Ron
awoke. His head hurt. He glanced around his cell warily and gasped
in surprise when he saw Harry regarding him from a corner, through half-lidded
eyes. He slowly sat himself upright, massaging at his temples with the
tips of his fingers.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.
"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I was here first. What are
you doing here?" Ron retorted, his dark mood deepening.
"Ron, this is no time to get all pompous on me," Harry responded, his
gaze hardening.
"Pompous? Who's pompous? I was here first!" Ron yelled and turned
away slightly.
"Anyone would think you would have been glad to see your best
friend," Harry riposted to Ron's back.
"Glad? GLAD?! You didn't even stick around to watch my duel yesterday! A
little moral support might have been nice! And while you were at it, you might
have been able to stop me getting thrown in a nineteenth century jail cell! And
does the fact that I got hit on the head really hard by a guard and was beaten
in the duel mean nothing to you? Some friend you are, Harry Potter. At
Hogwarts it was always 'Harry Potter, wonderful, Harry fucking Potter,
The-Boy-Who-Lived and that red-haired person who hangs around with him from
time-to-time. You know, what's his name - Don Beasley?' Do you realise
how difficult that was, being a celebrity's best friend? Do you know that
people had given up caring by the time you had won the Quidditch Cup and the
House Cup for the seventh year in a row? I am fed-up of playing second fiddle,
Harry. With you I was nothing, a non-entity, a sidekick. Girls
didn't want to be with me, but would gladly have slept with me if it meant they
could have spent five minutes alone in a room with you." Ron finished his
rant and took a few deep breaths. There was a cold silence in the room
once more.
"I am sorry," Harry began, "that this," he pointed to his
forehead, "is such a disability to you. I will remember that in
future and won't offload my unwanted fame onto you. Sorry that these past
seven years have been such a trial for you." He turned to face the
wall. Both boys glared at the wall for a few minutes.
"So, why are you here?" Ron asked curiously.
"Ron, I will give you two options: either A; shut the fuck up and never
bother talking to me again for as long as you live, or B, my personal
favourite; figure out a way to get out of here and then shut the fuck up and
never bother talking to me again for as long as you live," Harry answered
coldly, still facing the wall.
Ron looked out the window and yawned. It was nighttime. He lay down
on his straw mattress. "Night, Harry," he mumbled sleepily,
appearing not to have heard.
"Piss off, Ron," came the reply.
******
Draco spluttered and turned red. "No, it's not!" he protested,
his voice rising several octaves, "it's cleaning stuff, for the
bathroom," he finished lamely.
Hermione snorted and looked at him with an amused gaze. His blush
deepened along his cheekbones and he pushed his hair agitatedly out of his
eyes. He set her back down on the floor. "Hey! That doesn't
mean you get to put me down! I'm not done with you yet!" Hermione
exclaimed, a little crestfallen.
Draco grunted something and trudged hurriedly from the room. It had
sounded like 'see you at dinner,' but Hermione couldn't be sure. She felt
a little guilty now. She sighed and picked up the discarded towel from
the floor. She wound it around her body and raked a hand through her mass
of wet hair. She padded from the bathroom and into her temporary room.
Draco had thoughtfully provided her with some clothes to change into. She
took her time getting dressed, but she has decided that impeccably dressed
though he was, Draco was clearly clueless when it came to women's
clothing. She raided the wardrobe and was pleased to discover a trove of
forgotten dresses, robes and clothes. She selected one and wriggled into
it. Hermione examined herself critically in the mirror.
"Dearie, that dress is just not your colour," the mirror said in
soothing tones, "may I suggest a periwinkle blue? Or perhaps a black
satin, edged with red lace?"
Hermione flopped onto the bed and took the dress off, admiring the beautiful
sewing and intricate pattern. She had to make it up to him,
somehow. An idea struck her, and she wriggled into the black satin
dress. It was a little on the tight side, however, it did give the
illusion of outrageous curves. She smoothed it down with clammy hands
nervously. She crossed to the dressing table and raked a brush through
her hair, only succeeding in tangling it more. Hermione sighed.
"Stratus," she said resignedly, and pointed her wand at her
hair.
Now almost ready, she crossed to the wardrobe once more and riffled through for
some shoes. There were some, but all seemed far too dainty and made her
feet look positively ungainly in comparison. Hermione looked at the clock
beside the bedside. Twenty minutes until dinner was served. She had
just enough time. She pattered down the corridor in bare feet, the chill
of the stones creeping through her body. She skidded down the main
staircase and turned into the kitchens. Here, she saw House-elves hard at
work. Breathlessly, she tapped one on the shoulder, causing it to jump
and drop the bowl it had been holding.
"How fast can you make dinner?" she wheezed, clutching at her side.
"We can whip it up in a jiffy, madam, but will you not be dining with
Master Malfoy this evening?" the House-elf questioned, looking at her with
its bulbous eyes.
"Master
Malfoy and I will be dining together, but not in the Dining Hall. I was
wondering if you could put me together a picnic basket instead?" she
asked, fixing the elf with an ingratiating smile.
"No problem, good lady," the House-elf replied and clapped his hands
together. Elves appeared from various places in the kitchen.
"This good lady requires a picnic basket," the elf commanded and the
elves scattered. Presently, they were back, staggering under the weight
of a large wicker picnic basket, which was full to bursting of various
delicious looking food items. She took the basket from them and walked
from the kitchens.
"Mobili Baskus," she said and the basket floated along after
her. She climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time excitedly.
She padded lightly down the hallway, coming to rest at Draco's door. It
was slightly ajar. She was about to push it open, however, when she heard
voices coming from inside. It was the impatient voice of Draco and the
angry sounding voice of his father. She stood motionless by the door
jamb, listening intently.
"Draco, do not lie to me! I know she is still here. The dirty little
Mudblood is still in our house!" the angry voice of Lucius yelled from the
fireplace.
Draco went silent for a moment and took a deep breath. "Yes, it is
true, Father, she is still here," he answered, avoiding eye contact with
his father, "but it is not without good reason. I have kept her here
so I can bring her to you. Potter and Weasley will be eating out of the
palm of your hand just to get her back." He sneered after he said this,
jamming his hands into his pockets as he did so.
"Yes, my boy. You are growing up just like your Father. I must
be going." Lucius gave a curt wave from the fireplace.
"But wait! Father, where can I find the Portkey?" Draco asked
urgently.
Lucius seemed to be rummaging around. He tossed an object carelessly
through the flames. It was a brooch with a lion on it. That lion
was all too familiar…
"Goodbye, son," Lucius' head disappeared from the fireplace.
Draco sank onto the bed, holding his head in his hands.
The Gryffindor Lion! Hermione thought to herself suddenly, I've only seen it
before because that's the Gryffindor Lion! And I only know ONE person with that
brooch… She gasped aloud. "Ginny!"
Draco's head snapped around and his eyes locked with hers, which were still
peering at him through the gap. Hermione shook her head, tears running
down her face. She ran.
******
Draco was up off of the bed in an instant. How much had she heard? What
must she think of him now? Didn't she realise it was all a ruse? He ran to the
door and wrenched it open, catching sight of the retreating back of Hermione
far down the passage. Funnily enough, the picnic basket was still
following her. She skidded down the main staircase and into the kitchens.
Draco ran after her, his shirt-tails flapping.
"HERMIONE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "HERMIONE! STOP,
PLEASE!"
This seemed to have the reverse effect; she darted a look over her shoulder at
him and increased her speed. She dodged around the House-elves in the
kitchen and ran through the backdoor into the garden at the side of the
house. He ran after her, and saw her running straight towards the
fence. She would never get over it in time. He ran, his feet
sinking slightly into the lush lawn. He could see her stopping by the
fence, unsure of what she could do. Draco willed his legs to run all the
faster, his muscles crying out in protest at the strain they were under.
He lessened the distance between them, heart pounding. She looked around,
eyes wide with fear, face streaked with tears. He ran up to her panting
and almost bent double from his exertions.
"You bastard," she hissed, "you disgusting, piece of shit."
Draco looked up at her through his damp locks of hair. Sweat poured down
his face. "Whatever you heard, it's not true. I just said that
to appease my father," he gasped, clutching at his side.
Hermione regarded him coldly. "You aren't worthy of a minute of my
time. I fell in love with you and now you are going to turn me over to
your father for him to do as he will to me? If this is what love is, so help
me, I'll become an old maid. I want no part of it," she said and
turned back to the fence.
Draco's mind slowly chugged away, going through the thought processes.
Love. Love was such a strong word. "It wasn't true. I
wouldn't let him take you," he said, breathing normally now. He
straightened up and laid a hand on one of Hermione's, which was clutching the
iron railing.
"Why?" came the stony voice.
"Why what?" Draco asked, confused.
"Why wouldn't you let him take me?" Hermione turned slowly to
face him, not letting go of the railing.
Draco realised his hand was still on Hermione's and he removed it
quickly. "Because…Because…" he faltered, "Because I like
you, Hermione. You just aren't the same as you were at Hogwarts.
You're better, you have matured," he finished, looking at her in earnest.
"I'm such a 'likeable' girl, aren't I? Just 'likeable'. Not loveable
in the least bit," she muttered, looking down at the grass.
"You'll be loveable one day," Draco said, smiling, "you'll age
into it, just like others age into beauty. At most at the moment, I think
you are quite tolerable."
Draco grinned and Hermione smiled warily.
"I'll never be beautiful, either," she whined, more to herself.
Draco sighed. "Whilst I don't love you, I do like you a lot,
Hermione," he said seriously, "you aren't half bad for a Mud-,
Muggle-born."
Hermione smiled and let her hand drop from the iron railing. She
tentatively wound her arms around his neck and melted into his body.
Draco stood stiffly for a moment before placing his arms awkwardly on her
waist. He planted a kiss on her head. She raised her head up so her
face was level with his and offered her lips to him, offering her heart as
well. Draco hesitated. Offering her heart. Draco felt his
arms pull away. He couldn't bring himself to do it. To steal her
heart and never give anything back in return. He saw Hermione look up at
him, uncomprehending. He looked down. And it was then that he did
something for the first time in his life. He walked away.
******
Lucius stormed down the corridor, clutching his wand with whitened
knuckles. He stopped and stood at the door to Ginny's cell, blocking out
the light from the burning torches. Blake looked up and his eyes locked
with Lucius'. His arm was still around Ginny and he made no attempt to
move it.
"Not intruding, am I?" Lucius asked, in a dangerously sweet voice and
ran his fingers up his wand in agitated excitement.
Ginny looked around her eyes widening in fear. She shrugged Blake's arm
away from her, and scuttled to the corner of the cell.
"Lucius-" Blake started but Lucius held out his wand
menacingly. He began to advance on Blake.
"Dear, dear, Blake, what would the Dark Lord think to hear you are
disobeying me? Perhaps I should let him know…" He let the sentence trail
off. It had the desired effect. Blake looked suitably petrified.
"No! Lucius! You know I'm still hiding from him!" Blake exclaimed,
backing away.
Lucius smiled cynically. "Oh! That's right! You are the boy
Voldemort's been looking for, for all these years. You are the one who is
evading death, ultimately. Your poor father would turn in his grave if he
could see you now-"
"Don't you talk to me about my father." Blake's voice became
cold. He regarded Lucius furiously.
"Why?" Lucius asked, "it was him who got you into this position
in the first place, was it not?" When there was no reply, Lucius advanced
still further on Blake until Blake was pressed up against the wall.
"I have no need for you any longer, Blake. I am not going to hide
you," he hissed, jabbing his wand into Blake's chest.
"No, Lucius! Don't do it! Doing it would only mean you would get caught,
too! You wouldn't want to be hauled up for conspiring against the Dark Lord,
would you?" Blake yelped.
Lucius paused. His cold grey eyes bored into Blake's blue ones.
Blake seemed to relax slightly. "Obliviate!" Lucius said
lazily.
Blake's face immediately took on an expression reminiscent of that of dreamy
ignorance. "What? Why am I here? Can I go now? Who are all you
people?"
"Blake," Ginny whimpered softly.
"Yes?" said Blake uncertainly, "here, don't cry!" He handed
her a handkerchief.
"Quiet, Ginny. Blake, you must leave. Right now," Lucius
said, sounding impatient, "here, let me escort you to the door…"
Blake allowed himself to be led away, still looking very puzzled. The
door to Ginny's cell slammed shut.
******
"Incendio!"
"Shut up, Ron! I am trying to sleep!" Harry groused and covered his
ears with his hands.
"Engorgio!" Ron said, a little louder and swishing his wand
around.
"RON! IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP, I SWEAR…" Harry bellowed and sat
up. Ron was sitting on the floor cross-legged, aiming his wand at
cockroaches on the floor.
"Harry. I am conducting an important experiment. Please shut
up," Ron replied, absentmindedly chewing the tip of his wand and sending
sparks fizzing from his lips. He pointed his wand at another
cockroach. "Tarantallegra!" When nothing happened,
he sighed and turned to Harry. "We can't get out of here using
magic. Notice how none of my spells worked? We can't use Alohomora to get
out. We're stuck."
"Ten points to Gryffindor," Harry said sarcastically.
"So what do you want to do about it?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he replied stoutly and rolled
back over and proceeded to go back to sleep.
"Look, Harry, if it's about yesterday, then I didn't mean it. It was
in the heat of the moment that I said it," Ron said quickly, flushing a
deep red colour most unbecoming to him.
"Forget it," said Harry, still facing the wall.
"But I just wanted to-" started Ron, before Harry interrupted.
"I said forget it. I don't care. Most of it is true
anyway. But the least you could have done was told me. I couldn't
help it anyway. I suppose you can't relate to me in that sense, I mean,
you aren't alive because your parents died for you. You don't have a Dark
Lord on your tail doggedly, day after day. You haven't had to contend with
the likes of Colin Creevey. You have had a relatively normal life and I
really envy that. At least you are actually wanted by your family.
At least they aren't ashamed of who you are," Harry finished.
Ron scratched his head thoughtfully. There came a timid knock at the
door. "Piss off," snapped Ron. The door opened slowly and
Calantha peeked in warily.
"I've come to free you. You must take leave now! Make haste before
they put you to death!" she said, handing them a long cloak each.
"Broomsticks are by the garden wall on the other side of the
kitchens. From here, take left down the corridor and then up the
stairs. Go right from the stairs until you reach the kitchens. Go
through the back door in the kitchens, go to the far wall and take the broomsticks.
Then leave."
"You expect us to trust you after what you did?" Harry burst out
angrily.
Calantha didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. "I warn
you gentlemen, if you do not leave now, my family will raise the alarm.
Please go."
Harry stared at her. "Aren't you even going to apologise?"
"Harry-" said Ron.
"You made out that I tried to seduce you. I wouldn't touch you with
a barge pole! And I get put in here!" Harry shouted, going red in the
face.
"Harry!" Ron warned.
"I cannot believe this family. With all your 'morals' and 'graces',
yet you keep people locked up for no good reason. I should've known
better, you being Malfoys and all that-"
"HARRY! SHUT UP AND LET'S GO ALREADY!" Ron yelled.
Calantha regarded Harry coolly. "Your little friend is right.
I am giving you the chance to escape. Now go, before I send my guards
after you!"
Ron seized Harry's arm and dragged him from the cell, wrapping himself in his
cloak as he did so. "Run," Ron muttered and they sped down the
corridor, never looking back.
******
Blake was chivvied out of the gates by a man whom had only identified himself
as Lucius. He felt thoroughly confused. At the gates shut behind
him, his mind turned back to the sobbing red-haired girl he had seen before he
had left. He was certain he had seen her before, yet he did not know
her. He sighed and trudged down the muddy path, not knowing where he was
going. Presently, he came to a small village, alive with activity, the
houses packed together, so there was a feeling of kinship, closeness, and
community. The villagers looked at him quizzically in his bizarre
somewhat futuristic robes and he stared back, gawping at their unashamed
drudgery.
"'Ere, we don't none of your sort round 'ere! Clear off!" shouted one
of the villagers in a thick accent.
Blake neatly sidestepped a fresh pile of horse dung and carried on down the
street, puzzled by this reception. He stopped suddenly, outside a
ramshackle cottage on the village's furthest reaches. If he ventured any
farther, he was sure he would become lost. He sighed and leant up against
the cottage, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"…and another thing: next time we get stranded in the nineteenth century,
never, under any circumstances try and get off with anyone, despite how
gorgeously attractive she is. God, don't you know anything?" an
angry voice sounded, somewhere off in the distance.
"Calm down," came a second voice, "you're shouting loud enough
for the two of us. And I didn't try to get off with her! She tried to get
off with me! I don't throw myself on women like that! And you're hardly one to
talk, you got yourself involved with a Wizard's Duel, you stupid pillock!"
"At least I didn't betray my friend and go and get off with some historic
tart!" the voice exclaimed. Blake opened his eyes. It seemed
to be coming closer.
"Ron, for the last time, I DID NOT SHAG CALANTHA!" the second voice
screeched. "Now can we please get on with what we inadvertently came here
to do: save Ginny?"
Blake's head jerked up. That name - where had he heard it before?
He thought hard to himself. With that strange man. In those
dungeons. He straightened up and walked towards the two men who were
still arguing. He approached them cautiously.
"…I never thought you would have been such a manwhore, Harry. And
was sleeping in the bed next to me HALF-NAKED absolutely necessary? If you were
gay, you just could have said, rather than used such a blatant act!"
Blake raised his eyebrows slowly. "Erm…" he tried, but the men
named 'Harry' and 'Ron' seemed not to notice.
"GAY?! I am most certainly NOT gay! I can't believe you thought I was
gay!" Harry huffed, looking extremely angry.
"Excuse me…" Blake tried again, but to no avail.
"Well, you have to admit it, Harry, you are kind of…well, camp," Ron
responded, looking at the floor.
"SHUT UP!" Blake bellowed, losing his temper. Both Harry and
Ron stared at him in amazement. "This Ginny you speak of…Does she
have red hair?" Blake asked, looking from one to the other.
Ron nodded. "Yes, she has, she's my sister and she's
missing." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Then, I think I can help you…" said Blake.
