Harry
It wasn't until the Dark Lord had to leave on business that Harry gained some measure of his life back. It was strange to think how easy it was to let himself be consumed by the other man's all-encompassing power, insane or not. It was disturbing to think how easy it was to be in the Dark Lord's presence. For the most part, the Dark Lord allowed Harry to live his own life, and focus on his lessons. It wasn't as if Harry had anything else to focus on, and as magnetic as the other man was, Harry had no intention spending his time staring at him, as if the Dark Lord was a puzzle that could be solved. The Dark Lord might be a puzzle, but he wasn't a solvable one. And he might be mad, but only a fool would underestimate the prodigious intellect that threaded through the madness, like glints of gold in a weltering stream.
The Dark Lord asked little of him. But that did little to alleviate the lassitude that continued to press down on his bones; the Dark Lord's presence was exhausting enough. It was a relief when the Dark Lord finally departed. But the relief had been expected. What wasn't expected was the disconcerting unhappiness, small though the feeling was. But maybe it was natural to feel a little unhappy when one had to leave the presence of someone they had grown accustomed to. And was he accustomed to the Dark Lord? Strange to think that it would be so.
His first thought, when his life was finally his own again, was of Holly (but Dobby had woefully informed him that his sister had sent no new messages, pulling his ears all the while). His next thought was of Draco. Guilt flooded him. He needed to repair their friendship, but would Draco want to? Draco often jested about Harry's precarious status as his best friend. But what if it wasn't a jest? What if he had been serious? Harry shook his head. Was it the Dark Lord's insanity that made it so much harder to read people?
He needed to speak to Draco right away. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he relied upon Draco's friendship. He needed something from Draco. For so long, he thought of Draco almost as a stand-in for Holly. But that wasn't true, was it? Draco was nothing like Holly. His relationship with Draco was valuable in its own right. 'But is it just a crutch?' a quiet voice asked. He shook his head, brushing the thought away. He needed to gather strength, not doubts.
It was with these thoughts in mind that he made his way up to his room, slipping into Draco's chambers through their connecting passage. And when Draco's eyes lit up at the sight of him, he felt his hopes flaring. But his friend's expression became shuttered, and when Draco spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. It flustered him. Harry had come, meaning to speak from his heart, but he hadn't been prepared for the prospect of having to pummel his heart against a stone wall. And in the end, he couldn't do it; not when he was still so drained after his week spent with the Dark Lord. He would try again later. He had to. He couldn't give up on his friendship. But that didn't change the fact that it felt as if his chest have been carved open, his beating heart exposed to the cruel elements.
He was sprawled out on his bed, aware of Dobby's nearby presence (removing the leftovers of the snack he had requested), when Harry moaned: "I want my wand!"
A pause. And then: "Dobby is very sorry. Dobby is not permitted to retrieve Master Harry's wand." The house-elf began to wring his hands. "Dobby is unable to fulfill Master Harry's wishes!" His voice was reaching ever higher pitches of distress.
"Dobby!" Harry cried, sitting up. "Enough! I know you can't get me my wand. I was just -" he mussed up his hair and sighed. "I just wish I had a wand."
Dobby began to shuffle back and forth on his feet. He looked as if he had something to say, and yet did not dare to say it.
Harry frowned. "What is it? Tell me."
"Dobby knows of a book in the library -"
A book? That hardly seemed like anything to get so worked up about.
"A book about making wands."
"Making wands?" Harry echoed, leaning forwards, expression intent.
Dobby nodded, eyes uncertain but filled with hope. Hope in pleasing Harry. "Yes, does Master Harry want Dobby to retrieve the book?"
"Yes! Yes, please, Dobby."
Harry had thought his wings had been clipped. He was aware that witches and wizards in Britain weren't permitted to receive their first wand until they were eleven, and he hadn't even considered the idea of making a wand. Could it really be possible?
Dobby returned brief moments later, with a narrow book in hand, beautifully bound in embroidered silk. He looked down at the title. An Extended History of Wand-Making. Harry's lips twisted downwards. He thought he would be receiving an instructional tome. He didn't realize that Dobby had meant a book on history. But when his eyes return to Dobby, the creature looked so pathetically hopeful that Harry couldn't bring himself to admonish the creature.
"Thank you, Dobby."
The house-elf clasped his hands together, eyes filled with so much gratitude that it made Harry want to squirm. It was a relief when Dobby finally disappeared. Harry shook his head and sighed. He had been planning to sleep, but the moment of excitement had jolted him awake, and it felt like it would be a while before the adrenaline cleared from his body. He opened the book.
Harry grimaced at the sight of the minuscule text that greeted his eyes. How could anyone possibly read anything so tiny? He felt as if he were looking at a series of indecipherable dots. But as he squinted down at the letters, they magically expanded, pushing the other words out of the way, and making the book extraordinarily easy to read.
And though the book was indeed a history, it was a history that couldn't be separated from the craft. Harry was fascinated.
"Master Lucius requests Master Harry's presence at his office."
The voice startled Harry awake. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep, with the wand-making book still sitting on top of him. He rolled to his side and gave the house-elf a bleary look before the creature's words finally registered in his mind, and he pushed himself upright.
"Morning already? Merlin -" he groaned. "Tell Uncle Lucius that I'll be there soon." But then he groaned again and threw back his head. "This means that I'll be missing my lessons. Again."
The house-elf merely gave Harry and unimpressed look, causing Harry to sigh and shake his head.
"Never mind. Just let Uncle Lucius know I'll be there."
The house-elf nodded and then disappeared.
Making himself presentable today felt much more challenging than usual, but once he had managed it, he made his way to his uncle's office. This time, there was more sincerity in Lucius's greeting, and yet, Harry was still unwilling to lower his guard. If he couldn't even trust his own judgement, how to trust anyone else's?
"The Dark Lord's equilibrium has been restored," Lucius remarked. " I believe you are to thank for that?"
Harry clenched his jaw. He hadn't done anything. All that had happened was that he had learned of the true depths of the Dark Lord's mutable nature, his innate unsteadiness. He wasn't convinced that he was in a better position, knowing this.
Lucius hummed, reading something on Harry's face, and Harry glanced up at the pale eyes.
"You know, don't you?" Lucius said, and when Harry reflected a blank look, he added: "You've seen his erratic nature. You've seen the threat of who he is."
Harry pressed his lips together, felt a tightness around his eyes, and Lucius saw it for the assent that it was.
"He cannot see into your mind, can he."
It was not so simple as that. And yet, it was true enough that Harry nodded. He didn't even know how he could be so certain of this, and yet he knew.
"Then you understand the scope of the danger," Lucius said. "You understand the value of having control."
"Control?" Harry echoed, managing to sound composed and cool, rather than uncertain.
"Control. Planning. Ensuring that wizarding society moves in the best direction to ensure our continuity." Lucius's words did not move Harry. But Lucius seemed to know this. "Ensuring that your sister is safe."
The breath left Harry's lungs.
Lucius's eyes were assessing, silently weighing Harry's merits, his faults. "I will do what I can to help you, Harry. I only hope that you will help me as well."
"How can I help?" Harry asked, not out of an eagerness to give aid, but a need to uncover Lucius's motives, and learn what was happening around him. He had been an outsider before, but the Dark Lord's presence was drawing him in, and bringing him to the centre of things. He could not walk this path with his eyes closed.
Lucius's smile was easy, practiced. "You need not do much. I only need information. You have a bond with the Dark Lord that is unique. I would appreciate your - insights on the man. Would you be willing to help me with that?"
'What would I get in return?' Harry wondered.
Interpreting Harry's silence, Lucius continued. "I would like to think that I am not burdening you. You know my thoughts and my philosophies, Harry. I strive to make Wizarding Britain a better place for us all. I have Draco to think of. But what benefits Draco also benefits you and your sister. Is it selfish? Selfish to want the best for my child? Perhaps. But you see where I stand."
Harry let his eyes drift towards the bookcase. Would it really make a difference to tell Lucius what he knew? Even during their week together, little had happened. The Dark Lord had nearly killed him, and he may or may not have dreamed of the man running his hands through his hair. The Dark Lord had kept him close, but no secrets had been shared. Almost no conversation had been had. They merely absorbed one another's presence. And yet, information was valuable. He felt that Lucius was not just asking for information. He was trying to determine and affirm Harry's alliance. Harry couldn't afford to make enemies. Snape was enemy enough.
"All right. I'll help you," Harry said.
Lucius smiled again. "I knew that you would come to the right decision."
By the time Harry was dismissed, he had missed much of Mr Praos' lesson, but he still hurried up to the room, hoping to catch Draco. Just as he turned a corner, he saw Draco coming out of the study room, with dark smudges marring the near-translucent skin under his eyes. The sight was jarring - as a Malfoy, Draco was never without products or tools that could enhance his beauty. Harry had seen Draco's hair mussed, but it was alien to see his skin looking anything less than porcelain smooth and clear. The sight of it made his chest feel tight, and fed the guilt that lived, like a parasite, within him.
"Draco."
The blond's head snapped up, and he blinked, as if trying to discern whether or not Harry was real. It was a strange look to see on Draco's face; Harry was accustomed to Draco's effortless confidence, of his certainty of his vaulted place in the world.
Draco frowned but it was an expression that lacked any rancor. "Harry. Here to speak to Mr Praos?"
Harry shook his head. " I'm here to see you."
Something flickered in Draco's grey eyes, something raw, and Draco turned his gaze away, fixing it to the wall. Harry's slumbering sense of hope began to awaken, and he took a tentative step towards his friend. The faintest hint of pinkness rose upon Draco's cheeks, but he did not back away.
"Listen, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I - well, I -"
"Yes."
Harry gave Draco of a bewildered look. "Pardon?"
Draco's eyes widened, and the colour on his face deepened. "Nothing!" he squawked. "What were you going to say?"
Harry furrowed his brows, scrutinizing Draco's face as if all the signs were marked there. He had been about to explain his situation with the Dark Lord, explain that he couldn't (wouldn't) leave the other man. But he suddenly had the impression that such words would carry no weight with Draco.
Courage would fail him if he permitted his thoughts to reassert themselves. And so, Harry did not think, letting his emotions spill out like a torrent. "Please forgive me? Please? I hate this. I hate that we're not talking. You're my best friend, even if - even if you don't feel the same way."
There was a bright sheen across Draco's eyes, and he bit down on his lower lip. "You are such an idiot. If I were a muggle, I would punch you right now."
But despite the harshness of Draco's words, the answer was in his expression and in his tone of voice. Harry broke into a wide grin, and since he still refused to think, he swept Draco into a hug, much like he used to hug Holly. It took several seconds before he realized how forward he was being, but by then, Draco was hugging him back and Harry dared not to let go. By the time they pulled apart, neither of them could meet the other's eyes.
"Do you want to go flying?" Draco asked the floor.
"Actually," Harry said to the wall, "I thought we could do something new." Harry's and Draco's eyes finally met.
"New?" Draco repeated, skepticism staining his words. Of course, as a rather spoiled pure-blood heir, Draco seemed to own everything under the sun. What could possibly be new?
Harry nodded, letting mischief dance across his eyes. "Yeah." He reached out for Draco's sleeve, and tugged him along the corridor, using his gaze to remind Draco that they were far too close to Mr Praos to have true privacy.
"Well?" Draco demanded, once they were outside.
A laugh bubbled out of Harry's lips. The fear of losing Draco's friendship had been as suffocating as the vines of Devil's Snare within a deep abyss. Knowing that he hadn't lost that friendship was like that first gasp of air once those fatal vines loosened, sweet and dizzying. As if aware of Harry's thoughts, Draco bit down on his lower lip, eyes aglow with a sympathetic merriment.
"Haaar-eee! You're dawdling."
Still grinning, Harry shook his head. "D'you recall that I lost my wand?"
A storm cloud seemed to pass across Draco's face, and Harry winced as he realized that he was dredging up bad memories.
"Did you get it back?" Draco asked, his voice like the scrape of stone against stone, as he crossed his arms.
Harry shook his head. "No. No, it's not that." He found himself rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, I was wondering - d'you want to try making our own wands?"
Draco uncrossed his arms. "Come again?"
"I found a book on wand making - well, the history of wand making - and I was thinking that we could try making our own wands. If you want."
Draco's eyes widened.
"You can't tell your mother of course," Harry quickly added.
"Are you serious?"
"And the wands won't be as good as the ones that you can purchase in stores. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure how powerful the wands would be, or whether or not they would even work, but -"
"Yes!" Draco burst out. "Let's do it!"
"You really want to? It might be a lot of work."
"We're doing this Harry. If I could have my own wand -" Draco trailed off, his eyes alight with the limitless possibilities which frolicked across his imagination. "We're definitely doing this."
-o-
Making a wand wasn't particularly difficult. Making a wand that could channel magic without obliterating itself was substantially more difficult. And making a wand with any degree of power seemed nigh impossible. It was only the promise of having their own wands that drove Harry and Draco to keep trying and trying, despite their parade of failures.
According to An Extended History of Wand-Making, the core of a wand needed to come from a magical creature. Suggestions included unicorn, thestral, or Kelpie hair; phoenix, griffin, or thunderbird feathers; dragon or chimera heartstrings; and a number of other organic materials. Unfortunately for Harry and Draco, there was no easy way for them to access these materials. But through careful experimentation, Harry ended up settling on an interwoven braid of Bellatrix's hair and silvery hitzetier hair from Hamel, and Draco decided on a similar core, except that his was a braid of Narcissa's and Sheratan's hair.
Choosing the wood of the wand presented a greater challenge. One had to have a feel for magic, sensing whether a particular tree or shrub resonated with one's magic or not. Bellatrix's haphazard training of Harry's magical abilities prepared him for this, but to Draco, the idea was mystifying and strange, and he did not know what he was supposed to be feeling for. He was used to being able to cajole or coerce others into solve his problems for him, but as much as Harry wanted to help him, Harry knew that Draco needed to do this on his own.
"It feels like -" Harry pulled his brows downwards as he sorted through his mind, trying to find the right descriptions, "like a stream. It feels like your magic is flowing through you, from the bottom of your feet, to the top of your head to the tip of your fingers, with nothing blocking the way. When you touch the right wood, your magic just moves more easily."
Draco tightened his grip on a narrow branch of beech, glaring at the tree as if it had personally offended him. Harry, meanwhile, was gently stripping the bark from a branch of aspen. Aspen hadn't been the only wood that sang in sympathy with his magic, but he felt a stronger pull to the aspen than to any of the other native trees and shrubs that grew nearby.
"That doesn't help. Everything just feels the same!" Draco cried. "This is so stupid. I can see why people switched to buying wands, rather than making them."
Harry hummed. "Try imagining -"
"Arrgh!" Draco interrupted, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Another analogy isn't going to help. Just - pick something for me, Harry."
"I can't! It doesn't work that way." He rolled his lower lip through his teeth. After a moment of hesitation, he said: "Why don't you just pick one that you like?"
Draco gave him a skeptical look. "And that is supposed to help how?"
Harry, who was trying to peel away a stubborn bit of bark, failed to catch the bite in Draco's words. "I think that magic can speak to us through our preferences. It's a part of us. If you can't feel your magic, you can at least feel what you like."
Draco shook his head and sighed. "Fine. Then let's keep going further. Everything here just," he grimaced, "irritates me."
Harry shrugged, and pushed himself up from the prickling yellow-green autumn grass, tucking his broom under his armpit. "All right."
As Harry and Draco ventured further towards the border of the Malfoy estate, Harry pulled out a long pointed wire that Dobby had given him, to begin hollowing out the aspen. There was nothing magical about the wire (though the quality of the material was impressive); rather, the book had claimed that one had to use one's magic to 'smooth the correct course' through the wood. This 'correct course' was necessary for 'wood and core to embrace' (whatever that meant). Harry was barely even aware of Draco as the blond continued to mutter: " Nope!", "No!", " Weak!", " Ugly!" and so forth.
"I think all these trees are just too common for me," Draco huffed, as Harry let out a hiss of satisfaction from successfully hollowing out the branch without poking a hole in the middle, like so many of his other attempts.
"Hmm?" Harry pulled out the strands of hair in his pocket, and fished them through the branch.
"Harry! Are you even listening to me?"
"Mm hmm."
"Harry, your robes are tucked into your pants and you look ridiculous."
"All right."
"Arrgh! Harry, I've decided we're not best friends anymore."
"Hmm. You're my best friend too, Draco."
"Harry!"
"Morgaine's knickers! This one still feels weird!"
After narrowing his eyes and giving Harry a long and punishing look (which Harry failed to notice), Draco stomped over to Harry's side, rudely shoving his friend's shoulder with his own. "You finished another wand? Is it going to catch on fire like the last one you made?"
Harry shook his head, oblivious to the asperity in Draco's voice. "It's better than the last one, but -" he waved the wand in a sinuous motion, "it's still stoppering my magic."
Draco sighed. What was the sense in wasting energy on having a fit when Harry wouldn't even notice? But perhaps he could tug on Harry's sense of guilt later, and with that thought, Draco's mood brightened, enabling him to focus on Harry's crudely made wand. "What do you mean?"
"My magic should be flowing through the wand like water flowing through a pipe. And using the wire to hollow out the wood is supposed to be like widening that pipe - only, most pipes run straight, or at proper angles, but the path for the core of a wand isn't necessarily supposed to be straight."
"I do remember that from the book, Harry."
"Oh. Yeah. Anyway, this is a little better than the other wands I've made, but -" he pursed his lips, and flicked his wrist twice, causing a pitiful leak of yellow sparks, "it feels like I'm trying to move my magic through a gunked up pipe, rather than through a clear one." He knit his brows in concentration, eyes twitching slightly, before exhaling in frustration. "My other wand - the one that your mother took away - was so much more responsive to my will. And none of the wands I've made make me feel oily and dirty. I wonder if that means I'm doing something wrong." Harry lifted his arm again. "Lumos!"
The wand lit up with a faltering white light, bright one moment and then dim the next. "These wands don't focus magic very well without incantations," Harry muttered. "It's like having to learn to do magic all over again. I don't know how I'd manage if we didn't have Latin lessons." He smiled weakly. "But at least this one didn't catch on fire!"
Draco snorted. "Can I try?"
Harry shrugged, and handed his friend the wand. After saying lumos over a dozen times, Draco finally managed a flickering bit of light.
With an expression of disgust, he handed the wand back to Harry. "It's making me feel a little nauseated."
Harry nodded in commiseration, but before he had a chance to say anything, a wail cut through the air, causing Harry and Draco to jerk in surprise.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
Draco thinned his lips, apprehensive. "I don't know. But -" he surveyed their surroundings, "I know that there's a muggle village not far from here."
There was another cry, followed by a clipped sob, and Harry hummed. "Should we should go see what it is?" For all the brutality he had witnessed in life, the suffering of others still tugged at his heart, whispering a compassion that spoke more in feelings than in words.
"Well, if they are muggles, they won't be able to see us. The only place in Britain with better protective enchantments is Hogwarts. Father did always say that muggles and their ilk are dirty brutal animals. Might be an interesting show."
Harry felt a reproof on the tip of his tongue, but he was all too familiar with Draco's nature, so he merely shook his head and mounted his broom, wand tucked safely away in his pocket. The sound of distant sobbing had become more subdued, but it was enough that Harry urged his broom faster, letting his ears lead the way.
"Stop that!" A brusque but feminine voice commanded. "Be quiet!"
"I-I'm trying, mum," a child's voice replied, half hiccoughing. "Ow!"
"I said quiet!" the woman hissed. "And hurry along." And in lower tones: "God, you're the worst thing that ever happened to me. You and your deadbeat father. Ruining my body; ruining my life - Hurry up!"
The child cried out again, and Harry leaned down on his broom, speeding forward until he spotted two figures in the distance, a top-heavy woman and a spindly child, nearest copse of trees. Both had brown-black hair, and dusky skin, and if Harry hadn't heard the child say 'mum,' he would have guessed from the sight of them that they were parent and child. The woman had the child's hand in her own, walking at such a brisk pace that it was clear the child couldn't keep up. In answer to this, the woman did not slow down; instead, she would wrench her hand forward, yanking the child as if the child's arm was a leash. The sight of it caused Harry to feel a twinge of sympathetic pain in his own shoulder, and a knot of growing injustice in his stomach. He maneuvered his broom near some tall shrubs, but he trusted the protective enchantments enough to keep him and Draco safe from sight.
"This is far enough," the woman said, releasing the child so suddenly that they stumbled and fell. The child's clothes were ragged and torn, in sharp contrast to the woman's, whose garments, while poor in taste (being far too tight and scant for an autumn day), looked very new. The sight of it was horribly familiar to Harry. It may have been years ago, but he could still remember the days when his clothes were so threadbare, and so ill fitted that they did nothing to protect him from the elements.
"You know why we're here, don't you Tara?" the woman asked.
The child (probably a she?) merely shook her head.
"You're going to pay me back for everything you put me through. Years and years of feeding you. Years of buying you clothes. Years of giving up parties, losing boyfriend, after boyfriend, everything! I should have had an abortion, but I gave up everything for you!"
The child wiped her nose on her sleeve, and Harry heard Draco make a noise of repugnance. But he paid his friend no heed, too intent on the scene before him.
The woman loomed over the child, whose brown eyes were enormous and bloodshot from crying. "I saw you the other day, you know. I always thought that there was something unnatural about you, something freakish." The words made Harry feel ill with a sense of both familiarity and foreboding.
"I bet your father was the same. He certainly managed to disappear off the face of the Earth, as soon as I told him about you." The woman began to recite a string of crude swears, listing everything that was wrong with the little girl's father.
"Merlin," Draco muttered, "I always knew that muggles were vulgar, but her mouth is just foul. If I ever start talking like that, just Avada Kedavra me, Harry."
Harry shushed him, causing Draco to bore a hole through his skull with his eyes.
"But yes, I saw what happened when Britney's doberman came after you," the woman continued.
The child's eyes widened, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "It was n'accident! I didn't mean to do that! It was going to kill me!"
The woman snorted. "God, stop being such an blubbering little baby!"
The child nodded pitifully, and held her breath as if that would stem the tide of tears.
"One moment that dog was on top of you, and of course you had to shriek like a bloody banshee, as if it really was going to do you any harm." The woman's tone was cruel and mocking, and she stepped forward, indifferent to the way the child recoiled. " And then -" the woman balled and then flicked out all her fingers, "poof! the mutt's bloody gone, and in its place is a hideous ol' plush toy."
Harry's eyes widened. If the woman's account was true, then what she was describing sounded like accidental magic. And if that were the case, it meant that the child might be a muggleborn.
The child shook her head. "I didn't mean to! I didn't know that was going to happen!"
"It makes me wonder about all the other stuff you might have ruined over the years. My leather purse! Was that you too? My sunglasses?"
"I never t-touched them!" the child cried. "I swear! You told me never to touch your stuff, 'member?"
The woman let out a disgusted sound. "God! Wipe that disgusting snotty nose of yours! I hate looking at you!"
The child was quick to obey, her face suffused with the deep red of shame, and her head bowed.
"But you're going to make it up to me now, aren't you?"
The child's head snapped back up, her expression lost as she gazed at her mother with an expression of hope tinged fear.
"After all," the woman said, "if you can turn a dog into something you want, then you can turn any other sort of junk into something I want."
"Mum?" the child anxiously questioned.
The woman removed a bracelet from her wrist, one of many. "Make it real," the woman commanded.
The child shook her head. "I-I can't! I don't know how!"
"Just concentrate and do whatever you did, you little shit! I want it to be real gold, and real sapphires."
"This is bad," Draco said, and Harry nodded in agreement. "If that little wretch is a mudblood, she can't show muggles her magic."
Harry turned to glare at his friend, unable to believe Draco's complete lack of compassion. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, but before Draco could reply, their attention was pulled back to the scene in front of them. The child's eyes were squeezed shut, her face a vivid red as she attempted to obey her mother's commands. The girl was holding her breath, her skin mottling almost purple, until she could hold it in no more, and she gusted out aloud exhale, swaying, and blinking down at the unchanged bracelet.
But the woman was unsatisfied, bending down and shaking the child so hard that her head bobbled like a sapling in a hurricane. "What? You can only perform your tricks if it's something you want? After everything I've done for you, you can't even do anything for me? Your own mum?"
"I'm t-trying!" the child pleaded, choked by another bout of tears. "I'm r-really trying!"
"Try harder!" The woman was all but shrieking in the child's face. She straightened up, her face almost as florid as her daughter's, hands fisting and relaxing, fisting and relaxing, a clear sign of the aggression saturating through her veins, priming her muscles.
"I-I'm sorry. I can't," the child whimpered, and Draco muttered: "Probably not a mudblood after all. I wouldn't be surprise if the mother had been sotted the whole time. She looks like the sort of slime who lives in the bottom of a bottle."
"You can't?" the woman repeated. "You mean you won't."
"I can't!"
The woman was nearly trembling now, as if barely able to hold back the gale of anger whipping within her. "Can't? Can't?!" She cut herself off, staring down at the child with so much hate that Harry felt goose-pimples rising on his skin.
"Can we get out of here? Nothing's happening," Draco groused, but Harry shook his head, refusing to leave. How could Draco be so oblivious to the signs? Harry had dealt with abusive people before, and everything he saw caused his senses to scream danger.
The woman's eyes had taken on a strange glassy quality, and her voice seem to float, as if detaching itself from emotions. "I see what's going on. It all makes sense now."
"Mum?" As if she too sensed the threat, the child begin to back away. "Mum, please! I swear, I'm trying!"
"But you yourself said you can't, Tara. But I think I finally understand how your freakish powers work. You thought that dog was going to kill you, didn't you?" The woman closed the gap between her and the child. "That means that if I I'm going to get what I want, you're going to have to think that I'm going to kill you." The woman paused and blinked. "No. No, that's not right. I'm going to have to actually try to kill you." A hideous grin spread across the woman's face, looking more like a predatory bearing of teeth than any sort of smile.
"I don't understand," the child whimpered. "Mum, I don't understand."
"Just give me what I want," the woman said, before leaping forward, hands like claws, and bearing her weight down upon the child's tiny neck. "Give me want I want! Give me what I want, you little shit!" the woman shrieked, as the child tried to fight her off, her efforts completely ineffectual. The bracelet in the child's hand did not change, but the wind began to stir in chaotic and unnatural whorls, whipping against the woman and child as if they lay at the very eye of a storm.
Unable to tolerate anymore, Harry zoomed forward, but his motion was halted by Draco who was gripping his robes, refusing to let go.
"Let go of me!" Harry snarled, jerking himself forward with enough force to break free of Draco's grasp. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, completely forgetting that the wand at hand wasn't the familiar 'betrayer,' but instead, was a relatively untried wand that he had made.
He aimed the wand at the woman, letting out a cry of frustration when his magic failed to obey his will. He saw the child looking towards him, her eyes bulging, and her skin becoming purplish, and it was a matter of heartbeats before he finally remembered.
Avada Kedavra was on the tip of his tongue. After all, he had heard Draco mentioning the spell earlier. But Harry had never tried the killing curse before, and though he knew that he felt enough rage to cast it, he dared not risk an untried spell when a child's life was at risk. "Stupefy!"
He felt his magic flowing through his body, moving towards the base of his wand, but just as he had said to Draco, it was as if the magic was trying to force its way through a clogged pipe. The pressure of his magic seem to build in his wand arm, making his teeth and bones buzz in the worst sort of way. But Harry didn't care. He inhaled, held his breath, and pushed his magic through. It came forth in a terrible explosion, the tip of his wand flying apart as a beam of light shot towards the woman, hitting her with such force that she was flung against the nearby trees, her skull snapping back with a crack, and her body crumpling like a discarded puppet.
He leapt off his broom, and crouched by the child's side, ruined wand quickly tossed aside and forgotten. "Are you all right?" The child was taking in gasping breaths, the effort laboured and painful. She looked at Harry with enormous brown eyes, and then over at her mother who lay unmoving.
"Is - is she dead?" the child rasped.
Harry glanced towards the limp body, eyes hardening. "I don't know." ('And I don't care,' his thoughts added). Moments later, Draco had also dismounted from his broom and was at Harry's side.
"Merlin -" Draco stared at the crumpled muggle woman. "Merlin, Morgaine and bloody Salazar! I can't believe you did that."
Harry felt his guilt beginning to pinch.
"I've always wanted to be able to hex a muggle," Draco added breathlessly, and Harry's guilt melted away, as he shook his head and gave his friend a wobbly smile.
"Don't be ridiculous, Draco."
"Y-you're flying. On brooms!" the child squeaked.
Draco's eyebrows pulled downwards. "She can see the brooms. Guess that makes her a mudblood after all."
Harry frowned, surveying the child. "Are you hurt anywhere? Besides your neck?" He grimaced at the sight of those angry red marks marring the narrow column.
"What are you?" the child asked.
Draco gave a supercilious tilt of his chin. "We're wizards."
"And you're a witch," Harry added softly. A sense of disquiet began to worm under his skin. "What are we going to do with you?" He spoke more to himself than to Draco or the child, and to his surprise, the child answered.
"Don't leave me here!"
Harry's lips drew downwards. "Are you from the village? Do you have family - other than that woman." He flicked a glance over to the unconscious woman, barely able to hide his disgust.
The child shook her head. " No one," she answered, half-whispering. "No one."
Harry looked over at Draco, "What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean, what are we going to do? We're going back to the manor."
Harry jutted his chin obstinately. " I meant about her. Tara. That's your name right? Tar-ah?"
The child nodded.
"Ugh," Draco shuddered. " What a dreadfully common name."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You could say the same about my name."
"Yeah, but you're different!"
Harry returned his attention to the child. "So -"
"Take me with you? Please? I have nowhere else to go."
Draco gave the child an incredulous look. "You can go back to your mother after she sees a Healer. We are not bringing this child with us to the manor."
"Draco, she can't go back to her mother. Didn't you see what just happened?"
The child reached out and clutched Harry's robes. "Please let me come with you? I'll be good! I swear to God!"
Draco sneered. "Your God means nothing to me."
But Harry had decided. "We're taking her with us."
"What?!" Draco squawked. "No!"
Harry was already lost in his own thoughts. " We'll have to keep her a secret. No one can know about her but us. Oh! We can get Dobby to help. She can stay in my chambers - no one enters my room but you and Dobby. Dobby can bring her food too. And books." Harry nodded to himself. "This is going to work."
"Harry, No."
Harry's green eyes met Draco's grey ones, his expression permitting no compromise. "We're doing this." He shifted his weight forward, a subconscious gesture of protectiveness towards the child.
"We. Are. Not. And do you know what is going to happen if my father ever finds her? He will kill her. He won't even think twice."
"Your father isn't going to find her. I will make sure that she isn't found." Harry was unyielding, but after a silent war of stares, something in Harry's face shifted. "I thought you always wanted something to look after, Draco."
"Yes, like a pet."
"And?"
Draco gawped at his friend. "Did you just - did I hear you correctly? Are you trying to suggest that I make a little mudblood my pet?"
"I didn't say it. You did."
Draco's eyes slid over to the little girl. "You don't want to be a pet. I don't even think mudbloods can be trained!"
The child's chocolate eyes met Draco's. "I can be good."
Draco blanched, shaking his head in disbelief. "We are not doing this."
But Harry was already standing, placing his broom between his legs and urging the girl to her feet. "Have you ever ridden a broom before?" But then he laughed at his foolish question. "I can't believe I just asked that. Come on Tara, it's easy. You can sit in front of me, and I'll guide the way back."
"Harry!" Draco moaned, and it was the moan of someone who knew that he had lost. "You're the worst best friend I've ever had in my whole life!"
Harry looked over his shoulder, flashing his teeth. "And you're the best best friend that anyone could ever imagine." Pinkness stained Draco's cheeks, as his pleasure at the compliment easily conquered his dismay. "Will you invite her through the protective enchantments?"
Draco let out a long and dramatic sigh, his shoulders slumping in emphasis (though his parents would disapprove if they saw). "Fine. She's welcome at the manor."
Harry beamed, and soon after, lifted off, as Tara squealed in surprise. He tightened his grip on his broom, knowing that despite his optimistic words, his life had just become significantly more complicated.
A/N: I don't mean to put dobermans in a bad light. I used to have one, but I do remember that people were often afraid of her. I appreciate the review! :)
