Chapter 7: Hell's Bells
Warnings: Mature themes, budding homosexual relationships, potty language
Author's Note: Yeah, sorry this took so long. I've been working a lot (well, not "working" so much as building crayon towers, sneaking food, dancing to outdated music and drawing on the backs of recipes all under guise of working- and getting paid for it) and thus haven't had a lot of free time. And when I do have free time I tend to just want to sit around and watch I Love the 80's and Scrubs, my current favorite television media. Not that you readers care, I just feel like telling you, and it's my Author's Note, so I can do what I want. As always, thanks sooo much for your reviews. And mucho thanks to Lunadeath the beta for rocking so much.
This is the first chapter that will deviate from the original plot of the first Slide. I hope you guys like this, and I look forward to hearing your comments about the new state of events. Happy reading.
Two weeks after his mysterious departure, Draco finally received a letter from Snape. It was a snowy morning. Faux snowflakes drifted from the cloud-streaked sky over the great hall, melting away before it hit the tables. A large, one-eyed owl landed on the table in front of Draco and hooted gruffly. Draco tried to shove it away, thinking it was mistaking him for someone else. He hardly ever received letters, except for the occasion gift from his mother, or, ever rarer, a letter from his imprisoned father. The owl bit his hand and stepped into Draco breakfast, looking peeved.
"Go away, stupid bird," Draco snarled at the thing, waving his hands to shoo it.
"It's probably for you, Baby," Pansy said, and unrolled the small envelope from the owls leg. The owl cooed softly at her and allowed her to ruffle his feathers. Then it turned back to Draco, snatched his biscuit off of his plate and flew out the window.
Pansy handed him the note. He opened it carelessly and read over it once.
Draco,
I just thought you would want to be informed that I am safe and well. But times are unstable. Don't do anything stupid.
S.
Draco had to read it over a few times before he realized who it was from. S. Severus Snape. So he'd finally decided to write him. Draco was relieved that Snape seemed to be all right, but he was curious to why exactly time's were 'unstable'. And what did he mean by 'Don't do anything stupid'?
Stupid like what?
Stupid like ransacking Snape's dorm and stealing a notebook containing an obviously illegal potion recipe? Or stupid like allowing Potter to get good enough blackmail in him to ruin the rest of his life? Or perhaps stupid like allowing Pansy to think that you were dating again and having to put up with her slobbering all over you until you were ready to clobber her next time she batted her eyes and said "Kisses, Baby!"
If doing something stupid included any of those things, Draco was already guilty as sin.
"Who's it from, Baby?" Pansy asked, ripping her muffin into tiny pieces before eating it in a way that drove Draco mad.
"Could you not call me Baby all the time? It's degrading," Draco grumbled.
"Sure, Sugar Buns. Who's the letter from?"
"I have to go upstairs."
"Why?"
"I…I forgot my History of Magic text."
"Pudding, are you mad at me? Did I say something wrong?" Pansy asked, looking concerned.
"No, you didn't. You- You're fine."
"Oh, good! I was worried for a minute. Ok, Grumpy-Pants, see you in Potions. And don't forget the meeting tonight," she said with a wink.
"Huh? What meeting?"
"The meeting, Draco. Honestly, don't act stupid."
But Draco wasn't acting. He didn't have the slightest clue what Pansy was talking about.
She held up her left hand. On her middle finger was a large ring exactly like the one Draco had seen on Crabbe a few nights ago while he was sleeping. It had a glittering silver skull on it, with a wriggling snake going in through the eye and out of the mouth.
Pansy raised her eyebrows as if to say 'remember now?' But Draco didn't. He was starting to feel very left out of something big. But he decided he probably didn't want to let on that he wasn't a part of this. It seemed dangerous to be an outsider at the moment.
"Oh, right. That. Ha ha. How could I forget," Draco said.
"Seriously," Pansy said, and rolled her eyes. "This has been planned like all month."
"Guess I'm just feeling a little forgetful at the moment," Draco said, and slowly walked away.
As he strolled towards the door, he looked closely at everyone's hands at the Slytherin table. He counted about thirty of the rings in totally. Something strange was going on here, something very strange.
Times are unstable, Snape's words echoed.
Don't do anything stupid…
Draco did not return to his room, and didn't show up to class that morning. Instead, he sat up in his room making a copy of the list of ingredients listed in Snape's journal. Something strange was going on here, and Draco was going to figure out what it was.
Feeling a childlike excitement at the thought of playing detective, Draco went all out. He equipped himself with a notepad and a special quill that didn't need to be dipped in ink. He dressed in head to toe black, and wore his Hogwarts issue robes for a change. He usually preferred his dark gray robes from home, the one's he'd had specially made in his favorite color, complete with his initials D.L.M. monogrammed inside the collar, but not today. Today he needed to blend in, not stand out. He finished himself off by pulling a black, wool cap over his telltale white hair. He didn't want anyone spotting him and getting in the way of his "mission".
He took out his notebook and wrote down the places he'd already looked for clues about Snape's disappearance, and crossed them off. Then he wrote down the places he hadn't looked. He also wrote down the names of a few Slytherins who might be stupid enough to babble out some information about whatever was going on tonight. He shut the notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. He was ready to go.
His first stop would be Snape's Potions classroom.
Draco had to wait for his own first period class to be dismissed before he was able to sneak into the dungeon classroom. He watched from next to one of the suits of armor as everyone exited. He spied Pansy walking with her arm through Zabini's. That bitch! They'd only been 'sort-off dating' for two weeks and her eye was already wandering.
Draco had to remind himself that he didn't even like her in the first place, and what was more, she'd been annoying the bloody hell out of him all week. If she wanted to go off with that wanker, Zabini, she could go right ahead. Draco wouldn't miss her.
But he was still a bit peeved about how easily she could move on from him. He wasn't that boring, was he?
Draco forgot all about Pansy when he saw Potter exiting the room. He was looking quite gloomy and brooding, but in such a way that it inspired all the girls to cluster around him, simpering and asking what was wrong. Those idiots. Some of them were still hopeful that one day Potter would wake up and say: "You know what, I guess I'm really not gay after all. I've liked girls all along; I was just a bit confused, is all."
Right, like that would ever happen.
Draco found himself a bit peeved as he watched the menagerie of cooing females cluster around and paw at Potter. He didn't quite know why, but he was fighting the urge to tell them all to bugger off. He supposed he was just annoyed with all their fussing. Actually, he was quite sick of females at that point. Two weeks of Pansy's constant company had done that to him.
After he was sure the room was cleared out, and Potter had disappeared down the hall in a cloud of hyperactive estrogen, Draco snuck down the stairs and into the dungeon classroom. He knew the next class would be starting in another half hour, so he had to work fast. The substitute professor, most likely McGonagall, could return at anytime.
To his extreme surprise, Draco found not one of the listed ingredients of the mystery potion anywhere in Snape's room. He even checked behind the shelf of pickled rats, and the jars of preserved snakes' eyeballs. But he found nothing whatsoever. There was nothing even remotely suspicious in the room at all.
Draco scurried off when he heard approaching footsteps. When he was back on the main floor of the school, he took out his notebook and crossed of 'Potion's Room'. That left Snape's other classroom, the DADA room. Draco fought off the disappointment of finding nothing in the Potion's room. He had been sure if there were anything to find, it would have been located there. The DADA room was just a sort of 'in case' thing. He was pretty sure he'd find nothing in there. After all, Snape hardly ever spent time in there, preferring to haunt the chilled depths of his dungeon classroom.
Still, he had to check anyway, so he made his way to the classroom, careful not to be spotted walking by the doors of any of the other occupied classrooms. If he was caught skipping, he'd be sent straight to Dumbledore and that'd be the end of his snooping.
Luckily it was time for the Slytherins' Advanced Herbology so he didn't have to worry about any of his friends spotting him. He made it to the Defense classroom undetected once again, and locked himself in. He looked around at the brightly lit classroom and shook his head. There was just no way he'd find anything in here. He knew it.
But he set to work anyway, checking through the almost empty front desk and in all the back closets. All he found were a few dusty texts labeled things like Practical Demon Exorcizing and The Dirt Ring Around the Bathtub and Other Unexpected Signs of Gremlin Infestation, and a nasty Boggart that was strangely taking on the shape of Harry Potter. Draco dispelled it quickly, and continued with his search, not giving it much thought.
After roughly forty-five minutes of searching, Draco admitted to himself that there was, as he'd expected, nothing here. Exhausted and disappointed, he leaned against the chalkboard that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, not caring that he was rubbing off some of the notes. Suddenly, the wall began to slip away from behind him. Draco tumbled back and landed on his behind, in the middle of a closet-sized room.
The chalkboard had a secret door, he realized. No way! He pulled out his wand and lit the end, looking around the room carefully. It was, as he'd noted, fairly tiny. There was a desk on against the back wall on which two tanks were set up. One was labeled A, and the other B. Inside the tanks were two sets of small, furry beasts looking a lot like rats. But there weren't, he knew, because he remembered having a lesson about them recently in Care of Magical Creatures class. He couldn't remember their name, but he knew they breathed fire, and could produce tiny cracks of electricity from their tails, which they enjoyed doing very much.
Only, the ones in tank 'A' weren't doing that at all. In fact, they really didn't look so well. They had a faded quality to them, not like they were sick, but like they were empty inside. If he didn't know any better, he would have said the little buggers were depressed. They were all hanging out in separate corners, lying listlessly and emitting mournful squeaks. Curiously, Draco reached his hand inside the tank and picked one up. He turned it over and tickled its belly the way they'd been shown to in class to get them to burp up a bit of fire. But nothing happened. The little creature opened its snout, but nothing came out. This seemed to make it even sadder, and it curled into a ball and buried its face in it's tail.
Draco placed it back in the tank, his mind wandering back to the bit of paper that he'd found tucked inside Snape's journal, the one about the essence of Thestral's scale. The description popped back into his mind:
In large doses, it had been known to completely rob a magical creature of all abilities. The creature is left confused, weakened, and almost powerless.
He looked back at tank 'A', feeling his stomach sink lower. The little fire-rats weren't breathing fire or shocking each other. They did seem weak and confused. Could it be that the potion Snape was creating was meant to steal something's magic? Was that possible?
Draco looked over at tank 'B' for the first time. It was filled with the same kind of creatures, but these ones were acting quite normal. They were squealing gleefully and slapping each other with their tails, which were crackling with blue energy. Next to the tank was a book. Draco picked it up slowly and held the glowing tip of his wand to the cover.
Learning to Fight the Effects of Potions, it said. It was old and cracked, with the binding coming lose. Draco opened to cover and found a newer piece of parchment taped inside.
It said: I recently unearthed this from my personal library. Perhaps, if your research still isn't going well, it should be given to Potter for study. I will leave this decision up to you. I don't want to needlessly alarm the boy, but it may be for his own good to at least be prepared for the possibility of this sort of attack.
-Dumbledore.
Potter. So this had to do with Potter. Everything he had just learned was spinning through his mind. The fire-rats. The potion. The book. Snape's note. Dumbledore. Potter. Draco's mind was dizzy with attempting to put together the pieces of the puzzle. He dropped the book back in place and scrambled from the hidden room. He pulled the secret door shut and walked briskly to the door of the classroom. He opened it, stepped out, and walked smack into Blaise Zabini.
"Oh, sorry, Draco. Didn't mean to step into your way like that," he laughed easily, tossing back his long, auburn mane of curls.
"I bet you didn't. What are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?" Draco asked.
"I could ask you the same. I could also ask you why you were snooping around Snape's classroom," Blaise said, and something strange glimmered in his eye.
"And I could tell you to mind your own damn business," Draco snapped.
"Fine," Blaise smiled oddly, "I'll mind my business, and you'll mind yours. I hope to see you tonight."
Blaise turned away, but not before Draco caught a glimpse of the sparkling silver ring on his finger.
Draco was starting to think that the entire world was against him at the moment. Something was most defiantly amiss here, and Draco knew he only had a matter of time to figure it out.
Thirty green robed figures stood in the third floor trophy room at Hogwarts, gathered around in a closed in circle. A strange light glowed from inside that circle; a hissing sound echoing throughout the room. It was past midnight, and the school was sleeping.
At least, it should have been, Draco mussed, as he watched from the doorway, undetected in the shadows. He had hidden all evening in a secret passage in the common room that had a small crack in the wall that you could peek through. To his knowledge no one knew about it but him- and Pansy maybe, because they'd used it as their make out place a few times when they were dating the year before. He watched the going-ons in the common room until everyone had departed for bed. After that, nothing of interest happened for quite some time. Draco had nodded off sometime around eleven, leaning against the wall with one arm. He awoke to the sound of distinctive shushing. When he peeked through the hole in the wall, he saw a group of Slytherin students hurry out of the room, all dressed in silky green robes with hoods pulled over their faces.
But he could tell their identities by their body size and the way they walked- he'd always been observant of people that way. He made out Pansy's short, curvaceous form swaying through the room next to Zabini's tall, thin and slightly bent figure. Crabbe and Goyle were all too obvious, being the only persons that were the size of gorillas and making grunting and wheezing noises. He recognized Millicent Bulstrode's hulking sort of walk that always reminded him of an elephant trying to walk undetected through a crowd of ponies. In the end, he was able to detect almost every one of the students. All were people he knew well, and many he considered friends.
He had a sick sort of feeling as he followed the group out, careful to trail far enough behind that they wouldn't notice him. Luckily they all seemed rather nervous and antsy, and weren't paying attention to the accident scraping sounds his feet made occasionally on the hard stone floor.
He was perplexed when they enter the trophy room. What, were they all serving detention? In the middle of the night in suspicious attire? It didn't make any sense to him. What in hell was going on?
It wasn't until one pulled out a strange, ordinate hand mirror and set it on the floor that he began to understand. Mirrors were often used by wizards to contact one another. They were contacting someone, and when an electric green light began to emit from the mirror, hissing and spitting and giving orders in a quietly shrill voice, Draco realized with horror just who it was they were talking to.
It was genius, really. The school was supposed to be safe- but He had figured out a way to infiltrate it. By using those who were already inside to do his work for him- the students.
Draco felt as though he were going to throw up. This could not be happening. His fellow students- his friends, for God's sake- were working for Voldemort! How? Why? And what were they planning? Would he be able to figure it out in time?
He couldn't stop thinking that Snape was somehow involved in this. The journal, the potion, the experiment he'd found set up in the closet. It was all connected. Was Snape in trouble? Or worse, was he a part of this? Draco couldn't allow himself to think it. He knew Snape, and they'd talked at length about this, sometimes all through the night. Snape admitted that it had been a mistake to join Voldemort's ranks, and he was desperate to redeem himself by helping the other side. Even if it cost him his life, he'd once said. All those nights of frank discussing had convinced Draco that he would never, ever join up with the Dark Lord, no matter what his family expected of him. That didn't mean that he was going to go around being a do-gooder like Snape. He just didn't want to be involved at all.
But somehow he'd managed to get himself right in the middle of this.
Shit, shit, shit.
He listened closely, having a hard time making out Voldemort's words. The students were nodding, and not saying much. Not until Pansy spoke up.
"But that's my boyfriend!" she gasped.
Draco's stomach jumped to his throat, and he felt his dinner threatening to make an appearance.
Voldemort's shrill laughter floated eerily around the room. Draco heard his next words distinctly; he was speaking much louder this time.
"I don't care what your personal relationship is with the Malfoy boy! He knows too much, and he must be brought to me. He is a threat to us and our plan!"
"He's not! He hates Potter more than anyone. He'd never try and help him, or tip him off or anything," Pansy argued foolishly.
"You think too highly of him!" Voldemort screamed, "You are a stupid girl. You know nothing of his true character. He is conflicted; I can feel it. And he is more powerful than either you or than he realizes. He is the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful dark wizards alive. He IS a threat and you will bring him to me, or I'll have your head, do you understand?"
"Y-yes," Pansy replied in a quivering voice.
"Unless we can be sure we have the Malfoy boy on our side, he is to be treated as the enemy. He-"
One trophy clanked across the floor. It bounced and spun into the center of the circle and stopped. Draco was motionless. He had been about to make his escape, wanting to hear no more, but in his panic he'd made the error of knocking down the 'Cleanest School in Europe 1987' award.
"Get him," came the command.
Draco ran. But not fast enough.
"Get him! Bring him to me! Bring him across the lake, someone will be waiting!" Voldemort shrieked from the mirror.
"No! Guys, no! It's me, Draco! Don't do this to me," Draco begged. He kicked and scratched and tried to run, but thirty people were on him at once. They were holding him down. It was happening too fast; he had no time to plan.
"Seize the intruder! Bring him to me," the Dark Lord continued. "Bloody Hell, someone stun him! Stun him, you idiots!"
Draco tried to reach for his own wand but someone grabbed hold of his wrists. He looked up and caught a glimpse of Zabini's face looking down at him, emotionless. Draco spit into his face, but Zabini didn't let go.
"Stun him," Zabini commanded. "Goyle, you do it!"
"I…I…"
"DO IT!"
"Seize him! Get the intruder! Bring the Malfoy boy to me!"
"Greg, don't do it! I will never, EVER forgive you," Draco yelled. His wrists ached. His heart was pounding its way out of his chest. He had to get free. He had to find Snape. This couldn't be happening to him!
"Do it, Goyle. Now!"
"Greg, I'm your best friend! Pansy, Vincent! Come on! You can't do this to me!"
"Shut up," Zabini cried, and kicked Draco in the ribs.
Draco's insides were on fire. He couldn't breath- the air was knocked out of him.
"Now, Goyle. Oh for God's sake, anyone! Somebody stun him! Don't let him get free."
Draco looked up and saw Pansy's face from inside the shadows of her hood. It was twisted up in horror and confusion. She had her wand raised and she was looking back and forth from Draco, to the mirror on the floor.
Draco was finally able to pull a ragged breath of air into his burning lungs.
"Please, Pansy, please," he begged. God, he hated how he sounded. So weak...so scared. But what else could he do but plead?
"BRING HIM TO ME!" Voldemort roared.
Draco gasped for one last breath. His eyes were burning with un-spilled tears.
"Please," he breathed.
And that was the last thing he could remember before the blackness closed in around him, the sounds turned to silence, his thoughts faded and everything turned to nothingness.
"No doubt, you have all heard," Dumbledore began the next morning, "That one of our seventh year students has gone missing."
The Great Hall instantly erupted in gasps and rapid whispers. Harry Potter, however, remained staring straight ahead at the gray bearded Headmaster, waiting to hear more.
"Draco Malfoy was discovered missing from his bed this morning by roommate and friend, Vincent Crabbe. Mr. Malfoy his a highly respected, responsible, well loved student-"
"Yeah right," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.
"And also a prefect here at Hogwarts. It is not expected that any sort of misbehavior on his part is the explanation for his disappearance. Nor is any foul play suspected," he continued.
There was a collected sigh of relief from the student body- except from Harry. Harry felt anything but relieved.
"We suspect that Mr. Malfoy is simply lost within the school. It would not be the first time someone has wandered into a corridor, only to find that once within, the door has run off and left one stranded. A thorough scouring of the school will be taking place today, and we hope to find Mr. Malfoy before he gets too hungry or worried. That having been said, enjoy your day and don't fret. I'm sure we will find him very soon," Dumbledore concluded, and took his seat once more.
"Not too soon, I hope," Ron laughed, and went back to eating his breakfast.
"Yes, I certainly won't miss him while he's gone, will you, Harry?" Hermione asked with a smile.
"Er…no. I suppose not. Although, he's been quite ok to me lately. Hasn't been saying anything about me or anything," Harry said.
"Yeah and remember the other night, Harry? When he completely avoided a tussle with us?" Ron asked, looking perplexed. "It was weird. Not like him to walk away from a fight."
"That is strange," Hermione agreed. "Maybe he's sick, or something. Not feeling up to it."
"Isn't it sort of strange that both Snape and Malfoy are gone now?" Harry interrupted.
"Well, no, not really," Hermione said. "Snape's away on business; that's what McGonagall told us. And Malfoy is, well, what Dumbledore said- probably just stuck in some room somewhere. This school IS tricky. Once I got locked in a bathroom stall for 45 minutes because the lock refused to open for me."
"I don't know, it just seems weird to me," Harry said, shaking his head.
"You're not worried, are you, Harry? Is there something else about this that you're not telling us?"
"Er…"
Ron set down his fork, "What is it?"
"Well, er…" Harry started, "I know you guys are probably tired of hearing this from me, but last night I woke up and my scar was hurting."
"Harry…" Hermione started.
"No, forget it. It's probably nothing," Harry said quickly.
"No way. Don't play it off like that! This is a big deal! You need to go to Dumbledore."
"No way. Forget it. I'm not going there again."
"Don't be stupid, Harry," Hermione said.
"I'm not being stupid! I'm just tired of this, is all! I'm tired of having to worry about the world's destruction every time my scar hurts. I'm tired of having bad dreams. I'm tired of being different. I'm tired of everything. I just- I don't know. I want to be normal. I want to wake up just once and not have a single thing on my mind. I want to walk into a room and be invisible. I want a normal life. I can't deal with this right now."
Hermione gulped. She reached out and put her hand over Harry's.
"I…I don't know what to say," she admitted.
Harry jerked his hand away. "Then just don't say anything."
Harry was in a foul mood all day. The searing pain in head had kept him up half the night, and now he had a vague headache as a reminder. His stomach was turning over quietly and his mind felt fuzzy.
He couldn't bring himself to talk to Hermione or Ron about it. He was trying desperately not to make a big deal about what was going on. He ignored the vague sense of anxiety that plagued him all day and had him wringing his hands together and rubbing the scar on his forehead. He ignored the twinge of pain he felt whenever he walked by certain Slytherin students, all of whom were giving him strange looks as well. He tried not to think of Malfoy, but for some reason he couldn't stop picturing him in some kind of danger.
Not that he cared if Malfoy was in danger. Why should he?
After classes he went to his room and flipped through The Notebook, reading his own entry about Malfoy over and over. He kept wondering if it hadn't been wrong to write it, to use it to blackmail Malfoy into being nice to him. Well, not nice. Malfoy hadn't been kind to him, just indifferent.
And actually, the indifference had begun to hurt more than the hateful thing Malfoy had used to say to him.
It didn't make sense to be feeling that way. Harry knew it. It wasn't like he liked Malfoy or anything. No, he hated that rat bastard.
But he was worried about him. Harry had to admit it to himself. He was scared of what might have happened to Malfoy. He had the odd sensation that some bad was going on, and Malfoy was deeply involved.
He was also beginning to feel increasingly guilty over what he'd written in The Notebook. It was low to have exploited Malfoy for the same things that Harry had been tormented for over the past year. He was beginning to wish he'd never written the stupid entry.
With all his bad feelings eating away it at him, Harry was desperate to do something, anything, to bring himself a bit a peace. That night, Harry crept downstairs long after everyone else packed up their games and homework, turned off Neville's 'tele-bison', and went to bed. He sat before the fire, The Notebook in hand. Without a further thought, he tossed it into the flames. He knew he had no further need for it. Malfoy was now leaving him alone as he'd requested. Harry knew now that he would never have lived up to his bluff and shown everyone what he'd written about Malfoy. He just couldn't do that, no matter how big a prick Malfoy had been to him over the years. It wasn't in Harry's nature to behave cruelly.
But to his surprise, The Notebook didn't burn. It sat inside the fire completely unharmed. Harry tried poking it further into the hot coals with a prodding iron but it didn't catch. It must have had some sort of spell over it, protecting it from destruction. He'd heard about that sort of thing. Figures, one of the idiot boys who made it must have wanted to make sure nothing happened to their holy grail.
Harry fished it out of the fire and found it still cool to the touch. He stuffed it back into the waist of his trousers and sat on the couch, thinking. He found himself, as he had many times before, wishing for Sirius's council. That desire widened the emptiness inside him that had been building lately. He was starting to feel like a drum- a big, lonely void with skin stretched over it, his thoughts echoing quietly and rhythmically in the emptiness.
A single tear rolled down Harry's cheek. He let his face rest in his hands. He didn't cry. He simply didn't have it in him. All he had was that one tear, which quickly dried up to nothing. The only evidence of his unhappiness was gone.
Then Harry's hands turned white. His body tensed as a wave of pain crashed over him, started from the mark on his forehead. Just like last night, he thought. He stood up, walked towards the portrait and the pain worsened. He was nearly blinded by it, but he had a sudden revelation. He could find the source buy following the intensity of the pain.
Without thinking to grab his invisibility cloak, Harry dashed out of the portrait.
"Where are you going?" the Fat Lady demanded, "Do you have any idea how late it is! You don't want to go wandering off tonight- not with that Malfoy boy already missing!"
"What do you know about it?" Harry snapped.
The Fat Lady raised herself up and looked down her nose at him. "I happened to have heard from one the portraits in the third floor hall that there was some activity going on last night in the Trophy Room near midnight."
"What? Have you told anyone?"
"Well, Dumbledore, of course. He's looking into it."
"But he said that Malfoy probably just got locked in a room or something by accident!"
"Well, of course he did," said the Fat lady shrilly, "Can't get all the students worked up over this, can he? Not before he's sure that there was, in fact, foul play involved."
"Foul play?" Harry gulped, rubbing his aching head.
"Yes, foul play. There was a bit of a scuffle, I guess, from what Milton tells me. Milton is the portrait in the third floor hall. He said he heard a lot of yelling. He's not sure, but he thinks he may have heard the Malfoy boy cry out."
"He- Malfoy? He may have-"
"What are you trying to say, boy? What's got you acting so flustered?"
"The Trophy Room, you said?" Harry asked for clarification.
"Yes, that is what I said."
"Around midnight?"
"Indeed."
"And it's just past midnight now…" Harry said, and started down the hall to the stairs.
"Wait! Where are you going? I just told you it may not be safe!" the Fat Lady yelled behind him.
"Yeah, thanks for the warning," Harry said, and took off down the hall.
He reached the third floor in a matter of minutes. As he rounded the hallway he began to notice a greenish light flickering on the walls. It was clear when he reached the trophy room that the light was coming from inside. He crept up slowly, only now realizing he should have brought his cloak with him. As he approached, the pain in his head grew almost unbearable, but he started to hear something as well.
The distinctive, high-pitched voice was unmistakable.
Voldemort.
But it couldn't be. Not in the school.
Before Harry could think it out any further, a dark figure emerged from the room. Not Voldemort, but a student. A student in a strange, hooded robe. Behind him, or her, a few others appeared. Harry was locked in place in fear. He knew he should run, but he couldn't. He felt like time was moving horribly slowly. And the first thing that came from his lips was, "What have you done with Malfoy?"
One hooded figured nodded to the other.
Harry whipped out his wand.
"Stupefy!"
The center figure fell to the ground, and a few others stopped to help him. Harry finally regained control over his legs and turned and raced down the hall.
"Get him!" someone yelled. The voice was fairly familiar, but he didn't have time to think of who it was.
Harry reached a flight of spiral stairs. He jumped, skipping over five steps and hit the ground running. Round and round, he ran down. He could hear the figures scrambling after him. Who were they, and how had they gotten into the school? And most importantly, what were they planning to do to him?
Harry reached the second floor of the school and raced down a long, open hallway. He was nowhere near any of the dorms, but he decided to scream for help anyway. It wouldn't hurt, and maybe Filch or one of the ghosts would hear him.
"Help! Someone help me!"
A jet of magic hit near his feet. Harry spun around and saw that the hooded figures were still behind him, stampeding down the hall after him.
"Stop right there, Potter. We've already got you," someone said.
God, the voice was so familiar. Why was it so familiar?
He found himself oddly reminded of a time at the Weasley's that past summer, when they'd all gone down to the beach to swim, and then back up to the Burrow for lunch.
"Stop running, Potter."
"No way," Harry said, as he crashed through the doorway at the end of the wall, slamming it shut behind him. He slid into the next room, only to realize with horror that it was a dead-end. He was in a small room filled with extra portraits, some just propped up on the floor, and others nailed haphazardly to the wall. They were all sleeping.
"Wake up! All of you," Harry yelled at them. They began to rouse themselves slowly.
"What is it?" said a portrait of a man with a thick, gray mustache.
"Go get Dumbledore. Wake him up. Tell him Harry Potter is in danger. Tell him that I'm being chased by-"
By who? Harry thought again about the voice, and the day at the beach. Who had been there? Ron, Hermione and himself, of course. And Mr. And Mrs. Weasley. Percy had been there too, with his fiancé Penelope. And Ginny. She was there with her boyfriend at the time, who was-
Blaise. Blaise Zabini.
The door crashed open. Three hooded figures stood in the doorway, wands raised. Somehow, Harry knew there was nothing he could do. It was like watching a car accident happen- it was horrible, but there was nothing you could do to stop it.
"By students," Harry finished.
"Stupefy," said the voice that Harry now recognized as Blaise's.
Harry dropped to the ground, motionless, and slipped away into a dark stupor.
Ennervate.
"You know, I just got through saying to myself 'this really can't get any worse'. But once again, it looks like I was wrong."
The words floated through the darkness that swam in front of Harry's eyes. They interrupted his pleasant dreams and began to tug him towards reality. He had a vague sense that he should be surprised to hear that voice. He couldn't think of why. Really, though, he didn't care much. He just wanted to stay sleeping. He really, really wanted to stay asleep- stay in his dream world.
He rolled over, groaning, and put his hands over his face. Sleepy, sleep, sleep. Going back to beddy-by.
"Aw, come on now, Potter. Time to get up."
Something touched his ribcage and shoved him over roughly. He was quickly falling towards consciousness. No! Nooo! He had to sleep. It was not time to get up yet.
"Go 'way," Harry said, batting his hands at the thing trying to wake him.
"Isn't that precious," said the voice, dripping with sarcasm.
Harry gasped as he felt something get driven into his stomach. His eyes popped open, his dreams evaporated, replaced by the harsh reality of the pain he felt.
"Shit," he gasped, curling into a ball. He realized he was on the floor. Not a floor he recognized. The carpet was thick and blood red. He looked around.
He was in a huge room. He looked up at the ceiling. Dark wood crossbeams raced from wall to wall with a gold design etched over and over into each. It was initials, he realized, made into a design. The letters D. M. Hmm, that was familiar.
In the center of the room was a humongous bed covered in green and gold, with an ordinate headboard with the image of a dragon carved in. On the opposite wall was a marble fireplace flanked by lizard-like demons with long, forked tongues. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a very familiar looking pale boy with white hair and angular features. He was dressed in gray and looked rather dreary and bored, and was drumming his fingers on the frame. When the portrait saw Harry looking at it, it flashed him an obscene gesture.
The pain in Harry's stomach ebbed away and he slowly sat up. He'd been lying before an expansive leather chair, with another person throw across it casually, legs hanging over the sides, with a book in their lap. Harry gasped as him memories of the past few weeks came rushing back to him. He remembered The Notebook, the fighting, Snape leaving, and the hooded figures that had stunned him.
And he remembered Malfoy's mysterious disappearance. Only, Malfoy wasn't gone anymore. He was right there, sitting in front of Harry, flipping through the pages of a lengthy tome.
"You kicked me!" Harry gasped.
Malfoy didn't look up, just continued to flip through the book.
"I could have done worse, considering it's entirely your fault I'm in this mess," he said.
"Where are we?" Harry asked, looking around the room once more.
"Isn't it obvious? This is my room, Potter. We're in my house."
Harry's mouth dropped. The portrait of Malfoy over the fire rolled his eyes. Harry stood up.
"How did we get here?"
"You're guess is as good as mine."
Harry grabbed the book from Malfoy's hands and flung it across the room.
"I'm in no mood for your games," he roared, "I've just been chased and hexed by a group of students from my own school. I heard Voldemort's voice coming from the trophy room. And I've just woken up in the bedroom of my worst enemy, not to mention the son of a dark wizard. Plus you're supposed to be lost somewhere at Hogwarts! You have a lot of fucking explaining to do!"
"Is that what they said?" Malfoy asked, "That I was lost? Those idiots. Probably aren't even looking for me. I could dead for all they know, and does anyone care? No."
"Who cares!" Harry exploded. "What is really going on here, Malfoy?"
Malfoy rose out of the chair and approached Harry. He stood a few feet away, his lip curling up in obvious disgust.
"Look, Potter. Look me right in my eyes. I'm not lying to you. I have no idea what's going on either. You think you had a rough night? I was kidnapped by my own friends! My ex-girlfriend hexed me and somehow I was brought here while I was unconscious and locked in my own bedroom. They took my wand. I haven't been allowed to speak to anyone, not even my mother. And now you're here. Ok? Things aren't peachy for me either."
"But…"
"But what? There's nothing to say. We're both prisoners, that's all I can tell you."
Harry began to pace around the room, ruffling his hair and adjusting his glasses.
"Potter, you're practically foaming at the mouth," Malfoy mused.
"Why shouldn't I be! This- this makes no sense! You're telling me you've been kidnapped. You say this is your house-"
"This is my house. Note the charming portrait of yours truly over the fireplace."
"But hexed by your own friends, Malfoy? That's pretty hard to believe, even considering the fact that you're all Slytherin scum."
"Yeah, well, it'd be hard for me to believe as well if I hadn't been there at the time. If you need proof I can show you the bruises that Zabini left on my wrist while he was holding me down and commanding my friends to stun me."
Malfoy pushed up the sleeves of his black dress shirt and, indeed, there were large blue and pink bruises spotted over his white skin. But Harry was not convinced.
"You could have done that yourself."
"Why would I want to bruise myself?"
"Hell, I don't know, Malfoy! To trick me? To fool me into believing you're just a victim here when maybe you're a part of this whole plot against me?"
"That's right, Potter. It's all about you, isn't it? Everyone's out to get you, right? Because you're so goddamn important; is that it?" Malfoy yelled. His skin was taking on a pinkish tone and his hands were clenched into fists.
"No, that's not what I meant. I'm just trying to point out the facts here. You are from a family of notorious dark wizards. Your dad works for Voldemort. And whether I want to be or not, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm who he's after. I've been stunned and brought here to your room. You have to admit, you look a bit suspicious. I have every right to think that-"
"To think what? That I'm one of His? That I'm a Death Eater?"
"All I'm saying is, I don't know you that well, so-"
"That's right! You don't know me. Not at all."
Malfoy turned away from Harry, grabbing the table next to his chair and knocking it over. The candle that had been sitting on top of it tumbled off and hit the floor, moving so fast that the fire was extinguished. Malfoy dropped back into the chair again and put his face in his hands.
Harry backed away a bit, uncomfortable with the sudden show of emotion. He obviously struck some sort of nerve, but how, he wasn't sure.
He wrapped his arms over his stomach and felt something strange there. He lifted his shirt up and pulled out The Notebook from where it'd been tucked in his pants. He still had it!
"Malfoy!" he said excitedly.
Malfoy looked up and his face fell. His skin paled and he shook his head slowly.
"Oh bloody fabulous. You carry it with you. Is that so you can blackmail me at a moments notice? What's it going to be this time? Going to make me tell you all my family secrets? Want me to jump out my window? Or maybe just a bit of oral-"
"No!" Harry yelled, "No, of course not. I wouldn't abuse this like that. I don't mean to blackmail you any further. I just mean that we could use this to make sure we aren't lying to one another. Get it? You write down what you just told me in here. Write that you're innocent, not involved in this, and that you have no idea what's going on. That way if it's the truth, I'll know."
Malfoy was silent a moment, contemplating this.
He nodded. "Fine. Give it to me."
Harry held out The Notebook, "Don't even try to run over and throw it into the fire. It's indestructible- must have some other kinds of spells on it as well."
"Lovely," Malfoy said, and didn't ask how Harry knew this.
The blonde boy took The Notebook over to a desk on the corner of the room next to a set of French doors the presumably lead out to a balcony. While Malfoy was writing, Harry checked all the doors, including the French doors and the smallish door next to the bed, and found them all locked, except the small one, which lead to a large, mirrored bathroom. When he crossed back through the room, Malfoy stood up and handed Harry The Notebook. He took it, and read over the words:
I, Draco L. Malfoy, swear that while taking a midnight stroll through the school two nights ago I stumble upon my friends dressed in strange robes, contacting the Dark Lord via some kind of mirror. I was then hexed, lost consciousness, and I woke up in my home, the Malfoy Manor. Here I discovered I was locked in my bedroom, and I had no contact with anyone until my door was opened by a masked figure, where upon Harry Potter was tossed, unconscious, into my room. I know nothing about what is going on. I am not involved. Harry Potter is a gigantic-
That was where it ended. Harry looked up, "I'm a gigantic what?"
"Doesn't matter. Guess it wasn't true," Malfoy said with a twitch of a smile.
Harry was annoyed, but reassured. Sort of. Malfoy not being involved was a relief, but it also meant he was just as clueless as Harry as to just what in bloody hell was going on here.
Harry looked up at Malfoy. The blonde was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, chin up, looking cocky as usual. But there was a hit of anxiety in his stance. A bit of his normal buoyancy was lost.
Harry sighed, "So that's it? You really don't know anything?"
"I really don't know anything."
"And we're locked in a room together."
"You're catching on, Potter. Slowly, but you are catching on."
Harry ran his hand through his hair again and shook his head. "How can you stand there and act so calm?"
"That's just what I do. But I can assure you, I'm no more delighted about our little slumber party than you are."
Before Harry could respond to this, there was a loud noise from outside. Malfoy looked towards the window next to the French doors. Harry followed. Malfoy threw open the heavy, velvet drapes and pushed the glass window open.
Cold night air rippled through the room. Outside, the sky was black as sin, and no stars twinkled up above. Only a pale, faded outline of the full moon was visible through the thick haze of gray clouds.
The front yard of the Malfoy Mansion stretched out before them. The formal gardens were done in the Louis XIV style, with low hedges and small plots of flowers. It was a vivid demonstration of man's power over nature's elements. A large courtyard was set inside the garden with a fountain in the middle. Black serpents spat out water that glittered green in the underwater spotlights.
There was another loud noise. Harry and Malfoy both jumped at the sound. The sky exploded in green and silver sparks. Fireworks, Harry realized. Two more exploded, one taking the shape of a snake and the other a skull. The two came together. The Dark Mark.
"Morsmordre," Malfoy whispered.
Harry's stomach clenched up. A clattering sound could be heard from the dark smog surrounding the manor.
Slowly, a large carriage drawn by a small, smoke colored dragon emerged from the fog. It was followed by another, and another still. Harry's anxiety was building. He felt a strange twinge in his scar.
The first carriage pulled up and a tiny, wrinkly creature dressed in a fine suit, hopped off of the front and opened the door. A woman with black hair stepped out, sweeping open her long dress robes and lifting her head regally. Behind her, the other carriage had stopped and a few gaunt looking men in similar elegant dress exited onto the driveway. The first two carriages pulled away to make room for the final one. This one was pulled by a much larger, fiercer looking dragon that was spiting sparks over the cobblestone drive.
Harry dug his nails into the windowsill as the door was opened. He felt suddenly weak and his legs were shaking so badly that his knees nearly buckled. He struggled to stay standing as he watched in numbed horror as the final figure emerged. The person was tall and distantly masculine, carrying with him the air of strength, though he was using the aid of a silver tipped cane. He was dressed lavishly in billowing black robes and a top hat. Silver hair curled down over his shoulders and back. As he stepped out, he cast a long look at the window where Harry and Malfoy watched. He turned away as a blonde woman rushed up to him and pulled him into an embrace, clutching at him frantically and crying.
Malfoy suddenly slammed the window shut, nearly shattering it. He pulled the drapes closed and collapsed against them, breathing hard. His face was ashen and his eyes were dark and glassy.
Malfoy looked straight ahead almost catatonically and opened his mouth, speaking in a faraway voice, more to himself than to Harry.
"Daddy's back."