Beneath the Manor

Disclaimer: All characters and places e.t.c. in this story belong to J.K.Rowling and some big companies. They aren't mine. Ok?

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! CatalinaRose (x2), Faith, aries, JAMTillDawn, Cosmic Angel, f0xyness39, Amythest-Angel462, Juliet-Potter462, Lauren, Dragonsbane, M-chan, moi, Xtreme Nuisance, Slytherin Ice Angel (x2), Goddess-Isis-112, firey fairy, hyper_shark,  L. Meylan, MoonDancerCat, KAOS, iceheart-04, shibbydragongirl, Weasley Pride, Amo il ragazzo, smoo, Adi,  Hermie13 and soul_of_fyre158!

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~*~

He was swept away in a rush of green flame. Fireplaces flew past, portals to a thousand different places, a thousand different stories. And then he stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. His home.

It looked no different to the way he had seen it all his life. He stood in one of the main hallways, the grey walls covered with the standard sorts of tapestries: sunny woods, magical creatures, violent battles, and so forth. A large door at one end of the hall led into the room his father kept especially for Death Eater meetings. Draco could hear indistinct voices from inside: clearly his father had invited his 'friends' for a celebratory drink.

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace a few seconds after Draco, with Ron following soon after.

'Which way to the dungeons?' whispered Harry, who looked nervous but simultaneously eager.

'This way.' Draco replied, and led them to a small door leading off the corridor. At first glance, it looked so insignificant that you thought it would lead to a broom closet, but when opened stairs leading downwards were revealed.

And so the three of them began their descent, making a curious trio. They crept slowly down the stony stairs, worn to a curve by many centuries of feet. The bright light of the corridor was replaced with semi-darkness, making it hard to see; Draco heard one of the Gryffindors mutter a muffled swear word as they almost slipped. He couldn't tell which. The darkness was only broken by a cold glow from below, and they were almost totally anonymous.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Unlike the stereotypical dungeon, with its masses of cells in long black rows, Malfoy Manor had just two. The Malfoys had preferred murder to imprisonment, where possible. A door to the side of the staircase led through the twisting underground areas of the manor; kitchens, hiding places for the darker of his father's things, and huge areas occupied by only dust and spiders.

The cells were basic: stone floors, a single barred window each, and a bed of sorts lying against the wall nearest the bars. The right hand cell was empty, but in the left hand cell a huddled figure lay.

'Hermione?' called Ron, running to the bars. Harry was close on his heels.

The shape twisted round. Draco wasn't surprised to see a long cut leaving blood on her cheek; he expected the Cruciatus curse had probably been used on her too. What he hadn't expected was for himself to feel a slight twinge of… sympathy? Couldn't be.

'Ron! Harry!' she exclaimed, looking feebler than Draco had ever seen her. She coughed weakly, and the two boys knelt down beside her, reaching hands through the bars to comfort their friend. This was Draco's chance.

A quick glance around the dungeons revealed the table he had seen. It was an imposing dark mahogany with gilt finish, used by his father to store various potions and items useful in torture. Draco had never known him leave such a valuable item in there. He was probably intending to return shortly. They had to hurry.

Which drawer had his father put it in? He thought back to the dream. The end one. He drew out his wand, putting it to the keyhole. 'Alohamora.' He whispered, to no effect. He frowned - it had been locked with more than a key. Glancing around, he surreptitiously bashed the drawer with his elbow.

Thankfully, the lock mechanism was cheap – the table was intended to look good rather than to protect it's contents – and despite the locking spell, the lock broke. Slowly, carefully, he opened the drawer. Inside were a couple of brightly coloured potions, some empty bottles… and the Malus Orbis, shining brightly.

He took it out quickly, and shut the drawer. It was beautiful, as so many evil things are. It was decorated with a twisting pattern, which seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at it. And it was his. All he had to do was bind it to its new master with a single hair…

'Can you open the door?' asked Harry, looking over his shoulder. Draco slipped the orb into his robe pocket, where it lay heavily, and turned towards his new 'allies'. Hermione looked past her friends, trying to focus on him. 'Draco?' she half-whispered, puzzled.

He nodded once, and felt a strange urge to smile, but didn't. Instead he walked to the door and pointed his wand to the lock.

'Stiria.' he said, and the lock sprung open.

Ron and Harry hurriedly ran into the cell, where they fussed over Hermione. Draco could hear her weakly answering their questions.

'I don't think I can walk… yes… I thought I was going to die… thank goodness you came…'

Draco stood at the doorway to the cell, looking forward to Flooing back to Hogwarts. He had the Malus Orbis; he was safe enough. And the sooner he was out of Gryffindor company the better.

'Lets get out of here.' said Harry. Ron stood next to him, struggling to carry  a semi-conscious Hermione. Draco, who had previous experience of his father's 'torture sessions', said nothing.

They had barely left the cell when sudden voices on the stairs stopped them in their tracks. Draco swore inwardly.

'Run!' he hissed, and made for the side door, Harry and Ron in close pursuit.

The corridor behind the door hadn't been disturbed for many years. It was dark, almost pitch black but for high-up windows letting in silver slivers of moonlight. The dust-covered stones muffled their footsteps.

Reaching an intersection, the boys ducked behind a wall and hid, trying to stay silent and praying the Death Eaters hadn't heard them. Maybe they would think the rescue mission had already taken place, and would not come looking for their escaped hostage… maybe.

Draco opened his eyes and saw his breath, white mist in front of his eyes. Out of one corner of his eye, he saw Ron struggling to carry Hermione's weight. She seemed to be slipping further out of consciousness, if she hadn't already done so. Distant and inaudible, he heard shouts as the Death Eaters discovered their missing prey.

And then, with a creak that seemed to be the only noise in the world, the door was opened.

It didn't sound like many: about half of the group. But five or so Death Eaters were more then a match for three unarmed boys. Draco listened to their footsteps, slowly prowling the corridor, and swore mentally.

'Any bright ideas Malfoy?' asked Harry in a whisper.

'One.' He replied. 'Follow the Draco-shaped blur.'

He gave them a second for this to sink in, and then ran as fast as he could down the corridor.

'There they are! After them! Don't let them get away!'

Cursing blindly, Draco ran. He ran as fast as he could, feet pounding on the stone, curses whizzing past him. He ran away from the Death Eaters, the irony of the situation not escaping him, for now he ran from those he once aspired to become. They took all the corners they could, hoping to lose them in the twisting maze. They ran through rooms too, once a kitchen, and once an empty store room, but while the Death Eaters fell behind the three boys never once lost them.

Draco noticed little of his surroundings. He was simply running where his legs took him, and although he didn't realise it then, running away from what he once was. Looking blindly around for any hope of salvation, he unexpectedly found one. A door, not unlike the one that led them here, stood half-open.

            'In here!' he said, loud enough for Ron and Harry to hear him, but not loud enough for it to travel down the corridor. He ran to the door and slipped inside, followed by Harry, and Ron carrying the by now unconscious Hermione. Harry closed the door behind them, and leant on it heavily, sinking to the floor.

            It was a tiny room, and the only light came from another of the high up windows. It appeared to be a junk room of sorts, filled with huge cardboard boxes, onto which Ron placed Hermione, before sitting heavily on the floor.

            There was silence, for a moment, as the boys listened for their enemies. The Death Eaters' footsteps slowly rose to a crescendo. Then they were at the door, past it, and incredibly, fading away.

            It wasn't until a few minutes after the footsteps had faded completely, a few minutes of tense silence, that someone spoke.

            'Well that was close.' said Harry.'

            Draco fixed him with a sarcastic look. 'Congratulations,' he drawled, 'You've just won the million Galleon prize in stating the obvious.'

            Harry ignored this comment, instead speaking to Ron. 'Is Hermione alright?'

            'Yeah,' replied the redhead, 'apart from being attacked by minions of the Dark Lord of course.'

            Draco could physically feel his glare. Considering he had risked his life for them and Hermione, he thought it was a bit much.

            'I might remind you, Weasley, that if it wasn't for me risking my life to come along on this rescue mission, you would probably be captured or dead.'

            There was an uncomfortable silence. Draco liked uncomfortable silences. Mainly because they tended to be a result of something he'd said.

            'Right. How do we get out of here?' asked Harry, taking charge of the situation. 'Going back through the Manor is definitely out.'

            'That leaves the window.' Draco pointed out.

            'What, and walk back to Hogwarts?' spluttered Ron. 'We'd probably die of hunger before we got there.'

            Harry thought. 'What's in these boxes, Malfoy?'

            'I don't know. Junk, probably.' he replied. 'Take a look.'

            Harry opened the nearest box, sending a shower of dust into the air that made him cough. 'This one's full of old clothes.' He picked out a horrendous dress, sickly green with enough faded white lace to keep a small army of moths busy for years.

'Obviously the Malfoys have no taste in clothes.'

'We have impeccable taste in clothes, Weasley. That was probably very much in fashion a few centuries ago.'

Ron opened another box. 'Photo albums.' he said. 'Eurgh, it's got Malfoy's baby photos!'

Draco, who was looking over his shoulder, corrected him. 'Actually, that's my great-grandfather. Or maybe my great-great-grandfather.'

'Drat.' said Harry, opening a box of old diaries. 'I would have loved to blow one up to giant size and hang it over the Slytherin table…'

'We could still do that, and tell everyone it was Malfoy.' Ron said hopefully

'In your dreams, Weasley.' Draco reached over and snapped the book closed, throwing it back in the box.

They looked through the boxes in silence for a minute, Hermione's slow breathing the only indication she was still alive.

Ron sat back from the box of books he'd just opened. 'This is useless. It's all just a bunch of Malfoy family junk.'

'Oh no it isn't.' said Harry, grinning. He stood up from the box he was rummaging in, and showed them what he'd found.

Broomsticks.

'Oh no, Harry. There is no way we can carry Hermione back to Hogwarts on a broomstick.'

'I'll carry her. It's better than waiting round here to get murdered.'

Draco took one of the broomsticks in his hand. 'Cloudsweeper 1000. Fairly new. It's no Firebolt, but it's fast enough to get back to Hogwarts in about half an hour.'

'Harry, you'll drop her. No insult to Hermione, but she isn't light.'

Draco could not hold back a snicker.

'I'll be careful. And if she falls, we can levitate her.'

Ron looked extremely worried. 'Harry, I am seriously worried about your sanity.'

Harry responded with a rather dubious grin.

~*~

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