"Who are you?" Draco repeated impatiently. As a Malfoy, he wasn't used to being kept waiting; he always got what he wanted as soon as he'd demanded it.
Quick as a flash, before Draco could even think of raising his wand to defend himself, the dwarf was wielding his whip and had wrapped it around Draco's ankles, tripping him and effectively rendering the blond defenseless.
"You will show Her Majesty the proper respect, or else suffer the consequences," he snarled.
"I didn't know," Draco protested, already feeling as though he were back at the Manor being tortured by Voldemort while his parents were forced to watch. He felt his stomach drop as the pale-skinned woman – a Queen, apparently – approached where he lay in the snow.
"What is your name, Son of Adam?" she demanded as imperiously as when Draco had demanded to know who she was.
"I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy," he said, hoping that if he exuded a certain amount of confidence, then these strangers would leave him alone and he could focus on finding a way back to Hogwarts.
"And how did you come to Narnia?" she asked.
"Narnia?" Draco was confused. "What's that?"
"All of this," the Queen replied, spreading her arms out to encompass the land surrounding them. "And I am Jadis, Narnia's rightful queen and heir. Now, as I have answered your question, you shall answer mine. How did you find yourself in Narnia?"
"I'm not quite sure . . . Your Majesty," said Draco, stumbling slightly on the honorific. "I was at Hogwarts, fixing this cabinet that can transport a person from one place to another, when I found myself here. I can't explain it . . ." His voice trailed off as he hoped to have pleased this queen, whose resemblance to Voldemort unnerved Draco.
"Hmm . . ." Jadis stood observing the striking blond for a moment. Turning to address the dwarf, she ordered, "Tie him up with the other one. He may yet prove useful."
Powerless to resist, Draco watched, helpless, as the dwarf knelt by his head and wrapped a length of rope securely around his wrists, almost to the point of cutting off the young wizard's blood circulation. He was unceremoniously dumped on the bottom of the sleigh, landing next to the young boy that Draco had noticed was mouthing something at him before. Up close, the boy's injuries looked even worse than they had from a distance, and Draco found himself feeling strangely protective of this child who had somehow fallen into the hands of a self-fashioned queen as wicked as Jadis appeared to be.
For once, Draco found himself at a loss for words – if speaking with a fellow prisoner would even be permitted – but settled for gently nudging the boy's shoulder in what he hoped would be taken as a reassuring gesture. The boy seemed to appreciate it, as he shot Draco an attempt at a smile, but which more closely resembled a grimace. No matter, Draco understood. Settling himself as comfortably as he could on a hard floor and with his wrists tied painfully in front of him, Draco prepared to journey into the unknown. He found himself encouraging his young companion to lean against him, his own body curving around the boy's in an effort to shield him from the biting wind and icy glares that Jadis would shoot them every few minutes.
Idly, Draco found himself wondering if he'd been missed yet and if anyone would care enough to look for him. But mostly, his thoughts were of Harry. If he ever made it back to Hogwarts, Draco swore, he would go to Harry and ask him for help, on his knees if necessary.
As they travelled, Draco decided to put his Slytherin traits to use in observing the stunning landscape. Nothing much had changed – the air was still clear and fresher than anything Draco was used to; the skyline was just as magnificent as when Draco had first entered this strange place known as Narnia. The only thing seemingly different was that they were now gliding alongside a frozen river, though the ice seemed to be gradually thinning.
The longer they went on, the more Draco took note of his surroundings and realized that the snow was rapidly melting. Soon enough, Jadis and her entourage were forced to abandon the sleigh and continue on foot, though their final destination remained a mystery to Draco. His magical core had recognized that this Narnia was a place of magic, and the snow had been enchanted. Jadis must have been the instigator, if the looks she was shooting at the melting snow – as if it had done her a personal wrong – were anything to go by.
Strategically positioned between the as-yet unnamed boy and the whip-wielding dwarf, Draco attempted to protect the boy to the best of his abilities, stepping in whenever the dwarf got particularly vicious and sustaining a number of lashes to his back and legs in the process. Despite the pain, though, Draco knew that he would do it again in a heartbeat. Somehow, Jadis' cold indifference was as terrifying as Voldemort's calm cruelty, and if this was what was in store for the wizarding world under Voldemort's reign, then Draco wanted no part of it. Better to die a traitor than live the life of a coward, he figured.
The witch, as Draco was referring to Jadis in his head, finally called for a halt. Draco looked around curiously: they were in a clearing; trees surrounded them on all sides. A sense of doom and gloom hung over everything, and Draco suppressed a shudder of apprehension, determination to protect his raven-haired companion, whatever the cost, setting in. Little did Draco realize, but Narnia was already changing him. If and when he returned to Hogwarts, he would be unrecognizable.
The two prisoners were roughly tied to a tree, one on either side of the expansive trunk. Gagged and immobile, escape was futile. However, that didn't stop either boy from struggling against their binds at the sight of a multitude of fantastical creatures, the likes of which Draco had never even heard of before, much less seen.
The beasts appeared to be in a conference, of sorts, with Jadis, making grand gestures with their paws, hooves, or hands, and talking excitedly over one another. Draco caught the occasional word, "battle" or "forces," and surmised that Jadis was planning to attack this Aslan whom she had mentioned earlier when she thought he hadn't been listening. War was an ugly thing, and Draco just wanted to go home to a land and people that he understood. However, this was not to be, for Jadis chose that moment to approach the pair of boys, her fearsome knife glinting in the dim light of the forest glade.
"My use for you has run its course, Son of Adam," she murmured, stroking the bruised cheek of Draco's companion. "Farewell, Edmund."
"Wait!" Draco exclaimed, halting Jadis' movements as she prepared to bury her knife in Edmund's chest. "He's just a boy; take me instead."
"Never fear; you're next," the witch assured him.
"Please, don't do this," Draco begged, pleading for Edmund's life. Though he hated what he was about to say next, if compromising his newly discovered ideals would save Edmund, then it would all be worth it. "I have magic; I can help you."
Jadis looked at him with interest. But neither would ever know what might have happened next, for at that moment, their hideaway was invaded. Draco thought it was the end, and that Jadis had sent for additional forces. But these newcomers were apparently the "good guys," for they cut both Edmund and Draco free. An intimidating centaur scooped Edmund up into his arms, where the boy settled comfortably, nuzzling the centaur's neck, before promptly passing out.
The centaur's partner took charge of Draco, who hadn't realized how tired he was until that moment, when he no longer had to support his own weight. He sank into the centaur's embrace, melting in the arms that enfolded him so tenderly. For the first time in a long time, Draco felt safe, and he burrowed further into the warmth that seemed to surround him on all sides. Then, all he knew was the bliss of darkness as he joined Edmund in slumber.
When he next woke up, Draco was disoriented. Since his run-in with the witch, all he'd known was cold and pain and discomfort. Why, then, did he feel warm from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, as though his very soul, which had been frozen for far too long, had been thawed out? However, despite being uncertain as to where he was or what would happen to him, Draco managed to keep his head enough to attune his senses to his surroundings. Peeping out through his lashes, Draco surmised that he was in a tent, though certainly not as lavish as the one he had stayed in when he had gone to the Quidditch World Cup before his fourth year. His body seemed to be suspended in midair, so he figured that he was either in a floating bed or a hammock (he was betting on the hammock). A thick woolen blanket covered him, which accounted for the warmth that had been enveloping him since he'd regained consciousness.
Nonetheless, Draco was visibly startled when he dared to turn his head and found a fair-haired boy not much younger than himself observing him as though he were an unsolved puzzle. Noticing Draco's widened eyes, the stranger spoke to reassure him: "It's alright, Draco. You're safe now."
"Where's Edmund? Is he alright?" asked Draco frantically.
"He's right here," said the stranger, moving aside to reveal Edmund in a hammock similar to Draco's. "And he's fine, thanks to you."
"Who are you?" Draco asked, remembering the last time he'd asked such a question and the subsequent response he'd received.
The stranger could obviously sense his thoughts, for he smiled disarmingly at him and said, "My name is Peter Pevensie. I'm Edmund's brother."
Draco nodded his head. He could vaguely recall the witch mentioning something about Edmund being bait for his siblings, which made sense when he thought about her last words to Edmund – My use for you has run its course, Son of Adam. She had obviously believed that Edmund's siblings had given up on ever recovering him, which led to another question that had been troubling Draco since his arrival in this strange yet enchanting land known as Narnia.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
Peter's easy grin faded as he considered how best to answer Draco. "The White Witch took control of Narnia a hundred years ago, and made it so that it will always be winter, but never Christmas. We're in the middle of a war to take Narnia back. Apparently, there's a prophecy that says that my three other siblings and I are destined to bring about the downfall of the Witch and restore peace to all the land."
Draco's head fell back against the downy-soft pillow. "Seems I've exchanged one war for another," he mused. At Peter's confused expression, he went on, speaking softly so as not to waken Edmund. "Where I come from, we're in the middle of a war too. It's . . . complicated, and I'm not entirely sure which side I should choose, but I think coming here has helped to clear my head a bit and provide me with some perspective."
Hearing this, Peter beamed. "Good; I'm glad. You know, Draco, my siblings and I don't originate from Narnia either. We were born in England, though I suspect in a different time than what you're used to."
Draco conceded this fact with a nod of his head. "I live in the mid '90s, at the end of the twentieth century."
"When we left, it was the early 1940s, and England was at war with Germany," Peter informed him. "Can you tell me . . . what happens?"
Draco's reply was instantaneous. "It's probably for the best if I don't. It's unsure if and when you'll return to England, and we might mess up the natural order of time if you go back with knowledge of the future."
Peter only had time for a hurried nod in Draco's direction before he was distracted by the fluttering of Edmund's eyelashes.
"Peter?" Edmund mumbled sleepily.
"I'm here, Eddie," Peter replied, instantly kneeling at his brother's side and reaching out a hand to tenderly stroke his face.
"You stayed?" Edmund sounded surprised.
"Of course; I wasn't about to let you out of my sight again," said Peter, trying to sound stern, but even Draco could pick up on the care and concern he obviously felt for his younger brother.
Edmund, though, didn't seem to notice. "I'm sorry, Peter," he whispered, lowering his eyes to his lap as though ashamed to meet his elder brother's gaze. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, at a loss as to what else to say.
"It's alright," said Peter, moving to take the younger boy in his arms and cradling him to his chest. "Everything's going to be alright, you'll see. Things are going to be different, better. You and me – I don't want us to be just brothers; I want us to be friends, too."
"I'd like that," Edmund mumbled against Peter's chest, "You've no idea how much and for how long I've wanted that."
Draco felt awkward, as though he were intruding on something private and sacred – and in a way, he was. But Peter and Edmund were too lost in each other – too far gone – to care.
"It's alright," Peter whispered again, swaying from side to side with Edmund still firmly ensconced in his arms. "Aslan's forgiven you, and so have I. Now you just have to forgive yourself."
"I don't know if I can," Edmund admitted. "I feel rotten; I sold you and the girls out for Turkish delight. What kind of a person – not to mention, a brother – does that make me?"
"One who was tempted, but saw the error of his ways," Peter replied surely. "You'll get there, Ed, and I'll be there with you, every step of the way."
"You promise?" asked Edmund, hopeful, yet trying not to sound so.
"I promise," Peter vowed.
Edmund melted into Peter's embrace, finally allowing himself the comfort he had been denying as a form of self-punishment. Only then did he allow himself to cry, staining Peter's tunic with his tears. Peter, for his part, didn't seem to mind, just held Edmund tighter. And now, Draco felt distinctly uncomfortable (as if he hadn't already been before). Swinging his legs over the side of the hammock, he tested his weight to make sure that his body could support him, before rising to his feet.
"I-I should go," he stammered, unnerved by two brothers being so open with their emotions. His own parents rarely told him that they loved him, much less held him as Peter was holding Edmund.
"Draco, wait!" Edmund called out. When Draco was within reach, Edmund firmly grasped his hand. "Thank you," he said sincerely. No other words were needed for what he was trying to convey.
"You're welcome," Draco replied evenly, needing to escape before he lost control of his own emotions. Once outside of the tent, he was at a loss as to where to go. Picking a direction at random, he began to walk and soon found himself on a cliff overlooking the sea. In the distance, there stood a magnificent palace that gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight. The breeze ruffled his bangs, and Draco felt himself at peace. In that moment, he found himself not only believing in the prophecy concerning the Pevensies, but in Harry as well. Draco knew that Harry would win. He just couldn't be wrong, or else life would lose its meaning and he may as well die. He would, anyway. Under Voldemort's rule, he wouldn't last long at all.
"Draco," came a low and comforting voice from behind him.
Turning, Draco found himself confronted by a golden haze. When he was better able to focus, he realized that what he saw standing before him was a lion.
"Aslan," he breathed, and sank to his knees.
