Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate ideas created and/or owned by other third parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
"Happy Birthday to you..."
"... Happy Birthday to you..."
"Happy Birthday, dear Draco..."
"Happy Birthday to you."
Draco faked a smile as he leaned over and blew out his fifteen intricate dragon shaped candles, sending little wisps of smoke into his eyes as the sea of unfamiliar faces before him broke into even faker smiles as they 'ooohed', 'ahhhed' and clapped.
The lights flickered back on and Narcissa hurried over to the table, carefully picking up the massive cake and trotting off to cut it, playing the role of loving mother and obedient wife extremely well. Draco noted his mother's fantastic acting skills and made a mental note to commend her later on actually making herself look like she cared. However, Draco's thoughts of his mother were soon vanquished as Lucius Malfoy sauntered over to the table with a champagne flute in hand and a sneer on his face, his normally perfect hair a little ruffled. Draco took in the lipstick marks on the collar of his father's robes with a raised eyebrow and a fleeting look of disgust.
"Pansy arrived, has she?" he asked tonelessly. "Really, Father, you ought to wash those off. We don't want Mother noticing, do we?"
"Don't you speak to me like that, boy." slurred Lucius, wagging a free finger in Draco's face. Draco stared as the pale length danced in front of his steely grey eyes, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and snap it. He stood up and pushed past Lucius, wandering aimlessly into the crowd of black-robe clad people, his eyes searching the room for a face he knew. It was with surprise that he noticed that many other occupants of the Slytherin House were there, and when Narcissa bustled by he caught her arm and pulled her to one side.
"Why are there people from school here?" he asked, eyes flashing dangerously. He didn't want to be bumping into Millicent or Pansy and having his birthday ruined by their childish giggles and whorish attempts at seduction.
"It was your Father's doing." replied Narcissa stiffly, "Every single Slytherin student from fifth to seventh year is here."
"All of them?" asked Draco, shocked by this sudden revelation. It seemed he didn't know the faces of many of his schoolmates at all.
"Well, those who accepted the invitation." continued Narcissa, taking on an airy tone, "Those who refused were... taken care of."
She shrugged out of his grip and disappeared into the crowd as Draco rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Taken care of..." he muttered, "What do they think this is? My sweet sixteenth?"
After managing to dodge Pansy and Millicent a few times, Draco was presently hiding away in a corner with his head in his arms on a table, his silver-blonde hair falling around his shoulders as partygoers wandered by, all of them drinking champagne or eating cake. As a green and silver balloon bounced off his head for the umpteenth time (his Father had also, without Draco knowing, taken to inviting his cousins who were all aged between the years of five and nine) Draco sook refuge in the hallway outside the dining room.
It was in this hallway that Draco heard hushed voices and the loud bang of what sounded like crates hitting the cold flagstone floor, so he was, naturally, intriuged. He crept silently down the hallway towards the sounds, hiding in the shadows. Half of him wondered if it was a secret birthday present, the other half hoped it was the dead body of Potter being shipped to the Dark Lord.
He came to a closed door and after careful listening, he concluded that there were people with boxes, and they were in that room. Shrugging, he leaned his ear against the door, which unfortunately for him was promptly pulled open. He stumbled and fell into the doorway, the hem of his long velvet robes catching the buckles of his boots causing him to fall head first onto the stone cold floor as whoever opened the door deftly moved out of the way, neglecting to catch or help him in any way.
Draco struggled to his feet in the darkened room, backing up against the nearest wall whilst waving his right arm out in front of him in a futile attempt at defense as his left hand frantically searched the pockets of his robe for his wand. His hand closed around the slender stick of wood and he breathed a sigh of relief as he drew it out of his pocket, brandishing it in front of him. The unnerving silence of the room only served to confuse him causing his mind to neglect the usual reminder he couldn't use magic anyway, because it was the school holidays.
After a few mintues of Draco gibbering on about how he was armed and dangerous, and warning whoever was there that this was his house and thieves would be swiftly subjected to the Unforgivables, someone else in the room cleared his throat. Draco stuttered over his threats and his voice faded to oblivion as the 'other person' muttered an almost silent spell.
"Lumos."
Draco shrank against the wall, his sanity conveniently forgetting to remind him this was a simple 'lighting up the tip of your wand' trick, and he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for some sort of hairy beast to start clawing manically at his face or a green flash of light signifying his imminent death. When neither came, he cautiously opened an eye. For the first time in his life, Draco noticed that anything you saw with one eye was indistinguishable from a dancing penguin in grey blurry robes, and he cautiously opened the other. Blinking a couple of times, he promptly decided he'd fallen asleep in the dining hall and was dreaming, because why else would Lord Voldemort be in a little room in a dingy hallway of Draco's house with some very strange-shaped crates and two very large men?
"Er... hello." he ventured. After all, he'd spoken in dreams before, why stop now? 'Lord Voldemort' would probably turn into a fluffy pink rabbit any minute, because Draco Malfoy was renowned for his peculiar dreams. He was known to awake in the middle of the night under the influence of what his room-mates at Hogwarts would call "Rabbit Syndrome", dancing around in his boxers.
"Hello, Draco Malfoy." replied Voldemort, his voice tinged with an unmistakable-but-probably-not-deliberate hiss.
"Why are you in a little room in my house with crates and large men?" asked Draco curiously, raising an eyebrow.
"The origin of matters such as these is not important to you, at least not yet." answered Voldemort. Draco was surprised at how normal he was, considering he'd always imagined him as some massive monster flanked by armies, creeping around in the dead of night.
"Would you do me a favor, my little Slytherin Keeper? Fetch your Father."
Draco nodded dumbly and made to exit the little room, casting one last furtive glance at the crates before coming to the door. He was halfway out when he turned, only to find Voldemort right behind him, ready to shut the door after he left. He refrained from jumping in surprise, instead mumbling.
"I... uh... I'm the Seeker. The Slytherin Seeker."
"Of course you are." hissed Voldemort, a sneer appearing on his thin lips as he ran a spidery finger down the side of Draco's pale cheek. "Of course you are."
Draco gave an involuntary shudder as the finger made contact with his face, sending currents of ice down his spine where they intermingled beautifully with the spasms of fear that were slowly beginning to wrack Draco's body as he realised he wasn't dreaming.
Voldemort drew his finger away and Draco blindly stumbled out of the room, walking back down the cold hallway with tears pricking the back of his eyes, burning, even though he certainly wasn't about to cry. Draco didn't cry. He wandered slowly into the dining hall and bumped into his father, mouthing soundlessly and gesturing to the door.
"What do you want, boy?" slurred Lucius, waving his new glass of champagne about, spilling it down the sleeve of his robes.
"Voldemort..." stuttered Draco, waving his arms to the door, "Room... hall."
Lucius instantly sobered, dropping the glass to the floor where it shattered into a million pieces. He hurried out of the hall, and Narcissa rushed over and dutifully cleaned up the broken glass while Draco numbly allowed himself to be danced around the hall by Pansy and Millicent, who insisted on plying him with alcohol and cake, repeatedly commenting on how he'd grown over the first few weeks of summer. Draco mumbled something about playing a lot of Quidditch while they marvelled at his muscles and dragged him over to meet their parents.
- s e p t e m b e r 1st-
Draco leaned against the doorframe lazily, watching as house-elves loaded his trunk into the boot of the Ministry car. They fussed over it for a few minutes before casting curious glances at Draco and trotting into the house. A gentle breeze blew Draco's hair into his eyes and he shuddered as a sudden cold gripped him, whispering in his ears, sending mournful wisps of fear clawing at his heart as memories of his birthday flashed before his eyes.
"Beware the Master's plan." whispered a voice raw with warning, sending chills down Draco's spine. He jumped in surprise as the feeling of cold disappeared, and he whirled round only to find a lone house-elf standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates.
The house-elf squeaked and ran off as Draco shook off the feeling of dread that had started to cloud his senses and without even properly knowing why, decided to follow the elf. He broke into a run as the elf hurtled through the maze of hallways that was Malfoy Manor, his curiosity growing every passing second. What plan? Was it even the elf who'd said that? Did anyone even say that?
Draco rounded a corner and slid to a halt. An odd feeling of deja vu settled, and a little voice niggled at the back of his head as an involuntary shudder overtook him. He'd been in this hall before...
Discovering the elf had disappeared, Draco cautiously walked the length of the seemingly empty hallway, which had no windows and was decorated with expensive tapestries and large portraits of the Malfoys. He came to a stop in front of a particularly large painting of himself and his parents, all sitting rather stiffly with fake smiles on their faces. He rolled his eyes, and resisting the urge to punch a hole through the centre of the painting, carried on walking down the hallway. He came to a large door and pushed it open, shocked to find that it was the dining room. Disorientated and left wondering how well he actually knew his own home, he carried on down the hallway, looking around for the elf.
He came to the door of the little room from his birthday, and stopped outside. Should he go in? He looked around him guiltily, but there was no-one else in the hall. He caught sight of another portrait out of the corner of his eye, and the angry looking Lucius sneered at him from the ornate wooden frame.
"You'd better not go in there, boy."
Draco rolled his eyes pushed the door open, stumbling backwards as an icy blast of air knocked him in the face. Forced to screw his eyes shut as he was surrounded in a sticky, clinging fog, he righted himself and covered his face with his hands, cautiously walking forwards. After walking for about a minute Draco began to feel slightly nauseous, and the swirling fog was making his head hurt. He was just about to turn back when there was a loud pop, and he felt as though he was being sucked right out of his body. Panicking, he waved his arms around, frantically clawing the frigid air as a loud roaring noise filled his ears and his head pounded in time with the frenzied beating of his heart. His attempts to grab onto anything solid were all in vain, and he succumbed to the darkness as his vision faded to black.
"Urrrr." mumbled Draco, struggling to open his heavy eyelids. Something was stuck to his cheek, and it was with alarm that he noted something that felt suspiciously like a very sharp twig was digging into his face, dangerously close to his eye. He took what felt like several minutes to lift his leaden arms and pull himself into a sitting position, wincing as his aching limbs protested every little movement. Looking around him, Draco let out an audible groan as he realised he was no longer in the room. In fact, he was no longer in a building; he was, rather, in an obscure little forest clearing, sitting on dry dirt scattered with leaf litter.
Scrambling to his feet and brushing stray leaves and bits of twig off his robes, Draco looked around him curiously. Wherever he was, he noted, it was definitely in an altogether different timezone from the imposing concrete structure he'd just left. A full moon shone down brightly, surrounding Draco in an unearthly glow and giving his silver hair a shimmering edge as he smiled wryly.
"Hope I don't bump into Professor Lupin." he muttered to himself, crossing his lean and muscular arms across his likewise chest and strolling to the edge of the clearing.
Out of the blue, a low, threatening growl sounded loudly behind Draco, and he spun around, grappling frantically for his wand. The growl ceased, only to be replaced by a low purr. Draco froze, his slender wand clutched in his hand as his knuckles turned white and he strained his ears, hardly daring to breathe. Quiet footfalls padded around the clearing, and Draco gave an involuntary shudder as he felt eyes boring into the back of his skull. Someone, or something, was watching him.
"Oh for crying out loud," he snapped, more to himself than anyone else, all the while becoming more and more certain he was the only being in this forest who was entirely human, "Why did no-one tell me that Narnia was in a ruddy poky little room in my house?!"
Getting thouroughly pissed off at the thought of not being informed of various alternate universes, Draco irritably shoved his wand back into his robe pocket and folded his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.
"I suggest you stop looking at me," he shouted, scowling, "And at least come out here. Who do you think you are? Aslan?"
After a few minutes of Draco acting tough and relishing his own false bravado, he was getting quite impatient and wondering whether or not there was anyone, or anything, there. Once his fear of his unknown hunter faded, he was left wondering where he was, and how he was going to get home. Worrying about the time and getting concerned about his impending fate of either dying in some unknown forest, or at the very least missing his train to Hogwarts, Draco began searching for any sign of a Portkey or other way of getting home.
When he didn't find one, he collapsed cross-legged onto the ground, running his now grubby hands through his dishevelled hair and wondering to himself if there was a way home. He was positive there would be one but he didn't dare leave the clearing, preferring to sit on the ground waiting for someone, perhaps even his father, to come and find him.
This plan was working out just fine, and Draco was having a strange but altogether okay time building a little twig broomstick when a loud roar filled the clearing and something very big whizzed past Draco's head, making his hair flutter around his face. He dropped his broomstick and scrambled to his feet, spinning around and fumbling for his wand.
There was a loud whoosh of air behind Draco and a thud as something very heavy whacked him in the back, winding him and knocking him to the ground. His face hit the dirt with a thump and he landed awkwardly on his elbow, crushing it under his ribs as it twisted painfully. Biting down hard on his lip, Draco stifled a cry of pain and desperately tried to pull himself to his feet, scurrying backwards as whatever had knocked him down struck him in the ribs.
"Owwww..." he cried, an exclamation which was followed by much cursing as his assailant came back for more. Draco, used to being beaten as the son of Lucius Malfoy, wasn't one to give up without a fight. He kicked out forcefully with his legs, and used his arms, strong from Quidditch, to grab onto the arm of his attacker.
Struggling to his feet and breathing heavily, Draco brushed his wayward hair out of his eyes with his free hand, still holding onto the arm. He was just beginning to wonder why no-one was whacking him around the head with another arm when he caught his first real look of what had been hitting him, and let out a strangled cry of surprise.
There was no other arm, or, in fact, any other limbs there to hit him. The arm he'd grabbed had been exactly that; an arm. An arm, and no more. Granted, it was as big as his leg and was wearing an imposing glove up to the elbow that looked to be made of steel, encrusted with emeralds and engraved with intricate little battle scenes and snakes, but it was still just an arm. When the longest fingers Draco had ever seen began creaking around in their steel covering, and clenching menacingly, Draco forgot (albeit, temporarily) that he had four whole limbs and was more likely so succeed in a fight now that the arm's element of surprise had diminished, and dropped the arm at his feet. It lay still for a few moments, and Draco stared at it in confusion. It was an arm, only an arm... with nothing to control it. And then there was the whole forest situation...
Draco, deep in thought, never noticed the arm creeping (if you could call dragging itself along, 'creeping') towards his right leg. He never noticed, but he felt it alright. He let out a scream as it clamped onto his leg and started to yank at him. He kicked his leg around frantically, but the arm only gripped on tighter, and Draco did the only thing he could think of.
He ran.
Crashing through the trees and screaming at the top of his lungs, Draco abandoned his earlier plan and raced out of the clearing. He ran until his muscles burned, but the arm showed no sign of letting go of his leg. Shuddering to a stop, he began whacking his leg off the nearest tree. The arm still wasn't loosening it's grip, and Draco swore loudly as he lost his balance and fell onto his backside in the dirt with a thud. The arm stopped moving briefly, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
"Give it to me." hissed a disembodied voice from behind Draco, "It's mine. Give it back."
"What, this stupid arm?" yelled Draco, standing up and turning round, "Take your bloody arm!"
He let out a blood-curdling scream as he saw where the voice had come from, and turned on his heel and ran back the way he'd came. Now, Draco Malfoy certainly wasn't one for running away from danger and screaming like a girl, but this situation, in his eyes, definitely called for it. The voice had belonged to the most horrendous and disgusting sight Draco had ever seen, bearing in mind that Draco had spent a fair amout of time in Professor Snape's Potions classroom, surrounded by Lord knows what pickled in jars.
What Draco had seen was something a fifteen year old boy certainly shouldn't have seen, never mind have had the misfortune of talking to. It was, in simple terms, a head, obviously no longer attached to a body. A large head at that, almost twice the size of Draco's own, with long matted black hair and pale skin. Pale skin that was peeling off in various places, to Draco's intense horror, and black eyes burning with fire half-shielded behind drooping eyelids. Draco was particularly repulsed by the cracked lips and gaping mouth filled with yellowing teeth, all in various stages of disintegration. Someone clearly wasn't fond of toothbrushes.
After running for what seemed like hours, Draco was forced to stop to regain his composure and make full use of his lung capacity, and for a few minutes he could be seen leaning against a large tree. Breathing heavily and sweating profously, Draco almost forgot the arm was still clamped to his leg as his mind wandered to whether or not he'd get to the Hogwarts Express, and whether or not the people on it would smell his now unavoidable B.O. His thoughts returned to the arm though, when it decided it had had enough of his leg and lunged for his neck.
Draco barely had time to cry out in surprise before the long spidery fingers began squeezing the life out of him, and soon he had sunk to the ground, desperately clawing at his neck, struggling to breathe. A terrified Draco resorted to thrashing around as wildly as he could in a desperate attempt to fling off the arm as his vision blurred and his head pounded, his lungs burning. He tried to speak, to scream or cry out for help, but it was impossible. Hearing a rustling of leaves behind him, he used the last of his rapidly decreasing energy to do the first thing that came into his head. He tried to get away, and came face to face with a house-elf who was trembling in fear with wide eyes.
"Help me!" thought Draco helplessly, but the elf just stood there. "I'm going to die!"
After a few seconds that seemed like hours to Draco, the house-elf stepped towards him and raised his right arm.
"It's time to go home now, Mister Draco. You should not be here. Not yet. Beware the Master's plan."
If he could have, Draco would have breathed a sigh of relief, and if the house-elf wasn't so - well, icky - he most certainly would have hugged him. For now though, he was content with the bright flash of golden light that lit up the forest and sucked at his insides, pulling him into a swirling vortex of rainbow colors.
As the hard concrete floor rushed to meet Draco his mind was filled briefly with a myriad of thoughts all centering the phrase "This is going to hurt." before he crashed onto the cold stone, and for the second time that day, he found himself in a situation were he practically had to be scraped off the ground. This time, however, it wasn't as difficult to stand up, only about seventy times more painful. Swearing loudly, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled unsteadily to the door, bolting through it and slamming it shut behind him with an almighty crash.
For the third time in one extremely strange day, Draco came face-to-face with a house-elf. Groaning loudly, he regarded it suspiciously, pulling out his wand as the Lucius in the painting roared and screamed at him.
"I told you not to go in there! You little arse... your father is going to kill you!"
"You little bastard, you knew that was going to happen!" Draco growled, ignoring the painting and focusing on his little would-be assassin, "I'll... I'll get you put in House-elf Azkaban! I'll get you killed! Say hello to Avada Kedavra, you spineless, leathery skinned little... thing!"
"Eeeep!" squeaked the house-elf as Draco advanced, cowering in a corner crying, "But Sir, I was just to tell you... your car is leaving for the station, sir!"
"Draco? It's time to go." called a prim voice airily, a voice that could only be his mother's.
"See?" ventured the elf.
Draco snarled at the house-elf before giving it a sharp kick and running towards his mother's voice. She was probably waiting for him at the front door, sniffing into a little lace hankerchief bought with dirty money while his father waited to whack him on the back and tell him to 'make his family proud'. He certainly didn't want to be late, he would need some time in those atrocious little Muggle public toilets to clean himself up after his recent encounter. He half wondered what he looked like, imagining the beginnings of a black eye and a few scratches. Unbeknown to him, he couldn't be further from the truth.
As he rounded the corner leading to the Entrance Hall of the Manor, he came face-to-face with his parents. Narcissa gasped, and clapped a delicate hand to her mouth, and even Lucius seemed quite taken aback.
"What happened to your face?" squealed Narcissa as Lucius looked at him rather strangely.
"Er..." mumbled Draco, "It was a rogue elf," he continued, not actually lying, "It... um... it was out of control. Got over-excited. Tried to hump my face."
"Tried to what?!" roared Lucius, and Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow. Draco found himself wondering if it was her who was having strange house-elf encounters before pushing the thought from his mind, hurriedly kissing Narcissa on the cheek, running out the door and jumping into his waiting car.
"Got to go!" he cried as Lucius mouthed soundlessly, turning to Narcissa to ask her what on earth was wrong with their son, but she was staring wistfully into space, probably daydreaming about Dobby.
"Damn you, drive!" Draco shouted, and the car sped off towards Kings Cross with Lucius waving absently and Narcissa looking distinctly shifty.