Chapter Six - London Rain
Draco couldn't believe it. He'd dentertained the ideas of who had him captive, mainly as an intellectual excercise so that he didn't go stark, raving mad, trapped by a bag and those queer metal bracelets. The idea that the Order had him had kept him busy for a while, making him wonder where he was, if that was the case.
Now, he knew the Order had him, and he was stuck by himself with The Reason He'd Been Kicked Out Of Home.
'What am I doing here?" he asked again, when the silence had stretched on too long for his liking. "I know you're still here, so you'd better answer me now!"
"And why should I do that?" he asked. Draco couldn't help it - he shivered. "Aw, are we scared, ickle Malfoy?" he mocked. "I'll tell you something if you tell me something."
"Ask your question first," Draco said. After a moments hesitation, he added, "I know who you are, you know."
"Good," the voice replied lazily. "I was hoping you would, so you'd know why you're here. But, you know who I am, and you don't know why we have you. Merlin, you're stupider than I thought you were."
"The phrase," Draco said bitingly, "is 'more supid.' Now, why am I here?"
"To stop you joining your aunt, of course," Harry Potter returned simply. "Why were you kicked out of home? Couldn't your mother stomach the sight of a future Death Eater? Is she sick of knowing that all you Malfoys do is bring shame and dishonour upon your heads?"
Draco snapped and threw himself in the direction that Harry's voice was coming from, forgetting his bound feet. Overbalancing, he cursed as he tumbled off the side of the bed.
"Don't you ever dare insult my family again, Potter," he said warningly. "I'm warning you; I'll kill you."
"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry said, watching him attempt to stand up and get into a position that didn't involve him pressing his head against the worn carpet.
Fred came back in. "What'd you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything," Harry returned, annoyed. "I asked why he got kicked out of home, and he had a fit. Tried to attack me and fell off the bed."
"Right," Fred said, walking over and hefting Draco back into a sitting position. "We can't do anything else to him. Someone's coming tomorrow morning, and he has to be in working order."
Harry knew that the "someone" Fred was talking about was Dumbledore, and also knew that they were to use no names in front of Draco, so he wouldn't know who had him.
"He knows who I am, you know," he said slowly to Fred.
"Does he now?" Fred asked, looking slightly worried. "I guess it'll have to be a Memory Charm after all. He doesn't know anyone else, does he?"
"He hasn't said anything about it, so I don't know." Harry stood up and paced the small room. Lucius Malfoy was a murderer. Bellatrix Lestrange was a murderer, and it stood to reason that Draco, under the tutelage of both of these notrious Death Eaters, would be just as bad, if not worse.
So why did Harry have a niggling feeling about Draco, tied up on the floor? Why did he think it was not only pathetic, but cruel, that a person couold be reduced to this?
He isn't a person, Harry told himself firmly. Far better to believe that than to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for a Slytherin - for his worst enemy.
Bellatrix Lestrange walked quietly down the halls of stone, her black robes with a dusting of silver at the hem - as befitted her position - and pushed open the heavy bone door in front of her with a whispered spell.
Lord Voldemort sat at one end of the room, in a chair of heavy, dark wood. Bellatrix walked along the blood red carpet that led to him, and bowed when she was three feet away.
"What is it, Bella?" he asked imperiously.
"I apologise for interrupting you, my lord," she said, not moving, "but it is about my nephew, Draco Malfoy. I was supposed to meet him and bring him here tonight, but he was not at the meeting place, nor was he at his home in the Malfoy Manor."
"You want permission to go after him? See here, Wormtail, here is real loyalty," he said with amusement to the short, glowering man beside him. "Very well, Bella. You have one week, and you may take three Death Eaters with you. Make sure you are not found. It is hard to find competent help these days."
Wormtail glared at Bellatrix with unabashed hatred. She aknowledged Lord Voldemort's compliment by nodding her head demurely, and rose from her crouch. Giving Wormtail one long, penetrating look from her dark lashes, she swept out.
"May I follow her, my Lord?" Wormtail asked. "There is something about her I do not trust."
Voldemort laughed, a high, cruel laugh, and flicked his wand in Wormtail's direction. Wormtail fell to the floor and curled up in pain.
"You only distrust Bellatrix Lestrange because she is everything you are not, Wormtail. I will hear no more of your idiodicy. Silence!" he roared, as Wormtail tried to speak, to beg for forgiveness.
Draco sat up with a start. It had only been a dream, but it had felt so real. Had it even been a dream? He didn't remember falling asleep, or even feeling sleepy. Could he dare to hope that dream or not, it had been real? That his aunt was searching for him?
Lifting his bound hands, he tried to push the bag off his head. He struggled wildy for a minute, and finally managed to hold the hem of the bag with his teeth and jerk it off his head.
Breathing deeply, appreciating the small sense of freedom he had gained by taking the bag off his head, he looked around.
The door was shut, and locked, and so was the window. There was no-one else in the room with him, but he knew better than to assume he had been left without some form of guard. Sure enough, when he went to get off the bed, he found that he'd been put in some sort of spell box, which kept him from moving more than three feet from the bed.
Cursing, he sat down again. This all bore evidence of careful planning - the interception of the Knight Bus, the bindings, the room he lay in - it wasn't as if he'd just been picked up and carted off.
It all pointed to two things - one was that there was a traitor somewhere, and the other was that somebody expected information from him.
When Dumbledore came to The Burrow the next morning, Harry was still eating breakfast. He and Ginny looked up from buttered toast, and Ron, Fred, and George looked up from Exploding Snap. Mr and Mrs Weasley, who had been talking urgently with Bill in one corner, went forward to meet him.
"Good morning, Arthur, Molly, Bill," Dumbledore said, looking around, "and you, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Fred, George. How are you all?"
"Well, sir," Harry said. "Considering what has happened."
"Ah, so you do have him here," Dumbledore said, sitting at the kitchen table and taking Ginny's last piece of toast. Ginny scowled but didn't say anything. "Kingsley said you would lock him up here. Where is he, may I ask?"
"Upstairs, in one of the bedrooms," Fred replied. "He doesn't know who has him, sir. Apart from Harry. I mean to say he recognised him, knows his voice or something. He doesn't know the rest of us."
"Of course not," Dumbledore said as if to himself, "but of course, he would know Harry. It was inevitable." Then, as if noticing the kitchen full of people staring at him, smiled and said, "but all will be well. I myself shall cast a Memory Charm on him once he returns to Hogwarts. Do you know why he was turned out of home?"
He asked it in the manner of one who knows, and is merely waiting for someone else to volunteer the information so he could discuss it. He seemed quite disappointed when everyone shook their head.
"No? Well, perhaps later on, then," he decided, finishing the piece of toast. "Now, will someone take me up to see him?"
"I will, sir," Harry said suddenly, jumping up from the table. "It's probably better if I keep watch on him, since he doesn't know that he's at the Weasley's place. It's far better he only knows one of us."
He strode up the stairs. Dumbledore followed with a preoccupied look on his face.
Draco couldn't believe it. He'd dentertained the ideas of who had him captive, mainly as an intellectual excercise so that he didn't go stark, raving mad, trapped by a bag and those queer metal bracelets. The idea that the Order had him had kept him busy for a while, making him wonder where he was, if that was the case.
Now, he knew the Order had him, and he was stuck by himself with The Reason He'd Been Kicked Out Of Home.
'What am I doing here?" he asked again, when the silence had stretched on too long for his liking. "I know you're still here, so you'd better answer me now!"
"And why should I do that?" he asked. Draco couldn't help it - he shivered. "Aw, are we scared, ickle Malfoy?" he mocked. "I'll tell you something if you tell me something."
"Ask your question first," Draco said. After a moments hesitation, he added, "I know who you are, you know."
"Good," the voice replied lazily. "I was hoping you would, so you'd know why you're here. But, you know who I am, and you don't know why we have you. Merlin, you're stupider than I thought you were."
"The phrase," Draco said bitingly, "is 'more supid.' Now, why am I here?"
"To stop you joining your aunt, of course," Harry Potter returned simply. "Why were you kicked out of home? Couldn't your mother stomach the sight of a future Death Eater? Is she sick of knowing that all you Malfoys do is bring shame and dishonour upon your heads?"
Draco snapped and threw himself in the direction that Harry's voice was coming from, forgetting his bound feet. Overbalancing, he cursed as he tumbled off the side of the bed.
"Don't you ever dare insult my family again, Potter," he said warningly. "I'm warning you; I'll kill you."
"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry said, watching him attempt to stand up and get into a position that didn't involve him pressing his head against the worn carpet.
Fred came back in. "What'd you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything," Harry returned, annoyed. "I asked why he got kicked out of home, and he had a fit. Tried to attack me and fell off the bed."
"Right," Fred said, walking over and hefting Draco back into a sitting position. "We can't do anything else to him. Someone's coming tomorrow morning, and he has to be in working order."
Harry knew that the "someone" Fred was talking about was Dumbledore, and also knew that they were to use no names in front of Draco, so he wouldn't know who had him.
"He knows who I am, you know," he said slowly to Fred.
"Does he now?" Fred asked, looking slightly worried. "I guess it'll have to be a Memory Charm after all. He doesn't know anyone else, does he?"
"He hasn't said anything about it, so I don't know." Harry stood up and paced the small room. Lucius Malfoy was a murderer. Bellatrix Lestrange was a murderer, and it stood to reason that Draco, under the tutelage of both of these notrious Death Eaters, would be just as bad, if not worse.
So why did Harry have a niggling feeling about Draco, tied up on the floor? Why did he think it was not only pathetic, but cruel, that a person couold be reduced to this?
He isn't a person, Harry told himself firmly. Far better to believe that than to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for a Slytherin - for his worst enemy.
Bellatrix Lestrange walked quietly down the halls of stone, her black robes with a dusting of silver at the hem - as befitted her position - and pushed open the heavy bone door in front of her with a whispered spell.
Lord Voldemort sat at one end of the room, in a chair of heavy, dark wood. Bellatrix walked along the blood red carpet that led to him, and bowed when she was three feet away.
"What is it, Bella?" he asked imperiously.
"I apologise for interrupting you, my lord," she said, not moving, "but it is about my nephew, Draco Malfoy. I was supposed to meet him and bring him here tonight, but he was not at the meeting place, nor was he at his home in the Malfoy Manor."
"You want permission to go after him? See here, Wormtail, here is real loyalty," he said with amusement to the short, glowering man beside him. "Very well, Bella. You have one week, and you may take three Death Eaters with you. Make sure you are not found. It is hard to find competent help these days."
Wormtail glared at Bellatrix with unabashed hatred. She aknowledged Lord Voldemort's compliment by nodding her head demurely, and rose from her crouch. Giving Wormtail one long, penetrating look from her dark lashes, she swept out.
"May I follow her, my Lord?" Wormtail asked. "There is something about her I do not trust."
Voldemort laughed, a high, cruel laugh, and flicked his wand in Wormtail's direction. Wormtail fell to the floor and curled up in pain.
"You only distrust Bellatrix Lestrange because she is everything you are not, Wormtail. I will hear no more of your idiodicy. Silence!" he roared, as Wormtail tried to speak, to beg for forgiveness.
Draco sat up with a start. It had only been a dream, but it had felt so real. Had it even been a dream? He didn't remember falling asleep, or even feeling sleepy. Could he dare to hope that dream or not, it had been real? That his aunt was searching for him?
Lifting his bound hands, he tried to push the bag off his head. He struggled wildy for a minute, and finally managed to hold the hem of the bag with his teeth and jerk it off his head.
Breathing deeply, appreciating the small sense of freedom he had gained by taking the bag off his head, he looked around.
The door was shut, and locked, and so was the window. There was no-one else in the room with him, but he knew better than to assume he had been left without some form of guard. Sure enough, when he went to get off the bed, he found that he'd been put in some sort of spell box, which kept him from moving more than three feet from the bed.
Cursing, he sat down again. This all bore evidence of careful planning - the interception of the Knight Bus, the bindings, the room he lay in - it wasn't as if he'd just been picked up and carted off.
It all pointed to two things - one was that there was a traitor somewhere, and the other was that somebody expected information from him.
When Dumbledore came to The Burrow the next morning, Harry was still eating breakfast. He and Ginny looked up from buttered toast, and Ron, Fred, and George looked up from Exploding Snap. Mr and Mrs Weasley, who had been talking urgently with Bill in one corner, went forward to meet him.
"Good morning, Arthur, Molly, Bill," Dumbledore said, looking around, "and you, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Fred, George. How are you all?"
"Well, sir," Harry said. "Considering what has happened."
"Ah, so you do have him here," Dumbledore said, sitting at the kitchen table and taking Ginny's last piece of toast. Ginny scowled but didn't say anything. "Kingsley said you would lock him up here. Where is he, may I ask?"
"Upstairs, in one of the bedrooms," Fred replied. "He doesn't know who has him, sir. Apart from Harry. I mean to say he recognised him, knows his voice or something. He doesn't know the rest of us."
"Of course not," Dumbledore said as if to himself, "but of course, he would know Harry. It was inevitable." Then, as if noticing the kitchen full of people staring at him, smiled and said, "but all will be well. I myself shall cast a Memory Charm on him once he returns to Hogwarts. Do you know why he was turned out of home?"
He asked it in the manner of one who knows, and is merely waiting for someone else to volunteer the information so he could discuss it. He seemed quite disappointed when everyone shook their head.
"No? Well, perhaps later on, then," he decided, finishing the piece of toast. "Now, will someone take me up to see him?"
"I will, sir," Harry said suddenly, jumping up from the table. "It's probably better if I keep watch on him, since he doesn't know that he's at the Weasley's place. It's far better he only knows one of us."
He strode up the stairs. Dumbledore followed with a preoccupied look on his face.