Castle of Glass
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.
Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.
Beta read by Arithmancy Master.
Chapter Twelve
Through the Secrets that I Have Seen
July came, bringing with it a brilliant weather and happy days of vacation for the entire Potter clan. They spent them together, often in Godric's Hollow, sometimes in Little Hangleton to switch it up. The eldest Potters were overjoyed to have their entire family gathered and threw dinner party after dinner party, sometimes inviting other inhabitants of the Hollow as well – such as Mr and Mrs McGonagall and their 4 years old daughter Minerva (Harry's old professor, he'd learned with slight horror), old Miss Bagshot (the famous writer of A History of Magic) and also the Linwood family, Lambert included.
To Harry's greater joy, he'd been able to meet other parts of his family as well. His new mother was called Nicole Bird before she became a Potter, and her little brother and father were still alive, both of them Muggles and professional gardeners.
On the other hand, Lora's mother Katherine was born into the pure-blooded family Yaxley and had a sister called Lysandra Yaxley – now Black, married to Arcturus Black, with children Callidora, Cedrella and Charis. That way Harry learned he, or at least his cousins, were related to the Longbottoms, Callidora married with Harfang Longbottom, as well as the Weasleys, through Cedrella's marriage with Septimus Weasley, and also the Crouch family, Charis being married to Caspar Crouch.
Most magical families seemed connected some way or another, and it crept him out horrendously. Didn't people get sick if they interbred too much?
He got his answer in one of the rare occasions when he visited Tom – who usually came visiting him because Mary and Thomas Riddle still weren't entire in favour of having any special people running around their house.
The boys were sitting in Tom's new, lavish bedroom, enjoying the comfort, when Tom decided to retell what he'd learned about his father's past.
"He grew up here, an only child, got educated in how to run the family business – working with horses of all things. How tedious!" Tom explained with an ugly grimace, making the corners of Harry's mouth twitch upwards in amusement.
"He was a bit of a rebellious teen, he's told me, although he wouldn't say what he meant about that... And then, one day when he was 18 years old, he met my mother. A 32 years old witch by the name Merope Gaunt. He later found out she'd drugged him with love potion, but then it was too late – they were already married.
"He doesn't know why the potion suddenly stopped working, but it did and he started to understand what was going on around him. He was in denial at first, he says, didn't want to believe there was actual magic going on. But then, as he caught up on things, he bolted. Put as much distance as he could between himself and... her. He lived in constant fear after that, convinced she'd stand by his bedside one of those nights, spelling him to obey her once more.
"But he never heard of her again, obviously, she died after all. He couldn't bear to touch a woman after that, never getting married, good on him, although his parents were constantly nagging him about it. He thought he'd have time, he said, it's not unusual for Muggle men to marry much later than their women do after all. But then he was called into war, this late September, and... well, you've seen the results of that. He came back home this spring, he told me, wrapped in a package, stuck to the bed until just recently. He'll never be able to walk again.
"But he's learned to accept it all, to live with the thought there is magic, he doesn't bother me about it... although his parents don't seem to be able to give it a rest... Muggles!
"Even though he managed to escape, he has gotten hell from the other Gaunts ever since she lay eyes on him. Marvolo, my grandfather, and Morfin, my uncle, actually got sent to Azkaban for assaulting him, and for attacking the ministry officials who came to get them. But that was even before the love potion incident, and Morfin's actually out again, giving my father hell on a regular basis."
"Your father knew all this? All that happened to the Gaunts?" Harry had asked sceptically. Since when did Muggles know of the magical prison? Or of ministry officials for that matter? Tom grinned lopsidedly at him, eyes twinkling with something that made him tense up in apprehension.
This couldn't be good...
"Come on, I want to show you something," Tom had said, stood up from the bed and walked out of the room.
This definitely couldn't be good, Harry had decided, remembering being pushed up against a bathroom wall and being tortured by a cramping curse the last time his friend uttered that same sentence. He had followed cautiously.
Tom had led him out of the mansion and through the forest behind it, downhill to a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a wall of trees. It was dirty, run down – it looked more like a sty than an actual house, Harry judged. It's entire façade was covered in moss and so many tiles had fallen off of the roof it was full of gaping holes. The windows were tiny and mostly covered by the nettles that grew beneath them. On the rotten wooden door hang a dead snake nailed to it through the head.
That was when Harry had learned what could happen if you interbred too much.
Tom had been about to throw the door open when there was a growl from above them and a very angry man in rags came jumping down from one of the crafty tree branches. His hair was thick, grimy and dust grey, his mouth sporting an impressive yellowing underbite, several teeth missing. He was standing crookedly, somehow, with a hunched back and heavy, gorilla-like arms hanging from their sockets. But the most discouraging about him was his eyes, which was small and dark black, looking in opposite directions.
"Get lost, you urchins!" the man had hissed out in a vicious voice, so fright inspiring Harry had actually taken a big step backwards without even thinking about it.
"Uncle, it is me," Tom hissed calmly and the troll-like man visibly relaxed somewhat.
"You've got brothers?" Morfin hissed suspiciously, one of his eyes piercing Harry with a death glare, the other looking straight into the house wall beside him.
"No," Tom hissed, smiling a little, "this is Harry Potter. A friend of mine."
"A Potter?" Morfin grunted out, his shoulder-blades twitching then and again, as if he wanted to make a leap. "That is acceptable."
The man had taken them into his rickety house, the interior just as run down as the exterior had been. Harry couldn't say he'd had a great time in the house of Gaunt, but he'd learned a great deal about Tom's wizarding relatives.
The Gaunt family was, apparently, the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, and carried the Slytherin locket with pride. Or, at least they used to, before Tom's mother had stolen it when she ran away from home with Tom Sr all those years ago. Morfin was quite obviously upset about all that his sister had done, although he didn't seem to have that much against Tom – thankfully, and had actually spat onto the grime filled floor when done speaking of her.
It turned out Merope Gaunt hadn't had that good a childhood either, and Harry didn't really know what to feel about her. On one hand she'd been a crazy old witch who had enslaved a much younger man to love her. On the other, she had been a very miserable woman, abused by her father and brother who hated her. And the grounds by why they did so was so messed up Harry had gotten a bitter taste in his mouth.
Apparently, the abuse had started as soon she was born just because her birth had been too much for her mother to take, it making her ill enough to die shortly after giving birth. The family, which was deeply conservative, had with the death of the witch lost its source of funds. They had fallen down into desperate poverty, Marvolo refusing to leave his family to work out of pure principle.
It all became worse for Merope when she'd graduated from Hogwarts with grades so low she could barely get employment at all. Her skills in magic deteriorated, and she was soon fired because the employers suspected her to be a Squib. After that her father and brother had started viewing her as completely useless and her magic had become so bad she couldn't even levitate a feather properly, Morfin said with an ugly sneer on his unfortunate face.
Marvolo had then become so angry and desperate he had deigned to take employment in place of his daughter, so that his family could actually eat. Merope was to be married off, although it would be hard to find a wizard who would agree to such a thing with "the ugly piece", as Morfin called her. It had been impossible to find a witch for him, and it would turn out to be almost as pointless to search for a wizard for his sister.
Then, Merope had fallen for a Muggle, and her family had been just about angry enough to simply kill her off after that. Then, as an answer to their prayers, Marvolo had found a match for her – a 53 years old wizard from the pure-blooded Goyle line who had gone unmarried due do his looks as well. The date for the marriage was set when Merope in pure desperation had tried to drug her love interest with a love potion. Morfin had caught her at it and hexed Tom Sr with hives.
After that, the ministry had stepped in, adjusting the memory of Tom's father, and imprisoned Morfin and his father. While they were in Azkaban, Merope had successfully drugged and married her love, run away with him and the locket and never returned.
Morfin had been much more amendable about speaking of another relic the Gaunts prided themselves in. The family ring – a golden trinket with a big, black gemstone at the top of it. Engraved into the stone was a symbol of sorts. It showed a triangle shape with a circle inside, cloven in half by a line from top to bottom. Harry had felt he'd seen it before, but it was Tom who connected the dots.
"That's Grindelwald's sign," he'd said in an accusing tone of voice. Morfin had laughed at him, long and hard. If he looked frightening when angry, he looked bloody mental when laughing. It made Harry want to throw his hands in the air and run far, far away. Then, the crazed man's features turned back to angry and Harry let out a little sigh of relief.
Morfin had lectured them about the symbol, claiming it to be the mark of the Peverell brothers, powerful wizards from the 13th century whom the Gaunts were, apparently, also descendants of. Harry had started to suspect the crazy old man to be delirious, coming up with fantastic circumstances to better his otherwise ruined family pride. Then, he remembered the Parselmouth detail and got an eerie feeling that everything Morfin had told them about was actually true.
It was with great relief that he left the shabby old house shortly thereafter, following Tom back to his new home.
Harry thought his friend had taken the great change of getting a family quite well. He seemed happy, most of the time anyway. He appeared to get along well enough with his father, although he didn't seem to harbour any warm feelings for him, at least not yet. His grandparents, on the other hand, he did not get along with. Not in the least. Harry didn't blame him.
Mary Riddle was a stuck up woman who clearly viewed reputation as the most important thing in life, next to social standing and finances, of course. She didn't even deign to look at her grandson, finding his existence unrefined and against every prejudiced rule and convention she'd set up in the privacy of her prim mind. She reminded Harry too much of his late Aunt Petunia for comfort – not in appearance, but in character. Lady Riddle was also that sort of person who, if she had neighbours important enough, in her opinion, would constantly be on the look out, sneaking peaks over to the other lot to judge and compare.
Thomas Riddle was quite special as well, although he wasn't nearly as hostile as his wife was towards their grandchild. Lord Riddle actually tried to form some sort of connection with Tom, even though one couldn't say he'd succeeded in that regard. He'd tried to teach Tom how to ride and care for the horses, so that he could run the family business in the future. One could say it had ended badly, to put it mildly. Harry didn't know exactly what had happened, but after some sort of incident Thomas no longer spoke or even looked at his grandson – which was an improvement, in Tom's opinion.
But as far as Harry could tell, Tom enjoyed his new home. He liked the great space of the mansion, the freedom of being able to go outside if he wanted to, not having to worry that much about air raids and bombings like he'd used to when living in the middle of London.
One of his new favourite pastimes was, to Harry's horror, bossing the mansion's servants around. He wouldn't necessarily have found it such a bad thing if his friend had stopped at ordering them to bring him sweets or make up his bed. But, no, in fact Tom used the poor Muggles like toys – bringing him things from topmost shelves just for him to take a quick look and then simply order they'd be put back again. He'd tell one of them to do one thing, such as polish his desk chair, while he ordered another one to sit in it, leaning back as he watched them trying to complete their conflicting tasks.
Harry had tried to berate his friend, but had only gotten an evil smirk in return for his troubles. There quite obviously was no helping Tom's sadistic streak.
Letting his own, flaming opinions go Harry wondered how he did it. The servants were there to serve, sure, but there had to be some sort of limit to how much they would do before they snapped. Harry had once asked for a glass of water and had only gotten a sneer in return from the up-struck butler, called Mr Bryce.
He was a man in his fifties, sporting a slight limp, probably the reason why he'd managed to stay out of the war this far. He was very snippy, and followed his mistress' orders like a trained lap dog. He also seemed to like Thomas a great deal, but he didn't seem to harbour many warm feelings towards the wheel-bound Tom Sr, although he certainly did listen to him properly.
Tom, however, seemed to be completely out of his graces and only got cold sneers and silent mutterings from the man. Despite this, to Harry's great astonishment, the butler did whatever his young master told him. Everything. Something wasn't right...
Tom had smiled secretly once Harry confronted him about it. "It's just something I can do," he'd said and snapped for one of the house maids to come forwards. "Watch," he'd said and turned to her fully.
"Sit down," he'd commanded her, and she'd done so. "Put your shoe on your head," he'd said, and she did as commanded, a distant look on her face. "Tell me the truth," Tom had snapped and hunched down to meet her dazed brown eyes. "Do you believe in magic?" he'd asked with a leer.
"Yes, young master," the maid had confessed in a toneless voice, "magic is the devil's work, and we must protect ourselves from it, like good Christians should."
Tom had stood up again and grinned proudly at his friend, dead sure he'd impressed the other. And Harry was impressed, but not in a good way – he'd felt faint. Out of breath. Backed into a corner, somehow. "B-but," he'd stuttered, "it's just like the Imperius Curse!"
"It is," Tom had agreed and grinned widely. "I can make them hurt if I want, too. Without even using a wand. I'll show you-"
"NO!" Harry had shouted and grabbed his friend by the arms in a vain attempt to hinder him somehow. "I don't want to see," he'd rasped out. "Is this what you meant about 'hurting them'? When you told me you could hurt the muggles, all but him... This is what you meant?"
Tom had had the decency to look a bit ashamed once he realized his friend didn't find his actions impressive. But Harry knew that didn't mean he would stop by any means. He just wouldn't do it when Harry could catch him at it.
It was the last week of July and Harry had finally been allowed to come and stay for a couple of nights at the Riddle mansion. It was nearing his thirteenth birthday, and he was in a cheerful mood – not even Mr Bryce's sneers could bring him down. Tom Sr greeted him cheerfully from his desk in the study, where he sat working on the budget for the family business.
"Good day, Harry. How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you," Harry said with a smile, stepping closer to the desk to take a look at the papers the other sat reading. He made a grimace once he saw all the numbers and calculations, making Tom's father chuckle bemusedly at his antics. "That doesn't look like fun," Harry concluded with a shake of his head.
"No, I agree," Tom Sr said, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "It's tedious work, what with the war ruining all good business. Sometimes, I wonder what it's all for. Why do they always have to fight, Harry?"
"I don't know," he confessed, thinking about the great wizarding war where his parents had perished. The war of Voldemort's insanity. "It seems rather pointless and idiotic to me."
Tom Sr smiled affectionately up at him, the corners of his dark green eyes wrinkling slightly. Harry got a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, as always when someone looked at him like that, and smiled back at his best friend's father.
"I believe Tom is in the stables, as unbelievable as it might sound," Tom Sr said, efficiently breaking the moment.
"Really?" Harry said in exasperation, frowning in mistrust. What was he up to now? He hated having to deal with the family's horses, Harry knew.
As soon as he got down to the stables he got his answer – Tom was showing of yet another one of his many talents.
He was standing in the middle of one of the smaller pastures, surrounded by 10 or more horses, running in a coordinated circle around him. Then, he yelled something Harry couldn't quite catch, and the animals halted their gallop to come stand with their muzzles pointing inwards, towards the boy in their midst. Tom commanded them to "stand on your back legs," and the horses complied, arising high in the air. It looked awkward – as if they were trying to imitate the human way of standing, but couldn't get it quite right due to their different body shapes.
Tom looked pleased, though, and told the horses to get down onto four legs again. Then, he commanded one of the horses, a completely black one, to kneel down in front of him. Once the animal had done so, the boy climbed onto its back, holding onto its mane while it arose to its full height. He pointed at one of the white horses and told his stallion something. The animal's eyes narrowed, its ears laid themselves flat against the sweaty neck and it charged forwards, nipping and kicking at its white friend. The other horse scurried away, running off in fright, and Tom laughed loudly; a cold, hollow laughter that made Harry's insides turn to ice.
He was just about to call out to his friend, to make him stop, when somebody else beat him to it.
"Oh NO! What in the name of God are you up to, you little imp? Get down from that horse! RIGHT NOW!"
Mary Riddle, perched in a side-saddle on a handsome brown horse, looked furious. Tom pierced her with a glare and was just about to command his horse to do something else when he caught sight of Harry, standing by the fence, a look of horror on his pale face.
His entire complexion went rigid, as if caught with his hand deep down in a cookie jar. Then, he dismounted with an indifferent mask slipping onto his face, hiding his true feelings while he sauntered closer to where his friend stood looking at him.
"You're here," he said in a faked cheerful voice. There was a harrumphing noise from behind them, and Harry turned around to see Lady Mary trot away on her horse, her head held high.
"Yeah," Harry said lamely, turning back to his expressionless friend. "What are you up to?" he asked wearily.
"Just having a little fun, that's all," Tom said non-committally, shrugging his shoulders and refusing to meet his friend's eyes.
"Fun?" Harry asked in disbelief. "You made it attack another!"
"They're just animals," the other muttered in a defensive tone of voice, crossing his arms over his chest.
"So? That doesn't give you the right to use them like that." Harry glared at the other through the fence, although he knew Tom couldn't see it. It just came naturally.
"I have every right," the other argued, meeting his eyes for a brief second, before looking down again. "They're mine – that old bastard is always going on about how I have to learn about them. How I am to use them."
"I'm pretty sure he doesn't mean for you to use them like that. And they're not yours, you have no plans what so ever to take over the family business – who are you trying to fool?"
Tom stood glaring off in the distance, working his jaw furiously, before casting a tentative glance towards Harry. "Fine... Look, I know you don't like it when I do stuff like that... I won't do it again."
"Not when I can see it, you mean?" Harry asked, but he was smiling slightly, relieved his friend had learned to see reason.
"No," Tom denied, opening up the gate and slipping through out of the pasture. "I really won't go near those bloody things again. They're just useless animals anyway. Let's get inside." And with that the two boys walked up the pathway to the handsome mansion, once again at peace with each other.
Later that evening, Harry and Tom decided to play a prank on Lady Mary, both annoyed at her stuck-up behaviour. She was currently in the sitting room, on her own, reading one of those romantic Jane Austen novels she liked so much. The boys sneaked closer from behind her armchair, not making a sound.
Once they were just behind the stool, Tom reached into his pocket and picked out a baby adder they'd found in the garden earlier that day. They hissed at it to slither over the floor so that it would be in full view for Lady Mary to see. And she saw it, alright.
The woman let out a terrified screech, not dissimilar to that of a displeased owl, and flew up into the armchair, pulling her skirts up while screaming as if deadly injured. "THOMAS! TOM! BRYCE! HELP, OH GOD, HELP!"
Harry and Tom broke out in uncontrolled fits of laughter and she whipped around, almost falling off the chair, and pointed accusingly at them. "You!" she intoned. "You little urchins – get that dangerous creature out of here THIS INSTANT!"
Harry took pity on her, although Tom seemed to have the time of his life, and bent down to croon the terrified little baby snake to slither his way. Once it came close enough he picked it up carefully and started petting it over the head.
He then looked up at Lady Mary, seeing she was just about to faint, flapping the romance novel in front of her face as if it was too hot in the room. "You speak to it," she gasped out, carefully climbing down from her perch in the stool, taking little steps backwards as to not stand too close.
"Are you scared now, you old vulture? Are you about to pee your pants... skirts... whatever?" Tom hissed at her, imitating her stepping backwards by stepping forwards instead.
Lady Mary let out a little yelp at hearing the snake language being spoken, turned around in a hurry and promptly fled the room, leaving her beloved book behind, discarded at the floor.
"Now that was fun!" Tom said with a wide grin, Harry answering in kin. Then there was an odd screeching noise as the wheelchair of Tom Sr came rolling into the room, a frantic looking man inhabiting it.
"I heard screams," he said, looking with widening eyes at the two boys standing in the middle of the room. "That is a snake," he concluded tonelessly, a disturbed look in his eyes.
"Oh, it's not dangerous or nothing, sir, it's just a baby," Harry hurried to explain, holding the adder up into the light for all to see.
"Can you speak to it?" Tom Sr asked in a dead voice, obviously pointing the question in the direction of his son. Tom nodded silently and his father let out a little sigh. "I should have known... just like her..." he muttered, his eyes full of ghosts passed. "Please, get it out of here. No snakes in the house! Understood?"
"Of course, sir, we will," Harry said, Tom nodding at his side. "But, just so you know, it wouldn't hurt anyone. We can control it..." Or, at least Tom could, Harry confessed in the privacy of his mind. They both could speak to it, that was true, but Tom was the one who had the weird gift of commanding animals... and people for that matter.
"That is of no consequence, Harry," Tom Sr said in a tired voice. "If it had been just Tom and I who lived here, all would have been in order. But as it is, we are not, we have to take my parents' wishes into consideration. And then, there is also a total of 13 other people who work here. This is not a private home in that sense, and we can't take such liberties. The snakes stay outside, and that is final."
Harry had to agree what Tom's father said made sense, and hurried outside to let the snake slither back to its siblings and mother, waiting in their lair by the old, hollow willow near the forest edge.
The next morning came with a very uncomfortable breakfast. Lady Mary had evidently told her husband everything that had transpired the night before, and they both ignored the living hell out of their grandson and his wicked snake-daemon friend.
Harry and Tom only found their behaviour amusing and hissed secretly to each other, laughing under their breaths while trying to catch the eyes of the Riddle couple. Tom Sr kept shooting them reprimanding looks, although he seemed amused as well by the turn of events.
Lord Thomas kept looking at his wristwatch, murmuring things into his wife's ear, stroking her hand on top of the table at times. It was a bit weird, in Harry's opinion, but no-one else seemed to take notice.
Then, Mr Bryce walked through the door, four white clad men behind him. Lady Mary and Lord Thomas arose, relief apparent on their faces, and hurried to greet the men.
"Mother, what is the meaning of this?" Tom Sr asked, a deep frown on his face. The old woman didn't meet his eyes, but only smiled softly.
Harry and Tom sprang to their feet in alarm as the four men in white coats started walking towards them, intent looks on their faces. "What do you want?" Harry screeched in alarm, and Tom hissed warningly.
"Stay away!" he commanded as one of them came too close, and the man froze, but his comrades did not. Two of them grabbed a hold of Tom, forcing an injection needle into his arm, the boy's struggles becoming weaker and weaker until he finally slumped together.
"TOM!" Harry and Tom Sr screamed in alarm, Harry trying and fighting the men off by kicking, clawing, biting. But nothing helped, and soon the world turned blurry as something was forced into his body by a sharp, evil syringe.
The last thing he saw before the world turned black was Tom's father trying to get to his son, a desperate expression on his tear-streaked face. However, he was utterly unsuccessful as his wheelchair got in the way.
A clear white roof came into view as he opened his eyes carefully.
It felt like he'd been buried beneath a ton of sand, some of it getting stuck in his eyes, some in his sore throat.
His mouth was dry, his ears were ringing.
Then – he noticed it. He couldn't move. He was stuck!
He looked down at himself and found he was lying on a hospital bed, tied to it with thick bindings over his legs, arms and chest. All he could do was twist his head back and forwards.
As he did so, he noticed Tom in an identically compromising situation, lying in a bed of his own to Harry's left. His friend lay completely still, looking up at the white ceiling with an indifferent expression.
"Tom!" Harry hissed urgently, but got no reaction out of the other. Was he still drugged? No, the drug made them fall asleep, did it not? Were there other drugs?
"Tom!" he tried again, desperate to get the other to acknowledge him. But the other didn't seem to hear him, but was in another world entirely, lost in his mind.
Harry was starting to panic, pulling against the bindings holding him. But they didn't bulge, and he could feel his breathing becoming laboured as the only thing he could think was "trapped, trapped, trapped".
Then, the heavy door decorated with a little barred window opened up, a young nurse and a bald doctor with gigantic eyeglasses walked into the room.
"Pain, you say?" the doctor murmured and the nurse nodded eagerly.
"Yes, indescribable pain in my head, whenever he looked at me. Doris had to rush in and inject him with a sedative for it to go away."
"So the boy inspired severe pain originating in your cerebral cortex?" The doctor looked intrigued, a wild gleam dancing in his eyes as he looked at Tom hungrily.
"Well... If you mean in my head, then, yes," the nurse said, looking a bit uncertain.
"I see," the doctor said, stepping closer to the beds where Harry and Tom lay wrapped into place. "Ah, I see you are awake," he said once he deigned to look at the less interesting boy to his left, Harry tensing up under the scrutiny.
"Let us go," he croaked out in a weak voice. "Please, please let us go."
The doctor only smiled at him in an infuriating way, making Harry's breathing quicken up even more, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"What an interesting scar you have," the doctor said, stretching out a meaty hand to touch it.
Harry's head started ringing and he pulled against the bindings, desperately trying to get away from the touch.
That little speck of wild panic was enough for him to lose it altogether.
Soon, he was yelling in panic for them to let him go. He felt faint, the air not enough, everything too hot, too narrow.
He needed to get out.
NOW!
There was a sudden, slight pain in his upper arm and he felt calmness sweep over him, wrapping him up as if into a snugly blanket.
Everything was alright. Calm.
And Tom was by his side.
This wasn't so bad...
"Severe claustrophobia," someone said, oh – the doctor, Harry realized. "The fear of being trapped... interesting. Keep him drugged on a small dose for the time being. I'll come up with something..."
A/N: Don't tickle a sleeping dragon, I suppose. Hope you liked it! Thank you for the wonderful reviews and the subscription alerts. Until next time!
Mischief managed!
