-elf nodded, laid one hand on the taller boy's hand, and then disappeared with him.
Two hours later, Harry and Hermione sat in the small room that had been provided for them, eating the food that Dobby had brought to them from the local market. Both were a bit on edge, as anyone would be before a big trip. Between bites of French bread, pâté, Fromage de Affinois, and slices of ripe pear, which they washed down with a bright, crisply cold "Riesling Spätlese fruchtig" (fruity Riesling wine) the two teens tried to figure out how to tell the other about his/her thoughts and fears – and not just those about the trip they were about to take together. Finally Harry gave in to his internal dialogue. "Hermione? Love? You sure you want to come with me. I mean… it's not like I've not been alone before. This will take you away from Hogwarts – maybe forever – and away from your friends."
"Friends?" Hermione snorted, more to herself than to him. "Harry, it's a little late to be bringing that up. Besides, other than the girls whom I…." Hermione didn't finish the thought, but Harry guessed to what she was referring. She, like many other women at Hogwarts, had a number of close female lovers. Hermione's were (as far as anyone knew) the Patil twins (deliciousness twice over), Angelina Johnson (who, apparently, went both ways, as Harry's multiple experiences with her in the Quidditch showers proved), Susan Bones (a far sexier redhead than Ginny ever could be), and Pansy Parkinson (a stunningly beautiful, poised, graceful brunette – but one lacking Hermione's brains and magical powers). Leaving them – especially the Patil twins and Angelina - would be hard for her. If the rumours that he had heard unintentionally were true, Hermione was an active, attentive, enthusiastic, and creative lover.
Like all other boys Harry – at least until he turned 16 – was forbidden from taking a lover. More specifically, boys were barred from sexual intercourse or "any acts which could result in pregnancy". In many cases family lineages as well as family magics had to be considered and protected so fathering a child out of wedlock was extremely problematic – hence the prohibition. Worse was being male and gay – like Malfoy was rumored to be. If it was discovered by an adult (parent, teacher, employer) – especially en flagrante delecto – it was a one-way ticket to banishment from the magical world. Of course, that wasn't to say that Harry was even close to pure, sexually speaking… he wasn't. He had had some very, very interesting experiences in the girl's showers after Quidditch practice about which only he and the girls involved (he hoped) were aware – but he had never crossed the line into actual intercourse.
Along that same line, he and Hermione had yet to consummate their relationship, but he knew that they would eventually. He loved her and knew that she loved him and it was obvious that they both wanted it very much, if what they had done together so far was any indication.
"It's not forever, Hermione… and we could always take some of them with us, if they wanted to go... but I've got to come back to England eventually and put an end to Riddle once and for all."
"Oh Harry…." He could see what he thought were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and wasn't sure why. Was she happy to have him offer it? Surprised? More importantly, did she expect him to share her if some of her lovers did come along when they fled the country? What if they wanted to share him with her? If they did, what would that mean for their relationship? It made Harry very confused. One part of him… his bits… liked the idea very much. His heart, on the other hand, was confused by it. It was hard enough to know how to show Hermione how much he loved her. How could he be asked to love more than one girl? Was her happiness at the thought of bringing her girlfriends a sign that she didn't love him like he loved her?
After an uncomfortable minute passed, Harry leaned forward and said tremulously, "Is that a yes?"
She nodded, almost reluctantly. "Is this going to be a problem between us? I mean…. I can't compete against them. You and they have a history together…." He let the thought trail off, unsure of what more to say. Hermione could see the sadness and fear in his eyes and could hear it in his voice.
Not really thinking about her actions, Hermione grabbed him by the hands and pulled him to his feet. She wasn't any better at expressing her feelings than Harry was, but she knew that the thought of not being with Harry forever scared the life out of her. The only problem was that she also had very deep and strong feelings for the girls with whom she had shared both her bed and her private life over the last five years. Harry could see the tears streaming down her cheeks and wondered what was so hard to say or feel that she could look so broken. "Harry…. you need to know something about me."
That was the kind of phrase that no man ever wanted to hear. It ranked right up there with "Does this dress make me look fat?", "Tell me what you're feeling", "Do you ever think about your ex-girlfriend?" and the great relationship-killer… "Do we have to watch Football/soccer/etc.?" Nevertheless, Harry pulled her close and did the best he could to physically reassure her that whatever it was, it was alright, even before saying so. "Whatever it is, Hermione, I love you. That's what matters to me."
She smiled through her tears. Harry really was the sweetest boy she had ever met and it amazed her that he most often found just the perfectly right thing to say to her when she was feeling sad/frustrated/scared/lonely or 'E – all of the above'. This time though, she was certain, that he wouldn't have the right response – because there wasn't one for what she had to say. Not looking up at him, Hermione said timidly, "Harry…. I'm a slut."
For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say. He was sure that he had heard Hermione correctly… but it was just such an un-Hermione thing to say that he didn't know how to react. Finally what came out was "Huh?"
"I'm a slut, Harry! I like girls…a lot… and you – and I…." she trailed off, unsure of what else to say. She was sure that Harry was going to be horrified that she identified herself that way, but it was the way that she internally described her almost perpetual state of lust for the girls around her and for Harry. Always and forever, for Harry.
Overcome by the weirdness of the moment, Harry burst out laughing. "Hermione – if that's the worst thing you can tell me, then we have NO problems. You'll discover that I'm every bit the…" he hesitated with the word "Slut – boy-slut? As well. I mean…. do you know, for instance, where your pink silk knickers disappeared to last night?"
Harry's response caught her off-guard. "Yes…. I mean… no, but… eh? What in Merlin's name has that got to do with what I said?" she stammered.
He grinned. "Hermione, what do you know about my sex-life?"
Hermione blushed hard all the way down to her pebble-hard nipples. "Not much. I mean I know what we've done – bloody brilliant so far" she said with a squeak, before recovering herself "and I know what's been rumored about you and the Quidditch girls, but beyond that? Nothing, really."
Harry's entire countenance relaxed and he smiled a happy, horny, playful smile. Pulling her even closer, so that their lips were brushing up against the other's as they spoke he said, "Oooohhhh. You should know, miss sexy-girl, that your silk knickers are currently wrapped around my cock and I can feel them stroking me with every step." He emphasized the word your so that she would clearly understand that Harry was turned on by her.
It was out of character for Harry to be so incredibly forward with her… but his words thrilled her immensely. The thought of her knickers pleasuring Harry so intimately send a bolt of desire racing through Hermione and sparks of excitement up and down her spine. It also made her press her cloth-covered sex against his.
"You are a naughty boy then, Mr. Potter" she moaned at him, before capturing his mouth with hers; forgetting, for the moment, about anything else – including the fact that that there was still a lot that was unsaid between them.
When they broke apart so that they could breathe, Harry's hands slithered down from her hips, to clutch her arse and pull her in even closer. "And you, the-future-Mrs.-Potter, have no idea what you do to me." Hermione, despite her fears and self-doubts, giggled happily, even though there were tears running down her face. "Sounds like you like the fact that you wind me up" he said, in a gentle but pleased voice.
She smiled at him. "I love you so much, Harry."
With their faces not even two inches apart, he didn't have to speak at anything above a whisper. "As I love you, Hermione. I love everything about you – including your lusty nature. The person you are doesn't frighten me."
Hermione wiggled in Harry's hands, loving the fact that his strong fingers were clutching and caressing her arse. It felt wonderful to be so possessed by him – to be so thoroughly his. "I'm yours forever, Harry. I promise you that. Even if I love girls, I'm still yours – now and forever."
He nodded. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he said softly but seriously, "Good. Just so you know, I will kill any other boy who touches you."
His words changed Hermione's countenance immediately – shifting it from playful and loving to more somber. "I know, Harry. I promise that you will be the only boy in my life, ever. I so swear on my magic and on my life."
The rush of wind and light that surrounded Hermione momentarily told Harry that Hermione's oath was truly given and that she had taken it to heart in such a way as to assure him that she would always be good to her word. "You didn't need to do that, Hermione, in order for me to believe you. I love you and I have always trusted you. You've never lied to me."
Leaning into him, Hermione wiggled her hips lewdly. "I know, Harry. The thought of losing you terrifies me and I wanted to make sure that I was clear about my commitment to you."
"We settled then?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. Now, let's get back to the important stuff."
"And what would that be?" she asked coyly as he ground himself against her.
"Doing what we should have done when we realized what we meant to each other"
Overwhelmed by the sudden wave of desire she felt – desire that Harry was doing his very best to stoke within her – Hermione's mouth fell slack and she moaned. The sound of it made Harry's heart sing. "Bed?" he asked. Her answer was guttural: gasps of pleasure created by the sweet, sweet pleasure of his hard cock thrusting against her and his hands cupping her ass so possessively.
"Oh God, Harry…."
Wild magic lit up the room as the two teens began to lose the battle for control over their magical powers – the desperately tight grip that young witches and wizards were taught to exert at all times over their magical cores, lest their emotions cause great and terrible damage to those around them.
Over, back, and around their hands went – touching and caressing as they went while one by one, layers of clothing disappeared, until the two teens stood in each other's arms, naked. She was lost in a fog of pleasure and desire, but some part of Hermione's mind realized that she need to think about the date. What day was it?
Her hands came up to push him away, even before her mind had fully processed what some part of her already knew. er
"Stop!"
The word lanced through Harry and made him drop his hands away from her body and a stricken look to appear on his face.
"I want to! Please… we can't! Not until your birthday!" she said, in a panicked voice.
Harry sprang back from her as if touched by a spark. "Oh God, Hermione! I'm sorry! I'd never have started things if I had remembered…."
She slumped back against the bed that was in the small room; feeling one of its short corner-posts press cold against the small of her bare back. Her whole system was hotwired and throbbing with desire and she knew that if Harry continued to touch her, there was no way she'd be able to resist and they would make love until they were sated and passed out…. but… looking down, she saw his flagging erection and realized that it wasn't right to leave him like that, either. While 'blue-balls' was a myth, there wasn't a doubt that neither of them would get anything productive done in the hours to come without sexual release. An idea sprang to her mind. "Harry, where are those silk knickers?"
Frustrated by the turn of events, and the very real need to avoid intercourse until he was actually 16, Harry pointed to the corner of the room, where their clothes had magical stacked themselves in two neat piles; his and hers. A barely noticeable twitch of his finger and the sexy, silky knickers flew across the room by themselves. Hermione gasped as she realized that he had summoned them silently and wandlessly. However impressive her little trick with Gubraithian fire was, silent summoning was even more impressive, as it took a great deal more control and power to accomplish.
The moment Harry caught the aforementioned knickers, he handed them to Hermione, with a blush in his cheeks. With an impish smile, Hermione said "Naughty, Harry" before she fell to her knees.
"What are you doing?" Harry managed to croak out.
"This" she said, and she wrapped the knickers around his huge cock and began to stroke him. Her petite hands and the silkiness of the knickers combined to create sensations that were indescribably amazing for him. Hermione giggled as his erection went from 'flagging' to 'full-mast' in almost the blink of an eye.
The look in his eyes when hers met his was one of incredible desire, as well as unmet need. She knew the feeling well. Once she figured out how best to please him – because really, this was the first time doing anything remotely like this, she snaked one hand down to her pussy. Her clit was practically on fire, so strong was her own need. The moment she touched it, she gasped; causing her to momentarily lose focus and stop stroking Harry's cock. That, in turn, caused Harry to beg, "Please…. oh God. Please… don't… stop!"
"I have no intention of stopping" she said with a purr, as she resumed her efforts on his behalf. It wasn't going to take long, she was sure… but as her mother had said when she was a primary-school girl – anything worth doing was worth doing well.
Soon he was gasping; his hips thrusting at her repeatedly as he reacted to her incredible touch. "Yes! Please, please make me cum! Yes! Oh Yes God! Yes! That's it! I'm cumming!" And he did. Right into her open, waiting mouth.
Eyes blazing, Hermione looked up at him. He watched her as she swallowed his seed and then sensuously licked her lips, before standing up. His cock was still in her hand and almost immediately it sprang back to life; causing her to giggle. "You're such a lad."
"It's all you, 'Mione" he said, with quiet mirth and intense love in his voice.
To hear him say so made her heart soar. She had never had a great deal of confidence in her looks, even if her girlfriends loved her with abandon, and it really did lift her up to know that her looks made him react so strongly and so obviously.
His hands fell to her waist and he turned her so that she was forced to let go of his cock. Finding herself standing in front of him, so that his manhood was ensconced between the cheeks of her arse, throbbing and slick with renewed need and desire, Hermione's world became very small: all that mattered was the intense desire she was feeling and the boy who loved her.
His breath was hot on her neck and his words spilled into her ear, so sibilant and carnal that she could practically feel the wet desire in them. "Can you feel my hard cock against your arse Hermione? Do you know how much I want to push it deep into you? Do you know how much I want to hear you scream out my name when you cum? Do you know how much I want to claim you as mine forever?"
She writhed in his touch; feeling his fingers push all the way into her wet, needy pussy. She let her fantasies run wild and imagined his cock pushing deep into her arse while Padma, Parvati, and Angelina took turns kneeling between her legs and licking her pussy. It was quite enough to push her over the edge and into orgasmic oblivion. "Harryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"
Minutes, though it felt like hours later, Hermione sagged in Harry's strong arms; the trembling from her colossal orgasm finally subsiding. He was still holding her from behind and he was still very, very excited, as the steely erection pressing against her proved, but he wasn't doing anything active to try to deal with his 'issue'. A part of her was disappointed. She knew, after almost two years of experimenting with her girlfriends, how good having her pussy (and her arse!) filled could feel and she was more than certain that Harry's cock was going to feel better inside her than any toy she and her girls had ever created. Another part, however, was astonished that he hadn't taken advantage of her temporary incapacitation. It wasn't like she would have stopped him!
"Harry?" she asked softly, breaking his gentle hold on her and turning in his arms so that she could face him. "Do each other?"
Good boy that he was, Harry hesitated. He knew *exactly* what he wanted and knew that being in bed with her, naked, was a recipe for trouble. Hermione, on the other hand, had spent many a happy hour between the legs of her girlfriends – and just like in Arithmancy, '69' was her favorite number. It took a moment for Harry to catch on to what she was wanting, but he did and grinning, let himself be guided by her. She pushed him back, so that his head ended up more or less on the stack of pillows. Crawling on top of him, Hermione edged backwards, so that her sex was positioned above his mouth perfectly. It wasn't long until they were both lost in a fog of "virtue-saving" pleasure.
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Early morning, July 30, 1996 – Malfoy Estate - Kielder Island on Kielder lake, west of Falstone, UK
One good thing about having an entire island to one's self was that there were no restrictions on flying. Since the entire island was warded to hell and back – which meant, for all intents and purposes, that no one could see it, map it, remember it, or find it if they didn't already know about it – Draco Malfoy was free to do what he wanted at any time, day or night. Today he was flying. It was warm out, even in the early morning's light, and it felt very, very good indeed to be out of the house and away from the troubles that had come visiting.
Draco had a problem – or really, his parents had a problem (beyond the fact that his father was now somebody's bitch at that fabulous, north-sea resort, Chez Azkaban). The Dark Lord had taken up residence at their home (since it was the most securely warded property of any of those owned by Death Eaters). Draco hated the Dark Lord; most especially since he knew the truth about him, and hated the fact that his own father had allowed himself to be branded like a common farm animal. Malfoys, he had always been told, bowed to no one… and yet his father had spent the previous six months doing just that: bowing and scraping and praying that he didn't get crucio'd. "He who must not be named" my ass, Draco thought sourly. Tom fucking Marvolo Riddle. Half-blood. Son of a horribly inbred, vile, loathsome, disgusting pig-faced woman and a Muggle. Bleh! He knew that the only thing that could be worse was if his father's master had been Muggle-born. Then something pulled Draco up short. It was something he should have recognized and maybe something his father had missed entirely: The three best (and most powerful) students at Hogwarts were Muggle-born: Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbot (technically a half-blood, but raised in an all-Muggle household), and Harry Potter (though, technically, Harry was a half-blood, but he too had been raised by Muggles).
Out of the top ten students, only one 'pure-blood' was in the top five. Worse still, at least from a certain perspective, was that two of the so-called 'pure-bloods' were foreign-born (the Patil Sisters) and they were from a mixed Muggle/magical home.
Landing, Draco quickly conjured a quill, some ink, and a piece of parchment, before sitting down to write furiously. It was the one and only time that he thanked his father's insistence that he always remember the names and graduation years of those at Hogwarts. The more he wrote, the angrier and more afraid he became. Everything he remembered about class-standings, for his year and for those ahead and behind, he recorded. He didn't like what he was finding. The top of the three years….Muggle-borns or half-bloods. The best students from each year going back to 1970? The same. Lily Potter? Muggle-Born. Remus Lupin? Half-blood. Nymphadora Tonks? Half-blood. Ellie Darcey-Alden? (Class of 1999) Muggle-born. Geraldine Somerville? (Class of 1982) Muggle-born.
By the time Draco stopped, more than an hour had passed. He looked at the results and a burning anger started in him afresh. Not an anger at Dumbledore, nor even at his supposed nemesis, Harry Potter, but at his parents – his father in particular – and at the Dark Lord. Everything he had been taught about the 'superiority' of Pure-bloods was a lie – at least according to the standings at Hogwarts. He wondered if Dumbledore knew what he knew. Then he stopped and laughed a short, bitter laugh. Of course the old man knew. He had to. The man collected, hoarded, and even lusted after information. More, Draco was willing to bet a considerable sum of galleons on the fact that Dumbledore not only knew, but was doing everything he could to make it possible – despite the considerable resistance of Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters, marked and unmarked. He wondered what that said about the old man and if the speculation about the Headmaster's penchant for plans-within-plans was true. His godfather, Severus Snape, had once warned him (quite strongly) about never underestimating the Headmaster and that he was an extremely dangerous and cunning wizard.
Like the Headmaster (he supposed) Draco had kept his mouth shut and had never told his father just how much more he believed Hermione Granger knew about magic than all of the students around her. There were rumours – ones he had no problem believing – that Hermione had successfully created Polyjuice Potion in her second year… and that she knew more curses, hexes, jinxes, and charms than all of the rest of them put together. There were also rumours that Harry Potter was a very, very close second and that he had outshone her in DADA by a full THIRTY-FIVE points on their OWL's (meaning that he had earned a raw score of at least 130 out of 100 - an O++ or Outstanding with Highest Honors). Draco had barely scraped a 90 on that exam! Harry had thereby earned the distinction of being the ONLY student to ever out-do Albus Dumbledore on an exam score in the modern era.
Draco Malfoy knew something that he was certain no one else did (excepting again the Headmaster), including his father and the Dark Lord: Harry Potter was far and away more powerful than anyone else in the school except, maybe, for the Headmaster. After those two, it was Hermione Granger, then Minerva McGonagall (a Transfiguration Mistress and no slouch to be sure, but not anywhere near Hermione's level), then Filius Flitwick, Severus Snape, and Hannah Abbot. All half-bloods or Muggle-borns. It made him wonder just what the Dark Lord's supporters were thinking when they even considered moving against Potter and Granger. Draco had lost to Harry time and again and those were moments when Potter wasn't even trying. He shuddered to think about what a really hacked-off Potter could do.
Draco's real problem, however, wasn't Potter, nor was it his standing at school. It was much worse in some ways. He was homosexual, just as many had suspected since he had arrived at Hogwarts. It meant that he was most assuredly not 'gay' in the old sense of the word. It was hard to be 'happy and gay' when, for a pure-blood, it was a death-sentence to be found out. He knew that he'd be made an example of by the Dark Lord should his secret come to light. He would be tortured, slowly, and then killed. If he was really unlucky, his mother would be made to watch as it happened.
It was therefore incredibly odd to him that he had a great deal more to fear from his father's "associates" than he ever did from his 'enemies'. It was almost paradoxical that Harry knew he was gay and yet had sworn a magically binding oath to him that he would never, ever say anything to anyone or make any attempt to use Draco's orientation against him. How can you have an arch-nemesis when said person is willing to swear a magical oath to protect your most frightening secret? It made him wonder if anyone, save for Hermione Granger, understood Harry Potter at all.
Fortunately, the port-key that hung from a small silver chain about his neck was his ticket to freedom. All he had to do was find the right moment to trigger it and he was gone. Of course, getting it had meant renouncing the Malfoy name, but that was of little consequence. His mother was born Narcissa Cecilia Black; the eldest of the three daughters of Cygnus and Druella Black and cousin of Sirius Black. That relationship, happily, was his ticket to freedom and a life safely away from Dark Lords and magical civil wars.
The post-owl that had woken him before dawn had borne a letter and the port-key that promised him freedom, as well as 200,000 Galleons of his own, in exchange for a (fairly) loosely worded loyalty oath to the Black Family and his renouncing his father and the Malfoy line. Unwilling to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Draco had made the oath that was outlined in the letter and then had sealed it with a drop of blood. That had caused the letter to glow a bright gold, before it shredded itself in a shower of gold and silver sparks. Left behind was a small gold coin – about the size of an English (Muggle) ten pence coin. The coin was the port-key; cleverly inscribed with the activation phrase "Draconum semper succedere".
After casting a permanency charm on the parchment that he had conjured, Draco folded it up small and hid it inside his robes. He let the quill and ink dissolve back into magic before mounting his broom. It would not do to have it discovered that he had been doing his own research or writing. Independent thought was discouraged by the Dark Lord.
Lifting into the late-morning sky once more, Draco surveyed the perimeter of the island and tried to figure out the best way to make his exit. If he waited too long, he could end up being called before the Dark Lord and he knew instinctively that would not end well for him. No, he had to get out. Letting the breezes guide him, Draco flew about, looking and thinking.
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Hours later – Gringotts in London
Thump! "Ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Mother!" A little girl screamed as the boy with almost white-blond hair and a racing-broom clutched between his legs suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the lobby of Gringotts-London. He was deep blue with cold and his body was shaking uncontrollably. No one moved for a moment; wondering just what was going on. The next moment, two burly guards gathered up the young man and hustled him down a side aisle and through a door, before anyone could do anything to prevent it.
Nymphadora Tonks, who just happened to be in the bank at the time, failed to get a good look at the boy, and was therefore unable to discern whether or not he was a 'person of interest' to the Order of the Phoenix. Had Albus Dumbledore been there, he most certainly would have tried to interfere and prevent the Goblins from absconding with the boy. It was Albus' most fervent desire to use Draco to try to wrestle back control of the Black Family fortune or at least gain access to and control over a portion of the family's enormous wealth in order to influence Draco's feelings and thoughts. There was, of course, no way that the aged wizard could have known that Sirius Black, just prior to his surreptitious passing of the leadership of the family to Harry, had already gone a long way down that road, by dissolving Narcissa Black's marriage to Lucius and calling back the dowry that had been given over to him when the two had wed in late 1979. Also missing from Albus' wealth of information was the important fact that Sirius had done the same thing to Bellatrix Black's marriage to Rudolph Lestrange – which gave him the right to claw back an additional 200,000 Galleons of dowry money out of the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. The two acts had netted the Black Family vaults 450,000 Galleons – two hundred of which he had then bequeathed to Draco, on the condition that he abjure further relations with the Malfoy line and subsequently swear fealty to the Black Family and to its renewed motto: "Sempercordis puri" – Always Pure of Heart. It was something that Sirius had known Harry would accept and support, and that would drive Albus "For the Greater Good" Dumbldore around the twist.
It didn't take long for Draco Malfoy to come to, or to realize where he was. All that really mattered was that he was safe – or at least safer than he had been when he had figured out where the weak point was in the Island's wards. He wondered to himself as he lay back on the not terribly comfortable bench which damn fool had decided that the Island's wards needed to extend all the way up to ten thousand feet. He had genuinely never, ever been colder than the final moments before he broke through the top of the wards and triggered the port-key. His lungs had felt like they were going to freeze solid and it had hurt so much to breathe that he thought he was going to die in the attempt.
It was a miracle, really that he had been able to get to the top of the wards at all, given how furious the winds had been at that elevation. He thanked God, Merlin, and anyone else that would listen for the moment of inspiration that made him cast a sticking charm to his clothing and the broom and the warming charm that he was certain had kept him alive during the last few minutes of his flight to freedom. One thing he knew was that it was going to be a very long while before anyone was going to be able to convince him to fly again!
Closing his eyes, Draco laid back and let the warm, moist air ease his hurting lungs. It felt damn good to be away and on his own path for the first time in his life.
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Malfoy Estate - Kielder Island on Kielder lake, west of Falstone, UK – just after sunset
"Bring the boy to me, Narcissa. It is time that Draco learned his place and what it means to be one of us."
Narcissa quaked at the thought. Draco was gay – she was sure of it – and appearing before the Dark Lord was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. The punishments that were inflicted upon those who were thought to be disloyal were bad enough…. but what she had seen done to those who were considered impure… were horrible. No. She'd not do it. She'd help him get away…. somehow.
"Yes, my lord. Right away." She kept her voice soft and accepting and didn't make eye contact with the Dark Lord. It was too dangerous. Instead, she looked down, as if she felt unworthy even to be in his presence.
"Very good, Narcissa. You have learned your place. I am pleased. Perhaps there will be a reward for you once your son has taken my mark. Go. Fetch him here and we shall see if your young dragon is ready for the next step."
"Thank you, my lord. If I may?" She knelt before him, as she had seen others do.
"Go. Do not tarry."
"Yes, my lord" She rose and backed up slowly, never letting her eyes meet his. Once she was free of the room, she dashed down several long hallways and out into the grand courtyard that was enclosed on all four sides, in the manner of a traditional Roman house. When she didn't see her son about, she took a broom and flew up and out, towards the beach that she knew he favored.
After seven passes up and down the beach, she was about to give up hope of finding him, when a metallic glint near the shoreline caught her eye. She landed and quickly found the source. It was Draco's Prefect badge. The one he had just received. Underneath it was a carefully folded piece of parchment. She unfolded it and found a hastily written note, done in what appeared to be charcoal:
My dearest Mother:
If you are reading this, it means that you've been sent to find me. We both know how that would end for me. The Dark Lord doesn't favor 'my kind' and I don't want you to have to watch what he would do to me. I am free now – your cousin Sirius sent me a port-key. I don't know where it will take me, but I know I will be safe. I am sorry that I had to leave you like this. I didn't want to, but I had to get away. I love you very, very much. You have always been good to me and I hope I was a good son to you.
I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU.
The letter was signed and there were places where the note was stained with what Narcissa was sure were tears. She felt her own tears hot on her cheeks. There was no way for her to say goodbye to him. She had never been able to cast the Patronus Charm. She looked about. There had to be a way!
The Sun was gone – fully set below the western horizon – by the time that Narcissa finished casting the last bit of magic. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Holding the pigeon in her hand, she made sure that her own note was tied securely to its leg and that it was weatherproof and tamper-proof. If it got to Draco, he would know how to retrieve the note safely. She checked the bird over once more and was confident that the Imperius charm would hold for its entire flight to London.
Sweeping tears away from her face, she tossed the pigeon up into the air and watched it fly off, south by southeast; towards London.
There was only one thing left to do. She had to make sure that the Dark Lord could not raise up her body as an Inferi – which meant she had to cast several desiccation charms – time delayed, of course – before she could take the final step. When she was satisfied that she was ready, she looked towards the southeast. "I love you, Draco. Avada Kedavra!"
No one was present to see the awful green light that leapt from the tip of her wand and swept away her soul. Soon, the desiccation charms kicked in and turned her body to fine ash, ready for the night winds to blow hither and yon.
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OKAY – so I wrote this second chapter in about twenty days. Yes, I know I'm slow, but I hope that the final product is worth the time and effort. It's been hard at times to know where to go with certain details, but this story is very different from the others that I have going and I'm trying to be both original and creative.
YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS STORY WILL DETERMINE (IN LARGE MEASURE) whether or not it gets continued. SO….. As usual, I would ask you to please leave a review. Reader-reviews are the life-blood of this kind of writing and I need/want them no less than the next person. Plus, it gives me a sense of what's working and what isn't.
Regards,
the_scribbler
