Chapter Thirteen
From the moment Malfoy had uttered the word "Grey Dragon", Ron had been staring at him with wide eyes. "How the hell do you know that name?" he growled, remembering the fact that Malfoy was not supposed to have known it. It was before his time. If he remembered his Gregon history right -- and he did -- the stories of the Grey Dragon didn't appear until their Sixth Year. It was entirely possible that he had started before then, in the Fifth Year, but he doubted it would have been further than that. And that should have been when Malfoy came to be aware of the Grey Dragon, not when he was twelve. Maybe one of the guards told him...
Under his and Harry intense gaze, he waited for Malfoy to answer. The man shrugged, annoying Ron that he was taking this so nonchalantly.
"I j-just...do," Malfoy answered with another little shrug.
Ron frowned. "You can't just do."
"Wh-why not?"
"You just can't," Ron answered defensively, in lieu of anything else to say.
Malfoy looked at him strangely, but didn't comment. His apathetic attitude prickled his senses, making him want to jump over there and strangle the little twerp. But then again, he had found in the last decade of knowing Malfoy, it was a feeling he felt very often. He was sure many who have met Malfoy in person have had the same urge. Flaring his nose, Ron breathed in deeply. This was no time to go off. But-But- He's Malfoy! he whined, wanting to be set free and to terrorize the other man. He thought of all the time's at Hogwarts when the guy had gotten in his way, the many times he made fun of him, his family and the all the times the git had deliberately tried to ruin his and his friends' lives. He was a good for nothing, pompous, spoiled little brat then and he was one now. It would make him feel so good -- and he knew it would feel very good -- to have the upper hand for once. He could just feel it; he knew the other man was disoriented, unfamiliar with his current body, and despite he being years older than the boy he knew from school, he was still relatively small for a man his age. He on the other hand had managed to bulk up, making it an easy task to over power the other man.
But then he thought of the woman, Midgen. From what he'd seen of her, she was fiercely protective of Malfoy. Why, he would never understand. After all, who the hell would want to protect that git? And when push came to shove, she could manage to deliver a mighty blow against him.
And there was Harry. Harry was the ultimate good guy. He would never allow him to harm an innocent, even if that innocent was Draco Malfoy, the bane of their existence for seven years. And he could see the way Harry looked at the blonde... He didn't like it, he didn't it one bit. It seemed like Harry was all to ready to forgive Malfoy of his sins of the past, even knowing what he had done to hundreds of wizards and witches. But not if he had anything to say about it. Harry was his friend. He wasn't about ready to let some smooth talker pull the wool over Harry's eyes. In two days, Malfoy would be back to his normal self and then Harry would see... He'll see what Malfoy really is, what sort of monster he is...
"I think what Ron is trying to ask is how do you know of the Grey Dragon when the Grey Dragon doesn't exist for couple of more years? For you that is?" Harry explained tactfully, cutting into Ron's thoughts. Ron seemed to be getting no where with his offensive attitude.
To be on the offense was not the way to go when it comes to Malfoy. Harry knew that after years of working with Malfoy. The defensive, overt way wasn't right either. When you go on the offensive, Draco would respond in the same way and then both of you would be stalemated, both unsatisfied. Going defensive and he'll attack you just when you least expect it, like a snake springing to bite you. Then you lose. If you try to be friendly, going the overt way to gain his trust, he'll just immediately distrust you. Thinking about it, Malfoy wasn't really a trusting person. Harry frowned, trying to think of the people he'd trusted. There was Midgen of course, and Crabbe and Goyle, but they weren't very good examples seeing as they've betrayed him...
"It's..." Malfoy tried to explain. "It's a bit h-hard t-to s-say--"
"I know," Eloise interrupted unexpectedly. "You've told me a million times how it all started."
"I h-have?" Malfoy asked surprised evident on his face.
Eloise nodded. "Think of it this way Potter. You're the son of a Death Eater, a prominent one no less, yet you have none of the desire to follow in your father's footsteps. But you admire your father -- he's all you've ever wanted to be. You love the way he commands people around him, how he welds power like a sword, cutting through all that resists him."
Turning to face the woman beside him, Draco stared in openmouthed awe. That was exactly how he had felt. He almost wanted to ask how could she know all this, his most inner thoughts, something he had never shared with anyone in his life, but hesitated realizing he didn't want to ruin the moment.
"You want me to go on?" she asked and for several seconds, he didn't realize she was talking to him, asking his permission. He nodded, wanting to hear more.
"You want to be your father. You want to have the power he has and you know you're well on your way. But at the same time, you don't like what this Voldemort--" she spat the name vehemently.
Unwittingly, Draco gasped at the name. She said...You-Know-Who's name! With one glance at Harry and Ron he could see no difference on their faces, baffling him. But before he had even the time to get over his shock at the name and the surprise that no one else was taking the saying of said name seriously, she was talking again.
"--was doing to your parents. They seemed to be possessed. He hurts you," Eloise said clearly, looking start into Draco's eyes. He turned away, hiding away. "He hurts you," she repeated. "But you're convinced that he has a reason. You've been bad, broken something, spoke out of turn, raised your voice, something, anything." Her voice echoed off the walls, bouncing off each person in the room. So calm, she was, so precise. There was no pity in her voice, no judging, just the clear, hard facts. And that made it seem even more condemning. "Because you know your father would never hurt you on purpose. It's because you've been bad. He hurts you for a reason. He would never hurt you for no reason. You tell yourself that, day in, day out, night after night. You say it again and again and again--" her voice gaining strength with every breath, her words suffocating him, surround him. "--again, and again, trying to believe it. Again and again and again and--"
"STOP IT!" Draco exploded, causing Ron and Harry to jump. There was rage in his eyes and a red tint on his cheeks as he screamed again. "Stop it, stop it!"
They expect Midgen to stop at that, Draco's outburst bring Harry and Ron out of their trance. Midgen had that tone of voice that just lulls a listener into her world until there was nothing but her voice and what she was saying. But the way she was going with her "again and again". Harry shuddered. It had gotten him too -- her voice as she uttered the word over and over again, driving it deeper and deeper into his soul had shaken him to his core.
She didn't stop, if anything her voice gained in speed until her words became a whirl of emotions and thoughts fighting all the way, trying to get out. "But you couldn't believe it. You've blamed yourself and you still can't believe it. So what do you do? You turn to Voldemort. He's the one who's doing this, ruining your lives. He's the one making your father like this. He's to blame. So you hate him. You hate what he's doing to you, to your father, to your family. And you dream about being the one to take him down. Return some normalcy to your life."
"No!" Draco cried, denying it. "No!"
"Yes!" Midgen said right back. "And like any child who's face with something they can't fix but really want things to change, you start thinking of this great person, somebody you could be when you're older. You make of this fantastic person, someone who can do anything, is boundless, someone people look up to and admire, someone who's strong enough to defeat the Dark Lord, free his family... You even name this someone that you would become. The Grey Dragon. Dragon because of your name. Grey because that is what you are. Not of the Light. Not of the Dark. In between. Embraced by both. Grey. The Grey Dragon," she finished with a whisper, stilling. The fervor and passion that had controlled her leaving her until she was again no more an ordinary woman.
"Well," Ron said after a moment of silence. "That's was uncalled for."
Silently, Harry agreed with him. Though Midgen's performance was...dramatic and did what she had set out to do, it was a bit...more intense than what he'd expected. A lot more. It was certainly not the way he would have gone about it. One look at Draco and you could see the boy was seriously frightened. The blonde man's chest was heaving heavily, his eyes wide and unblinking and the way he was inching away from Midgen was a dead clue as to how freaked out from the experience he was.
In his head, he cursed the woman for being so careless. By his reckoning, they had just dropped severely in getting Draco to trust them. For someone who professed to be a friend of Draco, Harry couldn't believe she could be so tactless. There were ways, he thought, to tell him and not at the same time seem like you're berating them. Sighing, he came to the conclusion that if he were to get Draco to be comfortable with their presence -- Midgen's especially -- he would have to make the first move. With that in mind, he stood up slowly, fighting the urge to stretch, the cricks in his back screaming from sitting so long on the floor.
He walked over to Draco, slowly so he could get used to the idea that he was coming over him and dropped down right next to the other man. To his relief and joy, the other man didn't move away, only a slight flinch which he supposed Draco couldn't have helped.
Harry could feel the eyes of Midgen and Ron on him and Draco, knowing fully that if he was feeling them, so was Draco. Ron's questioning gaze, dead on him as he sat near other man, wondering what the hell was his lunatic best friend was thinking in his little head and Midgen's narrowed eyes as she watched them suspiciously.
"Look," Harry began quietly, speaking so only Draco could hear him. "I know this is hard and what Midgen just did makes it even hard, but you've got to trust us."
"T-trust?" Even unsteady as he was, Draco still managed to scoff at him. "T-to do wh-what? P-prot-tect m-me? Get m-me out of h-here? I don't even know wh-what you're t-talking about."
Hmm. He's got a point. I am not making much sense...not even to me, he thought as he reviewed what he had just said. "What I mean is don't take what Midgen too seriously. I have no idea what's wrong with her, but she had no right to say what she said about you." There, he said it. Though she had mentioned no names, it was clear to everyone that she had meant Draco himself. But it wasn't until that moment, that he had actually gone out and said it, putting it out there in concrete as fact.
Draco stayed silent, turning away slightly.
Harry coughed, nervously. "Well, right," he said, not really knowing what to say, but didn't want to leave the silence stretching as it was. He turned his head from staring at the side of Draco's face and stared straight ahead. Neither of them speak and with Ron and Midgen not in the conversation, the silence he didn't want stretching stretched uncomfortably.
Desperate, he sent a silent plea to Ron, telling him to save him from this. Ron shook his head and turned away; he was alone in this. Come on, he begged with his face. Ron shook his head even more vigorously and mouthed the word "no". Frustrated, he almost growled, curbing it in the last moment. He sent a similar plea to Midgen, but she was as stubborn as ever, refusing to even turn her head.
"I d-don't b-believe you," Draco suddenly announced. "You are n-not H-harry Potter and h-he is n-not Ron W-weasley. I d-don't kn-know wh-who you are, but I w-want my f-father. Now."
"What the hell do you mean you mean you don't believe us?" Ron exploded, despite his resolve to stay out of it. "You-you-you..."
"I don't," Draco repeated with a cool, clipped voice. "I don't care who you are but I don't b-believe anything you say. There is no p-possible way you are who you say you are and I am t-tired of this game. Let me go!" he screamed the last part.
"This is no game," Ron hissed. "Harry and I risked our lives to get your sorry arse out of here and you tell us you don't want to go?!"
"Calm down! Both of you! He's just confused, that's all!" Midgen tried, moving closer to Draco but he just disgustedly got up and walked away from her.
"He's not confused, he's deranged!" Ron protested. "He's a damn idiot!"
Harry watched the exchange with tired eyes. This was beginning to annoy him. Why can we never have a conversation without those two going at it? Convinced it was his bad luck, he left the quarreling duo and went to approach Draco. He had noticed with approval that he was losing his stutter, a sure sign that he was becoming more comfortable with his surroundings...and hopefully with his company.
"I w-want this to end and I w-want my father," Draco told him point-blank, his arms crossed on his chest.
"There's nothing I want but for this to end," Harry responded to the first statement. "But I can't do to help you on the part about your father."
"I w-want my father." The blond was not budging from his stance.
"Your father isn't here. We've told you that already." There was something to be said about the truth. Sometimes the simplest thing to say was most often the thing that was believed.
"I d-don't b-believe you."
Well, maybe not this time. Harry sighed, seeing no way easy way to solve this. "Believe it, Malfoy. It's the truth."
"I still d-don't b-believe you."
The boy was beginning to annoy him, reminding him of all those years of being in the same class as Malfoy. Not memories he would ever want to remember, if he could have helped it. He was having trouble speaking of Draco as a boy when nothing about the blonde man's body standing only a few feet away resembled a boy's. And though he would never admit it, he had looked and admired.
"I don't care," Harry hissed and instantly regretted it when he saw a flash of pain in Draco's eyes before it was expertly masked away. The last thing he wanted to do was to degrade Draco's trust in him more than it already had been. Harry sighed again. Looking up, he questioned the heavens, Why don't I ever get anything easy? Lowering his head he answered his own question. Because I'm the Boy Who Lived, he said with a resigned voice in his head. "Sorry," he hurriedly apologized, realizing this was one of the few times he had actually apologized to Draco. He watched as Draco shrugged it off as if was nothing, wishing he would take it seriously. The one time he actually says he's sorry -- and mean it -- it's brushed off.
"I w-want my father," Draco stubbornly asked again, jutting out his chin.
The obstinate attitude was starting to exasperate him. "He's. Not. Here," he bit out, saying each word individually to make his point. "I've told you that already and you seemed to have accepted it."
"Not any more. I don't know wh-what game are you playing but I w-want t-to leave!"
Harry felt the urge to just scream incoherently at the frustration. A couple of minutes ago, Draco was perfectly fine with the idea that he was twenty-seven years old, a spy against Voldemort and that his father had nothing to do with his current situation. Now... Now, they were back to the beginning. What was that saying? One step forward, two steps backwards. That was how he felt exactly. But, he thought. I can't do any good getting frustrated. "Your father isn't here." It suddenly struck him how silly it was to keep on repeating the same thing over and over again, hoping it would somehow get through Malfoy's thick head when it clearly wasn't. "I mean..." he began again and didn't know where to go with it. He abandoned that and started over. "Tell me, why do you want your father so much?"
Malfoy looked at him strangely. "Because I w-want t-to leave."
"And why do you think your father can help you leave?"
"Because he's my father."
The simplistic answer stunned him. Because he's my father. Just because he was his father. Not for the first time, he wondered if his father had been there for him his entire life, would he come to admire and depend on him as it was clear how much Draco did his? Despite knowing all the things Lucius Malfoy had done to the world and what had been hinted he had done to his son, Draco still unequivocally loved his father. Feeling empty inside of him, as he did every time he thought of his parents, Harry ignored the gnawing pain and instead tried to break it to the boy in front of him. "Malfoy...Your father...he's dead...has been for some time...he's not going to be able to help you..."
Instead of the breakdown, surprise, shock, sadness or any of the other emotions Harry had been expecting Draco to show, the boy just barely blinked in response, seemingly totally unfazed by truth.
"He's not," Draco announced. "I saw him only a few days ago."
Harry groaned. "No, you saw him fifteen years ago." Wondering how much longer of this he could take and how much longer could he afford to give it, Harry waited for an answer from Draco.
"I am not twenty-seven!" the blond denied with intensity, shaking his head. "I'm twelve! I remember my first year at Hogwarts -- how the stupid Gryffindors stole t-the House Cup from us, I remember being sorted, I remember Potter and t-the wh-whole th-thing with t-the Philosopher's Stone..."
"That happened fifteen years ago and we didn't steal the House Cup from the Slytherins!" He couldn't help but say the last part in defense of his old House.
"Really? Wh-what about how you w-were trailing t-the Slytherins by 160 points and th-then Dumbledore gave you 170 points! Fifty points t-to Granger, fifty points t-to Weasley, sixty t-to you and t-then wh-when w-we w-were at a tie, he found another Gryffindor t-to award points t-to! Ten! Right!"
"We deserved those points! So did Neville! Do you know how hard it was for him to stand up to Hermione like that?" Harry couldn't believe it. If it weren't happening at the very moment, he would have found it absolutely absurd. He was arguing something that happened long in the past, something that he had gotten over -- though if he were truthful, he would have said there was nothing to have gotten over in the first place -- and was long dead.
"Never mind, Malfoy," he quickly retracted, not wanting to be drawn into another lengthy discussion that would most likely end up with the two of them arguing and he as far away from what he had wanted to talk about. Draco had that effect on him... I wonder if he does it on purpose, he mused, his thoughts wandering. He probably does...
"Tell me, do you remember, just before our First Year, we were at Madam Malkin's?" Harry asked, his voice betraying how excited he was. How could he be so stupid?! It was the perfect idea! Tell him of things only he and Draco knew, it would have to convince him of the truth!
"No," Draco answered defiantly.
Harry looked down at him, pausing for a moment. "Before your First Year at Hogwarts, you had to get school robes at Madam Malkin's. There was another boy there, who you knew later to be Harry Potter," Harry corrected, not believing he was going along with Draco. He had met Draco all those years ago and if he could remember their first meeting fifteen years later, then Draco should be able to remember, it being only the last year for him.
"I already knew wh-who he was," Draco responded sullenly.
Well, that was probably all he was going to get out of the other boy. I should be grateful, he thought to himself. After all, it was almost a yes.
Wait! Harry ran Draco's last sentence through his mind. He already knew who I was?! Frowning slightly, he looked at the sulking boy with an appraising eye. But... It didn't make sense! When he'd met Draco at the shop, the other boy hadn't acted as if he knew the boy he was talking to was the Boy Who Lived. At least he didn't act like everybody else he had met in his lifetime. One they knew they were talking to the Boy Who Lived, they would all go either three ways. One, they would get very shy and coy, almost as if they couldn't believe he was standing in front of them of all people. Two, they would get very quiet, their eyes wide and their mouth open in a good imitation of a fish out of water (that had always been fun to watch) and lastly, they would start to hyperventilate, shrieking or stuttering, getting very nervous or excited. Either way, it was often very embarrassing to be around. A scene like that tends to draw people and when you would like nothing better than to be anywhere than where you were presently at, it was a chore not to just cut and run.
But that brought him back to his earlier revelation; Draco knew who it was he had been talking to at Madam Malkin all those years yet never gave any indication. It wouldn't have really changed anything. Draco would have still insulted Hagrid and Ron and he would have made the same proposal and in turn, Harry would have still refused. But... He knew? He couldn't explain why it mattered to him, only that it did.
It was funny how this man, this boy, was inspiring such emotions inside of him, none of which he could identify and if he were honest with himself, he didn't want them to be identified. They made him want to laugh at the absurdity of it all and cry at the uselessness of it. But he couldn't afford to breakdown, not now, not with so much at stake. Later, he himself, when he was safe at home and alone, he would deal with his feelings. Just...not now.
"All right," Harry spoke, feeling empty at his choice of words. There was so much he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. But instead of voicing them, he was settling for filler. "Now how would I have known you met Harry Potter there if I'm not him? There was no one else in that shop, but the two of us."
"And Madam Malkin," Draco pointed out.
"Yes, and Madam Malkin," Harry corrected. "But she doesn't count."
"Wh-why not?" Draco looked straight into Harry's eyes, imploring him to explain. "My point is th-that she could have t-told anyone about how Potter and I met him. Potter could have t-told his friends how w-we met. Or--" he grasped at another idea. "--or th-that giant could have seen me. It's not like it's a secret."
His first reaction was inform Malfoy that that giant had a name, but Harry bit his tongue. No more complications. He is not going to goad me into another argument. He had to keep his cool -- that was the one thing he had to do in order to come out on top.
The second reaction, after Harry had allowed the thing about Hagrid pass was that he was right. He had told his friends about how he'd met Malfoy. Thinking about how to pass this latest obstacle, Harry smiled. "We talked -- well, you talked -- about Hogwarts and Quidditch, you asked me if my parents were purebloods and..." Straining to remember it, Harry thought back until he was once again a naive twelve year old that for the first time in his life had been free of the Dursely's. Though it might have seemed to be a breeze to an outsider to remember all these things from fifteen years ago in the past, it wasn't. It had been fifteen years after all...
"Your mother!" Harry exclaimed coming to it in burst of thought and startling Draco. "Your mother was looking at wands and your father at books next door." He smiled triumphantly. "Even if the details about how I met you had been passed around, why would that be?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's not it's something important."
When Draco failed to answer, Harry grin grew even wider. Ha! Got you! he laughed in his head. There's no way to turn, Draco...I've got you cornered. It gave him great satisfaction that he had beaten Draco, even though technically they weren't exactly competing for anything. Hoping that this signified a new turn in their relationship, one that didn't have Draco doubting everything he and Ron are going to do, Harry allowed him to relax for the first time that night, knowing things would be all right.
Draco was...at a loss for words. The man -- he didn't feel comfortable with calling him even Harry, it made him feel too much like he was giving into the madness -- had a point. He didn't want to admit it, but it was true. He knew how rumors worked, had used them to his advantage many times in the past. And he understood people; it was a knack he had. While some people were good-natured, musically inclined, artistic, he was perceptive about people. There was rarely a person he didn't understand. In times like this, it was best to trust your gut feelings. But what happens when your gut is telling you something you didn't want to know? What then?
And so he was lost. He watched the man out of the corner of his eye, careful not to alert his subject that he was watching. He watched as the smile on his face grew wider, and how he visibly relaxed, the aura around him becoming less constrictive and consuming. This was a man who was relishing a good win, a man who knew he was right and that no one could prove him wrong. A man who was vindicated.
Damn, Draco cursed in his head. He rarely cursed, it wasn't refined behavior as his father said many times. He stubbornly refused to comment, knowing there was no way for him to make his point. But he wasn't ready! He can't be Harry Potter! He can't! Holding onto his belief, he remained silent.
When the woman, started speaking for him as if he couldn't respond himself, he had felt annoyed. But then he was held entranced as she spun her tale. If anything, she had a talent for storytelling, but it made him uncomfortable to admit it, even in the relative safety of his own thoughts simply because these were his thoughts, his feelings, his motivation. What she was telling for all the world to hear -- and he was quite aware that there was no one in the small cell but he and three others, but as far as he was concerned, it was three too many -- was his life! Something that was his only, something he had claim to. How dare she lay it out like it was a painting on display?! She had captured everything perfectly, right down to his admiration and apprehension (it wasn't fear, his father always said "Malfoys fear nothing.") of his father, almost as if she had lived it herself. And that was hard to admit. His feelings, his thoughts were not foreign to him. He didn't hide from them like most people did, he just didn't like people knowing such intimate details of his life.
And she said she was my friend! he scoffed. Some friend! He was convinced that if that woman had been any true friend of his, she would have kept quiet.
He lifted his head, his eyes locking on a point on Harry's forehead. It was covered with long, straggly black hair, obscuring any view of the skin on his forehead. He was suddenly struck by how much this man resembled Harry Potter. Wondering why he didn't notice the resemblance earlier, he compared the two. They both had the same raven black hair, and the eyes...they were the exact shade of emerald green. The glasses, they were different. Where there had been thick, black frames, now there was thin, gold rimmed ones. A lot more stylish, he commented to himself. He had always noticed those little details about him... And about other people, he added quickly. It was just another aspect of his perceptiveness.
Tentatively, he allowed himself for the first time to even try and suppose that this man standing in front of him was...exactly who he said he was...Harry Potter... Draco fought the urge to gasp as his head was flooded with images...
Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in the history of Hogwarts, smiling triumphantly as he held up the fluttering, gold snitch in his hand in his victory over the Slytherins.
Harry Potter, standing next to him, smiling the same triumphant smile as he realized he had won.
Harry Potter back then, glaring at him as he maimed him with a passing insult.
Harry Potter as he was now, his face twisted in barely concealed annoyance as his patience was tried.
Harry Potter...
Harry Potter...
He didn't know when he started to think of this man standing in front of him as Harry Potter, but that his subconscious mind did...it said a lot to him. For one thing it meant that he was finally believing him. But deep down, he had had the nagging doubt that what Harry had been saying was truthful; he just didn't want to believe it.
He had been sure that they had been lying! Ever since they started talking about he being a spy -- a spy of all things! And against the Dark Lord! He didn't have a death wish! Not now, and he doubted he would ever have one. Death just wasn't on his list of things to look forward too. And even if he did, death by You-Know-Who? That gave him the chills. He knew what that deranged thing was capable of...even now, not having a whole body he was still very powerful, only just a bit diminished.
But if this was fifteen years into the future as he knew it, You-Know-Who must be stronger than he was when he was physically twelve... Physically twelve, he laughed. It would be a lot easier if I could remember the last fifteen years...
A stronger Dark Lord than he knew, it seemed practically inconceivable... One with more power and influence... Draco glanced around the cell, somehow knowing that this place that he was at, an island as he remember they told him. He couldn't remember the Death Eaters having an island before... And what was it that Eloise said? That this was his baby?
On one hand he was happy and pleased that he was so important in the future. It stoked his male pride that he was powerful Death Eater and accomplished spy. It wasn't exactly what he had planned on becoming but it still sounded good.
But on the other, he completely confused about...everything. Nothing was familiar to him, his life, the people around him, even his very own body was something alien. And it seemed he had made some mistake in this future of his that he was just discovering. Why else would he be here of all places? Stuck in a damp, dark cell, never allowed one moment of peace, all of those stupid questions... Where's this, what's that, what do you know about this?
And he didn't know... He didn't know... It's me, he realized with a jolt. I did this to me. And suddenly it all made sense. He was the cause of all this. He messed up, some how, some way and then he wiped his own memory of the last fifteen years. It's brilliant, he thought, proud of his future incarnation's reasoning. They had already used the Veritaserum on him and it had never led to him leaking anything out that he didn't want to be leaked out. Effective and smart, no matter what they had done to him, he still couldn't tell them anything they had wanted to hear because he didn't know it! Brilliant! Too brilliant, he supposed, looking back on the past few days with less than fond memory.
His captors were never deterred by his lack of response...irked maybe, but never deterred. You had to admire that about them... Each time he had refused to answer or answered in a way they didn't like, they only increased their efforts, tried harder... Like a true Slytherin. None one knew the tenacity of Slytherin unless they were one...
That explains it. He wanted to laugh at himself for being so stupid. That man, who he had commented to himself, that a lot like Crabbe's father... He had been Vincent... The similarities had been amazing... I wonder if I look like my father... Draco wondered absent-mindedly, suddenly wanting a mirror so he could take a look. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the long locks. They were longer than he had remembered, but not by much. Again he was hit by the desire to find a mirror and get a look of this person he had become, this time so he could see himself for purely vain reasons.
My father is dead. His eyes opened wide in shock as he realized his father was dead. His breathing became hitched as he struggled to get air into his lungs, a task that suddenly seemed hard. But after the initial shock wore off, he was left feeling empty. Shouldn't I be feeling a bit worse about this? His father was dead. His father was dead and for the life of him, he couldn't quite manage to feel too badly about it. He... What he felt for his father wasn't love, he was sure of it. It was more like...respect and admiration. Eloise had been right about that. He was like...a figure in history who had done a great deed, a bit like Salazar Slytherin. Yes, that's right, he agreed.
But the fact that his father was dead...it was a bit disconcerting. He had seen him just a few days ago, alive and well... But other than that, nothing. He didn't want to dwell too long on why he didn't feel devastated that his father was dead.
Suddenly feeling tired, he leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was on the ground. He felt Harry's eyes on him, but he refused to look up at him. Just because he was wrong didn't mean he had to acknowledge the stupid fact that very moment. Besides, the man looked as if he was having too much fun delighting in his win anyway.
He wanted to just relax for a while, let down his guard and not feel as if leaving himself bare and vulnerable to attack, but most of all he wished he could close his eyes. Ever since he'd awaken, he hadn't once closed his eyes for more than a second just to blink. Because even when it's just for a millisecond, as soon as he closed his eyes, he was back, alone in his cells with his screams vibrating over the walls as Crabbe laughed and there was no way he was going back there, not even in his thoughts.
Trying to forget his thoughts, he glanced over at Ron -- God, that's really Ron Weasley? -- and Eloise, both still going at it strong, Ron's hands gesturing wildly, shaking at her, while she stood her stand, braced with her hands held clenched at her side. He wondered what had made the two of them harbor such animosity towards each other and was secretly wondering if they would come to blows again and if they did, could he watch?
Midgen had been a Hufflepuff, he was almost sure of that. The girl had blended into the background most of the time; she wasn't the type of girl to be noticed. There had been nothing spectacular about her then, now... Now, she was older, more mature. He hadn't been friends with her in their First Year or their Second. She was a Hufflepuff. He wouldn't be caught dead with one of them. But obviously he had changed if he was associated with her now...
He raised his head to meet eyes with Harry. "Are th-they going to stop any time soon?"
Harry glanced quickly at the pair. "I don't think so."
Accepting the answer, Draco nodded. "So I'm really th-the Grey Dragon," he said wondrously, stating it rather than asking it.
Harry nodded, crouching down so that they were both on the floor, side by side. "Yeah, you are." The man beside went silent as he thought about what that meant. Harry, his head still turned to Draco, watched as the shadows and light from the torch danced on his face. In the back of his mind, he remember something that Midgen had said earlier, something that he had filed away to ask about later. Now might not be a bad time, but he doubted Malfoy would answer him anyway. He had so many questions, but he knew he would most likely never get the answers. Malfoy was always that way in the past and most likely in the present.
"Th-this isn't permanent, is it?" Draco's voice broke into his silent reverie, the slight rise of agitation in his voice barely noticeable. "Th-this memory th-thing I mean. I'm going t-to get my memory back, right?"
Scrambling to assure him, Harry stumbled over his words as he hurried to get them out. "Yes! I mean, no, it's not permanent. At least I think it's not..." Harry trailed off, trying to remember what Dumbledore had told him. Missing the incredulous look Draco was sending him, he continued, "No, it's not," he amended, this time with more conviction. "The spell lasts only a week and it should run off on its own..."
The bumbling way Harry had started his response to the question had Draco less comforted. It wasn't as if he wanted to get his memory back... As far as he was concerned, he was twelve; it was all he remembered being. But, finding out you're in actuality twenty-seven years old, fifteen years older than what you had thought was your age, well then, it might just be good to remember those years of yours, even if you were content on just being twelve.
And he really wanted to remember being the Grey Dragon. Even the name gives him a thrill. The Grey Dragon, he relishes the thought of becoming his own hero, a hero given birth in the dark corners of a lonely, lost boy to comfort him and to give him hope when all seemed lost. A hero to rival even Harry Potter, the legendary Boy Who Lived. It was the arrogance, his conceit and pride that had led him to that one. Harry Potter who refused him, he'll show that boy...just he wait... Foolish dreams that were never meant to be realized, a dream to keep you going late at night when it's so easy to just give up. Something must have happened for him to have made the Grey Dragon a reality; he wouldn't have done it otherwise.
His mouth itched to ask Harry about him, about everything he knew about the Grey Dragon, but he had a hard time getting the words from his mind to his mouth. It was pride, he supposed, and a bit of fear that was overriding his decisions. Either way, there was no way he was going to be crawling to Harry Potter to beg for information, not when he was secure in knowing that his memory would return in only a matter of days and then he would know for sure. He was patient; he could afford to wait.
"You evil...witch!" Ron spat at the woman, not even noticing when Harry and Draco excused themselves from them.
They had been arguing for the past few moments with insults piled on insults and even at one point, Midgen had her hands wrapped around bits of his robe, pushing him hard against the cold, cell wall. He had knocked her arms away, causing her fall, but she had quickly gotten up again and continued their fight.
"Is that all you have to say?" Eloise asked calmly, unfazed by Ron's words. "Resorting to the truth?"
"You're not even deny it?" the red-head blurted out before he could stop himself. He was just surprised she was admitting it.
She shrugged. "Why should I? I like being evil." She grinned evilly to prove her point. "And I am a witch."
"I don't understand you."
"I know, but I understand you. It's not as if you're very complicated." She smirked at the enraged expression on Ron's face. This was it, what she lived for! She loved seeing the angry look on his face, knowing it was she who infuriated him. Years of being friends with Draco had allowed her to prefect the skill of baiting Ron Weasley and it nice to finally be allowed to use it.
"I can't believe you're defending that child," Ron said revolted. "He's even worse now." Malfoy was just a pain. Being with him again, the twelve year old version was not a picnic and it just reminded him about how much he hated him back in then.
"But he's got more common sense than you, you little Weasel. What the hell did you expect?" Midgen asked. She then rolled her eyes when she realized that Ron had no idea what she was talking about. "You're pathetic."
"The feeling's mutual."
Midgen looked Ron up and down, her eyes unreadable, but Ron refused to squirm under her gaze; he would not give her that sort of satisfaction.
"I'm sure it is," Midgen finally said, her eyes halting on his face. Moving, her feet took her around Ron who was still standing still, until she had completed one full circle around him. "Did you think it would be easy?"
Her soft voice surprised him; it wasn't something he would associated with the woman, not what he knew of her now.
He was sure his surprise had been reflected on his face, but Midgen didn't comment on it. He didn't answer, his mouth not sure how to.
"Did you think he would just accept everything you say without question?"
The blunt question had caught him off-guard and he for a split second he didn't know what to think. And then he flushed as he was guilty caught. That hadn't been exactly what he had been thinking, but it was close. He never really thought about it that way, had only delighted in how easy it had seemed.
When he didn't answer, Midgen had her answer and she just silently nodded. "Right, of course," she muttered, as if it should have been obvious. "That's not how he works, you know. You would have thought seven years of fighting with the man, you would have gotten to know some of his personality."
How is that everything she says sounds as if she says to me is an insult? Ron wondered to himself. He scowled as he thought of the answer. Because everything she says to me is an insult. It was just so unfair. To be held to something he had done as a careless teenager was just wrong and the way Midgen had extracted her revenge over just a simple comment was sick. And her nose was off-centered... He glanced at Midgen. And it still is. He had always found that odd of her. He knew she had been teased about her nose during fourth year, it wasn't just he who did it. With all of that, he would have thought that she'd gotten it fixed. But she never did.
He refused to answer, to dignify her with a response and turned away.
"Look Weasley," Midgen commanded, her voice rising up a notch. "I don't like you and I'm sure you don't like me." She ignored his snort of agreement and continued, "But you've got to admit, we're not getting any where with your petty bickering--"
"--my petty bickering?!" Ron screeched, the blood rushing to his face. "You-you-you--"
"See?" Midgen pointed out. "Here, I am, trying to extend a hand and you start again."
The self-sacrificing tone of voice she was using made him want to heave. But as much as he hated to admit it, she did have a point. Not about the petty bickering, but about how they weren't exactly going anywhere. Ron bit his tongue, trying to stop another insult. When he was sure he could manage at least a civil voice, he spoke. "You curb your attitude and I will, got it?"
She inclined her in agreement and Ron felt a rush of relief flowing through him. Now that they were on somewhat good speaking terms, he didn't know what to do. Awkwardly, he shifted around, his eyes roaming elsewhere. His eyes fell on Harry on the other side of the room and caught the odd smile on his face. When did they go over there? "What the hell do you have to smile about?"
Feeling like he was out of place, Harry shifted positions. Draco had fallen silent a few minutes ago, sending their conversation into a standstill. He had watched the sitting man, knees held to his chest and head bowed backwards against the hard stone, exposing his luminous neck that seemed to radiate in the dim cell.
He could see the questions fly across his face, the yearning to ask, but not daring to and he wondered about that. What harm could there be from simple questions? It wasn't as if he wouldn't try and answer them for him. Draco was twelve years old, an innocent still of any wrong doing. He didn't deserve to have this done to him and God only knew what had happened to that boy. He shuddered to think that Draco had been in the hands of the Death Eaters for over four days before they had came to rescue him. Four days to have whatever depravities done to him. He remember finding bodies of friends, of other wizards and witches and of muggles after they had been caught by the Death Eaters. The vision of Dennis Creevey's body...
It had been a slight exaggeration to say that no one had ever gotten in Malos Island and before they had known about Draco Malfoy and his people, there had been Dennis Creevey, the first man that had been one of theirs to infiltrate the island. He remembered when news had gotten to him that Dennis had successfully insinuated himself on the island. He, Ron and Hermione had gone out to celebrate at a local pub, though he and Ron had hidden the true reason why they were celebrating from Hermione. Now, come to think of it, they probably didn't needed to -- she probably knew anyway and probably had known before they did.
Harry scowled, remembering the bombshell Hermione had dropped on him earlier that evening. Was it only a few hours ago? he wondered. It had felt like an eternity had gone by instead of the mere hours.
Sometime, when this rescue had faded into the back of their mind as a mission gone wrong, he would have to deal with Hermione keeping the secret from him for so long. It had been what? Eight, nine years? Nearly a decade! He understood the need for it, would have approved of it, he just wished he had been in on it. They were best friends after all and best friends don't keep secrets from their friends.
Why am I wasting my time with thoughts of Hermione? he asked himself, wondering why he was suddenly so relaxed and complacent when they had been captured and probably about ready to meet certain doom. And from Crabbe's less than subtle hint, they had bigger things on their mind. Voldemort, he thought with a growl. There was nothing more than what he would like to do than get rid of the man for good, in painful, very painful ways, but he could risk a confrontation right now. Not when he had people depending on him. Ron, he could excuse, they had been through more scrapes and fights than he could count and he knew Ron could give as good as he got. Midgen, too, but he didn't like it. She may be their inside contact on this godforsaken island, but he didn't know if she could handle herself in a real situation. And when push comes to shove, he had to be sure he could count on every member of his team. But Draco, he was priority. Not only was he the person they had come to rescue, he was a child trapped in a man's body. A child.
A child.
God help me, but I wish Malfoy was here, he thought, truly wishing he had the older version of Malfoy here with him instead of the twelve year old. At least he was sure Malfoy could help get them out, could be a real asset to them all. This twelve year old one was nothing but baggage. And when they're going to running for their lives, they didn't need to be worrying about him every single second.
He was feeling slightly guilty that he was thinking of Draco as "nothing but baggage" when he was so much more. Inside that head of his held something important, he was sure of it. If he didn't, they would have just killed him, their side and his, instead of having him rescued.
It would have been so easy. That Eloise Midgen was here and that Dumbledore knew that she would be here, waiting for them spoke of how well-informed and connected Dumbledore was. He could have easily asked someone to kill Draco during a moment when no one was looking.
Or the Death Eaters would have eliminated Draco by now. That he was still standing in relatively good health was a testament to how much he was valued. The Death Eaters weren't exactly known for their good treatment of traitors. Death was inevitable when it came to them and more times than not, it was usually a welcomed release.
So it stands to reason that whatever Draco was harboring in his mind was something of importance. The Muggle attack Dumbledore had spoken of didn't seem to quite cut it in his mind. It would be an important event, he was sure of, one that would merit some attention. The damage from one mishandled Muggle attack could mean doom to the Wizarding world as they knew it, something they were sure Voldemort would love to see happening, but why now? Why would Crabbe suddenly decide that this moment in time would be the right one to expose Draco? He had obviously known the blond was a spy for a very long time, why chose now of all times to expose him? Something must have been happening, something that both Crabbe and Draco knew about and that Crabbe couldn't afford to have Draco get out. Wow, he thought. An original idea by Vincent Crabbe.
He snuck a quick glance of Draco with his eyes glazed over, still lost in his own thoughts, wondering what it could be that was so important. A new weapon? Another attack on the Base? Another purge? he thought, thinking of the Death Eater Purge of 2003 implement by Gregory Goyle. He had heard the story like everybody else, knew the rudiments of it, though Ron could probably tell you more about it in detail. Hell, what I know of it was from Ron's ramblings... he thought with a content smile.
"What the hell do you have to smile about?" Ron's voice carried over the distance, reaching him and catching him off-guard. He hadn't noticed that Ron and Midgen had stopped their arguments and was standing, looking at him as if he had grown a second head.
Harry looked up, seeing the way both of them looked tense, their robes askew and their cheeks red. Looking at them, he fought the urge to laugh at the picture they made together. If hadn't had known better, he would have thought Ron and Midgen had just had an intense make out session instead of the heated argument. Their agitation towards each other could have been taken as embarrassment instead of disgust at their forced tolerance of each other and their out of place robes could have been the result of groping and touch, an urge to get closer together than the grabbing that they had done to make a point. And their red cheeks... If he hadn't had known that Ron was utterly devoted to Hermione and would never betray her trust in him and that Midgen was also utterly disgusted and hated Ron with a passion then he would have thought something would be found distasteful both by Midgen and Ron.
"Just thinking about the purge of 2003," Harry responded. "And how the only way I would even know about that story was because of you."
Ron fell silent, his mind mentally picking out the one particular Gregon story that had dealt with the purge. The purge had happened, that was never the question. But the story of Goyle being the one to betray the Gregon had come after, to explain the event. Next to him, Midgen scowled, her lips settling into revolted grimace as she too remembered that time.
"You remember it don't you, Ron?" Harry deliberately asked, casting an overt glance at Draco, trying to tell if he was listening. "It was said that the Grey Dragon had been betrayed by Gregory Goyle." There! A definite flicker of interest in Draco's eyes, even though the boy was trying to act as if he wasn't listening in. He hoped this would be enough for him. Earlier he had seen how much Draco had wanted to ask about the Grey Dragon. Maybe this way, he could get some of his curiosity satisfied...
"He was," Eloise said, walking towards them and sitting down in front of Harry. Then she smiled wickedly, the coldness in her eyes chilling Harry. "But Goyle didn't live long enough to gloat about it."
Feeling bereft standing all alone, Ron joined their group on the floor sitting next to Midgen and in front of Malfoy completing the circle. His hackles were raised, being in such close proximity to his enemies. How did I end up between Midgen and Malfoy? he thought, thinking he should be the one near Harry. So we've decided on show and tell? It was absurd, the way they were all sitting together, talking about a Gregon story of all things. But curiosity got the better of him and Midgen's offhanded remark about how Goyle didn't live long enough to gloat piqued his interest. The Grey Dragon had always been a soft spot for him... "What are you saying?" He winced at the rushed words that he hadn't meant to say.
"Let's just say Voldemort isn't the only one who doesn't tolerate traitors." The cold smile that accompanied her answer chilled the room, causing them to pause.
"What did I do?" The sick, pale look on Malfoy's face surprised Ron. He would have thought that this would have been just his cup of tea.
"You didn't do a thing, we did." Midgen grinned.
The relief on Draco's face seemed almost immediate, Harry noticed. As soon as Midgen assured him that he didn't have any part in the demise of Gregory Goyle, he start to gain a bit more color to his face. He would have missed it if he hadn't been watching him for his reaction.
"What do you mean?" Harry spoke up, trying to turn the conversation. "From the stories, Goyle betrayed some of the Gregon's people, causing one of the major purges in the Death Eater ranks, but disappeared before he could give the Gregon up."
"Gregon?" Draco's voice questioned, his voice louder and more confident this time.
"What they shortened your name to," Midgen explain, pulling a face.
Draco winced in response. They butchered it!
"And he didn't disappear. A few of us got together and had a little 'talk' with him. And then when he wasn't reasonable enough, we just...got rid of him," Eloise said with no trace of an emotion. It was as if she had been talking about the weather instead of someone's death.
Is that what it does? Harry wondered, contemplating Eloise Midgen and her involvement with the Death Eaters. The slip of a girl she had been during their time at Hogwarts was nothing like the willowy woman here now. As far as he knew, Midgen had never been this cold.
Ron shuddered at her calm tone. He opened his mouth to say something, but the thought better of it. They had come to a truce after all.
"What happened t-to Greg?" Draco spoke up, clearing his throat in the process.
Midgen looked towards Draco, a small smile on her lips. "He was just...disenchanted, like Vinny. Couldn't see the point in the good fight any more, not when power was at his fingertips."
Harry shook his head. "I can't see Goyle as one of the 'good guys'."
"He wasn't always bad... He was loyal, a good friend, most of the time and he knew how get jobs done," Eloise praised, remembering the man Gregory Goyle had used to be. Then her face hardened. "But betraying Draco is something intolerable. He managed to get a good number of our people captured and killed. We had spent years building up our resistance. In the blink of an eye he had managed to send us back almost five years. We could never forgive that."
Soaking up every bit of what Midgen was say, Ron relished knowing the truth of the purge. He had never believed the story of the Grey Dragon's involvement of it. He had written it off to one of those people who loved to feature the Gregon in their stories, whether or not it was true. The problem had been Goyle. Goyle, the boy, the bully that had been in their year at Hogwarts who was practically a bodyguard of Malfoy had been so close and trusted to the Grey Dragon that he would have a chance to betray him. It was just unbelievable. But now...now he had the facts, but he was still finding it hard to believe Goyle had been a trusted member of Gregon's people. And the fact that Malfoy is the Gregon! It just wasn't right; his heroes, the people he had looked up to... Malfoy...Midgen...Crabbe...Goyle...who knows who else? Pansy Parkinson, maybe? He grimaced at the thought of that girl also being a part of it, but with what he had found out tonight, he doubted that he would find it odd.
"That's why Crabbe has got to know his days on this earth is numbered. Even if we don't get out of this place alive, neither will he. He'll be hunted down and killed, no matter how long it takes," Eloise said with deadly certainty.
And silence filled the room.
She had turned in sometime after 3:30 A.M, convincing herself that she needed sleep after nodding off for what seemed like the fifth time and she found herself awakened sometime after four by a loud rapping at her bedroom window.
Slowly but surely, the methodical rapping punctured her subconscious and she gradually rose back into the land of the living, lifting her head from the comfort of her pillow. Sluggishly, Hermione pried her eyes open and cursed her bad luck. It had taken her forever to convince herself that she needed to sleep and now that she had finally dropped off, she's not allowed to.
She almost knew what it would be before she even got up and opened the window to let the poor bird in. Who else would send her a missive this early in the morning?
It had been a toss up between Dumbledore and the Ministry, both of which seemed to know nothing of the concept of time. She was the same way, most of the time, except for the rare moments when she was sleeping, then it was all bets off.
It was a standard owl, typical of the Ministry. Hermione released the owl of its letter, thinking that it was rather archaic of the Ministry to rely on the Owl Post when a phone call would be more effective. But, she thought. I doubt I would have welcomed either intrusion.
She quickly scanned the letter, clutching at it tighter as the words sunk in. Without further delay she had her wand out and with a half mumbled spell, changed into the necessary clothing. The letter in her hand fell down to the floor in the rush to get out, forgotten as fluttered.
The door of the flat snapped shut in a definite thud as she swept out of there.
December 15, 2002
Ms. Granger
Please report to the corner of fifth and Wyatt. A portkey has been set up for your convenience and it will take you directly to the Muggle town of Evansville.
It is my regret to inform you that Evansville is no longer standing. It has been attacked by a group of Death Eaters earlier this morning and the causalities are severe. The damages should this attack get out will be incomprehensible and please take charge of the situation when you arrive. Our people are already there, minimizing the damage.
Zerina Vanier
"Dear God," Hermione breathed, her very first thought as she stared at the burning town. Flames were leaping on top of each other, flickering and jumping; the buildings were either charred or in pieces, chunks of ruble littering the ground and streets. Automobiles overturned and thrown about looking as if a tiny child had had a field day playing Crash! with them. And the bodies... "Dear God," Hermione whispered again, her eyes falling on a mangled woman, her clothes torn off and her face forever to be fixed with a look of horror.
As soon as the initial shock had worn off, Hermione felt fury flowing through her body. This had been the sixth such attack on Muggles in the last year and as far as she was concerned it was too many. "Shit!" she cursed, not regretting it one bit as she spied the haunting calling card of the Dark Lord grinning down on her.
Holding her hair to her head, she stalked closer to the group of people in the side of the town, the flames already extinguished in that area.
"Hermione!"
Surprised, Hermione clasped hands with the woman. "Ginny! What are you doing here?"
"I'm heading up the site... My God Hermione, it's been a long time!"
"Yes it has," Hermione answered curtly, not wanting to broach the subject. "What can you tell me about this?"
Hearing the authoritative tone of voice in her sister-in-law, Ginny immediately straightened and went into a brisk report. "Seven Death Eaters descend on the town around one A.M this morning, making little work of destroying the town and killing the people of Evansville."
Ginny led the way towards the heart of the town, showing Hermione the full damage.
"Population?" Hermione asked.
"128, over a hundred of which have been killed as of this moment. About half were killed out right, a few more from injuries sustained and the others from the fires. Those who escaped with minor injuries are being treated and their memories of the event changed. We're hoping the haze in their memories would be attributed to Post Traumatic Stress as it often is."
Hermione nodded. "Have the Muggle Press gotten a hold of this?"
"No," Ginny spoke. "The town of Evansville has been shielded from Muggle entry and view even since we've arrived. It's been effectively cut off from the rest of the world."
"Good," Hermione approved. "The fires?"
"They're being attended to, but it will take a few more minutes before they are fully extinguished." Ginny paused, halting her steps. "Can I ask you a question?"
Faltering, Hermione was a bit slow to answer the unexpected question. "Go ahead."
"How could this happen?"
The hoarse whisper had her concerned and she stepped closer, holding Ginny's arm in comfort. She tried to smile, but failed. "We can't stop all of them," she answered honesty. "All we can do is make the best of it and make sure the Muggles never really knows what happens."
Ginny shook her head in sadness. "I don't envy you Hermione; always having to deal with this."
Hermione gazed on the town, the fire waving around, leaving nothing but chard remains, wizards and witches yelling, trying to contain the flames and they trying to do several things at once. As she watched the scene -- wizards holding small children, witches leading scared women and men to safety and the ever present Dark Mark grinning owlishly down on her, she thought to herself, Neither do I.
Oscar fidgeted, pacing around his temporary room, wiping his sweaty hands on the sides of his robe. "Oh dead, oh dear, oh dear," he chanted and he paced. "Oh God, oh God, oh God..." he moaned.
His thoughts were all a disarray but every one of them were saying This was bad. It was. It was a catastrophe!
The Grey Dragon, captured!
Normally if this had happened, he would have left everything to Eloise because she would have known what to do, but she was captured as well!
All was not good.
Now, Draco had specific instructions of what to do if this should ever happen and had made everyone in his ranks aware of them. Number one, don't attempt rescue yourself. Number two, contact Dumbledore who would dispatch Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and they would get Draco out of what ever bind he was in. But even he didn't foresee that Potter and Weasley might...fail.
So what to do now? They had the Grey Dragon, they had Eloise, they even had the Boy Who Lived and his partner... All they needed was Weasley's wife and the group would be complete! Oscar thought hysterically.
This is bad, this is bad, this is bad... he repeated, the only thing on his mind was how bad it really was.
He had to do something.
No! his mind screamed at him for even suggesting it. Think of your health, your life, your future because if you go down this foolhardy path you won't have any of them! He wrung his hands, indecision apparent on every part of his person. He had do something -- it was his obligation as the only other person on the island who could do anything to help.
Oh God, he moaned to himself, stopping abruptly near the bed and throwing him on it. Whatever happened to the easy assignment Draco promised me? Watch Crabbe, report back...it seemed to be so harmless... How could he had known that the assignment he had taken three years ago would end up with he risking his life? He groaned, closing his eyes. He had to do something, it was expect of him... And he owed Draco to at least try.
Well, he spoke to himself. If you are going to go along with this foolish plan, then you have to do it soon. You-Know-Who will be paying a visit soon and it would not be prudent to be caught while He's here...
He had to think. Something quick and simple that wouldn't get him killed. It sounds so easy, but actually think of something...
Hardening his resolve, he devised a relatively safe thing he could do to help. It was the very least he could do.
A knock at the door roused him from his thoughts. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat, hoping to mask his anxiety for a moment. "Yes?" he called out tentatively, swing his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting. He smooth out his robe and tugged at his hair, trying to look presentable.
The door opened and a man popped his head in. Oscar recognized him as one of the regulars posted on the island. "Crabbe wants to see you, sir. He's in the main gathering rooms."
Oscar steeled his face and nodded once to acknowledge the man and then waved him off. The other man left without question and Oscar sighed in relief. A summons. That he could handle.
He turned on his side, looking at the framed photograph on the bedside table. Unwittingly, he smiled at the young boy pictured, maybe seven or eight years old. He grabbed the frame, holding in both his hands as he gazed down on the happy boy waving to him. He brought a hand to touch the cold, glass surface; it was as far as he could come to touching his son. "For you," he whispered, tracing the outline of the boy's face. Oscar gave him a small smile and he smiled in turn. The tiny, innocent way his son smile twisted in him, reminding him that he loathed being away from the only person on this world that mattered to him.
With reluctance, he replaced the photograph back with loving care, turning it so that the face was facing the bed.
He stood up, pushing himself up from the bed. He heard his spine popping back into place was reminded that he was not so young anymore. Running hand through his hair, he walked out of the room with feigned confidence. Crabbe shouldn't be kept waiting.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Oscar approached the man, standing in one of the Manor's large leisure rooms.
Crabbe looked up and Oscar suppressed the urge to shudder as he often did whenever he gets a glimpse of Crabbe's eyes. They were so empty and lifeless and just about the only time he actually saw something other than coldness in those depths was when they had destroyed something worthwhile.
"Yes. The Dark Lord will be arriving within the hour and I want you to make sure everything is ready for His arrival."
"Of course," he managed. So soon? Damn! He had hoped he would have more time to think his plan out, or at least more than to put it off.
"I want you to instruct the people here, they will show Him the correct humility and respect our Lord deserves," Crabbe continued.
His heart started to race. What he was suggesting would take too much time! "Are you sure? I mean, maybe someone here, like Harris, who has more familiarity with the people, should be the one--" he bumbled, reaching for excuses when he caught Crabbe's eye and stopped. "Right, of course sir," Oscar amended hastily. Though Crabbe didn't speak, he understood what he had been trying to say. He was Crabbe's assistant and Crabbe was a higher authority than any one here. If anything, they followed a chain of command and each knew their place. So do I, Oscar thought, excusing himself.
Just as he was about to leave the room, Crabbe called to him again. Oscar paused, turning around.
"I thought you might like to know. Our people has conducted a successful attack this night," Crabbe informed, his lips curving in a smile.
"That's great," he tried to say impassioned but failing. Crabbe paid him no attention, relieving him a great deal. "The Singapore one?" It had been the only attack he had been informed of.
"No, that was never meant to be executed," Crabbe told him. "The one I'm talking about was Evansville in Northern England."
Oscar froze. Evansville? Oh God...Matt... "Evansville," he whispered, dazed.
"Yes." Crabbe turned away. "I've been told it was very successful."
"Very successful..." Oscar repeated, left standing alone.
"A complete destruction of the town," Crabbe continued.
Matt? His mouth tingled to ask about the survivors...if there were any, but he couldn't trust himself to speak and not start yelling incomprehensible nonsense as he broke down.
"You may go," Crabbe dismissed, already not paying him any more attention.
Struck dumb, Oscar could only nod and make his way out.
A/N: Hi! I'm back! A nice long chapter to make up for the stupid one that time. I hope you like, but I personally found it a tad boring. What else to say? Um, thanks to all the people who reviewed and mucho gracias to Kara who was a big help and to my beta Red Dragons Order (go read her stories!) for a great job as always. All mistakes of course are mine.
Youko Gingitsune: Yes, it was shorter by about 4 pages. Hope this extra long one makes up for it!
Enid: We all suffered when ff.net was down... But something came of it for me. I got into Angel/Spike slash and that was very nice. It was something to pass away the time as I was deprived of my Harry/Draco stories. Thanks for reviewing!
portuguese_girl: Thanks! Creative in Action and Adventure? That's a first for me. Personally, I think this story has been very slow in action and adventure... A movie producer? Hmm... Too bad I'm commited to being a doctor... Grown up Draco will be so much fun to write! I hope he shows up soon, but I think he's hiding from me... If you ask me, he's holding Harry captive in a closet somewhere... It is taking way too long to get to any sort of slash, I totally agree. I hate it too because I wanna write hardcore slash! All my previous works have always hinted...
Tsuyuno: You reviewed every single chapter?! Are you nuts?! Not that I don't love it! It's so sweet of you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And you sent me an email review too! You are too sweet! I had almost forgotten I sent this to PSA... I thought I might not get in since she was looking for other than H/D pairings, but I got in! Yay!
I don't think Ron will ever get off Malfoy's case...ever. Ron's just not like that...at least not yet... *g* And you're right, it was uncharacteristic of Draco to go to Dumbledore, but I assure you, it wasn't a hasty decision. Malfoy's got his own agenda and Dumbledore is just one stepping stone in order to achieve it.
Hey, I'm not saying Draco hasn't done so very very very bad things... Some of Ron's hate is well founded. But I'm also saying Draco is also going some good as well... And no, I don't know what a pooka is... Wasn't Anastasia's dog named Pooka?
LOL! Midgen is that sort of twisted girl. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And about Eloise, you saw it in this chapter... And Draco only has two more days...
Ugh! I knew the stutterings too much! I didn't like it and I don't know what I'm thinking!
Zipporah: Thanks! That's such a great compliment! Thank you! I don't like the cliffhangers much myself, but I'm glad they are doing their purpose... Stuttering, as I said above I hate, but I kept it in this chapter because it was started in the last. It's disappering now... And I totally agree with you about Ron and Eloise. I lost my hold on them and you can see it seeping into this chapter as well... They are so annoying aren't they? I just can't seem to get to them get along... Every time I try, they just start yelling again and I don't know what to do. I had a talk with them. They promised not to always react like water in hot oil but they can't promise to always be nice. I just hope this small truce will last... And thank you so much for my first piece of constructive criticism!
Youko Gingitsune: Didn't you already review once? Anyway, thanks again and I hope this chapter answered your question.
Tionne: It's okay, I still think the stutter was a bad idea on my part... I might wipe it out in an edit later on... Draco knows because he is that kinda a guy. At least mine is. Methodical, precise, intelligent, that's what I see Draco as. It's only fitting for him to have thought this up as a child and then have him become it as an adult. Thank you for reviewing!
Last notes: Last chapter I said I was going to not have slash until Draco is "back" for moral grounds. I'm most likely going to have some hints (lust works at such young ages...) but for any sort of relationship, that's going to be when Draco is 27 again. I think I might break my story up into at least two parts, one for the island and the other for the relationship. *smiles* I wouldn't blame any of you that want to leave and come back for part 2 only.
Okay, that's it. I hope this chapter satisfies you and hope you review! Please review! Bye!