Chapter Seven

"Thank you Hermione," Harry thanked as drew her into a hug.

They were all standing in her living room and were making their good-byes. The dinner had been stilted; they had said what needed to be said before. Ron had tried to get them to loosen up, but after a while he stopped trying. They settled down to a quiet dinner, light conversation, talking about everything except for what was on their minds. When it they finally finished, they were each thankful.

It wasn't that they didn't have anything to talk about -- it was more that they had too much that they couldn't talk about. And with the eminent task at hand, they were to absorbed to be bother to make light conversation.

Hermione leaned into the embrace and turned her face so that she could whisper into his ear. "Make sure you both come back to me alive." Pulling away, she looked into his eyes, demanding he comply.

Heartened by the plea, he nodded his assent. "Don't worry, Herm. We'll be fine." He gave her a bittersweet smile.

Hermione then turned to her husband to say their good-byes. Feeling a bit out of place, Harry turned away. He didn't feel comfortable intruding on their intimate moments, feeling like a voyeur sneaking a peek at what was unattainable to him.

As he waited, he felt a strange pang in his chest as he thought about what Hermione and Ron had. It was times like these that he really envied his two friends. With a life like his, it was hard to maintain a romantic relationship. Ron and Hermione had practically grown up together, knew they desired each other before the war -- it was the basis of their life together. He on the other hand didn't have that sort of connection with anybody. His Hogwarts days were some of the best times of his life but right after graduating he was thrown head first into the war and that had been where he had focused all of his attention to.

Nine years he had devoted all of his time to fighting Voldemort, making sure he never got too powerful or making sure the Muggles never find out about the magic community and he was only 28 years old. He was too young to feel world weary...

It had been to long -- to long since he had felt happy, genuine happiness. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he had last felt unbigoted, when he had not a care in the world. Every day there is something to do, something that needed to be done or had to be done now. He couldn't even remember a time where he had nothing to do.

Hermione and Ron broke apart reluctantly, each knowing that this mission is like no other that went before it. It was suicide, they all knew it but avoided saying it. Somehow hearing it out loud would make it more real and more tangible. So they blissfully denied it, pretending that this was just a routine mission and that they would be back the next day. They all knew it was bullshit and they were all too aware of the situation. You can't argue with facts and facts were that Malos Island was a death trap. No one gets on it without getting caught and no one leaves alive. How they were going to get onto the island without being detected would be a miracle.

A glance to the clock told Harry that it was nearly eight o'clock and that they better be leaving soon. Harry turned to see the couple still holding hands and he sighed. He knew it would be hard for Ron to leave his wife, but this was cutting it close. He cleared his throat loudly, breaking the two up. Ron looked downward sheepishly and then gave Hermione a kiss, promising to be careful.

Hermione turned away at that point, not wanting to see them depart. Together, both Harry and Ron apparated to the dock that their boat was supposed to be moored.

Ron took a step forward, glancing around the dark wharf. He had never been to one of these before and if they weren't already late, he would have taken more time to look the place over. Though he didn't share his father's fascination with anything Muggle, he still was curious as to the different things Muggles had invented over the years. It amused him to look at all the weird ways Muggles try to cope with a magic-less life.

"So," Ron spoke, breaking the silence. "Those are boats?"

Harry gave him a slight nod.

Ron looked around the marina. It was pretty well-lit place even though there were none of those lights that ran on that so called "electricity" so there was no need for the Lumos spell. The moon was out in the cloudless sky, a rarity in England during the winter. Its beams of lights were shining towards the earth, hitting the rippling water of the sea and glinting off the sleek white sides of the boats. Unconsciously, Ron hugged the sides of his cloak closer to his body. He was going to be traveling on a boat. On water. Swallowing nervously, he didn't know whether or not he liked that notion. Why we couldn't have just apparated close to the border? That would be a lot easier! This reliance on a Muggle device had him uneasy.

He wasn't the kind of person to think less of the Muggles. Unlike some people, he thought scornfully, thinking of a certain blond hair Death Eater.

Catching what he just said, Ron's eyes widened. He had just made a gibe at the expense of Malfoy. He had just made a gibe against Malfoy. Breathing deeply, he rubbed his eyes with one hand. This Malfoy thing must be getting to me more than I thought...

Harry walked ahead, searching for the Nautilus, the name of the boat that was supposed to be taking the two of them to Malos Island. It was nowhere to be found, but they still was a lot more boats they hadn't seen.

Harry stopped abruptly, realizing that he had left Ron behind. Turning back, he looked at the still figure, wondering why he had suddenly stopped in the middle of the pier. Harry got to Ron just as he was bring his hand away from his face, his features sagging and a quiet resignation in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point. He didn't have time to dally -- they were already late as it is.

Ron opened his eyes and stared at Harry. He opened his mouth to reply, but found he didn't know what to say, so he closed it. Opening it again, he spoke in a slightly clipping tone. "Fine. Where's the Nautilus?"

Wondering what had gotten into Ron's little head, Harry blinked a few times, taken aback at the sudden caustic remarks from his friend. It wasn't like him. Deciding not to comment, Harry gave an wave down the pier. "It's down the way," Harry said instead. "I hadn't found it yet, but it's bound to be here somewhere."

Ron motioned for him to proceed and Harry stalked ahead, making sure that this time Ron was with him.

They had been walking a few moments, when they spotted a tall man waving from the bow of one of the smaller boats. As they neared the vessel, they could see the name Nautilus written in a gold, loopy script along the side.

"You the two Dumbledore sent?" the man yelled out.

"Yeah, that's us," Ron cried out right back. "You Reynard?"

"That's me." Reynard ambled his way towards the two of them, stopping right in front of a small, portable ladder. "Come on up."

Harry without delay climbed up on the tiny craft, but Ron just stared at the little step ladder with detest. He finally gingerly climbed in, going slowly and making sure that his footing was secure with every step.

Harry grabbed the forearm of Ron and pulled him the rest of the way up after seeing how long it was taking for Ron to climb just a measly six steps.

Ron cried out in protest and when he had both of his feet on the deck, he pulled his arm from Harry's hold. Glaring at him more in embarrassment than fury, he barely had time to stay angry when the boat gave a quick lurch. He had almost been knocked off his feet but at the last second, he grabbed a side wall and righted himself. Harry had not been so lucky and Ron had to hide the grin at the sound of Harry's body hitting the deck and the grunt of shock.

When he was sure he wasn't going to fall down again -- the boat was going at an alarming speed, but that could have been normal for all he knew -- he strutted over to Harry and got down to his haunches. "Need a hand?" he asked with a smirk.

This time it was Harry who was glaring at him and his offered hand. Rolling his eyes, he slapped Ron's proffered hand one quick motion and got up himself. "Stupid captain...didn't even give us a warning," he muttered under his breath.

Ron gave a smug look. He was enjoying this very much. It wasn't often that the Boy Who Lived was made a fool of. "You okay?"

Harry winced, but nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, brushing off his robe. "Where's Reynard?"

Ron craned his neck, pointing to a dark, wooden door. "Through there I think. I'll join you I think," he mused, looking past Harry to the bow and listening to the waves crashed onto the boat. His stomach was turning and churning, making him feel just a bit lightheaded. Oh God... I hope I don't lose it...

Harry eyed his friend cautiously. He was just a bit too green for his comfort. He had heard that boat travel wasn't favorable to some people. Remembering back, Harry could remember one summer when the Dursely's had taken their vacation to the Mediterranean. He had been nine that year and when Mrs. Figg was unable to baby-sit and Dudley being dead set on the trip, they had taken him along. Why they didn't just leave him alone had always baffled him, even to this day. But they hadn't and in the end, that had been one of his most enjoyable trips ever. It had been worth all the verbal bashing, all the grief he had to take from his Aunt and Uncle during the trip just to see his horrible cousin chuck up all the food he had eaten, not being able to keep a bit down. What had been even better was the fact that they were on a week long cruise. The 24 hour buffet had been what had first attracted Dudley and it was ironic that his seasickness had him scared so badly that he refused eat, missing most of his meals. Not that it did anything to thin him out. Not even a week of fasting could help that kid. "Maybe you should," Harry said quickly, grabbing Ron and pulled him into the bridge. Ron didn't even fight him off, telling Harry that Ron really must be sick -- he wouldn't put up that sort of abuse if he weren't. Hopefully not having the waves roaring in your ears and not seeing the water would help him... Harry thought, remembering that it had helped Dudley somewhat.

Once inside the small room, he looked the place over. It was pretty much Spartan, a small coffee table, a couch and picture of a small sail boat was all that was there. Reynard was up front, ensorcelled in his work. He had barely spared a glance when they had entered.

Not bothered, but a bit annoyed at being dismissed like that, Harry quickly led his friend over to the couch. It looked comfortable enough and the best thing Ron could be doing right now to keep the nausea down was to lay down.

"Come on, Ron," Harry coaxed. Ron didn't need much persuading, almost falling onto the couch. Harry gave Ron a critical eye, wondering if he was going to be able to carry out the mission. It was dangerous enough without his partner being sick.

"Don't worry Harry," Ron softly commanded. "I'll be better when we get on the island," Ron said, almost if he knew what Harry was thinking. But then again, maybe he did, Harry thought with a smile.

"Sure, Ron. You just rest." Harry didn't know it was possible but Ron seemed even more green than he was when he was outside. Noting with pleasure, Harry could see some color returning to Ron's face. Ron's eyes closed and Harry was suddenly without anything to do. The trip was going to take a good three quarters of an hour and that was a long time to be idle.

He turned a head to stare at Reynard. He had barely said ten words to them. Can't be a chatty type, Harry supposed.

He couldn't help but be suspicious of the old man -- it was how his mind worked these days. He knew nothing about the guy, beside his name. Dumbledore had not elaborated about him and that this point he didn't know if it was deliberate or if he had unintentionally kept it from him. Hell, there could be nothing that he's keeping from me! Harry thought, running a hand through his dark hair. He knew was being paranoid, but ever since Hermione had spoke of Dumbledore's bond with Draco, he had started to wonder if he had that sort of connection. He should...should he? He had known Dumbledore longer than Draco, he had worked with Dumbledore longer -- at least he thought he had -- but he couldn't say that he knew Dumbledore well enough for him to say that he had a father/son relationship with him. How the hell did that happen?

And now, this Reynard character. He knew Dumbledore trusted that man and that would have been enough for him in the past. Now, he wasn't so sure. What sort of man was Reynard that Dumbledore would trust the location of Malos Island? Does he even know where we are going? Is he one of Malfoy's "associates"? His mind was full of a thousand questions, none of which he knew the answers to or how to get them.

Slowly, he saunter over to the motionless man. Harry looked over the dials and knobs, but didn't have a clue as to what they meant. "So," Harry drawled conversationally. "How long until we reach the island?"

Reynard turned his head to regard him coldly and suddenly Harry felt stricken and out of place. Shifting his feet, he wasn't sure that Reynard was going to answer him until he heard his gruff voice.

"Twenty minutes 'til the border, thirty until we get to shore." The old man gave Harry a rounded look. "That satisfy you?"

Harry nodded absent-mindedly. He didn't understand this man. Wherever he had went -- if there had been wizards or witches present -- they had all known about Harry Potter. Most of them were in awe of him, be it man, woman or child. There had been very few who had received him badly and those who did were on the other side.

He wasn't as ego-driven as some of his enemies had thought him. He didn't care either way if people hated him -- he had dealt with that sort of behavior during his time with the Dursely's and he got through it. But he did like the fact that it made everything easier when people were bending over themselves to impress him. They trusted him blindly and they didn't keep anything from him.

Reynard was different though. Reynard was an unknown and he didn't seem like the type of person to trust blindly, even if he was the Boy Who Lived. How am I going to open him up? He knew nothing of this man and when you know nothing about someone, it made it hard to strike a conversation with them. He didn't want to ask his questions out right. No matter what, he wasn't that vulgar.

A loud sigh interrupted his thoughts, followed by Reynard's resigned voice. "I know you've got questions. Best we get them out in the open."

Harry blinked, shocked. He wasn't aware that he had been broadcasting his thoughts. "Well...uh...okay," Harry fumbled, not really sure where to begin. All the questions that had been plaguing him had all conveniently flown the coop. Silently cursing himself, he searched for a question. "I didn't think you would be so forthright about this..."

The other man turned away, checking his monitors, but before he did, he could have sworn Reynard had muttered 'just so you could leave me alone'. Slightly flustered, Harry requested, "Tell me about yourself. Dumbledore didn't say much about you."

Reynard snorted. "Don't imagine he did. Never did like him much, even when I was a child."

Latching onto the last comment, Harry asked, "So you went to Hogwarts?"

Reynard nodded. "First child in my family in over five generations. We have a long line of squibs. Hell, I thought I was Muggle until my parents told me about our little skeleton in the closet."

"My father had been a fisherman," he continued. "My great-great-great-great grandfather had been the first. He was the black sheep. Even though he married a witch, his children -- all seven of them -- all squibs. After that the family cut relations with him and they basically lived as Muggles. No one talked about our family. There were rumors for a long while, that our family was cursed, damned. We grew up with people saying we were the devil's minions, that our family was as dark as the night sky. Didn't believe it a word of it until the letter arrived. I thought it was a joke until my father told me the truth," Reynard spat bitterly.

"It must have been a shock for you..." Harry trailed off.

"Hell yes." Turning away from the controls to face Harry, Reynard stood face to face, looking him straight in his eyes. "Do you know how it feels like to have a whole community shy away from you? All my life I believe it was they who had it wrong, that they were close-minded idiots to believe that sort of nonsense. It hurt me that my father, my entire family kept the truth from me."

"Why'd you go to Hogwarts then? It seems to me that you would have refused it."

The old man gave Harry a bittersweet smile. The moonlight was passing through the glass, bouncing on all his angles, making him too hard and sad at the same time. "I almost didn't. I'm not sure to this day why I did. Maybe it was to spite my ancestors that had spurned my forefather all those years ago or maybe I just wanted to see this world that I had been cut out of. Either way, I decided to go and that's all that matters." He finished with a growl and looked away.

Harry calmly regarded the old man, digesting his words. He was sincere, he could just feel it in his bones. But there was something more -- something that Reynard wasn't telling him. Studying the old man in front of him intently, Harry could see nothing, absolutely nothing that could clue him into what it may be. He was calm, collected, reminding him of someone else he knew. It was almost as if Reynard was devoid of emotions. That or he was very good at hiding them those around him.

Harry wasn't as skilled as he was or so he found out when Reynard leaned forward for effect.

He chose his words calmly, making sure he could get his determination across. "I know you think I'm keeping something and I'll tell you now that I am." Harry was startled that Reynard would be so candid, but his shocked face didn't stay long. After a beat it easily morphed into an indifferent expression.

"But so are you for that matter Potter. I can see it as easily as I can see the shadows in your eyes. You have seen too much in your life, more than you should have seen and I'm willing to bet you haven't told your friend over there--" He nudged his head towards Ron's prone body. "--everything."

His face still betrayed nothing, but if one were to look closer at the tall, young man during Reynard's little speech you would have noticed that slight intake of breath, the absolute stilling of his body. His words drove a cold lance through his heart. The old man's words were a bit too perceptive for Harry's tastes and the leveled look he was giving him was unnerving him.

But Harry neither denied nor confirmed Reynard's speculation. Either way would give that man too much information and at this point Harry needed all the leverage he could get over him. It was a battle of wits and subterfuge -- a game he too often played.

"That maybe so," Harry handled smoothly. "But this isn't about me."

"No," Reynard interrupted. "It's about me. You can trust me," Reynard swore vehemently. "I may not like Dumbledore as much you do, but I respect him. I won't endanger this mission -- there's too many ways for you to screw it up as it is. Plus," he paused for a moment. "I owe Draco Malfoy my life and I will never betray him." His eyes bore into Harry's, demanding him to understand. "Understood?"

A curt nod was all that answered him. Reynard took it as his due and turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

Feeling a bit bereft at the sudden break, Harry stared at Reynard's back, wondering if that was it. Somehow it seemed empty. He was satisfied at the sincerity of Reynard's commitment and that had been all that he had wanted from the other man, but there was so much more he wanted now. There was something in Reynard that just begs to be questioned. Why doesn't he like Dumbledore and how did he come to respect him? What did Malfoy do to gain Reynard's trust? Just how did Malfoy save him? He wanted answers and his curiosity was pleading to be let lose.

But it didn't seem as if Reynard was going to be talking. They had formed a tentative trust at the most, based on common goals, but that was all. All his questions will have to wait until later -- if they survived.

Harry gave Reynard's back one last look before moving away himself. He glanced to see if Ron was well and it seemed as if his friend was asleep. With nothing to do, Harry made his way outside, hoping the fresh air would do him good.

The frigid blast of wind hit him unexpectedly, causing him to suddenly involuntarily shudder. For a breath moment he thought about going back into the inviting warmth instead of braving the icy, frosty air outside. Heat inside or the freezing air outside? Harry mused. He looked back at the unforgiving backside of Reynard and the immobile body of his friend. What am I supposed to do in there? he thought with a decision already made. He quickly stepped outside, noting that he had already let too much of the heat escape.

He strolled aimlessly around the boat, rubbing and blowing into his hands, hoping to warm his frozen digits. As he round the corner at the bow of the small boat he came upon a small railed deck with a good view of the ocean as they sped further and further away.

Harry stepped up to the rail and rubbing his hands one more time, he placed his hands on the rail, trying not to wince as he felt the bite of the cold metal. But still he held on, looking down at the ripples of water as the boat ripped through the water, disturbing the calm.

They were running silent, a small spell masking the boat while its running in the water. But they were still detectable by radar, but it was doubtful that Voldemort would employ submarines or other ships in his army.

Harry sighed, but it seemed as if he had been doing that a lot lately. Too much, too damn much... Too much responsibility, too much on his mind and spirit to bear. It was all too damn much. There were times where he wondered what it was all for. To help thousands of people he didn't know, the same people who revered him. That was enough to keep him going -- the knowledge that people out there depended on him and needed him. They loved him. No one had depended or needed him before and there wasn't a damned person who had much less loved him.

But, and that was the but that kept him questioning his motivations. But those people, no matter how they held, how they felt about him, didn't know him. They knew the legend, the story of the Boy Who Lived. Even now, at twenty-seven years of age they still referred to him as a boy. Ron and Hermione knew how much he had grown to detest the name, each time it was mentioned reminding him of what he didn't have and what had happened all those years ago that had ripped his parents away from him. God what he wouldn't give to have them here with him...

All those years, all the longing he had felt as he looked into families and wondering why he was the unlucky one, why he didn't have what seemed like the rest of the world did.

It would have been nice... Harry reflected. I wonder what my father would say about this situation? A most hated, now ex-enemy captured in enemy territory, taken back to his pre-teens. And me, going to rescue him after he had done so much wrong...just because he has vital information that we need. Isn't this one a kicker?

And then there was Reynard. Should he trust him? He shouldn't, not blindly, but damn! He still did, no matter what his brain was trying to tell him.

Reynard seemed to be a simple man, but one who takes everything to the extreme. He had been raised a fisherman and it seemed as if he was, even after finding out he was a wizard and years of studying magic. He handled the small boat with ease, showing years of experience.

His words echoed in Harry's mind as he recalled Reynard's words to him earlier. "I may not like Dumbledore as much you do, but I respect him." He did understand where Reynard was coming from. A war makes it hard to be choosy about the people you work with. No matter how you feel about a person, you can't allow it too interfere with how you work together, there were bigger things to worry about. And when it was your lives on the line, you forget petty things like you disagreed with his policies or his points of view.

And then there was the passionate vow that he would never betray Malfoy. Harry snorted and suddenly started to cough as the unexpected cold air was allowed into his body. Calming back down, Harry tried to think how exactly did Malfoy saved the life of Reynard. It was a bit inconceivable to think that Malfoy could save anybody's life.

But then again there were all those stories of Gregon rescues... All those people who had claimed to have been saved by the Grey Dragon himself. He, like the rest of the magic community had dismissed them as glory seekers, but now knowing that Malfoy had the capacity within him to actually help a person, even as unbelievable as it may be, gave their accounts of a gallant man rushing to help them a new perspective. Could it truly be true? Draco Malfoy a rescuer of women and children?

Despite of all that, Harry couldn't help still dismiss the idea that Malfoy might actually have a forgiving bone in his body. The Gregon was the one who had done all of those -- if he had done then at all. That Draco Malfoy was the Gregon shouldn't matter a bit. He was still the same Draco Malfoy.

A scary thought then came to mind as Harry looked up from the rippling waters to the nearly full moon, its brilliance blinding him. But is the Draco Malfoy I knew the real Draco Malfoy?

Groaning softy, Ron shifted uncomfortably on the too small couch. He hadn't been sleeping when Harry had looked into him, only resting his eyes for a bit. For some reason not seeing the ceiling and walls dance before his eyes helped quell the sense of uneasiness in his stomach.

But there was still the occasional flip-flop that would still churn the juices and made him feel slightly lightheaded, so he opted for not getting up. The thought of actually seeing the waves crash onto the boat was enough to keep him down.

I can't believe I'm being so stupid! Ron raved in his mind, furious and embarrassed that he was behaving like a weak female. He silently sent his wife an apology for that comment.

And in front of Harry too! he groaned. That just made it worst. It didn't matter that Harry hadn't in the least bit minded and that he had been concerned for Ron's well-being. But still he couldn't help feeling abashed at the display.

They had worked together for years and they were the best of friends. He felt Hermione was his best friend, but the friendship he shared with Harry was different. He loved Hermione dearly, more than anything in the world, but with Harry, he loved like a brother, much more so than his siblings of his own flesh. There was a kinship between Harry and him that was unlike any bond he had ever felt before.

It had taken him awhile to find out that Harry, though he was the Boy Who Lived, he was just like everybody else in the world. He was flesh and blood, had feelings and could get hurt. He was mortal even though in so many other people eyes' he was anything but. He was best friend to the Boy Who Lived. That had meant so much to him before (and to be truthful, he still tripped over that detail). He was Harry's best friend, yet he had felt such uncontrollable jealously whenever he had been with him. It had taken him a long time to get over that.

He knew he should have been glad for Harry but what he knew he should have been didn't matter a bit when it was Harry who had the adoration of thousands, more money than Ron could ever dream of and when he was everything Ron wished he could be.

So he kept it inside, trying to convince himself that what he felt was wrong but at the same time letting him eat from inside out. For the longest time he couldn't understand Harry. He had everything, absolutely everything that Ron would have killed and died a dozen times over to have yet Harry would give it all up for what Ron had, a mum, a dad and more siblings than he knew what to do with (and having six himself, he couldn't see what was so novel about that).

That infuriated him. How dare he want to give up everything I would see my soul for? How dare he want a run-down house of a home and annoying brothers and sisters instead the devotion of thousands? How dare he want what I have when I have nothing and he has everything?! Everything!

It gnawed at him, poisoned him and despite efforts to dispel the feelings, they remained. It would have been easy to say that at first he had been jealous of Harry but as their friendship progressed, the feelings subsided, but that wasn't how it happened.

Even though he felt such contempt for his best friend and thought that Harry was one of the most moronic people on the face of the earth, he still felt such joy that Harry was one of his friends. He loved Harry like a brother, much more so than his real brothers. Harry was a brother in everything but blood and Ron would have given his life without a single thought if it could save him from certain doom.

It confused him sometimes to have such conflicting emotions. On one hand he felt an all consuming anger against Harry and on the other hand Harry was one of the people on this plane of existence that he valued most in life. Feeling one at a time would have been reasonable, but he felt the two emotions at the same, freaking time.

Harry was his best friend. Took him a long time to see that what he had wasn't so bad after all. What he had was something special and it was only after he almost lost it all to make him see what a fool he had been.

A/N: It's been a while hasn't it? Well this chapter was long (I'm not even sure it's done yet!) and long in coming.

WildfireFriendship: Well I don't think I've ever been asked that before or in that way. Draco as the uke... hmmm... I don't know. I'm a bit tentative at using labels. Generally I don't like labeling one person the dominant member of a relationship and the other as the passive. Equality for all! As for your question, you'll just have to see.

Amaiko: You'll have to see later too. It's coming... It's coming, I promise. :)

Okay, just a small question. What color do you think of when you read this story? How does it make you feel? :) I guess that was two... Please tell me! I want to know how this fic is coming across!

Well that's it for now. As always review, review, review! And thanks to Red Dragons Order for betaing. You're a darling!