A/N
Disclaimer: not mine, JK's, OK?
Again, thanks for the reviews. If you read this and enjoyed it, then why not write one? It doesn't take a minute, and I always go back to read them, and usually take what people say into account. The results of the mysterious stranger competition will be revealed within the next few chapters, so watch this space, and keep guessing. A mention in the A/N and the adulation of hundreds of fanfic readers goes to the winner. Thanks to all the people who reviewed so far. Here's the next part.
Chapter 5. In which the cloaked stranger casts a spell on Draco, and the Potters are taken by surprise by a find in the woods.
December 23rd dawned bright, clear, and very, very chilly. High clouds scudded across a deep blue sky, borne eastwards on the wind. The countryside was covered in a carpet of pure white snow, through which the muggle milkman struggled up to the front door of the Potter's house, holding their milk bottles in his frozen hands. His breath condensed before him.
The door opened as he was collecting the empties. It was Hermione, wearing a thick woollen dressing gown and bunny rabbit slippers.
"Morning," said the milkman.
"Morning Dave," Hermione yawned, "cold out isn't it?"
The milkman laughed, "You're telling me. I've not even had any breakfast yet. Can't wait to get back to the depot, have a cup of tea."
Harry called out from the kitchen, where he was grilling toast, "Who's there?"
"Just the milkman love," called Hermione.
The milkman handed Hermione her bottles, and touched his cap respectfully, "Will you be wanting extra over Christmas?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head, "No, just the usual," she said, "could you leave us a quart of orange juice tomorrow?"
"No worries," said the milkman. He turned, and walked back down the drive to where his float was parked. Hermione closed the door, and took the milk through into the kitchen. Harry was pouring tea into large, chipped mugs.
"I thought we could make a snow wizard today," said Harry.
"The kids would like that," said Hermione.
"I thought you would too. We could have Ron and Fleur over, make an afternoon of it."
Hermione spread butter thickly onto her toast, "Are we going to Sirius' for Christmas day?"
Harry sipped his tea, "As far as I know. I thought you'd made the arrangements."
"Just checking," said Hermione. She glanced at the kitchen clock, "hmm, twenty past nine, I wonder if the kids are up?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Draco shoved his case roughly into the boot of his rental car. He knew he had to get far, far away from here, he didn't care where he ended up ... he just had to be somewhere where this mysterious cloaked figure, whoever he might be, could not touch him, or hurt him, in any way.
He slammed shut the boot lid, and walked round to the driver's door, his shoes scrunching in the clean white snow. He opened the door, and climbed in. It was then that he glanced over to the passenger seat.
"Good morning Draco."
The colour drained from his face. He was still wearing the cloak, shielding his face. He projected an air of menace.
"I do hope you weren't trying to escape me, Draco," he went on, "don't you remember your dream?"
Draco mouthed the words silently, "Whenever, wherever, whatever."
"Exactly. I thought you would remember it. It takes an iron constitution, Draco, to forget a dream such as that, and I know you are possessed of no such thing."
"What do you want with me?"
"Exactly what I said. I want Weasley, and I want you, to get him for me."
"But why me, I haven't even seen Ron for seventeen years!"
The stranger raised his hand, and slapped Draco hard across the cheek. Once again, his fingers felt like ice, raising livid marks on his skin.
"You lie to me Draco. You lie. Don't lie to me. None has got away with it before, and I do not intend for you to be the first."
"I haven't seen him," moaned Draco, pitifully, "I'm not the one you want. You want Potter, why don't you go torture him?"
"Potter is of no use to me," said the stranger, lowering the tone of his voice, "and if he was, he would have been delivered to be long before now. No, it is Weasley I want, and it is Weasley whom I shall get. Is it not so Draco?"
Draco didn't reply.
"You will drive me Draco," he said, leaning back in his seat, "we will talk as you drive."
"What if I refuse?" said Draco, whose right hand was already on the door handle.
"You didn't want to vex me last night. Believe me, you do not want to vex me again. I can see what you're doing, by the way."
Draco released the door handle.
"That's better, and now," he reached once more into the folds of his cloak, and withdrew the wand, "keys, in the ignition."
Draco took the keys from his pocket, and put them in the ignition.
"Turn on the engine."
Draco did.
"Thus, you merely confirm to me your cowardice. A better man would have resisted me. A better man would have risked the Cruciatus Curse."
Draco stared at the stranger, his eyes filled with hatred, his mouth curled into an ugly scowl.
"Now drive," he said. Draco felt the wand, stuck into his side. He put the car in gear, and reversed out of the parking space.
"Turn left," said the stranger.
Draco drove up to the gate of the car park. A milk float trundled past, its occupant whistling to himself.
"Left."
Draco turned left. There was very little traffic on the roads, it being so early in the morning.
"Where are you taking me?" growled Draco, through gritted teeth.
"We're just, going for a little drive," said the stranger.
Draco slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt.
"Draco," the stranger said, in a warning tone of voice.
Draco tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He set the handbrake, and turned off the engine.
"Do you disobey me Draco?"
"I ... don't want to do this," said Draco.
The stranger was evidently puzzled, "Why ever not? Do you know what I am offering you Draco? I'm offering you ultimate control ... over the entire wizard world."
"I don't want that," said Draco, "I never wanted that. All I wanted was a quiet life. I didn't want to cause any hassle to anyone, I just wanted to settle down, go to work. Be normal. Maybe there'd have been kids somewhere. I don't know, but what I do know, is I don't want the world, I don't want you near me, and I want no part in your scheme. I just ... want you to let me go."
The stranger surveyed Draco scornfully, "Have we quite finished Draco?" without waiting for a reply, he went on, "Well, after that little outburst, I can see it is going to take more than some, gentle persuasion to bend you to my will. And I thought you were a coward, that you would be easy to control. Perhaps I was wrong, after all, even I have been wrong."
Draco shivered.
"And there was I, thinking you didn't want me to get angry with you again."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Maybe, a more extreme punishment this time. I think we'll start with ... crucio."
Draco's muscles locked, he was paralysed in his seat, his limbs twitched, and he felt such agony, in every nerve of his body ran pain of a magnitude beyond that which any reasonable person could be expected to endure. He opened his mouth wide to scream, but as it had been the night before, no sound came out. His mind had shut down, and once again, he wanted nothing more than to be dead, and forgotten.
The stranger raised his wand again, and mouthed some unheard words. The pain subsided. Draco felt his body relaxing. He could tell tears of pain and rage were pouring down his cheeks.
"You disgust me Draco."
"Please, please ... just let me go," Draco whispered, he couldn't stop himself from crying.
"You disgust me. I never thought I'd see the day when a Malfoy cried."
"Then," gasped Draco, "maybe I don't want to be a Malfoy anymore."
"But I think you do. Are you sure you wouldn't like another go?" he raised his wand again.
"No ... please, no!"
"Snivelling little brat," scoffed the stranger, but he lowered his wand anyway, "you're not worthy to even bear your name. Think of your ancestors Draco."
Draco sniffed, blinking back fresh floods of tears.
"Perhaps we need to punish you further."
"No," said Draco.
"I think we do. I think we need to teach you a lesson you will never forget."
He raised his wand.
"Not..." began Draco, his thoughts turning to the one time he had seen Avada Kedavra used, by Professor Moody, in his fourth year at Hogwarts.
"Puerus," whispered the stranger.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was getting on for two in the afternoon. Ron, Fleur, Harry and Hermione were walking across Titherne Common, leaving deep tracks in the snow behind them, whilst the children, dressed warmly in their winter coats, hats and gloves sprinted ahead towards the little copse by the railway line, Rebecca a little behind the others, shrieking, "Wait for me!" at the top of her voice.
"I love the snow," said Fleur, dreamily.
Ron rested his head on her shoulder, "Me too."
Hermione smiled, and held tightly to Harry's gloved hand.
"I thought we ought to make some snow wizards," said Harry.
"What a good idea," said Ron, "I haven't made one of those since I was a kid."
Fleur laughed, but Ron appeared to have been seized by some childlike enthusiasm, "No, let's," he said.
"What about the kids?" said Hermione.
"They'll be fine," said Ron, "don't be such a stick in the mud Hermi."
Harry was already crouched down in the snow, using his hands as makeshift spades.
"Come on then," he called. Ron crouched down next to him, and began to shovel snow furiously, he looked like a small dog.
"I'll just watch," said Fleur.
"Oh come on," said Hermione, "help me make a head. We'll need kindling too if we want to make a broomstick for it."
Harry and Ron were patting the snow into a wide base. Hermione set to rolling a giant snowball for a head. Fleur looked as if she was torn between helping, or going after the kids, who had disappeared into the copse. Finally she reached a compromise.
"I'll go get the children," she said, "see if they want to help."
She set off down the hill, towards the little wood.
"Andy, Mary, William!" she called, "are you there?"
She could neither hear nor see them. She continued down the hill.
"Rebecca?" she called, "Children, where are you?"
The sound of screaming reached her ears. She recognised Andy's voice, calling her, shouting.
"Mum, come quick, come and help!"
Fleur broke into a run. She knew coming out here was a mistake. Something awful had happened, she could feel it in her heart.
"Where are you?" she shouted, "What's happened?"
A small figure emerged from the wood, toiling up the hill towards her. It was Rebecca.
"Come on!" she called, waving, "We've found someone in the woods. I think he's hurt."
Fleur arrived at the scene. The bare branches of the trees formed a cavern of black overhead. The ground was covered in decaying leaves, and patched with dappled sunlight. Andy, Mary and William were standing round something, something black, lying on the ground. Fleur got closer, and moved Andy out of the way.
What they had found was a boy, no more than eleven, or twelve years old, wrapped in a black cloak, blood tricking down his cheek from a substantial wound to the forehead, his left arm twisted into an impossible posture, his silver blond hair dirty and matted.
Fleur crouched down beside the boy. She looked at his arm. Almost certainly broken.
"Have any of you got a tissue?" she asked.
William delved into his jacket pocket, and produced a single white tissue. Fleur took it from him, and wiped the blood off the boy's forehead.
"Is he dead?" asked Rebecca, clinging to the hem of Fleur's jacket.
"I don't think so," said Fleur, "no ... he's definitely breathing."
"Who is he?" asked William.
"I don't know," answered Fleur, "was there anything with him, any other people? Anything at all?"
"There's a wand," said Andy.
"Oh dear lord," said Fleur, "he's a wizard then."
"But who is he?" asked Rebecca.
"I didn't think there were any other wizard families in this area," said Fleur, "I thought we were the only ones," she took the boy's wand from Andy. It was a fine wand, well polished, in excellent condition.
"Ought we to call an ambulance?" asked Mary.
Fleur was thinking on her feet, "No," she said, "I don't think we can get muggles involved without raising suspicion. We'll have to move him. I don't think this was an accident. Um, William, I want you to run back to your parents, and get them down here. They're on the hill, building a snowman."
"Okay," breathed William. He turned, and dashed off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Fleur turned back to the prone boy, "Can you hear me?"
There was no answer, whoever it was was out cold.
Fleur groaned, "This is abso-bloody-lutely the last thing I need," she said, "Hello! Kid, can you hear me?"
Andy and Mary crouched down next to her. Rebecca was standing a few feet away, looking as white as a sheet.
"Is he going to die?" she asked, in a quiet, plaintive voice.
"Not on my account," said Fleur, "come on Harry, Ron, where the hell have you got to?"
"Shall I see if they're coming Mum?" asked Andy, standing up. Like Rebecca, he was very pale, and obviously in considerable shock. A wisp of bright red hair stuck out from beneath his woolly hat.
"They're coming," said Fleur, "I'm sure of it."
They heard the sound of people in the distance, twigs cracking under running feet. Harry burst into the clearing, red in the face through exertion. He was not used to running so fast so quickly.
"Fleur," he gasped, "whatever ... oh Jesus Christ," he breathed, as he caught sight of the body. He rushed over, and crouched down next to the boy.
"Is he hurt?" asked Harry.
"Look at his arm Dad," whispered Rebecca, tentatively taking step closer.
"Almost certainly broken," said Harry, inspecting it. He rolled up the sleeve of the boy's cloak. There was considerable bruising around his elbow, and what looked like long, red marks on his arm. Rebecca backed away again.
"He's a muggle, right?"
Fleur shook her head, and showed Harry the wand, "Andy found this in his hand."
"Oh bloody hell. Think we can move him?"
"We'll have to chance it," said Fleur, "is your house closer?"
"Just about," said Harry, "we'll take him there. He looks like he took a spill."
"It looks like more than that," said Fleur, "you don't get in this state through tripping over a tree root, look at that bruising."
"We'll get him home," said Harry, he took his wand out of his jacket pocket, waved it at the boy, "mobilicorpus."
The body lifted slowly up off the ground, and with Harry keeping his wand trained on the boy, they began to walk slowly out of the copse, the way they had come.
Ron and Hermione were waiting for them. Hermione gasped as she caught sight of the boy, "What happened?" she gasped, stepping forwards.
"We do not know," said Fleur, shrugging her shoulders in that peculiarly Gallic fashion, "the children found him lying in the woods."
"We'd better take him home," said Harry.
"But he's a muggle, surely. Hadn't we better call an ambulance?" said Hermione.
Harry shook his head, "He's no muggle," he said.
Hermione took a step closer, "He looks ... familiar," she said. She shook her head, as if regaining her normal, businesslike personality, "We can't take him like this, supposing a muggle saw."
"She's right Harry," said Ron, "put him down, I'll carry him."
Harry lowered the body to the ground. Ron stooped down next to it, "I think Hermione's right. I'm sure I've seen him before," he put his left hand round the boy's shoulder to support his neck, and his right hand around his knees. Then he picked him up, "Oof," he went. The boy's head flopped backwards.
"Is he that heavy?" asked Hermione, "perhaps two of us could take him, like stretcher bearers."
"Bag of bones Hermi, bag of bones," said Ron, "come on sunshine, let's get you home."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
With the kids running ahead to make sure the coast was clear, they managed to get the mysterious wizard boy home without attracting the attention of any passing muggles. When they arrived at Harry and Hermione's house, Rebecca and William were sent up to prepare one of the guest bedrooms, whilst Ron carried the boy into the living room, and laid him gently on the sofa beside the Christmas tree.
"We'd better take a look at him," said Harry. He pulled up a pouffe, and sat down on it next to the sofa. He unfolded the boy's cloak. He was wearing a pair of jeans that were far too big for him. His right shoulder was badly dislocated, and there were more of the same angry red marks across his neck and chest ... some of these had been bleeding.
"We'll need hot water," said Fleur, "I'll get Hermione to put the kettle on."
"Get me plenty of cotton wool, and there are bandages somewhere in the kitchen," instructed Harry, "what I wouldn't give for a Madam Pomfrey right about now."
The boy was still unconscious, but even without verbal evidence, Harry could tell he'd been through a lot.
Hermione bustled into the room, bearing a red plastic bowl filled with warm water, "I figured you'd need this," she said, "and Fleur's getting some bandages, and cream and stuff."
She wetted a flannel in the water, and handed it to Harry, who pressed it to the boy's bloody forehead.
"He's going to have a little scar there," observed Hermione. Harry froze.
"You don't suppose it was ... you know, who did this?"
"Voldemort? Doubt it, we'd have heard something if he was back in the country," said Hermione, "face it Harry, you'd be the first person they'd call on."
Voldemort had vanished from Britain after his last encounter with Harry, five years earlier, this time everyone had thought him broken for good, but still rumours had circulated. He had been seen all over the world. Then some wizards in Australia had been murdered, and the Dark Mark shot into the sky over Sydney, where muggles could see it. There had been an international outcry, and the entire wizarding world was on their guard. This was partly the reason Harry had been so busy at work lately. He had been called upon to follow the slightest lead that the Magical Criminal Investigation Department had come up with, and there had been lots.
"I'm a prime target," said Harry, under his breath, "bloody Voldemort."
"What's that?" said Ron, who had appeared in the doorway.
"Nothing," said Harry, "forget it."
"Oh," said Ron, "I came down to ... well, the guest bedroom is ready. Want me to carry him?"
"You'd better," said Harry, "puny muscles, you see."
"Come on mate," said Ron, bending to pick up the boy again. Harry took the tub of water, and Hermione followed behind, her face etched with concern. With some considerable effort on Ron's part, for the Potters' staircase was steep and narrow, they got him upstairs, and into the bedroom the children had prepared. Ron laid his immobile form down on the bed.
"He'll need to get that arm seen to," said Ron, "I really think we should call an ambulance."
"Do you want me to try, only, we don't have a telephone," said Hermione, "there's one in the village, I can be there and back in five minutes."
"Don't bother," said Harry, "too many awkward questions. We've done too much. And believe me Hermi, you don't want to get involved with muggle police."
Hermione blushed, one of her biggest secrets, that she had been hiding from Harry for nearly six years, was that she had been pulled over and breathalysed by the police for erratic driving, "We ought to do something."
"If we call anywhere," said Harry, "it's St Mungo's."
Ron nodded his agreement, "Unless we have somebody here who can repair broken bones."
Fleur broke the silence, "Um, actually, I have medical training."
Ron turned to stare at her, "You never told me."
"You never asked," said Fleur, "it was only a little anyway. But I can repair bones. And we really should relocate his shoulder. Here, let me."
She bent down next to the bed, and putting her hand on the boy's shoulder, pushed hard on his shoulder. She grimaced. There was a loud crack.
"That's done it," she said. She stepped away. His shoulder did indeed look more normal now, "old muggle methods, sometimes you just can't beat them."
Ron looked considerably impressed.
Harry soaked the flannel in the tepid water, and bathed his forehead once more, whilst Hermione applied antiseptic cream to the wounds on his chest.
"He does look familiar you know," said Harry, "I feel sure I've seen him before."
"I know what you mean," said Hermione.
Fleur gave a cry of surprise, "Harry, Hermi, look, he's coming round."
She was right. The boy stirred, opened first one eye, and then the other. He looked dazed, and more than a little confused.
"Where?" he asked.
"You're safe. It's okay kid," said Harry, pressing the warm flannel to his forehead.
"What?"
"You were found, in the woods," said Hermione loudly, craning closer, "it's okay, we're here to help."
"Has he gone?"
"Has who gone?"
"Him," the boy croaked, in a tired voice.
"I don't know who you mean love," said Hermione, "can you tell us your name?"
"Sorry?" the boy gasped.
"Your name," said Harry, "what is it?"
A/N
So? Who is it? Is it too obvious? I think it is. More will be revealed, very soon. Please review, I love reviews!!!
Disclaimer: not mine, JK's, OK?
Again, thanks for the reviews. If you read this and enjoyed it, then why not write one? It doesn't take a minute, and I always go back to read them, and usually take what people say into account. The results of the mysterious stranger competition will be revealed within the next few chapters, so watch this space, and keep guessing. A mention in the A/N and the adulation of hundreds of fanfic readers goes to the winner. Thanks to all the people who reviewed so far. Here's the next part.
Chapter 5. In which the cloaked stranger casts a spell on Draco, and the Potters are taken by surprise by a find in the woods.
December 23rd dawned bright, clear, and very, very chilly. High clouds scudded across a deep blue sky, borne eastwards on the wind. The countryside was covered in a carpet of pure white snow, through which the muggle milkman struggled up to the front door of the Potter's house, holding their milk bottles in his frozen hands. His breath condensed before him.
The door opened as he was collecting the empties. It was Hermione, wearing a thick woollen dressing gown and bunny rabbit slippers.
"Morning," said the milkman.
"Morning Dave," Hermione yawned, "cold out isn't it?"
The milkman laughed, "You're telling me. I've not even had any breakfast yet. Can't wait to get back to the depot, have a cup of tea."
Harry called out from the kitchen, where he was grilling toast, "Who's there?"
"Just the milkman love," called Hermione.
The milkman handed Hermione her bottles, and touched his cap respectfully, "Will you be wanting extra over Christmas?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head, "No, just the usual," she said, "could you leave us a quart of orange juice tomorrow?"
"No worries," said the milkman. He turned, and walked back down the drive to where his float was parked. Hermione closed the door, and took the milk through into the kitchen. Harry was pouring tea into large, chipped mugs.
"I thought we could make a snow wizard today," said Harry.
"The kids would like that," said Hermione.
"I thought you would too. We could have Ron and Fleur over, make an afternoon of it."
Hermione spread butter thickly onto her toast, "Are we going to Sirius' for Christmas day?"
Harry sipped his tea, "As far as I know. I thought you'd made the arrangements."
"Just checking," said Hermione. She glanced at the kitchen clock, "hmm, twenty past nine, I wonder if the kids are up?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Draco shoved his case roughly into the boot of his rental car. He knew he had to get far, far away from here, he didn't care where he ended up ... he just had to be somewhere where this mysterious cloaked figure, whoever he might be, could not touch him, or hurt him, in any way.
He slammed shut the boot lid, and walked round to the driver's door, his shoes scrunching in the clean white snow. He opened the door, and climbed in. It was then that he glanced over to the passenger seat.
"Good morning Draco."
The colour drained from his face. He was still wearing the cloak, shielding his face. He projected an air of menace.
"I do hope you weren't trying to escape me, Draco," he went on, "don't you remember your dream?"
Draco mouthed the words silently, "Whenever, wherever, whatever."
"Exactly. I thought you would remember it. It takes an iron constitution, Draco, to forget a dream such as that, and I know you are possessed of no such thing."
"What do you want with me?"
"Exactly what I said. I want Weasley, and I want you, to get him for me."
"But why me, I haven't even seen Ron for seventeen years!"
The stranger raised his hand, and slapped Draco hard across the cheek. Once again, his fingers felt like ice, raising livid marks on his skin.
"You lie to me Draco. You lie. Don't lie to me. None has got away with it before, and I do not intend for you to be the first."
"I haven't seen him," moaned Draco, pitifully, "I'm not the one you want. You want Potter, why don't you go torture him?"
"Potter is of no use to me," said the stranger, lowering the tone of his voice, "and if he was, he would have been delivered to be long before now. No, it is Weasley I want, and it is Weasley whom I shall get. Is it not so Draco?"
Draco didn't reply.
"You will drive me Draco," he said, leaning back in his seat, "we will talk as you drive."
"What if I refuse?" said Draco, whose right hand was already on the door handle.
"You didn't want to vex me last night. Believe me, you do not want to vex me again. I can see what you're doing, by the way."
Draco released the door handle.
"That's better, and now," he reached once more into the folds of his cloak, and withdrew the wand, "keys, in the ignition."
Draco took the keys from his pocket, and put them in the ignition.
"Turn on the engine."
Draco did.
"Thus, you merely confirm to me your cowardice. A better man would have resisted me. A better man would have risked the Cruciatus Curse."
Draco stared at the stranger, his eyes filled with hatred, his mouth curled into an ugly scowl.
"Now drive," he said. Draco felt the wand, stuck into his side. He put the car in gear, and reversed out of the parking space.
"Turn left," said the stranger.
Draco drove up to the gate of the car park. A milk float trundled past, its occupant whistling to himself.
"Left."
Draco turned left. There was very little traffic on the roads, it being so early in the morning.
"Where are you taking me?" growled Draco, through gritted teeth.
"We're just, going for a little drive," said the stranger.
Draco slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt.
"Draco," the stranger said, in a warning tone of voice.
Draco tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He set the handbrake, and turned off the engine.
"Do you disobey me Draco?"
"I ... don't want to do this," said Draco.
The stranger was evidently puzzled, "Why ever not? Do you know what I am offering you Draco? I'm offering you ultimate control ... over the entire wizard world."
"I don't want that," said Draco, "I never wanted that. All I wanted was a quiet life. I didn't want to cause any hassle to anyone, I just wanted to settle down, go to work. Be normal. Maybe there'd have been kids somewhere. I don't know, but what I do know, is I don't want the world, I don't want you near me, and I want no part in your scheme. I just ... want you to let me go."
The stranger surveyed Draco scornfully, "Have we quite finished Draco?" without waiting for a reply, he went on, "Well, after that little outburst, I can see it is going to take more than some, gentle persuasion to bend you to my will. And I thought you were a coward, that you would be easy to control. Perhaps I was wrong, after all, even I have been wrong."
Draco shivered.
"And there was I, thinking you didn't want me to get angry with you again."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Maybe, a more extreme punishment this time. I think we'll start with ... crucio."
Draco's muscles locked, he was paralysed in his seat, his limbs twitched, and he felt such agony, in every nerve of his body ran pain of a magnitude beyond that which any reasonable person could be expected to endure. He opened his mouth wide to scream, but as it had been the night before, no sound came out. His mind had shut down, and once again, he wanted nothing more than to be dead, and forgotten.
The stranger raised his wand again, and mouthed some unheard words. The pain subsided. Draco felt his body relaxing. He could tell tears of pain and rage were pouring down his cheeks.
"You disgust me Draco."
"Please, please ... just let me go," Draco whispered, he couldn't stop himself from crying.
"You disgust me. I never thought I'd see the day when a Malfoy cried."
"Then," gasped Draco, "maybe I don't want to be a Malfoy anymore."
"But I think you do. Are you sure you wouldn't like another go?" he raised his wand again.
"No ... please, no!"
"Snivelling little brat," scoffed the stranger, but he lowered his wand anyway, "you're not worthy to even bear your name. Think of your ancestors Draco."
Draco sniffed, blinking back fresh floods of tears.
"Perhaps we need to punish you further."
"No," said Draco.
"I think we do. I think we need to teach you a lesson you will never forget."
He raised his wand.
"Not..." began Draco, his thoughts turning to the one time he had seen Avada Kedavra used, by Professor Moody, in his fourth year at Hogwarts.
"Puerus," whispered the stranger.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was getting on for two in the afternoon. Ron, Fleur, Harry and Hermione were walking across Titherne Common, leaving deep tracks in the snow behind them, whilst the children, dressed warmly in their winter coats, hats and gloves sprinted ahead towards the little copse by the railway line, Rebecca a little behind the others, shrieking, "Wait for me!" at the top of her voice.
"I love the snow," said Fleur, dreamily.
Ron rested his head on her shoulder, "Me too."
Hermione smiled, and held tightly to Harry's gloved hand.
"I thought we ought to make some snow wizards," said Harry.
"What a good idea," said Ron, "I haven't made one of those since I was a kid."
Fleur laughed, but Ron appeared to have been seized by some childlike enthusiasm, "No, let's," he said.
"What about the kids?" said Hermione.
"They'll be fine," said Ron, "don't be such a stick in the mud Hermi."
Harry was already crouched down in the snow, using his hands as makeshift spades.
"Come on then," he called. Ron crouched down next to him, and began to shovel snow furiously, he looked like a small dog.
"I'll just watch," said Fleur.
"Oh come on," said Hermione, "help me make a head. We'll need kindling too if we want to make a broomstick for it."
Harry and Ron were patting the snow into a wide base. Hermione set to rolling a giant snowball for a head. Fleur looked as if she was torn between helping, or going after the kids, who had disappeared into the copse. Finally she reached a compromise.
"I'll go get the children," she said, "see if they want to help."
She set off down the hill, towards the little wood.
"Andy, Mary, William!" she called, "are you there?"
She could neither hear nor see them. She continued down the hill.
"Rebecca?" she called, "Children, where are you?"
The sound of screaming reached her ears. She recognised Andy's voice, calling her, shouting.
"Mum, come quick, come and help!"
Fleur broke into a run. She knew coming out here was a mistake. Something awful had happened, she could feel it in her heart.
"Where are you?" she shouted, "What's happened?"
A small figure emerged from the wood, toiling up the hill towards her. It was Rebecca.
"Come on!" she called, waving, "We've found someone in the woods. I think he's hurt."
Fleur arrived at the scene. The bare branches of the trees formed a cavern of black overhead. The ground was covered in decaying leaves, and patched with dappled sunlight. Andy, Mary and William were standing round something, something black, lying on the ground. Fleur got closer, and moved Andy out of the way.
What they had found was a boy, no more than eleven, or twelve years old, wrapped in a black cloak, blood tricking down his cheek from a substantial wound to the forehead, his left arm twisted into an impossible posture, his silver blond hair dirty and matted.
Fleur crouched down beside the boy. She looked at his arm. Almost certainly broken.
"Have any of you got a tissue?" she asked.
William delved into his jacket pocket, and produced a single white tissue. Fleur took it from him, and wiped the blood off the boy's forehead.
"Is he dead?" asked Rebecca, clinging to the hem of Fleur's jacket.
"I don't think so," said Fleur, "no ... he's definitely breathing."
"Who is he?" asked William.
"I don't know," answered Fleur, "was there anything with him, any other people? Anything at all?"
"There's a wand," said Andy.
"Oh dear lord," said Fleur, "he's a wizard then."
"But who is he?" asked Rebecca.
"I didn't think there were any other wizard families in this area," said Fleur, "I thought we were the only ones," she took the boy's wand from Andy. It was a fine wand, well polished, in excellent condition.
"Ought we to call an ambulance?" asked Mary.
Fleur was thinking on her feet, "No," she said, "I don't think we can get muggles involved without raising suspicion. We'll have to move him. I don't think this was an accident. Um, William, I want you to run back to your parents, and get them down here. They're on the hill, building a snowman."
"Okay," breathed William. He turned, and dashed off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Fleur turned back to the prone boy, "Can you hear me?"
There was no answer, whoever it was was out cold.
Fleur groaned, "This is abso-bloody-lutely the last thing I need," she said, "Hello! Kid, can you hear me?"
Andy and Mary crouched down next to her. Rebecca was standing a few feet away, looking as white as a sheet.
"Is he going to die?" she asked, in a quiet, plaintive voice.
"Not on my account," said Fleur, "come on Harry, Ron, where the hell have you got to?"
"Shall I see if they're coming Mum?" asked Andy, standing up. Like Rebecca, he was very pale, and obviously in considerable shock. A wisp of bright red hair stuck out from beneath his woolly hat.
"They're coming," said Fleur, "I'm sure of it."
They heard the sound of people in the distance, twigs cracking under running feet. Harry burst into the clearing, red in the face through exertion. He was not used to running so fast so quickly.
"Fleur," he gasped, "whatever ... oh Jesus Christ," he breathed, as he caught sight of the body. He rushed over, and crouched down next to the boy.
"Is he hurt?" asked Harry.
"Look at his arm Dad," whispered Rebecca, tentatively taking step closer.
"Almost certainly broken," said Harry, inspecting it. He rolled up the sleeve of the boy's cloak. There was considerable bruising around his elbow, and what looked like long, red marks on his arm. Rebecca backed away again.
"He's a muggle, right?"
Fleur shook her head, and showed Harry the wand, "Andy found this in his hand."
"Oh bloody hell. Think we can move him?"
"We'll have to chance it," said Fleur, "is your house closer?"
"Just about," said Harry, "we'll take him there. He looks like he took a spill."
"It looks like more than that," said Fleur, "you don't get in this state through tripping over a tree root, look at that bruising."
"We'll get him home," said Harry, he took his wand out of his jacket pocket, waved it at the boy, "mobilicorpus."
The body lifted slowly up off the ground, and with Harry keeping his wand trained on the boy, they began to walk slowly out of the copse, the way they had come.
Ron and Hermione were waiting for them. Hermione gasped as she caught sight of the boy, "What happened?" she gasped, stepping forwards.
"We do not know," said Fleur, shrugging her shoulders in that peculiarly Gallic fashion, "the children found him lying in the woods."
"We'd better take him home," said Harry.
"But he's a muggle, surely. Hadn't we better call an ambulance?" said Hermione.
Harry shook his head, "He's no muggle," he said.
Hermione took a step closer, "He looks ... familiar," she said. She shook her head, as if regaining her normal, businesslike personality, "We can't take him like this, supposing a muggle saw."
"She's right Harry," said Ron, "put him down, I'll carry him."
Harry lowered the body to the ground. Ron stooped down next to it, "I think Hermione's right. I'm sure I've seen him before," he put his left hand round the boy's shoulder to support his neck, and his right hand around his knees. Then he picked him up, "Oof," he went. The boy's head flopped backwards.
"Is he that heavy?" asked Hermione, "perhaps two of us could take him, like stretcher bearers."
"Bag of bones Hermi, bag of bones," said Ron, "come on sunshine, let's get you home."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
With the kids running ahead to make sure the coast was clear, they managed to get the mysterious wizard boy home without attracting the attention of any passing muggles. When they arrived at Harry and Hermione's house, Rebecca and William were sent up to prepare one of the guest bedrooms, whilst Ron carried the boy into the living room, and laid him gently on the sofa beside the Christmas tree.
"We'd better take a look at him," said Harry. He pulled up a pouffe, and sat down on it next to the sofa. He unfolded the boy's cloak. He was wearing a pair of jeans that were far too big for him. His right shoulder was badly dislocated, and there were more of the same angry red marks across his neck and chest ... some of these had been bleeding.
"We'll need hot water," said Fleur, "I'll get Hermione to put the kettle on."
"Get me plenty of cotton wool, and there are bandages somewhere in the kitchen," instructed Harry, "what I wouldn't give for a Madam Pomfrey right about now."
The boy was still unconscious, but even without verbal evidence, Harry could tell he'd been through a lot.
Hermione bustled into the room, bearing a red plastic bowl filled with warm water, "I figured you'd need this," she said, "and Fleur's getting some bandages, and cream and stuff."
She wetted a flannel in the water, and handed it to Harry, who pressed it to the boy's bloody forehead.
"He's going to have a little scar there," observed Hermione. Harry froze.
"You don't suppose it was ... you know, who did this?"
"Voldemort? Doubt it, we'd have heard something if he was back in the country," said Hermione, "face it Harry, you'd be the first person they'd call on."
Voldemort had vanished from Britain after his last encounter with Harry, five years earlier, this time everyone had thought him broken for good, but still rumours had circulated. He had been seen all over the world. Then some wizards in Australia had been murdered, and the Dark Mark shot into the sky over Sydney, where muggles could see it. There had been an international outcry, and the entire wizarding world was on their guard. This was partly the reason Harry had been so busy at work lately. He had been called upon to follow the slightest lead that the Magical Criminal Investigation Department had come up with, and there had been lots.
"I'm a prime target," said Harry, under his breath, "bloody Voldemort."
"What's that?" said Ron, who had appeared in the doorway.
"Nothing," said Harry, "forget it."
"Oh," said Ron, "I came down to ... well, the guest bedroom is ready. Want me to carry him?"
"You'd better," said Harry, "puny muscles, you see."
"Come on mate," said Ron, bending to pick up the boy again. Harry took the tub of water, and Hermione followed behind, her face etched with concern. With some considerable effort on Ron's part, for the Potters' staircase was steep and narrow, they got him upstairs, and into the bedroom the children had prepared. Ron laid his immobile form down on the bed.
"He'll need to get that arm seen to," said Ron, "I really think we should call an ambulance."
"Do you want me to try, only, we don't have a telephone," said Hermione, "there's one in the village, I can be there and back in five minutes."
"Don't bother," said Harry, "too many awkward questions. We've done too much. And believe me Hermi, you don't want to get involved with muggle police."
Hermione blushed, one of her biggest secrets, that she had been hiding from Harry for nearly six years, was that she had been pulled over and breathalysed by the police for erratic driving, "We ought to do something."
"If we call anywhere," said Harry, "it's St Mungo's."
Ron nodded his agreement, "Unless we have somebody here who can repair broken bones."
Fleur broke the silence, "Um, actually, I have medical training."
Ron turned to stare at her, "You never told me."
"You never asked," said Fleur, "it was only a little anyway. But I can repair bones. And we really should relocate his shoulder. Here, let me."
She bent down next to the bed, and putting her hand on the boy's shoulder, pushed hard on his shoulder. She grimaced. There was a loud crack.
"That's done it," she said. She stepped away. His shoulder did indeed look more normal now, "old muggle methods, sometimes you just can't beat them."
Ron looked considerably impressed.
Harry soaked the flannel in the tepid water, and bathed his forehead once more, whilst Hermione applied antiseptic cream to the wounds on his chest.
"He does look familiar you know," said Harry, "I feel sure I've seen him before."
"I know what you mean," said Hermione.
Fleur gave a cry of surprise, "Harry, Hermi, look, he's coming round."
She was right. The boy stirred, opened first one eye, and then the other. He looked dazed, and more than a little confused.
"Where?" he asked.
"You're safe. It's okay kid," said Harry, pressing the warm flannel to his forehead.
"What?"
"You were found, in the woods," said Hermione loudly, craning closer, "it's okay, we're here to help."
"Has he gone?"
"Has who gone?"
"Him," the boy croaked, in a tired voice.
"I don't know who you mean love," said Hermione, "can you tell us your name?"
"Sorry?" the boy gasped.
"Your name," said Harry, "what is it?"
A/N
So? Who is it? Is it too obvious? I think it is. More will be revealed, very soon. Please review, I love reviews!!!