Author's Notes: I realize there have been several cliffhangers recently. I just want to say that while I feel terribly about it, it's just where I naturally stop writing. My muse runs out, not wanting to return until my next power session. So, please forgive them. A good thing that has come of them: I feel guilty, so I try and write more. Thus, an update after only 4 days. I'm so proud of myself. Though, this does not guarantee a speedy chapter 10. ;) On another note, the date is still undeterminable, even though there are sections with other characters, because DZ is written mostlyfrom Harry's (and sometimes Draco's) POV; since they don't know the date, neither will you. Thanks for reading, enjoy, and please review!
And as usual: Disclaimer: The characters and HP world are not mine, they belong to J.K. Rowling and various publishers. I only own the plot and a few side characters.-Chapter 9-
Undeterminable Date
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at the destruction around him, shaking his head as he took in the broken glass, wooden splinters, blasted furniture and the large whole in the north wall of the kitchen. It was a sheer miracle that the stove hadn't caught on fire and burned the whole building down. He raised his wand and cast several standard identification spells, frowning when he couldn't get a reading.
"These people were smart," he said to Ron, who was pacing around the room, finding new things to agonize over. "The only magical signatures I can detect are Harry's and Malfoy's. It's very difficult to cover up magical signatures."
"Death Eaters mastered that during the war, didn't they?" Ron asked.
"So did several rogue wizards," Shacklebolt reminded him, scratching his chin. "And some of them are still running around as we speak."
"Do you think one of them may have done this?"
"Hard to say. It's a difficult thing to do, to be sure, but anyone can manage it with enough study," Shacklebolt replied.
"And who were they after? Harry, Draco, or both?" Ron puzzled, staring at a broken picture frame that held a wizarding photo of Harry and Draco the day after Harry's birthday. Harry was smiling embarrassingly at the camera, and Draco was standing there brooding over something, wings expanded and moving slightly. Every few moments Draco would look over at Harry, smirk just a little, and then shove Harry's shoulder, making him stumble a few feet. Then they would both burst into laughter before resuming their previous positions.
"I don't know," Shacklebolt answered heavily. "I just don't know."
Harry followed Draco's white blonde hair, trying not to stumble along in the darkness as their captor lead them through the maze of dungeons, magical bonds keeping them from escaping. He was so tempted to take the blonde's hand, to reassure himself that he was not alone in this, but he wasn't so sure. Maybe the kiss meant nothing; just an attempt to find some comfort in a nearly fatal situation. Maybe Draco was just trying to calm him down, and didn't want him to panic again. Maybe Draco didn't care about him at all, and he was just being a stupid, immature child who wanted something that he couldn't have. Maybe--
Harry tripped over a jagged piece of rock that jutted up from the floor. He flinched and tried to brace himself for headfirst contact with the stone floor, but suddenly strong arms were around him and he was staring into Draco's concerned eyes.
"Okay?" he whispered, steadying Harry and brushing dark hair out of his eyes.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. Okay, so maybe he had overreacted, and Draco felt something after all. Seeing Draco smile at him like; he had never seen that look on Draco's face. It was always a smirk or a malicious chuckle or even a mischievous grin. Not the concern and caring that suddenly seemed to emanating from that hesitant smile.
Draco's face suddenly paled, as the magic that had kept them following went into effect, and he was dragged twenty feet back to their captor, who smiled at the discomfort Draco felt by being yanked shirtless across the hard stone. Why does everything happen to me? Draco wondered. But then he looked up into Harry's concerned face, and for some reason he couldn't wish his pain on someone else, because that someone else would likely end up being Harry.
Harry, who was now grasping his hand and helping him get to his feet, mirroring what he had just done only moments before. They both stood quickly and followed their captor, not wanting to be dragged along another time. It escaped neither one's notice that Harry did not relinquish his hold on Draco's hand, nor that Draco made no move to remove himself from Harry's tight grasp, but instead was tightly gripping his fingers in return. They continued on in silence, walking in the darkness, not knowing what was to come, nor what lay behind.
After many more minutes of silent walking, they reached a dead end. Their captor reached out a finger and brushed it across the stone, and Harry was gently reminded of his eleventh birthday and a certain trip to Gringotts as he watched the stone swirl and turn into a large wooden door. The door was carved, with a border of leaves and flowers that twisted around until they reached the center and wrapped around a long blade, a sword that had rose thorns wrapped around it's hilt.
"Veritas," came the voice, and the door swung open, revealing a brightly lit chamber that Draco and Harry were unceremoniously shoved into, the door slamming shut behind them.
They both stumbled over the threshold and landed face first on the floor, noses sinking into thick red carpeting. Harry raised his head up and saw that unlike the room they had previously been in, this one was lavishly furnished with velvet and leather furniture, heavy draperies covering the walls. Deep redwood and polished marble accented all objects, and the carpet itself begged for bare feet to sink into it. The walls were lined with tapestries, except for the far left, where a large bookshelf that ran from ceiling to floor contained what must have been dozens of priceless, antique books. There was a large table in the center of the room, covered with vast amounts of food. Exotic fruits and steaming dishes tempted the two prisoners as they gazed around at the unexpected splendor before them.
Harry stared ravenously at the piled food, stomach growling and fingers twitching as he fought back the urge to simply lunge and devour as much food as he was able. He couldn't remember the last time he ate, and who knew how long it had been since then. It wasn't as if someone had kindly dropped by to give them meals and tell them the hour. The only other thought racing through his mind was how close Draco was, and how he could feel the heat radiating off of the other man's body. Their hands had broken apart when they had fallen, but they had landed side by side, with Harry's left leg crossed over Draco's right, and even in such dire circumstances, that heat couldn't be ignored.
Trying his best to do just that, Harry lifted himself off the floor and then helped Draco do the same. As Draco pulled a face and started brushing dirt off of his once immaculate clothing, Harry walked toward the table of food, unable to stop himself from quenching his hunger. He reached for an apple, bright red and perfect. He turned it slowly, examining it in the harsh light, before raising it to his lips. Just before he could sink his teeth into its red skin, Draco's pale hand reached out and grabbed his wrist roughly.
"What are you doing?" Draco nearly growled.
"Um, eating?" Harry answered, confused.
"Potter, do you know who put this food out here?" Draco demanded.
"…No," Harry responded.
"Someone who wanted us to eat it."
"…Oh."
"Exactly. And do you remember where we are?" Draco continued.
"…Locked somewhere, probably underground, where no one can find us, and we've already experienced some form of torture," Harry said reluctantly.
"So now that we've got that straight, please explain to me, Harry, why you're about to eat something that our captors have put out for us, without even giving a thought as to whether it has been hexed or poisoned?" Draco finished.
Harry sighed. "Because I was hungry."
Draco loosened his grip on Harry's wrist and nodded in satisfaction as he placed the apple back onto the table.
"I know, me too," he murmured. "But we don't know what we're dealing with here. And if what happened last spring has taught me anything, it's that you need to be sure of who and what is going on before you do anything rash."
Harry nodded his head silently, listening and accepting what Draco had to say. Though, what he did say brought up something that Harry had never tried to bring up again since his birthday. I guess there's no time like the present, he thought, before plunging right in.
"Draco?" he said hesitantly, aware that Draco's thumb was now rubbing soft circles on the inside of his wrist.
Draco himself was looking around the room, examining nooks and crannies and maybe a possible way to escape. He seemed to be unconscious of what his hands were doing, as he simply turned on the spot, carefully analyzing everything he could.
"Yes, Harry?" he answered distractedly.
"I know this is a horrible time, but I just really need to ask…what happened to you last spring?"
Draco's entire body stiffened, his thumb ceasing to move and his grip tight on Harry's wrist. He turned back to look at the dark haired man, at the face that was open with honesty and a curiosity that came from concern, not from selfishness.
"I mean," Harry started tentatively as Draco just looked at him in silence, a blank expression on his face, "I know you said that you would tell me when you were ready, but that was last July. And I don't exactly know what we're dealing with here, but…but maybe it's the same people?"
Draco still said nothing.
"And maybe, they want the same thing they did last time?" Harry continued.
"Why Harry, you exceed my expectations," a cold voice said.
Harry and Draco both spun around to see a woman standing in the entrance they had come through, shadows blocking her face. She stepped forward, allowing them to see her. She was tall, almost as tall as Draco, and had flowing red hair that tumbled down her back and grazed her hips as she moved toward them. Her skin was pale, flawless, and her lithe body was encased in a long velvet dress, black as night and sinuously following her every curve. She wore heavy eye make up and her lips were painted a deep red, but as those blue eyes flashed dangerously, Harry felt as if he knew her from somewhere.
"Hello, Draco. I've been waiting for you," she smiled wickedly.
"What do you mean you can't trace them?" Hermione asked, voice dangerously low, barely audible above the shifting papers and quiet conversations being carried on in the Auror Department.
Ron winced in anticipation and sympathy. It was never a good sign when Hermione became quiet. After her initial shock concerning the situation, Hermione had gone along nonstop through every part of the investigation following Harry and Draco's disappearance. Ron himself was simply trying to do all he could to help, as his shouting matches with the rest of the Aurors hadn't really had much of an effect. He still didn't like Draco, but Harry was family, and if finding one meant finding the other, then, okay. He would just have to be okay with that.
The newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stuttered a bit in reply to Hermione's…unconventional address. Mad Eye Moody had turned down the offer of Head at the end of the war, claiming he needed some goddamn peace and quiet after two bleeding wars; the new Minister was actually quite relieved, as he had only offered him the position since Moody had been the only senior officer left, even though he was retired. Taking up the position, therefore, was the only other person besides Shacklebolt who had senior standing, and had actually taken Scrimgeour's place as Head of the Auror Office when he had become Minister: Gawain Robards.
Robards was a small, thin man, with light brown hair that was slightly balding. He wore large horn-rimmed glasses that reminded Ron of Percy and had somewhat of a stutter. How he had become the Head of Magical Law Enforcement was anybody's guess, but Ron was certainly not impressed. The man was practically quaking under Hermione's gaze, which, granted, Ron had also done, but this man had to be twice their age, and was an Auror for Merlin's sake.
"There--there was no ev--evidence left in the flat," Robards managed. "No App--apparition traces, no footprints, no fi--fi--fingerprints, no hair, no fibers, no other identi--identifying marks, no--nothing. It was like they had ne--never been there at all!"
"Well, they obviously were. Someone trashed that flat, someone took them away, and someone made them bleed. Tell me you at least noticed the drops of blood on the floor, particularly around the area with broken glass?" Hermione demanded, eyes narrowing.
"Er…er…" Robards stalled.
"Well, whenever you do figure it out, or decide to condescend to find only one of the most important wizards in England today--" Hermione started.
"--You be sure and let us know, alright? Good. We'll just be going then," Ron interrupted, trying to save the poor man from suffering even more of Hermione's wrath.
Hermione just glared at Robards, before spinning on her feet and marching out of the Auror Offices. Several people stared at her, wondering who had told off their superior so effectively. Ron followed several feet behind her, hands in his front pockets and whistling in between smiles as he remembered Hermione's "mama-bear" tendencies when it came to protecting "her boys."
"What?" Draco managed, speechless for perhaps once in his life. He stared at the woman before him. Did he know her from somewhere?
"Draco, we both know that eloquence is a part of your nature. Please don't lose that quality on my account," she said, before walking past them and sitting in a large ornately carved wooden chair facing them, lined with a deep velvet as red as her lips, which were still smiling at them. Harry wasn't quite sure what the smile implied, but it made him rather nervous.
"Sit, eat," she bid them, conjuring chairs behind them with a wave of her hand. Harry felt a slight push from the air above him, forcing him down into the chair; at Draco's grunt he knew that the same had happened to the blonde.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, ignoring the food.
"You may call me Guinevere," she said. Silence passed for a few moments, with neither of them moving. "I pray you, eat. You must be hungry."
"Not really," Harry denied, mind racing at her feat of wandless magic. The only other person he had seen conjure chairs like that had been Dumbledore…and he had been a very, very powerful wizard. Harry wondered how much power this woman possessed.
"Don't lie," she intoned, voice as hard as steel. "You may say whatever you wish in this chamber, but the telling of falsehoods is not permitted." Her face remained hard for a moment, taking away from her beauty, before she relaxed again and smiled. "Now please, eat. You must be famished, you have been here for several days."
Draco inclined his head, and reached over to pick up the same apple he had made Harry put down only minutes before. Harry's eyes widened in recognition, and he raised his arm to stop Draco, but not quick enough; Draco's teeth sunk into the fruit and he took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Harry stared at him in surprise.
"Draco?" he asked, confused.
Draco turned to look at Harry, but Harry could tell something was wrong. His grey eyes were glazed over, and he was paler than normal. His face was expressionless, but while Draco was known for his cold mask, this was different; it seemed as if there was nothing going on underneath.
Harry reached his hand up, ghosting it over Draco's cheek, staring as the blonde did not even react to his touch. Something was very, very wrong.
"Did you know, Harry, that Veela are extremely powerful magical creatures?" Guinevere said casually, taking his attention away from Draco.
"Yes," Harry answered, turning to look at her. She was sitting almost regally in her chair, scarlet hair pooled around her, hands clasped together in her lap. She was the picture of perfection, and yet, there was still something about her that bothered him.
"They are so powerful, in fact, that they can act as a conduit of power, acting as a neutral party in a power exchange," she continued, conjuring up a glass of red wine and sipping it slowly, hands delicately holding the crystal.
Harry didn't speak, letting her continue uninterrupted, though his eyes darted once to Draco, who was sitting there complacently, before he focused on her again.
"Which brings us as to why Draco is here today…and to where he was last spring as well," Guinevere stated, taking another sip of her wine.
Harry's jaw dropped. "What?"
Guinevere smiled. "Didn't he tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Harry asked slowly.
"That Draco spent two lovely months as my prisoner," she said.
Harry couldn't move, only stare at her as she finally revealed what he had been wanting to know for months.
"Draco came back from Spain a very confused and sheltered young man. Yes, he had lived alone in a foreign country, with no friends, no family, and no Malfoy connections; but he was still ignorant of many forms of magic…and of who to trust," she said, gazing at Draco lovingly. "It was rumored that the Malfoy family had taken up with Veela somewhere in there line. And once his trait manifested, it was simply a matter of time before he would grow into his full power. It was so easy to get him here, with the promise of information on his Veela status. Something to help him with his changes."
Draco flinched slightly, eyes clearing for a moment. Harry could see that his back was twitching, right where his wings normally sprang from, but then the moment passed, and he remained passive once more. Come on, Draco. Wake up! Harry glanced at Guinevere before throwing caution to the wind and just doing what he wanted.
"Draco?" he asked. Harry turned in his seat to fully face Draco and grabbed his hand, threading their fingers. He tried to not to react as he felt Draco's unresponsive palm just lay in his. "Draco, will you look at me please?"
Draco turned slightly, but barely enough to put Harry into his vision.
"What's wrong? Draco, tell me what's wrong?" Harry cried.
Draco sat there, staring straight ahead at a tapestry on the wall. Harry turned to see what had him so entranced. The tapestry was old, maybe older than the chamber itself, and was woven with brilliant colors and threads, except for a part that was missing. In the center of the piece was a dragon, bowing down to a figure in black with hands stained red, blue eyes shining from beneath their cloak. The blood came from the dragon, who was sporting a gash on it's right side. It was unclear what was behind the figure, as someone had burned that section of the tapestry off. It still remained beautiful, though a mystery.
Harry looked from the tapestry to Draco, and then to Guinevere, who was smiling at him, brilliant blue eyes flashing.
"Have you figured it out then, my dear?"
"It was you," Harry croaked, his grip on Draco's hand like iron, every muscle in his body stiff with fear and horror. "You were the one who did that to him, who whipped and cut him and made him bleed. You're the one who gave him--"
"Yes, well, symbols are very important," she replied indifferently. "Had to make sure the ritual was completed correctly, after all." She frowned slightly. "But then of course, he managed to escape and come to you. And you were untouchable, for the time being."
"But--but why?" Harry asked.
Guinevere looked at him as if she were insulted. "Why, for power, of course. Have you not listened to a single word that I've said? Veela are very powerful magical beings; with Draco, I could have stripped him of his magic, of his power, and all that would remain would be the Veela, which would have to be sacrificed for the transfer to be complete."
"You were going to--you were going to kill him?" Harry demanded.
"Yes," she replied simply.
"For power?"
"Yes."
"But, he's not even a full Veela!"
"No. But he is a powerful wizard in his own right; he's a Malfoy. Those fools who think that blood means nothing have never seen true power. They let Mudbloods roam their streets, enter their schools, live in their neighborhoods. It's disgusting, how they've let purity and honor decline in favor of imagined ideals of equality and harmony," she ranted. "And he was in the tapestry, in the prophecy, as was ordained hundreds of years ago. His death would ensure my power, my supremacy; and with that power I could cure the world."
"You…you're a monster," Harry whispered to himself. This woman was clearly insane. Another Dark Lord, another Voldemort.
"But he managed to escape, which only served to prove how powerful he really was. Once he appeared at Hogwarts, however, I knew the solution was simple. All I had to do was find out where he was staying, reconfigure the wards, and then voila! I would have him," she smiled.
"Hogwarts? How--how did you get into Hogwarts?" Harry asked, mystified.
"Oh my, Harry. Fallen short again I see. Don't tell me you still haven't recognized me?" she laughed at Harry's confused expression.
"Very well, then. Spoil all my fun," Guinevere chided gently.
She stood up slowly from the chair, body held straight, a look of concentration on her pretty face, which began to morph. Her long red hair grew slightly shorter and turned brown. She shrank to a smaller stature, and filled out more around the waist and hips. Her pretty features grew plain, the cheekbones softening, the lips losing their fullness, the jaw becoming a bit stronger. The aura of power that had seemed to surround her shifted, letting more of her strength show through. But her eyes, her eyes were the same. A brilliant blue that flashed dangerously at Harry, as he suddenly recognized where he had seen those blue eyes before, partially hidden behind a pair of innocuous glasses.
Harry stared in astonishment. "Professor O'Malley? Gwen O'Malley?"
She just stared back at him, blue eyes blazing, a smile on her lips.
"Hello, Mr. Potter."
TBC. Please R/R.