Dear Readers: Sorry it has taken ages to get this out. But in compensation,
it is longer than usual. As always, PLEASE REVIEW. It gives me that warm
tingly feeling I can't live without. I'M ADDICTED! And, for the record, I
am actually an American - the hostility of this piece is directed towards
the American government (and the Bush administration in particular), which
I find repulsive, not Americans or the US in general. Enjoy.
Ass covering clause: No, still not mine.
Chapter 20: Escape or Not
"Excited but scary to believe what we've become.
Saints and sinners, something within us,
We are lord of the flies."
- Iron Maiden, Lord of the Flies
It was only a matter of days before Draco collapsed completely and was taken to St. Mungo's again. Hermione read about it in the Daily Prophet at breakfast and was so incensed and horrified that she ran to the girl's bathroom to holler and scream.
"HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU?! Why aren't you here to save him?!"
She finally broke down in exasperated tears, which were only just beginning to dry when Ron found her. He was quite alarmed to find her crying, as crying girls wigged him to no end, so he just stood awkwardly by the door and uneasily asked, "What happened?"
Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes before answering softly, "Draco's collapsed. They've moved him to St. Mungo's."
Now Ron was even more uncomfortable, as his feelings pushed him in different directions. Finally, he decided that there was no comment he could make, and instead turned to the ever practical question, "What are we going to do?"
Hermione frowned, then rose unsteadily to her feet. "I'll figure out something. I don't know what, but something."
*
In the end, it wasn't Hermione who figured out what to do: it was Pansy. Hermione was sitting in the library, researching, endless in her faith that the solution to every problem can be found in books, if one only looks hard enough. Ron, on the other hand, was asleep next to her, a small drip of drool having made its way from his mouth to the page of the book he was currently using as a pillow. Hermione looked up when a shadow suddenly fell across her and her worried eyes met Pansy's serious ones.
Hermione tried to smile sympathetically, but Pansy was not interested. "You've read the Daily Prophet, I take it?," the blonde asked bluntly. Hermione nodded.
"I would like your help to rescue him." Again, this was said with surprising bluntness and directness (for a Slytherin).
Hermione gestured to the sleeping Ron and the books laid out before her. "Well, I've been looking, but I -"
Pansy interrupted her. "I have a way. I just need your assistance to implement it."
Hermione's eyes were suddenly wide and her expression was caught halfway between surprise and skepticism: Pansy had never proven herself to be particularly brilliant, at least not when it came to academics. Still, Hermione was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and she shook Ron's shoulder.
"Huh? What?. . . I'm not asleep!," he vocalized as he startled awake.
Hermione spared him an indulgent smile, then said nodded to the beautiful blonde. "Pansy here has an idea to rescue Draco."
"Yeah?," Ron asked with a yawn.
"It's simple: Polyjuice potion," Pansy stated, but Hermione was already shaking her head.
"Thought of that. It would take weeks to make it and we don't have that kind of time."
Pansy looked at Hermione with a slight hint of distaste, a smirk on her face. She didn't particularly like Hermione, despite having become a friend of Ginny Weasley, because she couldn't stand the girl's know-it-all attitude and the fact that she was so pedantic and condescending towards anyone she considered inferior in intellect (which was virtually everyone).
"Who said anything about making it. I have some right here," Pansy said, pulling a small vial out of her robes. Hermione took it from her outstretched hand and inspected it for a moment - it looked like the real thing.
"Where'dja get that?," Ron asked and Pansy's smirk just got wider.
"I am still a Slytherin, even if our numbers have been decimated."
Ron snorted and Hermione finally looked up from the vial, asking, "So, what do you want us for?"
Pansy's smirk faded into seriousness. "I am not allowed to visit him, because of my family's connections with You-Know-Who, and I certainly couldn't replace Draco in the hospital, under any guise - as soon as I was discovered, I would be implicated and probably sent to prison. However, you two are both allowed to visit him, and because you are in the Ministry's good graces, whichever one of you is found after having taken Draco's place, it will be assumed that you are the victim of this plot, not its perpetrator."
Ron frowned. "So, basically, you're giving us the Polyjuice potion and then leaving us to do the dirty work?"
Pansy smirked, this time looking disturbingly like Draco. "Who says that getting that potion wasn't the dirty work?" Then she spun on her heal and left, leaving Hermione still holding the vial.
*
There was a long argument about who would pretend to be Draco while the real Draco was being smuggled out, and in the end Ron only won because he refused to be part of the affair if Hermione was the one left behind.
And so, after obtaining permission from Headmaster McGonagall, Ron and Hermione took the bus from Hogsmeade (which was beginning to rebuild after the devastating December attack) to London. It was a long trip, but they had started out early and arrived in London around 1 pm. Getting to St. Mungo's was a small matter, as Hermione knew her way around muggle London pretty well. As in the Ministry, Ron and Hermione were required to give up their wands to the guards before entering Draco's room.
The room was a standard hospital one - white walls and sparsely furnished. The lights were off, but Draco's form, sitting and staring out the window, could be made out by the light from the clouded sky. Draco slowly turned in his chair to look at them. It was obvious to both Ron and Hermione that he was looking healthier, even after only a few days in the hospital. His body was no longer emaciated, though it was definitely still too thin, and he looked as though he had slept a lot lately. However, his eyes were unfocused and a rather drugged expression graced his face, proof that magic could keep a body alive and healthy if it could stop the mind from intervening.
"Draco," Hermione whispered. "We're here to help you escape." But the slender boy just blinked at them.
"Damn. I hope this is the affect of a potion, not a spell," Ron muttered.
"I think it is a potion," Hermione replied. Or else a quite powerful spell, but given Hermione's magical knowledge, it was unlikely that there existed a powerful and widely used spell of this nature that she didn't know about. On the other hand, her knowledge of potions was much spottier, and there were far more that were in common use.
"Well, I suppose we ought to get on with it," Ron said after an apprehensive moment.
Hermione nodded, then walked over to Draco's pillow, where she retrieved a strand of blond hair and dropped it into a small vial containing half of Pansy's Polyjuice potion; the other half was in another vial, already having gained a strand of red hair. Hermione handed the vial to Ron, then retrieved the other one from her robes.
She glanced over at her boyfriend with a frown. "Well? Aren't you going to take it?"
Ron shook his head. "Not until blondie here does. I wanna make sure Pansy's not trying to poison me."
Hermione scowled at Ron, but didn't push the matter, then carefully approached Draco's still form, wondering how she was going to get him to ingest the potion. Draco's eyes were trained on her, then on the vial held in her outstretched hand. Still he didn't move until Hermione opened his hand to place the vial in it, then reflexes kicked in and he raised the vial, downing it in an instant.
Hermione and Ron watched with morbid fascination as Draco sudden began to get taller and bigger. Then freckles began to appear on his face as his skin darkened a few shades and his bone structure altered; finally, a red mop of hair suddenly materialized on his head. Draco's face, however, remained expressionless throughout this transformation.
"Okay," Ron said reluctantly. "I guess it's my turn. Bottoms up!" Then he felt the familiar sensations of inner change, and he was shrinking, and getting thinner, and his face was rearranging itself. When he finally felt that the change was complete, he hesitantly opened his eyes to see Hermione grinning widely at him.
"Merlin. I can't believe that I have just willingly become that ferret." He tried to smirk and do a Draco imitation (it was, however, a poor imitation). "Why don't you watch where you're going? Oh, wait, I know: You're so poor you can't afford to pay attention! Why don't you just slip into something more comfortable?. . . Like a coma!"
Hermione grinned even wider and laughed. "Do I at least look good?," Ron asked, checking out 'his' butt.
Hermione smirked, then sauntered up to him. "Hmmm. . . you're gorgeous," she said, planting a big kiss on his lips, to which Ron eagerly responded for a moment, before they both drew back, looking a little disturbed.
"Okay, that was freaky," Ron said nervously.
Hermione nodded quickly. "I agree. . . Let's just get this done with."
Ron began stripping, honestly not knowing which weirded him out more, the fact that Hermione kept eying him (in Draco's body) or the fact that she was helping the nonresponsive Draco (in Ron's body) from his hospital gown. Finally, the two boys had exchanged clothes and it was time. Hermione looked at her Ron, and gently caressed his face. "It doesn't matter what you look like. I love you."
Ron smiled, lighting up Draco's face in an amazing way that only Harry had ever seen. "I love you too."
Hermione gave him a quick kiss, then briskly led Draco out the door while Ron went to sit in Draco's spot by the window.
*
The guards looked at 'Ron' a little strangely, as he gazed at them expressionlessly and failed to take the proffered wand. Hermione smiled nervously and quickly took Ron's wand, as well as her own, then with a subtle hand on the small of Draco's back, gently led him away from the guards.
She got Draco to Snape Manor, where Severus Snape gladly took custody of his favorite student (he was, after all, already taking care of his mother) - he may have been blinded, but he was still crafty and his home sported secret rooms that could hide someone so well that not even the Ministry could find him.
Ron was, of course, eventually discovered and held in detention; furthermore, despite any close associations with Harry Potter and being in the Ministry's good graces (for his role in fighting against Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy), it looked very much like he was going to be questioned and forced to submit to Veritaserum. Help, however, came from an unexpected source: Percy Weasley. There had been some manner of reconciliation between Percy and his siblings after the death of their parents, but for the most part he simply tried to keep his distance from his brothers and sister. Hence, Ron was quite surprised when Percy marched into his cell and ordered the guard and interrogator to leave.
"Wow. I can't believe they listened to you," Ron said with genuine wonder in his voice.
Percy looked quite displeased with that comment and glared at Ron contemptuously. "Of course they did. I'm the assistant to the Prime Minister. I'm a very important person these days."
Uncomfortably, Ron corrected, "Deputy Minister."
Percy smirked nastily. "Prime Minister. Dumbledore died last night."
Ron's face bunched up, but he refused to cry, not in front of Percy de Prat. "So, have you just come to gloat then?"
This brother's face softened perceptibly, though his voice was devoid of emotion. "No. I'm going to order you released."
Ron's eyebrows shot up as the surprises kept coming. "What?! Why?"
Percy looked him in the eye for a long moment. "I was the one that signed the order for Malfoy be charged, and though it was an order widely supported, I feel guilty. I was there at his trial, I heard what he said, I watched him break down. If he ever reappears, I will do my duty and imprison him. However, for the moment, I am glad he escaped."
There was nothing really to say to that, so Ron nodded and whispered, "Thank you."
Percy bowed his head to his brother, then retreated from his room. He was true to his word, and Ron was freed the next day.
*
Brennan was thrilled to no end by his new arrangement. He had been exposed to the high life before, but rarely for this long. He wasn't really a prostitute, he was only one when the Department of Magical Affairs hired him (and even then, it depended on the particular job) - they kept him out of prison and juvie and they paid him so well that he couldn't refuse. Usually, though, he kept to the streets, stealing shamelessly, his special abilities giving him access to larger sums of money than can typically be retrieved from a pocket. And he felt absolutely no guilt: he had been forced to live like this or die, and it was his revenge for being made a pariah through no fault of his own.
He liked Harry though. Harry didn't care that he was a freak and was going to rescue him from his own hellish life, and those facts made him a god in Brennan's eyes - or, at least, his only link to a real life. And he didn't really care that it was a life that actually belonged to someone else. In his mind, Draco Malfoy was just some rich, spoiled wizard, just like so many of those who had feared and shunned those like him. Draco didn't really deserve the great Harry Potter, but Brennan did, in compensation for all the shit he had been put through. Harry, though, did deserve Draco - beautiful, respectable, rich, smart, and great in bed (if the noises Harry made at night were anything to go by), but Brennan had the skills to be those things. Indeed, he didn't know what he wanted more, to have Harry Potter or to be Draco Malfoy.
Brennan was a determined little leech and years on the street had taught him to take what he wanted.
*
Harry wearily opened the door to his latest hotel room (in Chicago): he was absolutely knackered, having spent all day arguing fruitlessly with the condescending chiefs of the military division under the Department of Magical Affairs. They had stubbornly refused to consider his proposal, despite what he saw as its obvious advantages; they seemed to have already chosen their path, even before consulting Harry, and he couldn't see how it was path that would be likely to bring around the termination of the war. Raven had promised that she'd mention his ideas later that night when she met with some of the senior officials, but Harry didn't have much faith in anything she said.
He carefully locked the door, then called in a subdued voice, "Brennan!"
"I'm in the bathtub!"
Harry smiled - Brennan seemed to spend an inordinate amount both in bed and in the bath, claiming that he was just 'living the life of luxury' that the real Draco Malfoy was surely used to. Harry hadn't the heart to tell him the truth; besides, the truth was Draco's secret to tell, and Brennan had taken enough from him already.
"How was your day,?" Brennan called.
"Horrible. Those shits didn't listen to a word I said, they never do on anything important. Sometimes I wonder why they want me here at all - then I remember what a great propaganda tool I am, and I'm filled with a great sense of purpose," Harry replied, his last words laced with irony. He removed his jacket and shoes, then curled up on the bed for a quick nap.
He was woken from his light slumber by a caress on his face and a warm, erotic pressure on his crotch - a pressure that was stroking him fantastically. He moaned and leaned into the touch for a moment, then sleepily blinked awake to see the beautiful face of his beloved. It took a moment for his fuzzy mind to remember, and then a familiar pain if loss gripped his heart. He reached out to push Brennan away, but froze in shock upon coming in contact with bare skin. He had woken up uncomfortably close to the 'Draco' a number of times, but so far the metamorphmagus had respected his request that they keep their arrangement purely practical. Until now.
Brennan took advantage of Harry's pause, and pressed Draco's body along Harry's and purred, "Har-ree. . ."
Harry shot out of bed so quickly that he actually got caught up in the blanket and fell to the ground. Then naked 'Draco' was again on top of him, trying to kiss him and kneading his arousal. "Brennan!," Harry cried angrily, pushing the boy forcefully off him and scrambling to his feet. "What the HELL are you doing?!"
Now Brennan was also angry, hurt by Harry's rejection, and he stood ridgedly. "I'm trying to give you what you want! You're just too caught up in the past to take it! Get over it already! He wouldn't wait even a few months for you! How fucking great could he be?!"
His words both hurt and angered Harry, so that they were now both in a similar emotional state: the fact that Draco had not been willing to wait for him had wounded Harry deeply, more than he had even wanted to admit to himself. "How dare you speak to me like that!? How dare you speak of him like that!? You don't know me and you know absolutely NOTHING about him! He deserves . . . he . . ." He voice lowered as his words faltered. "He doesn't deserve me leaving him, me being here with you. He doesn't deserve someone trying to take over his life."
Brennan looked like someone had punched him in the gut, then had slapped his face for good measure. He grimaced and his features shimmered into his own - not the unscarred, modified version that he normally wore when Harry wanted him to 'be himself', but the unhealthy, slightly disfigured face that Harry had seen that first night. His lip quivered, before suddenly baring his teeth. He was comfortable with his own heartless logic, but hearing it spoken out loud was something else entirely. "How dare you judge me?! I'd like to see you get anywhere with THIS face! With all I have going against ME! The only chance I have at a real life is living one that ISN'T mine!"
Resentment coursed through Harry, but he felt sympathy too. And above all, he felt a claustrophobic need to get away - from Brennan, from this room, from this entire country. He abruptly stalked to open suitcase and retrieved his invisibility cloak, then forced down his anger as he approached Brennan. He reached out a tense hand and gently stroked the vicious scar that ran down the right side of Brennan's face, from his temple to his jaw. "I'm sorry. Really. I can help you get out of here, but I can't do this."
Brennan looked away from him, and Harry thought he saw tears sparkle in his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to stay. This was not where he belonged and he had yet to be able to bring himself to care enough about anyone or anything in this country, not even its fucking civil war. He liked Brennan, he really did, but in the style of 'Gone with the Wind', he just didn't give a damn. Draco, Ron, Hermione, Hogwarts, England, himself - they were all higher on his list of concerns.
"I'm sorry," Harry repeated sincerely, then he quickly strode out the door and from the room, picking up his wand on the way.
In the hallway, he swiftly disappeared underneath his cloak, immediately feeling the relief and freedom that always came from being invisible. He'd had enough of this shit: he was going to find out what was going on now.
*
Harry waited outside of Raven Nalla's room for over two hours, crouched on the floor, before he saw the beautiful American woman leave the room a little before 11 am. He followed her - down the hotel hallway, into the elevator, to the top floor, down another hallway, then into a locked room. This room was empty and untouched, but Raven wasn't bothered by this. She walked straight towards the bathroom door, in front of which she brandished her wand and muttered some words that Harry couldn't quite make out.
However, when she then opened the door, no bathroom was revealed, instead a long, dark corridor stretched as far as Harry could see. Raven stepped through the doorway, and Harry quickly followed before the door swung shut. They briskly walked down the corridor, then turned off to the left through a door guarded by two soldiers. This door led to a relatively large room with a large circular table in its center; around the table sat ten men and two women, some of whom Harry recognized and other whom he didn't. Lilah Spelling, the Secretary of Magical Affairs (the woman who had originally contracted Harry), was one of them.
"Ms. Nalla," Secretary Spelling said. "Thank you for joining us. Care to give us an update on the Potter situation?"
Raven took the only chair left, a position that left her back towards the door (where Harry was standing). "As well as can be expected. He and that metamorphmagus are practically attached at the hip. It's unexpected that Potter hasn't seen through its guise. It's either a better actor than we thought or Potter's stupider than though. Or maybe he just doesn't care that it's not the real deal. I think he's pacified for the moment, but I can't guarantee that he will continue to be so."
Spelling nodded. "Nothing more can really be expected. Potter was never anything more than a short term solution. And he's proven effective, the people are getting a second wind to fight, but it will fade again when the fighting doesn't stop. We need to give them a real reason to keep fighting. Something that they won't easily forget and that will throw their support behind the government permanently."
"Too bad the Trade Towers have already been levelled," one of the men joked dryly.
No one laughed, but Spelling did reply. "That successfully demonised the Muslims, but we need another such event that will let us demonize people within the country, people that look just like you and me, that could be your neighbor or your friend Joe, or your brother, so that the people will be too paranoid and afraid of each other to trust anyone but the government. Terrified people are easy to manipulate."
There was a pensive silence before a man that Harry recognized as head of the military division of the Department of Magical Affairs spoke up. "We had a 'meeting' with Potter earlier today. I think he's getting suspicious and he's beginning to realize that we do have the capacity to end the fighting, if we simply deployed it right. It's not a far jump of logic from that realization to the conclusion that we are purposely continuing the fighting."
Secretary Spelling sighed. "We'll send him back to England soon. Just keep up the façade for a bit longer."
Suddenly and with no warning, the door opened and it swung straight into Harry, forcing an audible 'Ooph!' from the raven haired boy. He immediately stifled it and moved away from the door, but the damage had been done. Most of the round table was facing towards him, a frown on each face, and the uniformed man emerging from the doorway was looking around with confusion. Not daring to even breathe, Harry slipped from behind the entrant and into the corridor, suddenly terrified and desperate to flee the room of powerful, dangerous men and women. He walked/ran as quickly as he could while still being silent (for fear of the soldiers outside of the room), but nearing the exit of the corridor failed to bring relief as he was reminded of the fact that he didn't know how to open the door. So he did the only thing he could - he leaned against the wall (not too close to the door this time) and prepared to wait, again.
He was luckier that last time and he only had to wait ten minutes before Raven Nalla came down the corridor, looking a little wary, muttered the words, then stepped through the doorway. Harry followed her into the hotel room, then waited for a moment for Raven to disappear through the other door in the corridor, eager to create a distance between himself and her. He waited silently for almost ten minutes, frozen with fear, before slipping through the door himself and breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing the click of it locking behind him. The hallway was empty and he immediately took off at a run. He ran to the stairwell, then flew down four flights of stairs until he was on his floor. He rushed to his room and fumbled with his electronic key, finally bursting into his room, panting heavily and tearing off his cloak.
Brennan (now dressed and scarless) was startled awake and sat up, blinking at Harry. "I didn't think you were coming back," he mumbled groggily. Then he noticed Harry's pale and sweaty appearance - he looked like someone going through withdrawal (a look he recognized from personal experience). "Are you alright?"
Harry shook his head: he didn't know what to say or think and his mind was a swirling mess. He stumbled towards Brennan, who reached out and pulled Harry onto the bed. Harry allowed himself to be held, too numb to react or even think. He was, however, tired, and soon fell asleep.
*
Harry woke the next day to a ringing phone - wakeup call. He fumbled with the receiver for a moment. "Hello?"
"Harry, it's 0700 hours. Get dressed, you're going on a raid in a half hour." Click.
Only then did the night before come rushing back to him and he shot up. "Oh shit!"
"Huh?," Brennan moaned.
Harry was already out of bed and quickly getting dressed. "Brennan, when I get back this evening, we're leaving. Or I'm leaving anyway, and you can come too if you want."
Brennan sat up in bed. "What?"
"I'm not doing this anymore. I'm going home. I hate this place. Meet me at the International Terminal of O'Hare Airport at 1800 hours this evening if you want to come with me. Otherwise, it's been grand." Then Harry disappeared into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He reappeared shortly and began packing his invisibility cloak and a few other belongings into a small backpack. Brennan had not moved from his place on the bed, being rather frozen in indecision.
Harry was soon satisfied that everything of importance was on his person and he started for the door, taking a brief moment to tell his companion, "Brennan, come with me or not, it's your choice. For what it's worth, I want you come and I think you'll be happier in England. At least there you won't be shunned for who you are."
He looked at Brennan for a long moment, hoping for a reaction or for the metamorphmagus to meet his eyes, but to no avail. "I hope you're there at the International Terminal at 1800 hours. If not, I wish you the best of luck with the rest of your life."
Then Harry left the room. He knew he had been harsh, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. In the absence of Draco and his friends, he just couldn't find it in himself to give a damn about anything except going home.
*
A guard was waiting outside of his room to escort him to the portkey site, where he met up with four young Magical Marines. "What's the target?," Harry immediately asked, returning their salutes.
"It's an infiltration ops, sir." Lieutenant Sein replied. "The terrorists are holding several hostages, and we have been ordered to portkey to a location near their headquarters, then sneak into the stronghold and rescue the hostages."
It sounded like suicide, but this was not a sentiment he could share with the marines. "Okay, then, what's the infiltration plan?"
Lieutenant Sein held out his hand to one of the other marines, who handed him a large tube of rolled paper. Sein unrolled the paper to reveal blueprints of the building they were supposed to be infiltrating, then he pointed to two lines that ran across the entire page as well as under the building of interest. "That's the sewer system. With the help of a blowtorch or magic, we should be able to get into the building right there, which we believe is a janitorial room in the basement. However, to go between different parts of the building we would have to pass retinal and voice identification scans. Instead, we are going to have to go through the vents in the basement until we are below the room with the hostages. Once there, we will cut through the floor with magic, and then hopefully be able to lead the hostages back the way that we came."
The plan was obviously risky, but wasn't as outrageous as some of the missions that Harry had gone on so far - the Americans were ballsy, and seemed to have a particular, uncanny talent for the extremely dangerous and the extremely poorly planned. So Harry nodded his ascent.
*
Infiltrating the terrorist HQ had been eerily, disturbingly easy - the sewers had been absolutely revolting, smelling like faeces, urine, rot, vomit, and all many of foul stench, and getting dirty had been absolutely unavoidable, but no real obstacles, human or otherwise, were actually encountered. It was a small matter of magic and a blowtorch that allowed Harry and the four marines into the basement, where again, no obstacles were met. The trip through the air vents was decidedly unpleasant and cramped, made worse by the fact that they all stunk awfully.
Unfortunately, problems began when they tried to cut through the ventilation shafts - Harry traced a circle along the roof part of the shaft while muttering the words that would not only sear through the mettle shaft but the concrete above it too; but instead, these actions caused the entire shaft to lurch violently, then tear apart at a nearby seam, pouring out its five occupants onto the basement floor below.
After several seconds, the nausea of the fall and the dizziness of the landing faded, and Harry looked up to see that they were surrounded by about twenty five unfriendly looking wizards and witches.
He struggled to his feet. "I knew I should've left yesterday."
XXXXX
Review! Please? (Beg, beg) I know this story is getting a little long, but take comfort in the fact that I am winding it down (for good this time!).
Ass covering clause: No, still not mine.
Chapter 20: Escape or Not
"Excited but scary to believe what we've become.
Saints and sinners, something within us,
We are lord of the flies."
- Iron Maiden, Lord of the Flies
It was only a matter of days before Draco collapsed completely and was taken to St. Mungo's again. Hermione read about it in the Daily Prophet at breakfast and was so incensed and horrified that she ran to the girl's bathroom to holler and scream.
"HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU?! Why aren't you here to save him?!"
She finally broke down in exasperated tears, which were only just beginning to dry when Ron found her. He was quite alarmed to find her crying, as crying girls wigged him to no end, so he just stood awkwardly by the door and uneasily asked, "What happened?"
Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes before answering softly, "Draco's collapsed. They've moved him to St. Mungo's."
Now Ron was even more uncomfortable, as his feelings pushed him in different directions. Finally, he decided that there was no comment he could make, and instead turned to the ever practical question, "What are we going to do?"
Hermione frowned, then rose unsteadily to her feet. "I'll figure out something. I don't know what, but something."
*
In the end, it wasn't Hermione who figured out what to do: it was Pansy. Hermione was sitting in the library, researching, endless in her faith that the solution to every problem can be found in books, if one only looks hard enough. Ron, on the other hand, was asleep next to her, a small drip of drool having made its way from his mouth to the page of the book he was currently using as a pillow. Hermione looked up when a shadow suddenly fell across her and her worried eyes met Pansy's serious ones.
Hermione tried to smile sympathetically, but Pansy was not interested. "You've read the Daily Prophet, I take it?," the blonde asked bluntly. Hermione nodded.
"I would like your help to rescue him." Again, this was said with surprising bluntness and directness (for a Slytherin).
Hermione gestured to the sleeping Ron and the books laid out before her. "Well, I've been looking, but I -"
Pansy interrupted her. "I have a way. I just need your assistance to implement it."
Hermione's eyes were suddenly wide and her expression was caught halfway between surprise and skepticism: Pansy had never proven herself to be particularly brilliant, at least not when it came to academics. Still, Hermione was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and she shook Ron's shoulder.
"Huh? What?. . . I'm not asleep!," he vocalized as he startled awake.
Hermione spared him an indulgent smile, then said nodded to the beautiful blonde. "Pansy here has an idea to rescue Draco."
"Yeah?," Ron asked with a yawn.
"It's simple: Polyjuice potion," Pansy stated, but Hermione was already shaking her head.
"Thought of that. It would take weeks to make it and we don't have that kind of time."
Pansy looked at Hermione with a slight hint of distaste, a smirk on her face. She didn't particularly like Hermione, despite having become a friend of Ginny Weasley, because she couldn't stand the girl's know-it-all attitude and the fact that she was so pedantic and condescending towards anyone she considered inferior in intellect (which was virtually everyone).
"Who said anything about making it. I have some right here," Pansy said, pulling a small vial out of her robes. Hermione took it from her outstretched hand and inspected it for a moment - it looked like the real thing.
"Where'dja get that?," Ron asked and Pansy's smirk just got wider.
"I am still a Slytherin, even if our numbers have been decimated."
Ron snorted and Hermione finally looked up from the vial, asking, "So, what do you want us for?"
Pansy's smirk faded into seriousness. "I am not allowed to visit him, because of my family's connections with You-Know-Who, and I certainly couldn't replace Draco in the hospital, under any guise - as soon as I was discovered, I would be implicated and probably sent to prison. However, you two are both allowed to visit him, and because you are in the Ministry's good graces, whichever one of you is found after having taken Draco's place, it will be assumed that you are the victim of this plot, not its perpetrator."
Ron frowned. "So, basically, you're giving us the Polyjuice potion and then leaving us to do the dirty work?"
Pansy smirked, this time looking disturbingly like Draco. "Who says that getting that potion wasn't the dirty work?" Then she spun on her heal and left, leaving Hermione still holding the vial.
*
There was a long argument about who would pretend to be Draco while the real Draco was being smuggled out, and in the end Ron only won because he refused to be part of the affair if Hermione was the one left behind.
And so, after obtaining permission from Headmaster McGonagall, Ron and Hermione took the bus from Hogsmeade (which was beginning to rebuild after the devastating December attack) to London. It was a long trip, but they had started out early and arrived in London around 1 pm. Getting to St. Mungo's was a small matter, as Hermione knew her way around muggle London pretty well. As in the Ministry, Ron and Hermione were required to give up their wands to the guards before entering Draco's room.
The room was a standard hospital one - white walls and sparsely furnished. The lights were off, but Draco's form, sitting and staring out the window, could be made out by the light from the clouded sky. Draco slowly turned in his chair to look at them. It was obvious to both Ron and Hermione that he was looking healthier, even after only a few days in the hospital. His body was no longer emaciated, though it was definitely still too thin, and he looked as though he had slept a lot lately. However, his eyes were unfocused and a rather drugged expression graced his face, proof that magic could keep a body alive and healthy if it could stop the mind from intervening.
"Draco," Hermione whispered. "We're here to help you escape." But the slender boy just blinked at them.
"Damn. I hope this is the affect of a potion, not a spell," Ron muttered.
"I think it is a potion," Hermione replied. Or else a quite powerful spell, but given Hermione's magical knowledge, it was unlikely that there existed a powerful and widely used spell of this nature that she didn't know about. On the other hand, her knowledge of potions was much spottier, and there were far more that were in common use.
"Well, I suppose we ought to get on with it," Ron said after an apprehensive moment.
Hermione nodded, then walked over to Draco's pillow, where she retrieved a strand of blond hair and dropped it into a small vial containing half of Pansy's Polyjuice potion; the other half was in another vial, already having gained a strand of red hair. Hermione handed the vial to Ron, then retrieved the other one from her robes.
She glanced over at her boyfriend with a frown. "Well? Aren't you going to take it?"
Ron shook his head. "Not until blondie here does. I wanna make sure Pansy's not trying to poison me."
Hermione scowled at Ron, but didn't push the matter, then carefully approached Draco's still form, wondering how she was going to get him to ingest the potion. Draco's eyes were trained on her, then on the vial held in her outstretched hand. Still he didn't move until Hermione opened his hand to place the vial in it, then reflexes kicked in and he raised the vial, downing it in an instant.
Hermione and Ron watched with morbid fascination as Draco sudden began to get taller and bigger. Then freckles began to appear on his face as his skin darkened a few shades and his bone structure altered; finally, a red mop of hair suddenly materialized on his head. Draco's face, however, remained expressionless throughout this transformation.
"Okay," Ron said reluctantly. "I guess it's my turn. Bottoms up!" Then he felt the familiar sensations of inner change, and he was shrinking, and getting thinner, and his face was rearranging itself. When he finally felt that the change was complete, he hesitantly opened his eyes to see Hermione grinning widely at him.
"Merlin. I can't believe that I have just willingly become that ferret." He tried to smirk and do a Draco imitation (it was, however, a poor imitation). "Why don't you watch where you're going? Oh, wait, I know: You're so poor you can't afford to pay attention! Why don't you just slip into something more comfortable?. . . Like a coma!"
Hermione grinned even wider and laughed. "Do I at least look good?," Ron asked, checking out 'his' butt.
Hermione smirked, then sauntered up to him. "Hmmm. . . you're gorgeous," she said, planting a big kiss on his lips, to which Ron eagerly responded for a moment, before they both drew back, looking a little disturbed.
"Okay, that was freaky," Ron said nervously.
Hermione nodded quickly. "I agree. . . Let's just get this done with."
Ron began stripping, honestly not knowing which weirded him out more, the fact that Hermione kept eying him (in Draco's body) or the fact that she was helping the nonresponsive Draco (in Ron's body) from his hospital gown. Finally, the two boys had exchanged clothes and it was time. Hermione looked at her Ron, and gently caressed his face. "It doesn't matter what you look like. I love you."
Ron smiled, lighting up Draco's face in an amazing way that only Harry had ever seen. "I love you too."
Hermione gave him a quick kiss, then briskly led Draco out the door while Ron went to sit in Draco's spot by the window.
*
The guards looked at 'Ron' a little strangely, as he gazed at them expressionlessly and failed to take the proffered wand. Hermione smiled nervously and quickly took Ron's wand, as well as her own, then with a subtle hand on the small of Draco's back, gently led him away from the guards.
She got Draco to Snape Manor, where Severus Snape gladly took custody of his favorite student (he was, after all, already taking care of his mother) - he may have been blinded, but he was still crafty and his home sported secret rooms that could hide someone so well that not even the Ministry could find him.
Ron was, of course, eventually discovered and held in detention; furthermore, despite any close associations with Harry Potter and being in the Ministry's good graces (for his role in fighting against Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy), it looked very much like he was going to be questioned and forced to submit to Veritaserum. Help, however, came from an unexpected source: Percy Weasley. There had been some manner of reconciliation between Percy and his siblings after the death of their parents, but for the most part he simply tried to keep his distance from his brothers and sister. Hence, Ron was quite surprised when Percy marched into his cell and ordered the guard and interrogator to leave.
"Wow. I can't believe they listened to you," Ron said with genuine wonder in his voice.
Percy looked quite displeased with that comment and glared at Ron contemptuously. "Of course they did. I'm the assistant to the Prime Minister. I'm a very important person these days."
Uncomfortably, Ron corrected, "Deputy Minister."
Percy smirked nastily. "Prime Minister. Dumbledore died last night."
Ron's face bunched up, but he refused to cry, not in front of Percy de Prat. "So, have you just come to gloat then?"
This brother's face softened perceptibly, though his voice was devoid of emotion. "No. I'm going to order you released."
Ron's eyebrows shot up as the surprises kept coming. "What?! Why?"
Percy looked him in the eye for a long moment. "I was the one that signed the order for Malfoy be charged, and though it was an order widely supported, I feel guilty. I was there at his trial, I heard what he said, I watched him break down. If he ever reappears, I will do my duty and imprison him. However, for the moment, I am glad he escaped."
There was nothing really to say to that, so Ron nodded and whispered, "Thank you."
Percy bowed his head to his brother, then retreated from his room. He was true to his word, and Ron was freed the next day.
*
Brennan was thrilled to no end by his new arrangement. He had been exposed to the high life before, but rarely for this long. He wasn't really a prostitute, he was only one when the Department of Magical Affairs hired him (and even then, it depended on the particular job) - they kept him out of prison and juvie and they paid him so well that he couldn't refuse. Usually, though, he kept to the streets, stealing shamelessly, his special abilities giving him access to larger sums of money than can typically be retrieved from a pocket. And he felt absolutely no guilt: he had been forced to live like this or die, and it was his revenge for being made a pariah through no fault of his own.
He liked Harry though. Harry didn't care that he was a freak and was going to rescue him from his own hellish life, and those facts made him a god in Brennan's eyes - or, at least, his only link to a real life. And he didn't really care that it was a life that actually belonged to someone else. In his mind, Draco Malfoy was just some rich, spoiled wizard, just like so many of those who had feared and shunned those like him. Draco didn't really deserve the great Harry Potter, but Brennan did, in compensation for all the shit he had been put through. Harry, though, did deserve Draco - beautiful, respectable, rich, smart, and great in bed (if the noises Harry made at night were anything to go by), but Brennan had the skills to be those things. Indeed, he didn't know what he wanted more, to have Harry Potter or to be Draco Malfoy.
Brennan was a determined little leech and years on the street had taught him to take what he wanted.
*
Harry wearily opened the door to his latest hotel room (in Chicago): he was absolutely knackered, having spent all day arguing fruitlessly with the condescending chiefs of the military division under the Department of Magical Affairs. They had stubbornly refused to consider his proposal, despite what he saw as its obvious advantages; they seemed to have already chosen their path, even before consulting Harry, and he couldn't see how it was path that would be likely to bring around the termination of the war. Raven had promised that she'd mention his ideas later that night when she met with some of the senior officials, but Harry didn't have much faith in anything she said.
He carefully locked the door, then called in a subdued voice, "Brennan!"
"I'm in the bathtub!"
Harry smiled - Brennan seemed to spend an inordinate amount both in bed and in the bath, claiming that he was just 'living the life of luxury' that the real Draco Malfoy was surely used to. Harry hadn't the heart to tell him the truth; besides, the truth was Draco's secret to tell, and Brennan had taken enough from him already.
"How was your day,?" Brennan called.
"Horrible. Those shits didn't listen to a word I said, they never do on anything important. Sometimes I wonder why they want me here at all - then I remember what a great propaganda tool I am, and I'm filled with a great sense of purpose," Harry replied, his last words laced with irony. He removed his jacket and shoes, then curled up on the bed for a quick nap.
He was woken from his light slumber by a caress on his face and a warm, erotic pressure on his crotch - a pressure that was stroking him fantastically. He moaned and leaned into the touch for a moment, then sleepily blinked awake to see the beautiful face of his beloved. It took a moment for his fuzzy mind to remember, and then a familiar pain if loss gripped his heart. He reached out to push Brennan away, but froze in shock upon coming in contact with bare skin. He had woken up uncomfortably close to the 'Draco' a number of times, but so far the metamorphmagus had respected his request that they keep their arrangement purely practical. Until now.
Brennan took advantage of Harry's pause, and pressed Draco's body along Harry's and purred, "Har-ree. . ."
Harry shot out of bed so quickly that he actually got caught up in the blanket and fell to the ground. Then naked 'Draco' was again on top of him, trying to kiss him and kneading his arousal. "Brennan!," Harry cried angrily, pushing the boy forcefully off him and scrambling to his feet. "What the HELL are you doing?!"
Now Brennan was also angry, hurt by Harry's rejection, and he stood ridgedly. "I'm trying to give you what you want! You're just too caught up in the past to take it! Get over it already! He wouldn't wait even a few months for you! How fucking great could he be?!"
His words both hurt and angered Harry, so that they were now both in a similar emotional state: the fact that Draco had not been willing to wait for him had wounded Harry deeply, more than he had even wanted to admit to himself. "How dare you speak to me like that!? How dare you speak of him like that!? You don't know me and you know absolutely NOTHING about him! He deserves . . . he . . ." He voice lowered as his words faltered. "He doesn't deserve me leaving him, me being here with you. He doesn't deserve someone trying to take over his life."
Brennan looked like someone had punched him in the gut, then had slapped his face for good measure. He grimaced and his features shimmered into his own - not the unscarred, modified version that he normally wore when Harry wanted him to 'be himself', but the unhealthy, slightly disfigured face that Harry had seen that first night. His lip quivered, before suddenly baring his teeth. He was comfortable with his own heartless logic, but hearing it spoken out loud was something else entirely. "How dare you judge me?! I'd like to see you get anywhere with THIS face! With all I have going against ME! The only chance I have at a real life is living one that ISN'T mine!"
Resentment coursed through Harry, but he felt sympathy too. And above all, he felt a claustrophobic need to get away - from Brennan, from this room, from this entire country. He abruptly stalked to open suitcase and retrieved his invisibility cloak, then forced down his anger as he approached Brennan. He reached out a tense hand and gently stroked the vicious scar that ran down the right side of Brennan's face, from his temple to his jaw. "I'm sorry. Really. I can help you get out of here, but I can't do this."
Brennan looked away from him, and Harry thought he saw tears sparkle in his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to stay. This was not where he belonged and he had yet to be able to bring himself to care enough about anyone or anything in this country, not even its fucking civil war. He liked Brennan, he really did, but in the style of 'Gone with the Wind', he just didn't give a damn. Draco, Ron, Hermione, Hogwarts, England, himself - they were all higher on his list of concerns.
"I'm sorry," Harry repeated sincerely, then he quickly strode out the door and from the room, picking up his wand on the way.
In the hallway, he swiftly disappeared underneath his cloak, immediately feeling the relief and freedom that always came from being invisible. He'd had enough of this shit: he was going to find out what was going on now.
*
Harry waited outside of Raven Nalla's room for over two hours, crouched on the floor, before he saw the beautiful American woman leave the room a little before 11 am. He followed her - down the hotel hallway, into the elevator, to the top floor, down another hallway, then into a locked room. This room was empty and untouched, but Raven wasn't bothered by this. She walked straight towards the bathroom door, in front of which she brandished her wand and muttered some words that Harry couldn't quite make out.
However, when she then opened the door, no bathroom was revealed, instead a long, dark corridor stretched as far as Harry could see. Raven stepped through the doorway, and Harry quickly followed before the door swung shut. They briskly walked down the corridor, then turned off to the left through a door guarded by two soldiers. This door led to a relatively large room with a large circular table in its center; around the table sat ten men and two women, some of whom Harry recognized and other whom he didn't. Lilah Spelling, the Secretary of Magical Affairs (the woman who had originally contracted Harry), was one of them.
"Ms. Nalla," Secretary Spelling said. "Thank you for joining us. Care to give us an update on the Potter situation?"
Raven took the only chair left, a position that left her back towards the door (where Harry was standing). "As well as can be expected. He and that metamorphmagus are practically attached at the hip. It's unexpected that Potter hasn't seen through its guise. It's either a better actor than we thought or Potter's stupider than though. Or maybe he just doesn't care that it's not the real deal. I think he's pacified for the moment, but I can't guarantee that he will continue to be so."
Spelling nodded. "Nothing more can really be expected. Potter was never anything more than a short term solution. And he's proven effective, the people are getting a second wind to fight, but it will fade again when the fighting doesn't stop. We need to give them a real reason to keep fighting. Something that they won't easily forget and that will throw their support behind the government permanently."
"Too bad the Trade Towers have already been levelled," one of the men joked dryly.
No one laughed, but Spelling did reply. "That successfully demonised the Muslims, but we need another such event that will let us demonize people within the country, people that look just like you and me, that could be your neighbor or your friend Joe, or your brother, so that the people will be too paranoid and afraid of each other to trust anyone but the government. Terrified people are easy to manipulate."
There was a pensive silence before a man that Harry recognized as head of the military division of the Department of Magical Affairs spoke up. "We had a 'meeting' with Potter earlier today. I think he's getting suspicious and he's beginning to realize that we do have the capacity to end the fighting, if we simply deployed it right. It's not a far jump of logic from that realization to the conclusion that we are purposely continuing the fighting."
Secretary Spelling sighed. "We'll send him back to England soon. Just keep up the façade for a bit longer."
Suddenly and with no warning, the door opened and it swung straight into Harry, forcing an audible 'Ooph!' from the raven haired boy. He immediately stifled it and moved away from the door, but the damage had been done. Most of the round table was facing towards him, a frown on each face, and the uniformed man emerging from the doorway was looking around with confusion. Not daring to even breathe, Harry slipped from behind the entrant and into the corridor, suddenly terrified and desperate to flee the room of powerful, dangerous men and women. He walked/ran as quickly as he could while still being silent (for fear of the soldiers outside of the room), but nearing the exit of the corridor failed to bring relief as he was reminded of the fact that he didn't know how to open the door. So he did the only thing he could - he leaned against the wall (not too close to the door this time) and prepared to wait, again.
He was luckier that last time and he only had to wait ten minutes before Raven Nalla came down the corridor, looking a little wary, muttered the words, then stepped through the doorway. Harry followed her into the hotel room, then waited for a moment for Raven to disappear through the other door in the corridor, eager to create a distance between himself and her. He waited silently for almost ten minutes, frozen with fear, before slipping through the door himself and breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing the click of it locking behind him. The hallway was empty and he immediately took off at a run. He ran to the stairwell, then flew down four flights of stairs until he was on his floor. He rushed to his room and fumbled with his electronic key, finally bursting into his room, panting heavily and tearing off his cloak.
Brennan (now dressed and scarless) was startled awake and sat up, blinking at Harry. "I didn't think you were coming back," he mumbled groggily. Then he noticed Harry's pale and sweaty appearance - he looked like someone going through withdrawal (a look he recognized from personal experience). "Are you alright?"
Harry shook his head: he didn't know what to say or think and his mind was a swirling mess. He stumbled towards Brennan, who reached out and pulled Harry onto the bed. Harry allowed himself to be held, too numb to react or even think. He was, however, tired, and soon fell asleep.
*
Harry woke the next day to a ringing phone - wakeup call. He fumbled with the receiver for a moment. "Hello?"
"Harry, it's 0700 hours. Get dressed, you're going on a raid in a half hour." Click.
Only then did the night before come rushing back to him and he shot up. "Oh shit!"
"Huh?," Brennan moaned.
Harry was already out of bed and quickly getting dressed. "Brennan, when I get back this evening, we're leaving. Or I'm leaving anyway, and you can come too if you want."
Brennan sat up in bed. "What?"
"I'm not doing this anymore. I'm going home. I hate this place. Meet me at the International Terminal of O'Hare Airport at 1800 hours this evening if you want to come with me. Otherwise, it's been grand." Then Harry disappeared into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He reappeared shortly and began packing his invisibility cloak and a few other belongings into a small backpack. Brennan had not moved from his place on the bed, being rather frozen in indecision.
Harry was soon satisfied that everything of importance was on his person and he started for the door, taking a brief moment to tell his companion, "Brennan, come with me or not, it's your choice. For what it's worth, I want you come and I think you'll be happier in England. At least there you won't be shunned for who you are."
He looked at Brennan for a long moment, hoping for a reaction or for the metamorphmagus to meet his eyes, but to no avail. "I hope you're there at the International Terminal at 1800 hours. If not, I wish you the best of luck with the rest of your life."
Then Harry left the room. He knew he had been harsh, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. In the absence of Draco and his friends, he just couldn't find it in himself to give a damn about anything except going home.
*
A guard was waiting outside of his room to escort him to the portkey site, where he met up with four young Magical Marines. "What's the target?," Harry immediately asked, returning their salutes.
"It's an infiltration ops, sir." Lieutenant Sein replied. "The terrorists are holding several hostages, and we have been ordered to portkey to a location near their headquarters, then sneak into the stronghold and rescue the hostages."
It sounded like suicide, but this was not a sentiment he could share with the marines. "Okay, then, what's the infiltration plan?"
Lieutenant Sein held out his hand to one of the other marines, who handed him a large tube of rolled paper. Sein unrolled the paper to reveal blueprints of the building they were supposed to be infiltrating, then he pointed to two lines that ran across the entire page as well as under the building of interest. "That's the sewer system. With the help of a blowtorch or magic, we should be able to get into the building right there, which we believe is a janitorial room in the basement. However, to go between different parts of the building we would have to pass retinal and voice identification scans. Instead, we are going to have to go through the vents in the basement until we are below the room with the hostages. Once there, we will cut through the floor with magic, and then hopefully be able to lead the hostages back the way that we came."
The plan was obviously risky, but wasn't as outrageous as some of the missions that Harry had gone on so far - the Americans were ballsy, and seemed to have a particular, uncanny talent for the extremely dangerous and the extremely poorly planned. So Harry nodded his ascent.
*
Infiltrating the terrorist HQ had been eerily, disturbingly easy - the sewers had been absolutely revolting, smelling like faeces, urine, rot, vomit, and all many of foul stench, and getting dirty had been absolutely unavoidable, but no real obstacles, human or otherwise, were actually encountered. It was a small matter of magic and a blowtorch that allowed Harry and the four marines into the basement, where again, no obstacles were met. The trip through the air vents was decidedly unpleasant and cramped, made worse by the fact that they all stunk awfully.
Unfortunately, problems began when they tried to cut through the ventilation shafts - Harry traced a circle along the roof part of the shaft while muttering the words that would not only sear through the mettle shaft but the concrete above it too; but instead, these actions caused the entire shaft to lurch violently, then tear apart at a nearby seam, pouring out its five occupants onto the basement floor below.
After several seconds, the nausea of the fall and the dizziness of the landing faded, and Harry looked up to see that they were surrounded by about twenty five unfriendly looking wizards and witches.
He struggled to his feet. "I knew I should've left yesterday."
XXXXX
Review! Please? (Beg, beg) I know this story is getting a little long, but take comfort in the fact that I am winding it down (for good this time!).