Dawns of Another Day

And The Landing Hurts

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I fall onto the dusty floor. My cry is loud and shrill. Gods, I hurt. Draco is the one that scoops me up to lay me on the musty velvet fainting chair. We've landed in the parlor. Stark blue-gray walls are lined with built-in shelves filled with old books, a combination of Muggle literature and Magical manuals. Potter keeps his wand trained on me. His expression is serious, filled with a mix of concern and abhor.

"Oh please, Potty, she only stunned them. We both know that was more than merciful." Draco snaps, rounding on the other young man. "She's not the one who attacked first."

Potter considers this and lowers his wand. He evaluated me slowly, coming to the conclusion that I am in no state to maul anyone. How could I be? I can barely move, at this point.

Draco strokes my hair. "I'm going to have to examine your chest." He says softly.

I let out a stale laugh, which turns into a cough. "That's what you said last time."

The-Boy-Who-Lived's lips twitch.

Draco smiles. "This time it's not for anyone's pleasure. Potter," He says suddenly. "Would you…?"

"Oh, er…I…"

Tiredly, Draco rolls his eyes. "You have a tracker one me. My wand is restricted. Is it so hard to be useful?"

Harry nods. "Why don't I get Hermione?"

He mulls it over. "Yes."

Potter looks at me. "Where are we?"

My breaths are shallow, rough. My voice is slowed. "Riddle House," I say. "Little Hangleton."

His expression changes to something of surprise and he apparates away.

"I thought you hated her."

"What?"

"You hate Granger."

"Well, that may be true." He admits. "But the mud…she can heal you better than I can. "

"Thank you for acknowledging that." I breathe. His hand is under my shirt, feeling my ribs. I grimace when his hand prods one particularly tender spot. He unbuttons my blouse slowly, trying not to touch me. When my flesh is exposed, I can see bright blossoms of purple.

"Does anything else hurt?" He demands.

"No…yes, my foot."

Draco rolls his eyes, as if to say "Of-course-you wouldn't-realize-it-until-now-you-idiot". I just shrug (which makes me moan, because my ribs are apparently affected by the simple motion of shrugging). He takes off my shoe, feeling my foot carefully. When he touches my ankle, I cringe.

"That's not your foot."

"So I've noticed."

"Intelligent, darling."

"Shut up, Draco." I say sweetly.

A crack sounds from the next room. Potter and the bushy-haired witch enter. The witch instantly focuses on me. "Move, Malfoy."

He glares, but complies. As best he can, since I'm caught his arm and refuse to let go. Harry smirks.

The witch looks over my fresh bruises, tracing them with the tip of her wand. She bites her lower lip and looks up at me. "Can we get any better lighting?"

"Yes." I pull out my wand. Everyone flinches, even Draco. I point it casually at the candle holders on the walls, and at the overhead light, which flickers to life. I choose to ignore the fear. They're just paranoid, it's nothing personal.

"Thank you." She squints at my bruises.

"Busted ribs, I believe," I say breezily. "Episkey didn't work."

"Hmmm."

"And your ankle?" Draco adds. He's acting like a mother goose. I shoot him a very clear message of "Shut-it-you-git-I'm-not-a-child", which he ignores. "Her ankle is swollen."

Granger glances at my ankle. "Sanarus."

The ache drains away, leaving only a slight feeling of tightness. I sigh. Granger stares at my bruises again, tapping the tip on her wand on the knee. She sits beside me on the couch. Draco watches her like a hawk, unwilling to trust a muggleborn with his favourite houseguest. Potter, in turn, minds Draco.

"Can you heal it?"

"Probably. I might need a bottle of Skele-Grow. Harry?"

Harry smiles half-heartedly. "Shall I apparate to Diagon Ally or Hogwarts?"

"Neither," I say. "There's some here. You can just summon it. Or I can. Accio Skele-Grow!"

I hear the distinct sound of our potions cupboard opening. The purple bottle zooms into the room, landing smoothly beside me on the worn velvet. Granger open it, pulling the dropper out. "Since we don't need to regrow bones, just mend them, we should only need one-fourth of the drops."

"Can we mix it with some pumpkin juice?" I ask softly. Everyone stares.

"Well," I murmur. "It's easier to down."

Potter shrugs. "Do you have that here as well?"

"No. But we have Firewhisky. Accio Firewhisky."

Draco grins. "Really, you think drinking in this state is going to help you're healing process?"

"Probably not."

Granger prepares the burning brew. I down it quickly, shuddering as it scorches my mouth. But whether it's the whisky or the Skele-Grow, I don't know. Once it's completely consumed, I settle back into the couch.

"Who are you?" Potter asks, sitting into the armchair across from me. I remember that chair. It had been my favourite. Over-stuffed, comfortable, in a faded red. Father had not been very fond of it, but he allowed me to keep it. His favorite had been the black leather thing he transfigured from this chair's twin. "Much more my style." He explained, crossing his long legs as he sat in it for the first time.

"She's a little too tired for a Question-and-Answer session right now, Potty." Draco growls.

"I just need a name, Malfoy. Surely that won't be too draining?"

Draco moves closer to me, shielding me from Potter. "You don't have to say anything. " He murmurs into my hair. "Not yet. You should sleep."

"She should answer." Potter insists.

"But I don't want to, Draco." I say sleepily. My eyelids are falling. I feel warm all over. Maybe it's the Firewhisky.

"You don't have to yet." He shoots a glare at Potter.

"Who are you?"

I slip into darkness, the words reverberating around my mind until I can't bear to think anymore.

Good question.

XXXXXXXXX

When I wake, I am still in Riddle House, though I have been moved to one of the many bedrooms. Whoever place me here was kind enough to "Scourgify!" the room. No cobwebs, dust, dead beetles, or dead mice. The windows were still grimy and the drapes have seen better days, but, in general, it was livable.

"What do you mean, you don't know who she is?"

"It is not a matter of knowledge, its ability. I cannot, Potter, inform you of her identity." Draco replies in a snide voice. "It is a question for her to answer, if she will."

"But you make it sound like there is no possible way for you to answer the question, Malfoy." Granger's voice is patient. "Like, I don't know, as if it's life or death."

I can almost hear him smirk. It's a dark, bitter grin. "It could become a life or death situation, Granger." He says.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Potter, I do not have time for this session of twenty questions. I'm going to see her again."

"No, you're going to answer our questions! We have your family, Malfoy."

Draco hesitates. "Please, Potty. You're not the Dark Lord, so don't pretend you'd ever imitate his work."

The voices in the room across the hall are irate. I know I ought not be listening to this conversation. Yet, when has that ever stopped me?

"There is nothing I can tell you. You'll have to ask her." I hear him walk out of the room, slamming the door in anger. However, he opens the door to my room quietly. Without facing me, he casts a sound-deadening spell upon the room. I struggle to sit up, pushing back the duvet. Draco ignores me, crossing to stand at the high rectangular window. He props himself up on the sill, looking into the over-grown garden.

"You have to tell them something." He says. "I cannot just refuse for much longer."

"I wish you could."

"You know why I cannot."

I nod, shifting to the edge of the bed. "He should not have done that. Why endanger your lives anymore than necessary?"

"I cannot refute his logic. It was for your protection."

"More like his." I say sullenly. "Though, it was not necessary."

"I would have done the same. For different reasons, of course."

I smile. "I know you would." I stand, deliberately walking toward him until I'm beside him. He revolves to face me, biting back the clear urge to tell me to lie back down.

"I know." I whisper.

Equally quiet, he asks: "Will you stay, now?"

"If I can convince them that I'm not a threat."

Draco beings circling me, something he does when he's agitated. It makes him feel in control to have someone "trapped" by him. The first time he did it we were having a fight, one of the worst….

XXXXXXX

He is running his finger through his already-messy hair. I watch him, 180 degrees at a time. The constant circling is frustrating for both of us—me because it is terribly distracting, and obviously a macho-manly subconscious reaction to whatever was threatening him. It bothered him because didn't the stare that came with the motion—for me, actually.

"Draco, we can figure this out." My voice is quiet. If I was any louder, he could hear the clear quivering in the vowels. "He can't—"

"Oh, but he can." I feel him behind me, his hands on the back of the chair. "And he would."

"No, he…"

"Keturah!" He spins the chair to face him."You don't seem to understand what your father is capable of doing. He will make us regret this…game we're playing. He will. I've seen him do unthinkable things, my parents have seen him kill."

Quietly I ask, "You think this is a game?"

Draco freezes, his eyes never breaking contact from mine. Those gray eyes were icicles, perfectly symmetrical to each other. He has his flaws, but I find him breathtaking anyways. Suddenly, he smiles.

"You're more like him than originally discernable. His voices takes that same tone when he is…disappointed. No, Keturah, I do not think this is a game. But he will, I know he will."

"He won't." I promise. "Because he won't find out."

I pull myself to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, burying my head in the spot between his shoulders and neck. He places his hands on my hips. I inhale his scent—cool, deep, pine with a blend of sage and mint.

"We have to do something."

"He can't hurt us. Draco, don't you think he has some bigger things on his mind than two teenagers screwing around in the library?"

"I wouldn't be shocked, darling." His voice is muffled by my hair. "He would think of it as after-dinner entertainment."

"What, no fire-eaters?"

"Oh, there'll be fire." He says darkly, drawing back to look at me seriously. "But we will be the ones eating it."

"Draco…." I never like lying to him.

"You shouldn't worry."

"Why?" I snap. "Because I'm his daughter?"

Draco throws back his head and laughs. He sounds slightly mad. "No, my dear. Because you already have a fiery mouth."

XXXXXXX

"Keturah, you have to convince them. But…lie. Let them think what they want. Tell them anything but the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to tell the truth?"

Draco sighs. "Yes, I would rather you give them the real story, but if lying is the only way to make you stay then I'll deal with it. So lie."

"But…that would put you at risk. "

"I'm willing to gamble."

"The Malfoys are not known for being good gamblers." I point out. His great-grandfather was famed for his skills at the tables, or lack thereof. If it weren't for his wife, the Malfoy fortunes would be all but gone by now.

Draco chuckles. "I may not be. But you can be my lucky charm."

"Always."

There is a knock on the door. He looks at me, eyes trailing toward the bed. Go there.

I've settle in just as he calls, "Come in."

Potter and Granger walk in, cautious. Their gazes automatically move to me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Honestly, it is not as though I am rabid dog. I have shown no signs of aggression. Technically, I did once, but only after they attack me first. They are a tad paranoid. Though, knowing my father, I can barely blame them.

"How are you feeling?" the younger girl asks. She has genuine concern in her voice. I feel a pang of guilt. She's a nice girl, really. Draco hasn't been very fair to her.

"I am better. Much less pain. I have you to thank for that."

Draco snorts. I direct a glare in his direction. "What, Draco? You weren't exactly giving me the breath of life."

Both Potter and Granger laugh. Master Malfoy scowls; however, I can tell that it is unenthusiastic.

"Now that you are feeling better, I wonder, would you be able to answer our original question?"

I exchange glances with Draco. Harry shuffles his feet. "Malfoy claims he cannot possibly explain to us. Perhaps you could start with that…?"

I straight myself, arrange the duvet before I will meet their eyes. A stray thread occupies me for several moments. They wait. Draco is pale, peckish, and sits with his hands clasped in his lap.

There is one thing I am ashamed of. To be completely honest, it is not my fault. Father insisted that all of his closes followers make an Unbreakable Vow, with me, that they would never reveal my identity without my permission or my father's. To date, not one has betray our trust. Watching Draco, holding his hand up to mine as the fire engulfed our palms, and he said the words that could potentially kill him, tore me apart.

Four chapters in one day, woooo! Maybe we'll get 5, but right now I think I'll try to finish 11.

Please, keep up the reviews.