A/N: Hetero relationship warning! Draco's contribution to The Bag, and a Slytherin's advice. Long chapter, I know, but it just didn't break down--so make sure you all personally complain in your reviews, okay? (hint: that was a shameless and yet thinly veiled plea for reviews) The spell is winding down, it won't be long now.... Plus, a little surprise at the end of the chapter!
See previous disclaimer.
Chapter Fourteen
Draco Malfoy, Earl Sir Draco Malfoy to some, waited impatiently for Cedric to return. Every few minutes he would glance at the clock on the wall, counting down the few remaining minutes until his spell would collapse and send Cedric Diggory back to face an uncertain, new future. Oh, there had been others involved in bringing young Diggory back, of course—Sally not least among them—but the leader of the spell casting team, the nexus of the ritual, that had been one Draco Malfoy. He could still feel the residual traces of the spell lingering in his magical core, draining his magic to keep Cedric here. He only hoped that, if this dimension were to continue to exist when Cedric returned, he had enough left for just a few more days with Sally. That would be enough, he thought, just a few more days. Then he didn't care whether he lived or died…as long as he could be certain that Sally would be safe. Perhaps if he sent her to Australia…there wouldn't be any significant tsunami damage there, or fallout from the nuclear strike against Harry. And, he could easily have the goblins transfer what was left of the Malfoy fortune to the Sidney branch of Gringott's. Sally would never want for anything; neither would her children or grandchildren.
He snorted at his own maudlin foolishness. Imagine! Draco Malfoy, former Prince of Slytherin and Foil of Gryffindorks everywhere, pureblood poster boy and muggle-hater extraordinaire…head over heels, completely and totally in love with a muggle woman. And, not only in love with her, but willing to send her away to protect her, even though it would cost him his only chance at love. Oh yes, how the mighty had fallen…and Draco Malfoy cursed himself for not falling like this years ago.
Draco could still feel both of his arms, and both of his feet. 'Phantom limb syndrome', they'd called it at St. Mungo's. Tragic, and quite untreatable, terribly sorry…just like they had been so sorry, Lord Malfoy, because of the nature of the curse that hit you we won't be able to regrow your limbs. Or remove your scars. Or make you look human again. You should be thankful to be alive, after all. Had it not been for Harry Potter…
Potter. Harry bloody effing Potter. And owed a life debt, of all things, by what remained of Draco Malfoy. Truly, the Fates had been saving up for the last of the Malfoys.
And that, all in all, was that. He was, indeed the last of the Malfoys. The curse which had burned off his left arm and foot had also removed most of what made him a man, as well. Or at least put enough scarring on him that he was certain no woman would ever agree to bed him this side of an Imperius. Until, of course, he met Sally.
It had been a bitter, almost suicidal man (but, of course, Malfoy's don't do suicide) who had been walking the streets of muggle London that day, secure in the knowledge that the muggles wouldn't even notice the glamours he had to wear to appear human. A pinned-up sleeve was one thing; even dashing, properly carried. The ruin of his face was another matter all together. Diagon Alley was right out, as far as Draco was concerned. Every way he turned, he could feel the witches and wizards noticing him, feeling the ebb and flow of cosmetic magic around him, recognizing him for who and what he was. Only in the muggle areas did he feel comfortable, and if that wasn't a supreme irony he didn't know what would be.
The first indication he had that something was wrong was just a feeling. A little niggling sensation in the back of his mind, some extra sense learned along the way that someone, somewhere close by was about to do something nasty. A useful trait to have for a Malfoy and a Slytherin, especially in a world dominated by overly righteous Gryffindors. Cautiously, he had slipped his wand into his hand, keeping it concealed close to his body while he dropped into a seat at a sidewalk café. He had just ordered tea and scones when he noticed the truck moving slowly down the street.
Later, he would not be able to recall just what set off his internal alarms. As best as he could remember, he had stood, shouted a warning, and cast the strongest shield charm he could over himself and several other patrons at the café, making sure to cover a mother and her infant as best he could.
Then the truck exploded.
It was only the single explosion, but for Draco Malfoy it was the war against Voldemort all over again. Thankfully, his shield charm had protected those café patrons behind him from the worst of the blast, but several of them were still injured. Without thinking, his wand was out and he was casting healing spells left and right, lifting his head between each charm to scan the area for further threats. He had just finished putting a bone-mending charm on the young mother's wrist when his warning to her not to use it for another several hours was interrupted by a soft voice.
"She really needs a splint on that wrist…I can make her one if you can hold the baby."
Draco had turned and shrugged. "I'm sorry," he said. For some reason, he had been polite, almost shy rather than snapping at the fool muggle as he might have. "My arm," he said, turning his shoulder to show the pinned sleeve as an explanation. "I've only the one arm…." He trailed off, hoping the bright-eyed woman holding the child would take a hint.
No such luck. In a calm, much too reasonable voice she said, "Well, put your stick in your pocket, sit down and then you can rest him on your lap while I take care of his mother."
Years later, Draco still had no idea why he had done as the young woman suggested. Oh, he hadn't put his wand (muttering "it's not a stick") in his pocket, but laid it on the table within easy reach. Before he knew it, he had a lapful of drippy infant smearing its secretions all over the front of his Savile Row suit, grabbing at his lapels with its pudgy hands and cooing at him while he sat, helpless. Meanwhile, his bright-eyed tormenter was briskly improvising a wrist splint from a newspaper, a disposable nappy and a spare infant jumper. Draco found himself so mesmerized by her creativity that he didn't notice the infant in his lap going for his wand until it was too late. Horrified, Draco watched the little delinquent rub his hawthorn beauty all over its face, coating said wand with mucus, saliva and Merlin only knew what else! Of course, with one arm he risked dropping the now-giggling brat if he retrieved his property, but still! He was just gathering himself to make the attempt—perhaps if he moved quickly enough—when little Miss Bright Eyes came, scooped up the little monster and returned it to its pram.
"My wand!" slipped out before Draco had the first thought. Then, realizing just what he'd done, he tried to cover up his gaffe. "Er, I mean, my wallet! I've lost my wallet!"
Bright Eyes paused in settling the baby in the stroller and gently pried his wand from the desperate clutches of infancy. The smile on her face was blinding as she turned back to Draco. "I can't help you with your wallet, sir, but I believe this is yours." Before she returned it, she took an errant napkin and wiped the worst of the goo from his wand. "I understand that you folk are quite touchy about your…wands."
Blushing furiously, Draco retrieved his most prized possession. "Thank you, Miss…?" Well, he could always obliviate her later, he supposed.
"Sally…Sally Darrow-Wright, sir. And you would be?"
"Draco…Draco Malfoy."
"Ah, well then, many thanks to you, Wizard Malfoy, for holding the baby." With another quick smile, she turned from a gobsmacked Draco to finish securing the wiggling baby. For a moment, Draco was speechless, then he was busy fielding the thanks of the nearby patrons for his quick thinking, and finishing up healing what he could of the injuries.
A part of his mind kept insisting that he'd be going to Azkaban for this, despite knowing full well that the Statues of Secrecy had been effectively shredded months before.
The rest of Draco basked in the glow of being acknowledged and effusively thanked for being, of all things, helpful to his fellow man. It was a unique and all too pleasant sensation.
And so, for the next several hours, Draco and Sally Darrow-Wright—who, he learned, had been trained as an Army medic—worked with the emergency responders to clear debris, locate the wounded, heal minor wounds and triage the more serious to various muggle hospitals. The pair fell into a natural, easy working relationship. Draco did the wand work, and Sally was the able pair of hands that he could no longer be. When one medic snarled a comment about 'burnin' 'em at the stake, not workin' with 'em', a suddenly enraged Sally was in his face. She didn't seem to be in the mood to spare any words as she informed the man that Draco had saved lives and healed the injured while he was still sitting on his fat arse drinking tea in the station so he could sodding well shut his trap. When the stunned medic had attempted to rally by accusing Draco of 'hiding behind the bird's skirt', Sally's backhand slap had knocked him sprawling…just in time for a supervisor to appear and take the shaken medic away for a talking to.
Draco had never seen anything so beautiful in his life as the enraged, dust-covered woman who had spun on him with a snarled "What?" When he realized that he was snickering at Sally's handling of the medic, he quickly schooled his features into a blank mask.
"Nothing, Miss…I didn't say anything…but thank you for your words."
Sally had merely 'humphed', muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'men' and led him to the next pile of rubble.
Later that day, as evening began to fall, Draco found himself filthy, exhausted and totally unwilling to leave the young woman's side. After a hurried exchange of numbers (yes, Draco Malfoy had a cell phone…after all, he wasn't his father) the two agreed to meet for dinner that evening, after they had each gone for a quick shower and change.
Dinner had gone well, and the two parted with plans to see each other the next day for lunch. Lunch led to another dinner, which led to another lunch, and before the end of the week Draco Malfoy was forced to admit to himself that he was dating a muggle and probably already madly in love with her.
The shock of this realization made lunch conversation particularly difficult that day. He knew that he needed to break the relationship off immediately, before either of them had a chance to develop any more feelings for the other, but he just couldn't.
Sally, bless her, was reading him like a book. With characteristic bluntness, she confronted him and forced him to admit that he was hiding something from her. When he mentioned 'scars', she just shrugged and said that she figured as much…the lack of an arm was a dead giveaway. Draco's attempts to graciously tell her that his scars might be a bit worse led to Sally's dragging him back to her flat for a viewing of said scars.
When Draco dropped the glamour concealing his face, Sally had just looked at him carefully and said, "Fine. Now, strip, I want to see how far they go."
Draco still didn't know how she had managed it but a few minutes later he was standing mother-naked in the center of Sally's living room while she circled him. An expressionless face and practiced eye surveyed the wreck of his body in its entirety before she came to stand in front of him at last.
"So…that's it, then? No more magic makeup to take off?" she demanded.
Draco shook his head dumbly, too embarrassed and ashamed to speak.
"Well, then…I don't know what you're all torn up about, me Lord," she grinned wickedly. "After all, you've still got all the little boy bits. I wonder if they might be interested in plain old me?"
And then, she kissed him with such ferocity that the two of them tumbled onto her divan, his prosthetic foot skittering across the floor.
It was some time later before they bothered to look for it.
***
Much later, when they had both acknowledged that they were seriously dating, Draco had worked up the courage to ask her just why she was wasting her time with him, when she could have any man she wanted.
Sally had smacked him upside the head and swung a leg over his waist to straddle him as they sat there on the divan.
"Because, me Lordship Earl Sir Mush-for-brains, I don't want just any man…I want you, you horrible prat. Don't ask me again." And then she had smacked him once more for good measure before kissing him senseless.
Draco, not being totally stupid, had never asked again.
***
Now, Draco Malfoy was comfortable with the fact that he was madly in love with a muggle. He was even seriously contemplating asking said muggle to become the next Lady Malfoy, mother of his heirs. Had it not been for their involvement in this project, with all of the uncertainty that came with it, he probably would already have asked Sally to make an honest man out of him. Sitting there waiting for Cedric to be shown his flying love nest (as Sally had called it), Draco smiled. Certainly he could afford something similar and the trip to the United States to purchase the beast—much less the flight back home in the thing—might make an excellent honeymoon. And, now that he thought about it, why hurry back to England? The project would be over, one way or another, here in a few minutes. As far as he knew, neither he nor Sally had anything to keep them in the UK, and with things the way they were…why not?
Smiling, Draco made a decision. Yes, this evening…he'd ask Sally to be his bride. They'd worry about rings and other silly details later. But, where to take her? Someplace elegant, certainly, and private…hmm, how about….
Draco snapped out of his musing when Sally slide down beside him.
"Oi, Malfoy, spill it. What's going through that evil Slytherin brain of yours?"
Draco looked back, doing his best to put an appropriately evil glint in his eye. "I was just pondering where to take you for dinner tonight," he grated out.
"Hmmm…planning on getting me drunk then having your wicked way with me?" From the way she was leering, Draco got the idea that it wasn't going to be Sally who was wickedly had that evening.
"Alas, found out! All my plans, brought to naught! I guess we'll just have to order take-away."
"Mmm, all the better, it'll save time that way," Sally smirked.
Draco was saved from having to come up with a suitable rejoinder by the group's return. "Later, love," he murmured before turning to the approaching Cedric Diggory.
When Cedric was seated, Draco turned to him.
"Alright, Diggory…we don't have much time remaining, so you'll excuse me if this is brief. First, put these in your pockets." Draco handed over two identical shrunken trunks, which Cedric carefully put away.
"Next, you'll need this," Draco extended a small gold key towards the teen. With a curious look, Cedric took the key from him.
"Is this what I think this is?" he asked.
"If you think it's a Gringott's key, you're right," Draco answered. He was pleased to note that Cedric's eyes widened.
"That," Draco indicated, "is a key to an unlabeled vault in the Paris Gringott's branch." He gestured for Cedric to put the key away as he continued. "I'd suggest you not loose that, as there are between 200,000 and 250,000 galleons in that vault. You won't have to show any identification beyond that key. It's one of several vaults that my father established 'just in case' during the first Voldemort war, and as far as we've been able to determine it has been untouched ever since. I realize that money isn't everything," he said, giving significant looks at several of the group, "but it IS power, and influence, and several other things that you'll need to protect Potter from the Ministry, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord."
Draco sighed before he continued. "I know you'll think I'm just being Slytherin when I say this, but trust no one! Especially the person you know as Mad-Eye Moody, the DADA professor. He's really a polyjuiced Death Eater named Barty Crouch, Jr.—and the reason the third task ended in a portkey straight to the Dark Lord."
Cedric gasped in shock. How could a Death Eater get into Hogwarts, past all of the Ministry security, not to mention Dumbledore…?
Draco seemed to be reading his thoughts. "He's been impersonating Mad-Eye all year long, tweaking the tasks behind the scenes to insure that Potter wound up victorious in the third task. If Potter hadn't been such a Gryffindor, he would have snatched the cup and been portkeyed out alone, leaving you behind. Of course, if he'd done that, we wouldn't be here right now, would we?" Draco broke off, coughing, and gratefully accepted a drink that Sally offered him from his flask before he went on.
"At any rate, you'll be returning to your time a fraction of a second after you left…close enough that no one should notice the difference. We think—hope—that the temporal spell distortion will deflect the AK, allowing you to survive. In case it doesn't, then I'd suggest that you dodge." He shrugged. "Best we can do, I'm afraid. At least this time you won't be caught flat-footed…we hope." Another swig from the flask, and then he smiled.
"Let's assume that you manage to survive the AK. You'll be in a graveyard with Potter and Wormtail…Peter Pettigrew, and a homunculus of the Dark Lord."
"Pettigrew? He killed Harry's parents and framed his godfather for it!" Cedric burst out.
Draco nodded. "So you know about Pettigrew, and Sirius Black, eh?" When Cedric gave a single nod, Draco continued. "Good. I suppose Potter told you about Black being framed, then? Well, it's true. At any rate, Pettigrew will use Potter's blood to resurrect the Dark Lord, and then he and Potter will duel in front of a group of Death Eaters. You must…not…be…seen until after the duel, do you understand?" Draco spat out this last, pinning Cedric with his eyes until Cedric nodded his assent. "The Dark Lord will forbid his Death Eaters from attacking Potter, but he would put them on you in a second. You wouldn't stand a chance."
When Cedric moved to object, Draco waved him down. "Be realistic, man! There will be at least a dozen adult wizards there, each of them darker than you can imagine. The first time around you fell to an AK from the weakest of the lot…how do you think you'd fare against those odds? No," the scarred man continued, "your only chance is to 'play dead' until the duel ends, then Accio Potter and the portkey-cup and get the hell out of there! I know your Hufflepuff instincts will be to charge to Potter's aid, but you'll only get yourself killed. And, we all know just how that turned out, don't we?"
Cedric sat there, the emotional storm he was feeling making him quiver visibly. "So…I'm just to lie there while Harry duels He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Until the duel ends, yes."
"But…how will I know…how can Harry…I don't see…." Cedric didn't even know where to begin asking questions.
"You'll know it's almost over when you see a dome of magic form over Potter and the Dark Lord," Draco explained. "The effect is called prior incatatem, and will occur because both Potter's and the Dark Lord's wands have a phoenix feather core from the same phoenix. While I'm thinking about it, something that you and Potter need to do as soon as you can is either have his wand altered or get him another wand made. I put a small booklet into your bag with the names of several shops in England and on the Continent where you can get this done with no questions asked." Draco's face twisted into what Cedric was learning was the current version of his old smirk. "Get Potter a better wand, and for Merlin's sake do something about his wardrobe. He's the sodding Boy-Who-Lived, not some Knockturn Alley urchin."
At this, Cedric laughed. "I've tried, you know. He can be remarkable stubborn, you know."
"Humph. How well I do," Draco agreed, taking another sip. "So, Potter duels the Dark Moron, you get Potter and the cup portkeys you both back to Hogwarts. Now, be prepared for no one to believe you about the Dark Lord's return. You'll probably have to use pensieved memories to prove your statements, but that'll be several days in coming, I think. Fudge especially will be dead-set on insisting that Voldemort can't have returned, and he will do everything in his power to destroy Potter's reputation…and yours, by extension, since you'll be there with him this time…to try to make the public disbelieve anything you say." Draco stopped, took a deep breath and pinned Cedric with an intense look.
"You'll have the money, which will buy the influence, to counter Fudge. I leave it up to you just how much you share with your father…or Potter, for that matter, although I'm guessing that he'll have the whole sordid truth out of you inside of a day…about the 'gifts' you'll be coming back with, and just where you got them, and why. Your father has a good reputation both inside and outside the Ministry; I suggest that you use it. Oh, and your Tri-Wizard winnings will make a good excuse for having the coin to take Potter on a tour of parts unknown over the summer; no need to let others know just how many galleons you have in your trunk, after all."
Cedric took a deep breath, thinking furiously. "So…Harry and I return to Hogwarts by portkey, then…immediately try to convince Fudge that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned?"
"No, I wouldn't," Draco answered. "The first priority is Potter's safety, and if events play out as they did in this reality, as soon as you get back the faux Mad-Eye Moody will try to get Potter alone, probably back in his quarters at the castle. You need to do whatever is necessary to stop that, and unmask the imposter. You'll find the real Moody locked in his own wizard's trunk in the last compartment. Oh, and Fudge will try to have the fake Mad-Eye kissed to prevent him giving testimony about the Dark Lord's return. If you can prevent that somehow, you can probably get Dumbledore to have Crouch Jr. questioned by the Wizengamot under veritiserum. That will, among other things, give support to Potter while turning up the pressure on Fudge. If you're lucky, you might be able to force Fudge out, but that might be a mixed blessing." At Cedric's questioning look, Draco chuckled. "Fudge is so easily controlled that having him retained as Minister might ultimately work in your favor…but by then, I hope that things are so different from this time line as to make any predictions we'd make worthless."
"That's about the best advice that I can give you. Check your bag; I put some other things in there for you. On parchment, written with a quill, not on some 'disc'. There's a list of wand makers, as I said; a list of 'who's bribing whom' in the ministry—that one I did from memory, take it with a grain of salt—several good solicitors and a couple of reliable barristers, and an investment house you need to open an account with." Noticing Cedric's wide eyes, he grinned. "The money in your trunks and the Paris vault are just for the next year or so, Diggory. Remember, money is the next best thing to real power, and Potter is loaded. Or, rather, he will be, when he comes into his inheritance. His godfather, Sirius Black, is even richer…and one of your little summer projects has to be getting his name cleared so he can come out of hiding. If you think you can buy off enough of the Wizengamot to guarantee a trial, have Black testify under veritiserum, otherwise…" he shrugged. "Use your own judgment. Also, you'll need a good investment house because one of the files on those lovely little computers of yours is a record of selected stocks, investment opportunities and muggle and wizarding sporting event scores for the next fourteen years…along with the number of my father's bookie."
Noticing the shocked looks from all directions, Draco just tried to look innocent. "What? A wizard can't play the ponies?" Taking Sally's smack stoically, he went on. "Just beware of something called the 'Butterfly Effect'…the longer you're back, the less accurate that information will be. Best to use it soon, before it becomes useless."
Cedric didn't even pretend to understand what butterflies had to do with betting, but he was willing to take Draco's word for it. Presumably, a more complete explanation was, like so many other things, in his bag. So much for a summer without homework….
"Another few things, and I'm done. We've talked about it, and we all agree," Draco said, and Hermione, Neville and the others nodded. "In addition to being close to Harry over the summer, you need to be at Hogwarts at least for one more year, preferably three. Now, we don't want you failing your NEWTS, or anything frankly stupid like that." Here, Draco gave a gimlet eye to Justin, who had the grace to blush and look ashamed. "However, it is a well known fact that some students, from time to time, have been known to stay at Hogwarts to begin work on a Mastery in some subject. You're particularly interested in Charms, aren't you?" Draco asked Cedric.
Caught off guard by the change in subject, Cedric gave himself a small shake. "Oh, yes…yes, I suppose so."
Draco grinned like a shark after a guppy. "Good. You get along well enough with old Flitwick, I take it?" When Cedric nodded, Draco leaned back in his seat. "Well, then! There you are. I don't think you'll have much trouble convincing Flitwick to take you on for at least a year or two, especially if you offer to pay your way and compensate him for his time. If you have to, grease him with a few of the charms from your little bag there. If he doesn't wet himself over some of the things Hermione's put in there, I'm not a wizard! Worst case scenario, he's probably the only Professor other than Snape that I'd trust with the entire truth of the matter."
"Snape?" Cedric jerked back at the mention of the Potion Master's name. "But…he hates Harry! He's the last one I'd ever tell. Flitwick, alright, he's never been anything but fair, but not Snape!"
Seeing how badly Cedric was taking the greasy professor's name, Hermione jumped in. "Cedric, there are things about Snape that we didn't find out until much later…but eventually, he wound up helping us destroy Voldemort, and paid for it with his life."
"I still can't believe it…not with the way he's always treated Harry, and anyone else who wasn't in Slytherin."
"I never said he didn't have issues, Cedric," Draco went on, "but I'm not going to insist. In fact, the fewer people who know the 'truth', the better. Especially Dumbledore…I wouldn't tell Dumbledore for all the gold in Gringott's."
"He might not be able to keep it from the old coot, you know," a quiet voice drawled from the door. Seeing the people across from him gasp, Cedric stood and whirled to see….
"Harry!"
A/N: OMG! Cliffy, much? Didn't see that one coming, did ya? *insert evil snickers here* Now...how long should I wait for to post the next chapter? Couple of days? Week(s)? More? Your reviews will determine your fate, don't you see.... *maniacal laughter*.
Next Chapter: heh heh heh I'm NOT telling, that would be CHEATING!!!!!