Author Notes: Hello everyone, and thank you so much for your wonderful support! Enjoy this chapter, exactly two months from the last update :)
Appreciation: A huge thank you to my co-author and beta, Vine Verrine. She reminded me of the supporting cast who still want to be heard despite Lucius' attempt to hog the spotlight as usual, and made sure they all sounded and behaved like they should. Thank you, girl! :)
- Chapter Start -
Blue eyes stared fixedly at the fireplace, flickering only when met with the indistinct moving blurs of students and friends. He could hear scattered voices, the whispers, the excitement.
After a while, he could feel some of those voices directed at him, asking if he was going down to breakfast, some asking if he had known beforehand. So he raised his eyes, and for the first time since forever, he couldn't bring himself to pay enough attention to distinguish the few pairs of eyes trying to meet his own; the hands on his shoulder, the whispering of his name, Harry's, Hermione's.
He could feel something inside him, festering since what felt like an indeterminate amount of time; a feeling so vague and painful it felt everlasting: a pressure of sorts that prevented him from answering. It was like a slight weight in his throat, traveling all the way down to his chest.
It felt bitter. Itchy.
Ron Weasley had no idea how long he sat there, gaze lost as he stared at the Gryffindor common room fireplace. The students had all gone out, talking loudly and gesticulating wildly. Even though he knew he should feel the same, and a part of him did, there was still that something, a crinkly, weakening ache in his heart, that prevented him sharing the joy.
There were no more movements and no more sounds but that of the fire crackling in the hearth; only the snorts and occasional mumbling of the dozing portraits on the walls. He stayed there for who knew how long, until he registered familiar footsteps coming closer, and then a warm presence beside him.
He knew that warmth. It was soft, and feminine, like a tiny flame that didn't burn him, all to himself.
- o -
Hermione walked with short heavy steps, waddling like a little penguin down the hall towards the Gryffindor Common Room. The walk from the library to the Tower felt considerably longer; but despite the twelve books weighing her down, she felt her perceived distance had nothing to do with the added weight.
She only met two other lonely souls in the form of fifth year Ravenclaw girls on their way to the library, and they nodded at her, whispering anxiously to each other with a sense of purpose Hermione was well acquainted with. She didn't meet anyone after that. Then again, it was Sunday morning and just past ten o'clock, too early for people to be up and about, desperate for the knowledge stored in the library. Madam Pince certainly looked like she regretted opening the library at the usual weekend hours if only for seeing the size of Hermione's 'homework'.
The Fat Lady was snoozing in her portrait and reluctantly opened her eyes when Hermione wished her a good morning.
"This is early, even for you," she observed after a huge yawn that threatened to crack her painted lips.
Hermione said the password and the portrait door swung open, letting out a stream of excited Gryffindors, all exclaiming over something or other until they saw her.
"Hermione! Have you seen the headlines?" Seamus demanded, waving a copy of the Daily Prophet in her face.
"Blimey, Hermione, did you know-" Fred began, elbowing Seamus aside.
"-about this before?" George continued, popping up beside his twin.
"How is Harry? And Professor Snape?" Neville asked anxiously. "He was one of them, wasn't he?"
"Merciful Merlin, must you all be so loud?" groaned the Fat Lady, pressing the back of a plump hand to her forehead. "Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."
No one so much as glanced at her.
"Isn't it incredible? We all had no idea," Ginny said happily.
"Yes, it's... it's really great," Hermione said, trying to muster up enough enthusiasm for a smile.
The mass removal of the Dark Mark was a great achievement, but she wasn't in a celebratory mood right now. Harry's letter, which a magnificent pharaoh eagle owl had delivered late last night, was short to the point of conveying... nothing at all. She knew of the risks of letters falling into the wrong hands, but the uncharacteristic brevity only served to make her and Ron worry even more. Seeing this morning's headlines after a sleepless night had soothed her fears, but not by much.
For now, she deliberately hefted the books in her arms, putting on a pained grimace. "Excuse me, I'm about to drop all these."
Ducking her head, she pushed past them and entered the Gryffindor common room, letting them troop out with copies of the Daily Prophet, chattering loudly. She didn't pay them any mind, not even when her name was called. Her attention was caught by the lone figure seated in front of the fireplace, a single piece of parchment dangling from his fingertips, the slumped angle of his shoulders speaking volumes.
Despite her worry, Hermione felt her heart turn over at the sight. She had known before just how loyal a friend Ron was, but his dejected posture said that more eloquently than words ever could. He was radiating sorrow, yet none of their housemates going over to clamour him for details even noticed. She stood there for a minute or two, waiting for the room to empty, for the excited exclamations and frantic whisperings to cease.
When the weight in her arms grew too much, she went over to him. Sitting down beside him, she piled the books in a tall stack on her lap, resting a hand on the topmost one. She could tell Ron knew she was there, but he didn't look at her.
"Madam Pince threw me out. I wanted to borrow five more books, but she told me I wasn't allowed to until I return these."
Ron exhaled, but his gaze remained on the carpet in front of him with the kind of intent that felt heavy, purposeful, as if his eyes were avoiding hers because his feelings would spill outside if they locked gazes. His face was oddly strained, a subtle melancholy hidden in the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. It might have looked as if he was ignoring her, but Hermione knew better.
They sat in silence on the couch, staring at the cheerful fire in the now empty common room. Everyone would be in the Great Hall right now, or heading there, exhilarated and making all sorts of speculations about Voldemort's final defeat. But she and Ron were still here, pretending to be happy and wanting a moment alone because they were a couple and celebrating their best friend's success. Only they didn't know anything more than the rest of them, except that it couldn't have been easy for Harry. Not at all.
So here they were, pretending their hearts and minds weren't being pulled apart as the distance grew between them and Harry. That when he came back, that distance would vanish; they would look into his eyes and wouldn't feel the cold winds of a mountain range and the waves of the oceans.
Ron sighed again before turning towards Hermione, straightening up and wincing when his stiff neck muscles protested. Hermione blinked and raised her hand to touch his shoulder, causing a few of the books to slide off her lap and onto the carpet.
"Oops." She started to bend down, but Ron had already dropped onto his knees and was picking them up, cradling the books close to his chest.
He turned to her, still kneeling, and looked up, searching for something in her eyes. She stared back at him until, with one hand still clutching the books, his other one made a little trip to the side of her cheek, grabbing a lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear.
Hermione couldn't help but smile at that.
"That won't work," she told him. "My hair is a mess, Ron."
"I needed an excuse to touch you," he told her solemnly.
Hermione smiled again, but she didn't move. Ron looked like he was about to pull her her close, but then he took a deep breath and looked away instead. His gaze fell on the newspaper lying on the couch and the single piece of parchment on top.
"A couple of years back, I would have been jealous of this," he admitted, still staring at the Daily Prophet, "but now..."
He didn't look at her, but he didn't need to. Hermione pushed the remaining books on her lap onto the couch before leaning forward, closing both arms around his broad shoulders and pressing her cheek against his.
"And before, you would have tried to kiss me to distract yourself..." she dared to tease him.
Ron wrapped his free arm around her back, fingertips curling around her waist. His body tensed and relaxed a couple of times, his breathing uneven as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure what.
Hermione kept silent, content to wait and bask in the warmth of his hug, until he inhaled sharply.
"Hermione, I..." his breath stuttered and he stopped.
She just pressed closer to him, giving him all the time he needed.
"He... he is getting away from us," Ron finally whispered.
Hermione blinked in surprise before squeezing him even tighter. She hadn't expected him to just come out and say that, but she was glad he did, she felt the exact same way about Harry. A few tears escaped her eyes, but she ignored them. She and Ron wanted to help Harry so badly, but there just weren't any books in the Hogwarts library that could do that, and he always seemed to be out of reach.
"We will talk to him as soon as he returns," she whispered. "And we will find some way of helping him, no matter how small."
- o -
The dust particles were heavy in the air, floating carefully against the rays filtered through the window until two figures glided on, disrupting their quiet dance and painting a passionate shadow on the wall against the backdrop of the sunlight. Then one shoe tripped against the leg of a desk and down they went, in a big pile of brown and black robes. Amidst the rustle of cloth against cloth, an 'oof' was heard, followed by a chuckle and a giggle.
"Dragon, you said hello to me just half an hour ago, naked," Charlie panted after a thundering, rumbling sneeze shook his whole frame, causing more and more dust particles to rise and play around in the unused classroom. His back hurt some, but not enough for him to express the slight pain.
"I know, this is only a little bit of a life affirming snog," Draco said, shrugging as if the dusty air didn't faze him. Until he too sneezed, and Charlie felt the sudden movement in his nether regions, where Draco was conveniently sitting on now.
"More life-affirming than what we did this morning?"
"But of course. There is something more intimate about a snog in an unused classroom."
"Naughtier, you mean. Really, Draco, this is quite lame, if I may say so." Charlie knew his wry tone was half directed at himself since he hadn't made any move to push Draco off.
Draco glared down at him before quickly looking away, red lips and upturned nose in perfect profile, all the more to show Charlie his displeasure.
Charlie just waited until he got a sidelong glance.
"I was... worried about you, Charlie."
"I know, love."
"You could have written earlier."
"I know, I couldn't. You know why. You were the first one to know."
Draco turned to face him fully. Those light blue grey eyes focused on him with the kind of intensity that could make Charlie stare at him forever, dip a toe in the sparkling lake of his gaze, and then submerge himself whole.
Charlie hadn't been to Romania alone, but had experienced quite the adventure in Algeria and China over the past two weeks. He had been helping the local tamers and their respective Departments of Magical Creatures and Associations rescue fourteen dragons captured by hunters and poachers, who had taken advantage of the commotion and general chaos after Voldemort's Sleeping Spell. Other dragons had managed to escape their reserves when the wards wavered enough for them to get out.
Charlie and some other eighty wizards and witches had to resolve all of that before the damages grew too grave to repair. It had been quite an interesting time, working out the logistics to save the dragons, find and arrest the hunters, save the muggles who had ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and erase not only the memories of approximately two hundred unsuspecting people, but also any physical evidence the dragons might have left behind as a gift. Charlie still didn't know how Algeria's authorities would explain to a farmer in Adrar that fifteen of his cows had mysteriously disappeared.
And then Yuzor, a stunning Algerian Iblis, had been found dead on a beach in El Taref. It had happened around midnight, and the hunters had already harvested her valuable organs before the team Charlie had been part of could find her. It was only because the strong remnants of her magic were still pulsing from her remains that they managed to identify her corpse. Had they been a few hours late, her body would have been carried away by the sea waves.
What with running all over the place, from forests to seasides to deserts, Charlie had been so into his work that it all ended when he least expected it to; in a big burst of flames from a Chinese Fireball named Bob, which Charlie and his team had been trying to cajole out of a cave. The fire hit Charlie's left arm and leg and he was brought - half cooked and scorched - to an Uyghur witch who had lathered his skin with an ointment that smelled strange and made him feel dizzy and giggly. He had only returned to Hogwarts last night and got treated again by Draco, first with his own salves accompanied by poorly veiled worried jabs, and then with his special brand of soft love making.
Charlie could tell Draco was still worried this morning. The blond hid his feelings by berating him for 'daring' to get hit by a dragon after all his supposed expertise while they were walking towards the Great Hall, interspersed with trivial questions like who would name a dragon Bob, and then finally, pulling him inside the unused classroom and taking advantage of him.
He was still looking at Charlie with that expression, and Charlie almost felt compelled to look away because it was so intense. They didn't kiss again. Instead they took comfort in each other, in the familiarity of Draco's sneers and Charlie's teasing as they kept those funny faces, their gazes locked. Draco paused the moment by standing up, and they put themselves to rights, patting and swatting the dust away, still not able to keep their hands off the other.
Once they got out of the classroom, Charlie pecked Draco on the lips. One peck, and then other, and another, until the nearby portrait of Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz cleared her throat. Draco rolled his eyes and blew her a kiss.
They continued onto the Great Hall, walking hand in hand. It was rare for Draco who, while not averse to public displays of affection that asserted his place both as Charlie's bond mate and as his classmates' superior in all matters of sexual activity, thought hand holding was positively cloying to do in front of people. Still, he didn't release Charlie's hand the rest of the way, instead he kept squeezing it, and looking at him from under his lashes.
They were tightly tucked inside that tingly atmosphere where nothing else existed but their eyes and the warmth of their hands. Charlie had the urgent temptation to pull Draco away again to have some more of those life affirming kisses, but they reached the Great Hall just then, Draco pulled open the doors and they stepped inside.
Right into a scene of mayhem, or something very close to it.
Charlie's first reaction was to pull Draco even closer to him, thinking something grave had happened to have the entire student body wildly waving their arms and yelling and hollering, except Draco was already stepping away from him and heading towards the Slytherin table.
Looking around again, Charlie registered that the students were so loud not because another disaster had occurred, but because something had made them... excited. With that tense part of him relaxing into jittery curiosity, he looked at the staff table at the far end and saw Minerva sitting there, and Sirius and Remus at one end, talking to each other.
Charlie was relieved to see them, having heard about Sirius' injuries from Ron a few days ago. He started towards the staff table, his strides faster than usual. Looking left and right, he saw multiple copies of The Daily Prophet spread out on all four house tables and heard the same few words uttered over and over. Harry Potter... Death Eaters... Egypt...
At the Gryffindor table, the twins waved at him, but Ron and Hermione were absent.
Charlie rounded the staff table and greeted Minerva, whose bright eyes and quick bob of the head made him pause, and then he went to sit beside Sirius, clapping him on the back.
"Good to see you up and about, Sirius. Are you alright?"
The two Marauders looked up, Sirius pushing his Daily Prophet across to Charlie and slapping a hand on it for emphasis. His expression was both jubilant and excited, if a little tense.
"Never mind about me, read this first!"
Charlie obediently looked down. The bold red headlines screamed 'MASS REMOVAL OF DARK MARK IN EGYPT!' and under that, a smaller caption also in red of 'King Harry Triumphs Again!'
Charlie's head snapped up at once, eyes focusing on Draco who was staring down at the front page of the newspaper in his hands, his face white with shock. Draco appeared to be reading the article and then he quickly rifled through the newspaper, likely searching for its continuation or related articles, oblivious to the stares and chatter of his fellow Housemates.
Charlie followed suit, scanning the article rapidly.
'In a top secret event held in Egypt last night, King Harry removed the Dark Mark from several hundred wizards and witches. While the exact details are not known, it is believed that Death Eaters from all over the world were brought to Britain's Ministry of Magic before being transported to the Great Pyramid of Cheops.
Amelia Bones, interim Minister of Magic, Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwart and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Severus Snape, bond mate of Harry Potter and Potions Master, were present in the secret ritual.
While the list of participants both local and foreign are withheld to protect their privacy, many known Death Eaters are expected to have participated in the ritual and are believed to be recuperating at various hospitals or at their homes. St. Mungo's has been put under tight security with visitors undergoing revealing spells before being allowed to visit friends and relatives.
For transcripts of foreign reports on the same, refer to pages 13 and 15.'
Charlie looked at Draco again before turning to the Marauders.
"Have you heard from Harry? And Severus? What about Dumbledore?"
"Minerva received a note from the Headmaster early this morning," Remus replied. "They're all fine and will return tomorrow."
"Your brother Bill was there too," Sirius added.
"Bill? Why was-" Charlie began before his brain caught up. "Ah, of course."
"Yes. He helped with the ritual, but he came back early this morning to drop off your father-in-law at Malfoy Manor."
Charlie nodded and turned to see Draco looking his way, those pale eyes filled with a different purpose from before.
- o -
Lucius stared at Aventine, shock and horror cutting through the pain filled haze he was in. Aventine hadn't said anything, but there was no mistaking what his carefully worded offer meant.
"No. Absolutely not!" Lucius declared. If he weren't feeling so ill, he would have realised his vehement refusal lacked all manner of diplomacy, but it was a pure knee jerk reaction.
The idea of allowing a Dark Creature into his personal space, allow Aventine to get close enough to sink his fangs into his neck - was an idea so terrifying, Lucius had no words to repudiate it, but his body, weakened and wracked with pain, did. His stomach roiled and gave a violent heave, causing him to double over.
The sudden grip of Aventine's hands on his upper arms, even separated by cloth, was the last straw.
Lucius retched once, twice, and vomited his breakfast of tea, porridge and egg down the front of his velvet dressing gown. He retched again and again, throat burning with bile and tears leaking from tightly shut eyes, trembling fingers digging into the armrests and leaving crescent shaped gouges in the soft leather. He was dimly aware of Aventine kneeling before him, those strong hands keeping him from slumping forward, but was unable to do anything except let his nausea ride its course.
When his cramping stomach was empty at last, Lucius coughed weakly and raised a shaking hand to wipe his streaming eyes. He was breathing in shallow, painful gasps, each intake of air bringing the sour stench of his own vomit to his nose. Opening his eyes, he saw Aventine's blurry face mere inches from his own, the unexpected proximity sending a sudden spike of blind terror through him.
"Binky," he choked past a raw throat, leaning back as far as he could.
A look of dismay crossed Aventine's face. Slowly, he released Lucius' arms and shifted backwards, hands held up in surrender.
"I assure you, Lord Malfoy, there is no need to summon your house elf," he said in a low voice. "You have nothing to fear from me."
His words cut through the dissipating fog of panic surrounding Lucius. After a tense moment or two, Lucius nodded, his heart still racing inside his chest.
"Evanesco."
The tingle of wandless magic was cold but refreshing on Lucius' face and neck as it vanished the mess he had made.
"Do you feel any better?"
"No." Lucius shook his head weakly and regretted it instantly when the room began to spin. "Feel... worse."
The sledgehammer inside his head had duplicated itself, his stomach still heaving even though it had nothing more to bring up. Colourful dots obscured his vision, and the last thing he heard was Aventine calling his name in alarm as he slipped sideways into darkness.
Gaining consciousness was something Lucius didn't want to do, not in a body wracked with pain from head to foot. Feeling ten times worse than before, the urge to curl up into a tight ball of self-pitying misery was overwhelming, but the steady hum of Aventine's magical signature nearby forced him to open his eyes instead.
He was back in bed, dressed in a clean, long sleeved nightshirt, the soft support of pillows behind his head and a heavy silk duvet pulled up his waist. The sight of Aventine calmly watching him from the desk by the window made Lucius' sluggish mind come up with several scenarios, none of them reassuring in the least.
"It was Binky who put you to bed, Lord Malfoy," Aventine explained as if he could hear his thoughts, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "I merely had the honour of bringing you here."
Lucius stared at him, his mind again empty of words as his skin prickled sharply with goosebumps. Aventine had carried him again, and Lucius hadn't even been conscious the second time, much less in a position to defend himself.
"At the risk of repeating myself, you have nothing to fear from me."
It was the resigned note in Aventine's voice that caught Lucius' attention. Were his thoughts so clearly displayed on his face, or was Aventine simply conditioned to expect the worst from any wizard or witch he met?
It was disconcerting to realise that as wretched as Lucius felt right now, he could still wonder about that.
"I know," he said. Despite his instinctive reaction earlier, he wasn't afraid of Aventine, and hadn't been for quite some time. The realisation made him balk, finding it even more disconcerting than the one before.
"How do you feel now?" Aventine asked. He was leaning against the side of the desk, arms folded across his chest, one leg slightly behind the other. He looked quite out of place, dark hair and wine red robes clashing with the pale yellow, ruffled furnishings around him.
Lucius gave a noncommittal shrug and then froze when Aventine started gliding towards him, continuing to hold his gaze as he gracefully sat down at the foot of the enormous bed.
Being the sole focus of those burning eyes, so at odds with their owner's careful solicitousness, was unnerving. Lucius took careful note of Aventine's unnatural stillness and the tiny flash of hunger in his gaze, held in check by sheer willpower alone, the amount of which he could only guess at.
That gaze, so deep and compelling and restrained, brought him up short to the memory of a similar pair of red eyes. They were Hawa's, a beautiful dark-skinned vampire from his trip to Africa just a few days ago. Her eyes were almond-shaped, and they were surrounded by the blackest, longest eyelashes he had ever seen. He remembered the little strips of cloth she wore that didn't cover anything; didn't cover the roundness of her buttocks or her breasts, or how gorgeous she was, walking ahead of him as she showed him the building the vampires from South Africa's Unpottable County lived in.
And he remembered then, why Aventine's gaze reminded him of Hawa, but not the vampires he had met in Italy or in Armenia.
It came to him like he was standing there all over again, with Hawa beside him, looking into the open space between a pair of burnt orange curtains. Lucius could almost hear the keening and the moans resonating against the walls, from a man who was feeding a female vampire just as beautiful as Hawa was. And it hadn't been the barest trail of blood on the man's neck that had drawn his attention, but his complete rapture as he was fed on, and the dainty hand that worked the erection between his legs just so that Lucius could almost feel it in his nether regions.
Then Hawa's full, plump lips touching his ear as she said, "Mesmerising, isn't it?"
Lucius inhaled deeply, memory fading to give space to his current pain, and then to Aventine's lips that were opening and closing, saying something he didn't hear.
"What?" he rasped. He tried to swallow, but his throat still felt raw from his earlier bout with nausea and he started coughing. A glass of water appeared in front of him, and a cold hand cupped the back of his head, lifting it so he could drink. When his vision wasn't so blurry, he looked at Aventine once again seated at the foot of the bed, looking at him with a gaze full of intent. But of another kind, at least for the moment.
"Tell me how your trip was."
Lucius exhaled, grateful for the distraction, but equally suspicious.
"Have you met... Hawa?"
"Yes. She was my master."
Lucius frowned.
"Your master? She... she looks so young-"
"Given her appearance, I know. Pardon my interruption, Lord Malfoy. She is considerably older than me. In fact, her father is one of the oldest vampires on earth. I stayed with them for a few years to learn their discipline."
Aventine's lips quirked a bit in amusement.
"I remember him, quite distinctly, telling me in one of our sessions, that he was 'best friends' with Cleopatra and that she wasn't dead since she is also a vampire. Then Hawa told me later he only said that to put more flavour into his stories."
Lucius dared to close his eyes for a moment, leaning against the pillows at his back. Binky had cleaned him up earlier, but he was once again covered in a sheen of cold sweat, his silk nightshirt clinging to his skin.
"Do you know how... " it was difficult getting the words out with his brain still feeling fuzzy, but he persisted, "they have an agreement with the locals to feed on them and... and-"
"Lord Malfoy, forgive me for interrupting again, but I would ask that you refrain from speaking at the moment. You are not doing your throat any favours, and unfortunately I am not good at healing spells."
Aventine paused until Lucius gave a reluctant nod before talking again.
"Yes, I know about the deal. They protect the locals in return. Their system... the way they work, is being copied in other African countries and the Middle East and it's spreading throughout Asia. I have been trying to do the same in Great Britain, but I noticed that people's conceptions of vampires vary considerably depending on the country or the continent. I just came to the knowledge that we have a very bad reputation in Europe."
Lucius blinked, surprised that Aventine was trying to joke about vampires' reputation, given his deprecating tone in the last sentence, and even more surprised that he didn't find it as off-putting as he had thought he would.
"What about... the Americas?"
"It is similar to the Middle East. The practice is not as widely spread, but there are more and more groups there that are in full working contracts with other villages."
They both fell silent for a while. But instead of Aventine' gaze on him, it was Lucius who was now staring, and Aventine choosing to keep it that way for he gazed at a painting of narcissi hanging on one of the walls, his profile in stark contrast to the soft yellow light filtering through the curtains.
Lucius licked his lips, throat working to say something, anything, to express the tumult inside his head.
"Do... do they-?"
His wretched throat chose that moment to lock up once more and he coughed. Aventine rose and again, a glass of water was pressed to Lucius' lips, a cold hand to the back of his head. Lucius sipped at the cool water, feeling that question and many more crowd his tired brain, all of them demanding to be voiced out.
Do they also pleasure the villagers?
Can they control themselves?
What are the risks?
Would it take my pain away and would I feel worse when the effect wears off?
Would it help to speed up my recovery?
And...
How good would it feel?
Lucius' breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his head was lowered onto the pillows. He was desperate, with a hole in the pit of his stomach so deep, so daunting, he could feel an implosion of thoughts in his centre. He was shocked, but equally disgusted. Not at the situation he was in, but at the tiniest voice inside his head, the one delirious enough to wonder - as if those other questions weren't already damning enough - if maybe, if maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.
Were he strong enough, had he something in his stomach, Lucius would have thrown up again. He looked at Aventine, who was again sitting at the end of the bed and came to a decision.
"Be assured I would not do anything without your explicit consent, Lord Malfoy," Aventine reminded him.
Lucius inclined his head, even managing a small twist of a smile despite his acute discomfort.
"Thank you for your kind offer. I believe I will soldier on without anyone's help. Pain is something I am... not unfamiliar with."
It was as gracious a refusal as he could manage right now. If the words sounded somewhat hollow to his ears, that was likely caused by his throbbing headache.
Aventine nodded, showing no visible sign of disappointment.
"As you wish."
Another silence stretched out between them with Lucius finding it increasingly difficult to hold that crimson, quizzical gaze. Right at the instant he felt he had to look away, Aventine rose and went to stand by the window beside the desk, looking through the gap in the curtains.
"I will take my leave now. Lady Malfoy has just returned."
With a short bow to Lucius, he unhurriedly left the room and closed the door before Lucius could think of anything to say.
- o -
There was precious little to do in the Healing Temple, its warm humid air and echoey sounds of water making the seconds crawl by even slower. With nothing to occupy his time except eat and sleep and brood, Harry did some of the former two, and considerably more of the latter, alternatively sitting on his mat or walking around the chamber, with Dumbledore snoozing in his overstuffed armchair in the corner.
Nitocris had left soon after accompanying them here this morning, saying she needed to check on Bill Weasley and Lucius Malfoy before they left, and Lady Heka. Before she left, she had arranged for Harry and Dumbledore's meals to be served in a small alcove off of their chamber, furnished with low tables and cushions. Severus would not need to eat for the time being as his body underwent detoxification.
Time and time again, Harry found his eyes drawn to the still figure lying in the sunken bath. Now that he was quite sure Severus had survived the ritual with his magic intact, and that the baths would mitigate the worst of his symptoms, he was free to worry about other things... such as how the other Death Eaters were faring and just how many of them hadn't survived the ritual; where was Voldemort now and if he had managed to break the Chains of Life curse; and how Ron and Hermione, and Sirius and Remus, must be worrying about them.
Harry couldn't blame them if they were. His letter to them yesterday was brief and contained no details. He merely apologised for not informing them beforehand, explained that things had progressed much faster than he had anticipated, and ended with a promise to tell them everything as soon as he returned. All in a nifty little note which read:
'Dear Ron and Hermione,
Going to take the Mark off the DEs and Severus.
Everything happened too fast, sorry for not letting you know before.
Will tell you everything when I come back. Show this to Remus and Sirius.
Harry'
- x -
Seeing Dumbledore enjoying yet another nap, snoring a bit with a squashy purple pillow in his arms, Harry went to lie down on on his mat, facing Severus, head propped on one hand and eyes tracing the familiar cheekbones and prominent nose as they had done so many times today. He leaned over to touch his lips to the pale ones before settling down, pillowing his head on his arm.
Despite the ample rest he had gotten throughout the day, Harry still drifted off to sleep. When he next opened his eyes, it was to see a temple aide kneeling on the other side of the bath and checking on Severus. Harry sat up and stretched, feeling almost like his old self again save for a lingering tiredness in his limbs. His nap had been plagued with the usual nightmares, but they were vague and and indistinct, as if kept at bay by the healing magic of the temple.
"Good evening, Harry."
Harry turned to see Dumbledore smiling down at him, blue eyes twinkling. There was no sign of the overstuffed armchair.
"You look more well rested, sir," he said.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more.
"I feel much better, thanks to the marvelous waters here. In fact, I am quite tempted to smuggle some of it back to Hogwarts," he said with a conspiratorial wink.
"Is that possible?" Harry asked, glancing at Severus.
"Alas, it is not," Dumbledore replied gravely. "If it were possible to recreate the the healing properties of these baths, they wouldn't be at all exclusive and everyone could have one in their homes."
Harry sighed and nodded.
"Since you are awake, my boy, you might as well get dressed. Our new portkey will be arriving soon."
Harry got up reluctantly, his eyes once again straying to his bondmate. Severus would be staying an additional two or three days to stave off the worst of the detoxification process. Harry was relieved about that, but he still felt a deep pang at leaving him behind.
"Don't worry, Harry," Dumbledore added kindly, "Nitocris will ensure he will be well guarded."
"I know, but..." And that was another reason why Harry was reluctant to leave Severus here. The palace guards may be well trained, but he couldn't help recalling how the duellers at the Ministry of Magic three weeks ago had left Severus injured and exhausted even with Sirius being his Second.
What if the unnamed people who had hired them found out that Severus was here, unconscious and defenseless?
A hand squeezing his shoulder made him look up.
"He won't be alone," Dumbledore said simply.
Harry frowned before turning to the entrance of the chamber where rapid footsteps and two very familiar voices could be heard. Then the owners of those voices appeared at the doorway and grinned at him.
"Sirius! Remus!" Harry exclaimed, feeling his thoughts derail. He wasn't aware he had moved, but in the next second, he was caught up in a fierce hug by his two godfathers.
"At last! Good to see you, kiddo!" Sirius exclaimed. "Are you alright?"
"I'm glad to see you unharmed, Harry, and you too, Albus," Remus added, both his arms around Sirius and Harry at the same time.
Harry ignored the sting in his eyes as he hugged the two Marauders back. He had seen them just a few days ago but it felt like he had been away for much longer. He was finally released and his hair ruffled for good measure, all three of them grinning happily.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked. "Sirius, are you alright now?"
"Right as rain!" Sirius grinned at him, showing a thumbs up. "We came here to deliver this," he added, holding up a bent quill.
"It's a portkey," Remus explained. "It's set to go off in half an hour and will bring you and the Headmaster directly to Hogwarts."
Harry frowned in confusion.
"Just the two of us? What about you two?"
Sirius passed the quill to Dumbledore and grabbed Harry's shoulders with both hands, looking at him with fierce blue eyes.
"Remus and I will stay here to make sure nothing happens to Severus," he promised.
"And we'll bring him back with us to Hogwarts in two days' time, safe and sound," Remus added with a warm smile.
Harry stared them, his throat closing up
"Thank you," he whispered and hugged them again.
- o -
Lucius Malfoy lay very still, arms on either side of him and eyes closed. Covered with the silk quilt and surrounded by ruffled bed hangings, he was a picture of perfect aristocratic repose, like a king in slumber. The serene image was marred only by the cold sweat on his skin and his shallow, laboured breathing, thanks to his insides churning with equal parts profound disquiet and a deep physical pain he could feel at the centre of his stomach.
The door opened and closed quietly, but he continued to lie there. He wasn't pretending to be asleep since he knew Narcissa knew he was awake. He felt her gaze on him as she came inside the room, footsteps almost silent on the thick carpet, but she didn't say a word and neither did he. He heard her move around the room, and in his mind's eye, he could even picture what she was doing - walking to the windows and lifting a pale hand as if to adjust the curtains, and then lowering it to the writing desk as if to neaten the sheaf of parchment lying there.
She wouldn't actually do those things of course, not when a simple spell could take care of them. It was just her way of sorting out her feelings, a way to let him know she was thinking. She knew he knew that too, and he wouldn't say anything to hasten her until she was ready.
After a minute or two, he heard her approach the bed, the soft whisper of silk against velvet as she settled in the cushioned armchair beside him. She didn't sit beside him on the bed, or take his hand or touch his brow, nor did he expect her to. Such romantic intimacies were for lovers. Not for them.
A long moment of silence followed and then, "Lucius, may I see your arm?"
That was the cue for Lucius to open his eyes. Narcissa was leaning towards him, her gaze direct, a look of worry in her blue eyes.
"I was visiting mother, but came back as soon as I heard."
Lucius nodded and looked down at his covered left arm, feeling her gaze on it too. It took a huge effort for him just to raise his right arm, enough to slide it over his middle, trembling fingers reaching for his long left sleeve. His stomach pulled tight in protest at the movement, but he persevered.
Narcissa just looked on, hands folded in her lap, until Lucius was finally holding the hem of his sleeve between his fingers. He started to pull it up, his movements slow and stiff.
It took a lot of effort for him to pull the sleeve up, a task that should have taken mere seconds to accomplish. Letting out a deep long breath, he rotated his left arm until his palm faced up.
Narcissa finally moved, raising a hand and very lightly, like a petal falling onto his skin, touching his unmarked skin with a single fingertip. They looked up at the same moment and their eyes met.
- Chapter End -
A/N: Thank you for reading and we hope you've enjoyed this chapter! It's back to Hogwarts next and we may visit some new places. As for the ending, a Happily Ever After it is... by a landslide! :)
Finally, please review. A few words will be enough to keep us warm and snuggly and happily writing more :)
(9 Nov) From Vine Verrine: Yen is too classy so I'm going to go out on a limb and beg myself, on my knees, with watery eyes. Please review! We love them and I'm a mess without knowing what you guys think. We are getting lots of hits (580 at the last count) and despite all this, I'm not seeing the enthusiasm! "I like the chapter" or "I like Charlie's rumbling sneeze!" or even "I like woollen socks" would be enough.