This was no house—it was a mausoleum. The very walls smelled of rot; carpets and curtains alike had been eaten away with time, their frayed ends coated in dust. It was as if a volcano had erupted within the house and each footprint left their mark on the cloudy floor. Through the cobwebs concealing their faces, portraits of previous Black name-holders peered at them. Their tongues had been rendered senseless long ago but the malice in their eyes was loud and clear—they did not take lightly to intruders. A lone candle flickered on the chandelier, casting everything in a shadowy dance. Draco paused; his legs were reluctant to go on in the dark. Sirius Black bumped into him with a quiet curse, then:
"Keep moving."
"It's dark."
"There's a candle. Aren't you a little too old to be scared of the dark?"
"S-something's there!"
"Quiet." He clamped a hand over Draco's mouth. It tasted like dirt. With the other hand, he pointed the wand down the hallway. A faint light emanated from the tip, revealing what at first seemed to be a goblin. "You're alive, are you?"
"The disgraced son returns," the thing muttered. "And with another filthy mudblood in his arms. Broken out of Azkaban… a murderer, a disgrace to his name… My poor mistress, if she could see this abominable sight with her own eyes, oh how she'd wail, yes… Master wishes to turn this home into a pigsty, stock it full of mudbloods and blood-traitors, but Kreacher won't let Master, no—"
"I'm not a mudblood!" Draco wrenched Black's hand away.
"MUDBLOODS!"
A moth-ridden curtain burst open, revealing a screaming woman within. Draco jumped back, Kreacher bowed low, and Sirius Black sighed. The dust that the portrait had eddied up flew into Draco's mouth and made him choke.
"Filthy half-bred children, a blight on our world, kill them, burn them, stains of dishonour!"
As if on cue, the remaining portraits also began to scream—but this time, it was a incoherent roar. They were practically shaking their frames, scratching at the paint, and for a moment, Draco was sure that they'd be able to claw their way out and into the hall. It sounded like a Quidditch match between two heated rivals. The old woman, who seemed like their ringleader, was the loudest of them all. She was shaking from exertion, her eyes tearing up with rage. Her hands snatched at Draco's face, trying to rip away at his eyes, and then she saw Sirius Black.
"INGRATE!"
Her ensuing anger was the catalyst for Black's outburst, for he immediately seized the curtains and began pulling on them, trying to cover the portrait up. Kreacher hobbled back to his feet and began to push on Black's legs while croaking, "No, no, no!" With one kick, the house-elf went flying. He was swallowed up by the shadows. Draco almost laughed but one look at the surrounding portraits on the walls soon shut him up. They too seemed to hold Black's assault as a personal grudge against them, for the howling grew even louder until Draco had to stuff his fingers in his ears—one of them, at least. The other hand was too broken to do anything. It was hard to believe that this place had ever been habitable—this was a mad-house, an asylum.
"There!" With the leader extinguished, the hall went silent. The portraits went back to their resentful glaring. There was a rustle beneath the curtains but the old woman did not come out. Sirius Black took a firm grip on Draco's arm and dragged him the rest of the way out of the hall and into what seemed to be a dining room. There was a table there at least, though it was missing four legs out of its ten.
"Sit on that chair," he commanded.
"Y-you said you weren't going to kill me, remember!"
"Just shut up and sit down. You've caused enough trouble for tonight."
"Incarcerous." Ropes shot out the wand, and Draco was trussed like a turkey to his seat. They dug in tightly, opening up a new slew of cuts.
"No! But you said—"
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!" He truly was unhinged… but perhaps he recognized the fear in Draco's eyes, for his next words were much quieter. "I-I'm only going to look for something… some rags, maybe, to tie up those wounds. There might be some potions in the basement… I just need you to stay put, alright? I haven't been in this house for… years. If there's something—or someone—in here, I don't need you slowing me down. Understand?"
"Y-you have my wand," he gasped. "Don't you know any healing spells?"
"I haven't practised magic in twelve years. Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually wish to kill everybody… now, stay put. The ropes aren't too tight, I hope."
"I'm bleeding!"
"Only a little." A hint of a smile danced around his lips then disappeared. "You'll be alright. I promise… Kreacher!"
There was a loud crack and the dirty little house-elf from before appeared before their eyes. It hesitated before bowing deeply—if a bit stiffly.
"Enough of that." Black grabbed it by the arm and lifted it onto his feet. Perhaps he'd misjudged his strength, for the elf flew a foot in the air before landing on its back. Draco let out a nervous giggle; Black cursed.
"Master likes his little games, Master likes to abuse poor Kreacher, oh yes he does, the filthy traitor that he is—"
"One more word out of you and I'll have you join your mother on a plaque!" He began to walk out the room. "Watch the girl. Stop her from escaping. If she faints, tell me immediately. Oh, and… don't talk to her."
Aside from the occasional loud thumping from somewhere deep in the house, there was no sign of Sirius Black. How long had it been since he'd left him here? Draco tried rocking the chair experimentally once; Kreacher, despite his outward hatred towards Black, had been on him in less than a second. He was punished by the ropes being pulled even tighter and now, it hurt to draw breath. He wasn't even sure if he could exhale properly; he sat there in the dark panting. It was cold… he suspected it wasn't from the room—Kreacher wore the elf equivalent of a fig leaf and he didn't seem bothered—but from his own body. This was a cold from within, an icy chill that replaced the blood leaving his wounds.
"Kreacher… are you listening? It's too tight."
"Master instructed Kreacher not to speak to the mudblood, as if he would stay in her vile presence willingly; but here she is, speaking her filthy words towards Kreacher. Kreacher will not hear her… oh, the cleaning Kreacher must do, to rid the chair of her stink… Kreacher will do his best but he must not burn the chair, oh what would his mistress think to have a mudblood seated at the dining table?"
"I told you, I'm not a mudblood." He gasped for breath; his head slumped downwards—this small action almost caused him to blackout. His vision was all spotty and although Kreacher was undoubtedly saying something in return, he could not hear it over the buzz in his ears.
"My name is… Avery, you wretched vermin thing. Now, the ropes… Kreacher, the ropes!"
"The mudblood calls Kreacher vermin, yes she does… Kreacher must look at the mudblood for Master told him to but he will not tolerate any more of her foolish speech… the mudblood denies her disgusting stock but Kreacher can see she is made of base material… Kreacher can smell her revolting stench… No Avery would spawn such a filthy child, Kreacher wonders from where she stole her robes, the brat has ruined them… undoubtedly with my blood-traitor Master, Kreacher did not know how far he would debase himself, oh how my mistress would weep to hear that her own genealogy would dare taint itself with such dirty blood; Kreacher should have dropped the chandelier on Master's head years ago."
This was the house-elf his mother had talked so highly about? This was the loyal Kreacher? Proud and diligent Kreacher? The one who made the best lemon tarts? Draco glared at him through squinted eyes. At least Dobby had been subservient until the day he snapped. Dobby had poked his own eyes until they were bloodshot, just for Draco's amusement. He'd wanted to see how far the disgusting little creature would go, to see if it had any shred of self-preservation left. But this thing wasn't just insubordinate—Kreacher wanted to kill him. He was sure of it. The ropes bit deep into his flesh and they were stained a dark red—almost black in the light. His head dipped ever lower… his eyes closed just as a wicked grin appeared on Kreacher's face. It just wasn't fair, he thought. To be captured by Sirius Black, only to be murdered by a bloody house-elf.
He was floating in a black nothing. Was it water? It must have been, for humans couldn't fly without brooms… but then again, he didn't feel very wet. And he could breath freely… perhaps it was a weightless, texture-free grass of some kind. Or maybe he'd been eaten up by a dragon, a gigantic one, and he wasn't floating but falling down its throat and soon enough, he'd land in a belly full of fire. Dragons liked to eat their meat cooked to the point of it being ash… steak-flavoured charcoal, they called it. Presently, he became aware of a cold wetness and he woke up. There was nothing quite like it, he decided. Nothing like being doted on by a serial killer… like a butcher feeding a lamb.
"You're awake," Black sighed. "Good. I was afraid Kreacher had killed you. Don't worry—I've bandaged all your wounds… fed you a bit of Blood-Replenishing potion as well."
"I'm alive?"
"Stay still for a moment. You've only just come around… think it's been around two days. Hard to tell in this house—time doesn't agree with my ancestors. I'm sorry for Kreacher, by the way. He's inherited my mother's nasty streak, very sadistic. Little blighter told me that he was only trying to keep you from escaping… gave him a good kick for that one. He's cleaning your robes—they might not be savable though… I've got sharp teeth. In the meanwhile, I've dressed you in my mum's things… sorry about that."
"Why are you doing this?" He struggled to sit up only to be pushed down firmly. "My father will be looking for me. He…"
What had Theo said again?
"He's a bad gambler! He doesn't have anything, so keeping me for ransom money is useless."
"Really?"
"Yes! Just please, let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone I met you."
"I don't want money," he laughed. "What kind of person do you think I am?"
Was it an innocent question, or a test of sorts? Perhaps he wanted him to be grateful?
"I don't know."
"Well… you're a witch… and with those robes you were wearing, there's no way you're muggleborn. Guessing you read the Prophet? What do you think?" He leaned in, baring his yellowed teeth. "Do I look like a murderer to you?"
"N-no."
"Ha! I can hear your heartbeat from here. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you… although I am sorry for biting your leg. Does it hurt?"
"It's alright," he said hastily. "Can I go now?"
"About that… I'm afraid I can't let you leave just yet. There's things we have to talk about first."
"What things? I told you, I don't know anything! I don't know anyone…"
"Never mind that now, just focus on resting up."
"No!" At Black's quizzical expression, he added, "The sooner you tell me whatever it is you want to tell me, the sooner I can leave, right?"
"Stubborn, aren't you? You remind me of someone I used to go to school with… did you know I went to Hogwarts as well? It's where I met the rat, you know… he was never one for school-work. Seeing him going back to Hogwarts willingly surprised me as much as him being alive in the first place. Ah, but first—what's your name? I never got it, between all the biting and all."
"I'm…" He took a breath. "I'm Carina Avery."
At once, he was sure that he'd made a mistake. The hollows in Black's face seemed to darken, his smile turned into a grimace and it was as if he was staring at someone not presently in the room.
"Avery? I knew he didn't get caught," he muttered, "but I didn't know he had a daughter… Avery?"
"I-I only met him last summer. I don't really know him, I swear. I lived in an orphanage!"
"You don't look like Avery." He reached out a hand and placed it on Draco's throat. He squeezed lightly, almost gently, as if he was unsure of his own actions. "Marlene... I know he did it."
"You're killing me," he coughed out.
But Black had retreated deep into his mind, where no mere words could reach him. Upon hearing Draco cry out, his hands began to squeeze even harder. Draco's eyes squinted involuntarily but this time, instead of laying still, he began to kick out at Black's chest. The man was more frail than he looked; he grunted and shook with each blow. He was screaming something in his ear, the madman that he was, and from the looks of it, crying. How absurd the whole thing was… but this was proof that Black was a serial killer, wasn't it? Draco had seen a movie before that had featured a weepy murderer; tears during the killing seemed very common.
"Ah," Black gasped before pulling off his neck. "God."
Draco sucked in a welcome breath of air, all thoughts gone but to breath, even ignoring the serial killer on the ground. He then attempted to slide off the bed—had Black tucked him in then, like some lovely grandmother? —but before one foot touched the ground, was tackled back into the mattress.
"You can't leave," Black said. His chest was heaving. "I'm sorry. Incarcerous!"
The door slammed behind him; Draco screamed out in horror. Although the ropes were not as skin-bitingly tight as before, the knowledge that he was at the mercy of this lunatic cut deeper than any knife.
It was dark again when Sirius Black returned; the rusty clacking noise of the doorknob made Draco jump—or at least, wiggle, what with all his restraints. His wrists were red but not bloody—he wasn't stupid enough to keep rubbing against the ropes. For the past few hours, he'd done nothing but stare at the room around him. It was still dusty enough for it to be declared uninhabitable, though Black had made sure the bed was clean… stained pictures were plastered all over the walls. Most were defunct—they'd stopped moving a long time ago, he thought. In them, were dirty pictures of muggle bikes and women in bikinis a size or two smaller than expected. It was all very confusing to him—wasn't Black a supporter of You-Know-Who? Perhaps these pictures had served to fuel his anger? But they seemed pristine enough, if you wiped the grime from them. No… these were coveted images.
What were his parents up to now, he wondered? His mother would be the type to make his face front page of the Prophet, alongside a great big printed: "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?" His father would have shut that down… he'd have a bunch of people looking for him in secret. Well, maybe in normal times. Now, with Sirius Black on the loose, and the fact that he'd been missing for at least two days… the cover that his parents had worked so laboriously on would be torn down and everyone would know that Draco Malfoy had turned into a girl. Probably. Would his father be drinking right now? It was about the right hour… he suddenly felt a lump in his throat—the way he'd acted before he'd seen them last!
"I'm sorry," Black croaked. He waved the wand; the chandelier came to life illuminating all the dust particles in the air. "I didn't mean to… do that."
"It's alright… I'll forget everything if you just let me go. You don't need me, honest. I don't know anything—this is the first year I'm to attend Hogwarts."
"You look a little old for a firstie." He sat down on the bed and removed the ropes. "Your wrists…"
"Oh, er, I'm a transfer student. My father wanted me to go last year but there wasn't really time to fit me in but Dumbledore said that I should be able to come in this year so that's why I'll be coming in this September… I think I'll be taking third year classes anyway, since I've been getting home-schooled and all."
"Calm down. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you this time. Swear on my mum's soul."
"You said that right before you choked me out," he mumbled under his breath.
"Alright… so you're Carina Avery."
"Yes."
"You'll be a Slytherin, I wager."
"It's a good house… I think my father was in Slythe—"
"Don't talk about your father!" He wrung his hands. "I mean, just… don't talk about him right now. He's not important, alright?"
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't. Just—alright, look. You see this boy?" He held up a picture of the Weasley family, clearly ripped out from the Prophet. Since when where they important enough to be front page material? "This boy's Ronald Weasley, I'm assuming? He's the one holding the rat. Wait a minute… how did you know who he was if you haven't even gone to Hogwarts yet?"
"Er, my friend! He goes to Hogwarts and he tells me things." He pressed a hand over his chest to still his beating heart. Black frowned then nodded.
"When you go to Hogwarts this year, I want you to get his rat."
"Oh god! You're letting me go after all."
"Did you hear me? I want the rat."
This was the final straw: Black was mad. Why, Draco would bet a bag of Galleons that there were at least a dozen rats in this very house.
"I'll get it," he said. Then, "How? He'll probably be keeping it in his common-room."
"Getting sorted into Gryffindor is one way." He snorted. "But with a name like Avery, probably not."
What had his parents told him? He wasn't sure if Carina was supposed to have been sorted yet or not… how did they deal with transfer students anyway? But it wasn't as if he could get into Gryffindor if he wanted to… he was a Slytherin, no matter what he said.
"I'm already sorted."
"What?" Black scratched his mane. "Guess things have changed since my time."
"Yes, er, I had a private sorting during the summer."
"You don't need to tell me—you're a snake."
"I'm sorry… but I'll find a way to get the rat. Please don't be mad."
"It's fine, fine… try getting the password off someone."
"I don't have any friends in Gryffin—"
"THEN MAKE ONE! OR GET YOUR SLYTHERIN FRIENDS TOGETHER AND CAPTURE SOMEONE AND MAKE THEM TELL YOU! USE A KNIFE, MAGIC, I DON'T CARE—JUST GET THE PASSWORD!"
"Stop, stop." He cowered. "I don't know—I'm sorry, I'll do it, just stop yelling, please."
Black got up abruptly and walked over to the window. He laid his forehead against the cool glass, ignoring the clumps of dust that fell into his hair. When it was that filthy, Draco mused, a little bit of grime probably made no difference.
"Carina, I'm sorry. I am… I'm just so… I'm just so angry; you don't understand—how could you? You're just a kid." He squeezed his eyes shut but a tear found its way out anyway. It trickled down his ashen face, leaving behind a white trail. "Fuck! What am I doing? She's a kid… a kid."
It was the sort of conversation that wasn't for anyone but themselves.
"C'mon, Sirius. Get a hold of yourself, c'mon. You're close… so close. She's not him—focus. She's not him, she's just a kid."
He was close to breaking again, Draco could sense it. His knees were shaking it was a wonder he was upright and he'd begun to smash his forehead against the glass.
"It's okay," he said cautiously. "Just… er, crying is good, I suppose. You don't need to bottle it up."
"The first person I talk to after twelve years and it's a kid." He chuckled. It broke down into a gasp halfway.
"I'm not stupid, you know. I'm thirteen! I know things. I know what it's like to be mad… you're just like my parents," he added rashly. "They think I'm too stupid to know the truth too."
"Yeah?"
"You've kidnapped me and now you're telling me to fetch you a rat! And you think I wouldn't know what it's like to be angry?"
"I'm not just saying this because you're young, Carina. It's just… I mean, look at you. Well fed, nice clothes, that pompous haircut…"
"I grew up in an orphanage."
"You ever see a friend die? In front of you?" His eyes were on the verge of popping out of his face. He walked slowly over to the bed; Draco recoiled as he sat down. "The worst part is, I could have stopped it. I could've saved her… I see that now. Nothing to do in Azkaban besides watch your memories over and over and over again… it's like a rerun, only magnified on the parts that you don't remember. If I just moved my hand a little bit to the right… I could have blocked Traver's curse."
Sirius Black drew his knees to his chest. He wasn't looking at Draco anymore; his head was down and his voice muffled.
"I didn't kill James and Lily… but I might as well have done. How did I not see it? It was so obvious… I must've seen that memory at least a million times… Peter! How did I not see it? I signed their death warrants that night and I was happy! They must've remembered that moment too… Lily always thought I was rash; she would've blamed me, I know she would. And James… he must've known Peter was weak. A traitor. He was too smart to fall for it, not like me—I believed Peter entirely. But he trusted me, James trusted me… he wasn't that smart after all, believing in my words. What did I do to earn his trust anyway? I was the one who almost revealed Remus' secret, I was the one who let Marlene die—just couldn't block that spell, could you? Just couldn't practise your wandwork, could you? Even though it was the middle of a war, you just couldn't commit… no, you had to play around with motorbikes and Emily Hoss… probably doesn't even know who you are by now! No… wait, no… even the muggles know who you are. She'll think you a psycho, a serial killer. She'll be glad that you dumped her before it all, consider herself lucky she wasn't one of your victims… what story that'd be.
"But you were content to die, weren't you? Never mind that Harry was alive, never mind that Harry lost his parents… no, you were happy to rot in Azkaban so long as the rat was dead. I was always so self-conceited, always so proud… you didn't even get the worst of it. Remus was alive. Harry was alive. You could have lived, escaped. You could have… but Peter was dead, so who cared? Peter… the little bastard, I should have killed him in first year. He was always an ankle-biting git, god knows how many times I told James to ditch him… but him and Remus—blind idiots! But he's alive… Peter's alive… I wonder how I'll kill him? The muggles drown rats in little buckets… he's too fat for that and anyway, I expect he'll transform before a whisker touches the water."
He was like a little frenzied balloon, inflating and deflating in seconds. He was breathing so loudly Draco was sure that he'd faint any second. He lifted his head—his beard was matted with all manner of liquids—and stared blankly at Draco. It took him a minute before a spark of recognition lit his eyes.
"It's funny. I haven't eaten in a week and yet, I feel so much energy. Look—my hand's shaking. It's much easier being a dog—you can't think as much and I can concentrate on getting the rat. It's being human that's the trouble… that's when I get these fits… this need to strangle something… being human means I can understand why I'm so angry and it just overwhelms me. I can't focus on Peter as well, too many memories, too many… if you could speak dog, then I'd be able to rest."
He clenched his hands into little boney fists. Blood seeped out from between his knuckles.
"I don't want to scare you. You almost look like she did… only when I hear your father's name, I get this need to hurt you," he admitted. "It's not you that I want to kill, I keep telling myself that. But… to think that after all this time, someone like Avery gets his happy ending while James and Lily lay buried in the ground… I can't stand it! People tell me Voldemort is dead; there's nothing to worry about any longer. I see them in the streets—no one seems to remember..."
"Nobody wants to remember bad things, I suppose. And besides, Harry Potter," he loathed to say it, "destroyed You-Know-Who. It's done."
"No!" Black grabbed Draco's face, smearing blood all over his cheeks. "They're still out there, they still live free. Not all of them went to Azkaban… I don't know how much you know about your father, but he… he's a Death Eater! Avery! Malfoy! Nott! Snape! Macnair! The filth walks free, most of all—Peter! That's no mere rat… don't you get it? He's like me—an Animagus. And, and… to think I taught the dirty coward how to transform in the first place. Oh god, why did I teach him how?"
"W-what are you going to do?"
"You have to bring me the rat. Carina—forget your classes, forget your exams. This might be the most important thing you ever do in your whole life!"
"And then?"
"I'll let you go. You'll never see me again. I won't hurt you, don't worry."
"Are you going to kill my father?" He wasn't sure if he was talking about Avery or Malfoy.
"I," Black faltered. He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and nodded. "I have to. Don't worry, he won't suffer—I'll give him a painless death."
"No! I'm helping you catch this rat, remember? You have to do this for me, you have to spare him!"
"I don't—I DON'T OWE YOU A DAMN THING! YOU THINK I CAN'T DO THIS MYSELF? I'M LETTING YOU GO FOR ONE MEASLY FAVOUR AND YOU THINK YOU CAN ASK THIS FROM ME? YOU THINK I WANT TO DO THIS; YOU THINK I WANT TO KILL YOU?"
"You're a psychopath," Draco sobbed. "I can't do this!"
"Yes you can. Carina, look at me. You can do this. You must. Kreacher!"
The elf appeared with a sulky bow.
"Master asks me to wash the mudblood's robes, Kreacher must burn his fingers after—"
"Kreacher, SHUT UP!" Black leaned over and slapped the elf on the head. "Carina, give me your arm."
Draco hesitated before extending the arm that Black had once broken. Despite being healed, the skin was still a bright pink-red. He trembled as Black grasped his fingers in his own rough hands. Was he going to break it again? Was that his punishment? He'd said he wouldn't hurt him but he was obviously a liar.
"Do you know what an Unbreakable Vow is?"
"Y-you can't. No."
"Who has the wand here?"
"You."
"Then I can do this. Kreacher, get your worthless self up here, now!"
"I won't do it," Draco gasped. "I'll say no."
"I should never have brought you here. I should have let you bleed out in that alley. Look at me! If you really believe the Prophet, what makes you think I won't kill you too?"
A flash of inspiration lit up Draco's features. That was it. He could, at the very least, stop Sirius Black from killing him; the tools were all here.
"Then you'll have to make me a vow too!"
"What, you want me to buy you a unicorn?"
"No. You have to promise not to hurt me."
"Make it fatally… otherwise the next time I snap, I might just die when you cry—literally."
"D-deal."
"Kreacher, your finger."
"Master makes an Unbreakable Vow with a mudblood. Kreacher is ashamed to be part of this unholy union," he muttered. He laid a sticky finger over their intertwined wrists.
"Will you, Sirius Black, swear never to kill me?"
"I will."
A band of white fire slithered out from the elf's twisted fingernail. It bound itself tightly around their wrists and burned itself into their flesh. It was hot to the point where Draco felt it sting just for a second—then his entire hand went cold and numb.
"Now give me your other hand. Good girl. Don't cry. Kreacher, your finger again. Alright." He closed his eyes, perhaps going over the words in his head, then spoke.
"Will you, Carina Avery, do your utmost to capture and bring to me the man named Peter Pettigrew?"
"I-I will."
"Will you swear never to reveal information concerning the whereabouts of Sirius Black unless I command otherwise?"
"I will."
"Good. It's done."
Both of their wrists—left and right—were now marked with thin, rope-like burns. Black grimaced; he pushed Kreacher off the bed and dismissed him. They sat there in silence, their heads bowed under the weight of what they'd done.
"I didn't know house-elves could take part," Draco whispered. It seemed unreal to him that he'd sworn a vow with this madman. Still, now that he'd sworn never to kill him, he felt much better about the whole ordeal.
"People underestimate them." Black shrugged. "Give Kreacher a wand and he'd be in the running for the next Dark wizard. Oh and… don't tell anyone that I'm an Animagus. I'm not registered. I would have included it in the vow but I wasn't sure your body could handle it."
"I wo—" His tongue rolled up and over, down into his throat. It was only for a moment, but Draco found gagging afterwards. "What did you do?"
"A tongue-tying curse. Just in case you forget. Once you're at Hogwarts, you'll be surrounded by friends, right? Friends make for loose lips."
"Then why couldn't you do that earlier? Why the vow?"
"Spells like that can be broken. I can still hide if people find out I'm an Animagus. I can't if you're feeding them intel about my whereabouts—don't look at me like that. Did you think I'd let you go to Hogwarts alone? No, you're going to be reporting to me regularly. But don't worry—catch the rat and you'll be free."
"You said he's like you—what if I catch him, and he turns into a man in my pocket?"
"Can't you do a stunner? No? What do they teach kids these days? Alright, tomorrow we'll search the house for things to put dear Peter in. There ought to be a bunch of nasty little contraptions in here—my father's speciality, that one. I hope we find one that pinches his tail."
Black looked at him expectantly, as if he wanted him to laugh.
"Look, Carina. About earlier… I'm sorry. I snapped, I admit it. You don't know what it's like for me—sometimes I think I'm back in my cell—but it was wrong to yell at you. You're a good kid… I shouldn't even be forcing you to do this but listen, I can't go back there. You understand? I won't. And even if I wanted to trust you—and I do—it would be stupid to let you go back without any precautions. Right?"
"R-right."
"You've got blood on your face." He looked embarrassed. "Here, I'll show you to the bathroom. You can clean up there. C'mon, get up. You can walk—I didn't bite you too deep last time."
Draco slipped his feet to the ground. His left ankle was clothed in heavy bandages. What scared him most wasn't the covering—it was the fact that he felt nothing there. He tapped it experimentally on the ground.
"I don't feel anything."
"That's the ointment doing its work. You ready? Don't worry—if you fall, I'll catch you."
It was all very reminiscent of a dream. Some part of him clutched to the bed, knowing that if he stepped foot out the door, he would wake up. Black half-pulled, half-pushed him towards the exit… he was whispering strange things, like, "Don't be scared," and, "I've already checked. Nothing but Kreacher and a few doxies out there." The door opened to the rest of the house and they were swallowed by the darkness once more.
He was only washing his face, so he'd insisted on Sirius Black being present in the bathroom. At first, when he'd come in alone, the mirror had scared him to death by showing some strange, heavy-lidded woman. He still wasn't sure if it was the woman herself who'd frightened him or the fact that he'd thought that it was his actual reflection. Black had come running in at the sound of his scream, only to scoff at the sight.
"It always liked my cousin more," Black said moodily. One tap of the wand and she'd disappeared in a smiling mist. Then he'd wiped the moisture off the surface and finally Draco could see his pinched, terrified looking face in the glass.
The hair his mother had so intricately tied into a hundred knots was now scraggly and matted and running down to his shoulders. Dried blood covered most of his features, but Potter's green eyes struck out vividly in the bleakness—it was just like him, Draco thought bitterly. Just like Potter to be an attention seeker. In place of his robes was a faded white nightgown—it looked like curdled milk.
"I had to take your robes off to dress your wounds." Black looked on with a bit of guilt. "Tore it up a bit too—blimey, it's tight. But don't you worry, Kreacher mends all my mum's old clothes religiously. Plenty of experience with torn robes."
"Don't you have," Draco paused. It was true that Black couldn't kill him, but was it wise to antagonize and needle him when he was so obviously mad?
"You wouldn't want my mum's robes. Kreacher's been all over them—this I found squeezed under the mattress. It looked clean enough. Anyway, just wash your face."
The water was jet-black at first. On Sirius Black's advice, he let it run for a minute or so until it was relatively clear. It was extremely cold and as it erased the blood, it froze up his head and helped ward away any stray thoughts. He sucked it into his mouth and swished. It was like he was washing away the experiences of the last week. Black handed him a towel; it still had small traces of dust between its furry follicles.
"You've still got a bit there, next to your nose. There you go."
Draco sighed and turned the water off. His reflection was much pinker than before and his fringe was dripping wet. He dabbed at it with the towel and sniffed. To his displeasure, there were hints of black around his eyes. The make-up mother had put on him… water did little to no effect on it. He rubbed at it with the damp towel—small bits of black were stained on the fabric but now his eyelids were a bit red. Disgusted, he threw the towel over his back.
"If Kreacher saw you mistreat my father's towels that way, he'd have a heart attack."
"I'm sorry."
"Nah, don't be." He stomped on it before twisting his toe deep into the towel. "It's good luck if a house-elf dies in your bathroom."
"I never heard that one before."
"See, that only applies to slimy little gits like Kreacher. You probably had one of the nicer ones, like the ones at Hogwarts."
"My orphanage didn't have any elves."
"Right, sorry. Are you done then? Good, let's get back to my room."
They passed the shrunken house-elf heads on their way back to the topmost floor; Sirius sighed wistfully. They were coated with grime, moreso than the rest of the house, enough to stand out. He supposed that Kreacher avoided these things as much as he could—after all, Draco wouldn't have liked to clean a bunch of human heads either. It was on the third floor when he fell, dirtying his newly-cleaned face with a layer of dust.
"There we go," Black grunted as he pulled Draco's arm around his shoulders. "Good thing you worded your vow the way that you did—otherwise, I might've bit it right there."
"I just tripped, that's all."
"You lost a lot of blood and you had a lunatic like me screaming at you when you needed to rest. Think you can make it up the stairs? Just one floor left."
"Yes."
"You're much more tolerable when you aren't crying, y'know that? Sorry—my fault, I know."
How had Sirius Black brought him up here in the first place? Perhaps a Hovering Charm of sorts… he doubted that the frail man could lift an infant, let alone a thirteen year old. They passed a locked door bearing the name of a, "Regulus Arcturus Black", who Draco supposed to be a brother or an uncle or a grandfather of sorts, and finally made their way back into the most muggle-like room of Grimmauld Place.
"I'll sleep on the floor," said Black.
"It's covered in dust."
"What, you want me to sleep on the bed? Ha! Look at your face go. Nah, don't worry about me. Got my fur-coat on at all times, remember?"
Draco shuffled back under the sheets then stole a quick glance at his stolen wand. Black didn't miss a beat.
"Don't even think about it. I'm not a deep sleeper—I'll wake up before you even touch my tail, let alone your wand. Get back in bed."
He sighed and pulled the sheets over his head. If this had been even a few months ago, he'd comfort himself by saying sleep would fix all things. He knew better now. The thing that would help was sleep itself… Theo had told him something morbid, that you didn't know if you were alive or dead when you were asleep. He knew that Theo had meant to scare him but now it was like a personal mantra of comfort. When he was sleeping, it was as if he didn't exist, as if nothing had ever happened and the world had never been made.
"Do you think my father is looking for me?"
There was no answer. He supposed that Black had turned to a dog now. Well, if that wasn't a sign that it was time to sleep, then Draco wasn't sure that there was one. He turned over and wrapped his arms around a pillow and like someone turning out the light, thought no longer.
Black's voice fell on deaf ears.
"I'm sure he's worried sick about you… you're nothing like your father though. I guess you take more from your mother, eh? Carina? You asleep? Good… that's good. You're a tough girl, you know that? A really tough girl… I'll get you through this, safe and sound."
He sat on a chair next the window. He would not sleep more than a minute, though not for a lack of trying. The moon, having watched her fill of the excitement, retired behind a shawl of rain-filled clouds.
