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Chapter Seven
A Past Encounter
DRACO
"I just feel like I'm missing something. Like there is a plot right in front of me, ready to be exploited, but it refuses to come clear!" Harry exclaims, complaining about his lack of literary talent. I don't think I can take the irony much longer. I almost feel sorry for the poor shit. Then again, I more likely to lovingly sponge bath a blast ended skert than back out.
"So what have you got so far?" I ask blandly. As if I give a shit! Honestly, what could he really write about? Life as a pathetic loser? The world according to Harry 'who-the-hell-I-am' Potter? How can a person describe the beauty and passion of love or the wonderful, horrifying complexities of life, without actually experiencing them firsthand? Being content in a little cottage with a little, obedient woman at one's side is not living. It is merely breathing. In and out, in and out, without ever wondering why, without ever questioning what can be changed and when and how. I think that is why I first fell in love with Ginny. She was so alive. Ever emotion she felt was truly embraced, given freedom to explode. She made me feel a fire, a ferocious heat that I never thought I could. She was, is, my second chance. I can't let him spoil that.
If you think about it, I'm doing him a favour. By releasing him from a life of mediocre, he won't wake up one morning in forty years time and curse at how badly he has fucked up. He won't have that mid-life crisis and run away with his teenage secretary, he won't take out a second-mortgage to buy that red sports car or prance around in leather trousers, beer belly hanging out and eyes winking as he flirts and desperately tries to pull anything with his pre-historic chat up lines. Can I see your I.D, you don't look a day over 17… Get your coat love, you've pulled…
Harry lets out a weary sigh. "Everything. Nothing. It used to be so clear, all the lines I would use and how the characters would seem. But lately things have been…I don't know…blurry or something. I have an ending in mind already but the beginning, damn, that blasted thing won't come together!"
"The beginning is easy," I say softly, "It should be the end you have a problem with."
Sooner than you think…
I discreetly survey the area. The dark lane we are walking down is deserted. There isn't a house or a person in sight.
I begin to slow down my pace. Harry, caught up in his own distracted thoughts, doesn't notice and continues walking on. I take out a pair of gloves from my pocket and swiftly put them on. My wand feels immensely heavy but blessedly familiar. I think that I have always know, deep down, from my very first day at Hogwarts, that it would come to this.
Inevitable.
I stop completely and wait for him to turn. The pendent, containing his dangerous memory, is wrapped tightly around my wrist. I want him to know. I want him to remember.
Already, the curse is on my tongue, waiting impatiently like a greedy child. Harry, finally noticing that my footsteps have stalled, turns around, a look of friendly exasperation on his face.
"What's the hold up?" he calls, "I'm in desperate need of getting completely and totally intoxicated. Beer has to provide inspiration, right?"
"What about the girlfriend?" The ice in my tone is evident even to an idiot like him.
"Oh, Lara won't mind," he replies obliviously.
"I wouldn't want her to think that I'm leading you astray…"
Harry grins slightly, shakes his head and then continues walking.
I don't follow him. I just watch. Silent and unwavering, I unravel the pendant from around my wrist, place it in my left hand and in the right, I raise my wand in the air.
This is it. All the planning and the risks for this… Bugger, I hate anti-climaxes!
"Mem-," nearly three years lost "oril," three years without her. I pause on the last syllable of the spell which stripped Harry of who he truly was.
"Frezzolai!" a voice cuts across me.
Shocked, I remain still, eyes remaining focused on Harry. Harry, who is suddenly immobile. Harry, who is frozen to the spot. Harry, who is still clueless and alive…
"Malfoy," the voice smoulders, "How nice to see you again."
I grit my teeth. The rage inside me is threatening to explode in a roar of pure anger, resentment and fear. No, its not fear, it is terror.
Balling up my hands, the slick wood of the wand pressing so tightly into the cold flesh, I slowly turn behind me.
There he stands, relaxed and arrogant, his golden eyes blazing in his tanned skin. He is like some exotic animal, stalking his prey, carefully waiting for the moment when he will pounce in for the kill. I am nobody's prey.
"Blaise," I respond, my tone flat and cold. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
The bastard lets out a deep, low laugh and moves towards me, his wand pointing towards my chest. Quickly, I do the same. If this turns into a wizard's duel, then so be it…
"I believe it's time we had a talk."
"As you can see, I'm a little busy right now," I grind out, blood running cold.
Blaise looks past me and towards the frozen form of Potter, "Now, now Draco, our boy here will be out of action for quite a while yet. We'll have time enough to discuss business."
"And what business would that bloody well be?" I ask in the calmest voice I can manage.
The night around us is cool and quiet yet nothing can quell the inferno of alarm that rises in me as Blaise saunters closer still.
"Why, the business of destroying your life…of course."
GINNY
If you have older siblings then you'll understand that brief stage of childhood, when they were your heroes. Before hormones had ravaged them into teenage anti-Christ's (who transfigured toothbrushes into giant slugs…thanks for that one, George!), they were the people you looked up to. They were brave and bold and…tall. They taught you how to answer back and draw on the walls and in my case, perfect the bat-bogey hex. Out of all my brothers, it was Ron who became my idol. I would follow him anywhere. I believed every word which spilled out of his mouth. For the first four years of my life, I even thought that I was boy, after Ron persisted in telling me that all little girls got shipped off to military camp as soon as they were born. It was only after my mother had sat me down and explained the bizarre 'birds and bees' theory that I began to realise that my brother wasn't the supreme authority of the universe.
At this moment, as I sit awkwardly in the waiting room of a dingy muggle office block, I seem to have reverted back to my younger years, blindly following my brother, trusting him beyond anything else. I have to keep reminding myself about the seriousness of the situation. Or more aptly, the weirdness. Even if we do find Harry, and that's a big if, then what the hell can I say to him? I mean, what would I do? Hug him? Kiss him? Cry? Smile? I have no idea.
"Ron," I begin dubiously, looking around at the shabby chairs and yellowing wallpaper. "Are you sure about this?"
Still flicking absently through an old magazine, Ron replies quietly, "I know a man."
"Fabulous, so do I. Lots, actually. Would you mind telling me why we are here?"
Here, is a non-descript place in the bad side of a busy, muggle town. In the graveyard, Ron had suddenly grabbed my hand and in a loud crack we had apparated to here…of all places to go, (the ministry was my first bet) it was this (luckily) empty room where we had ended up.
Ron gives me an impatient look and carelessly tosses the magazine on the floor. "There are two reasons, firstly, and I'll talk slow so you'll understand, is to locate Blaise and secondly to attempt to discover the whereabouts of Harry," Ron shudders ever so slightly, still unaccustomed to saying the name he had long since tried to forget.
"It would be pure stupidity to go to the ministry with all this," He continues "Rita Sketter would be sniffing around as fast as you could say 'boob job'. The last thing we need is for this to be splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Even in our world, people just don't come back to life, there would be mass hysteria."
I really hate it when he's right. "So, who are we meeting?" I ask, wondering absently if I'll ever get a straight answer out of him.
"I do have connections you know," he replies, slightly haughtily. "Believe it or not, you're big brother is actually pretty important."
"Oh I believe it," I say innocently with a hint of a smirk, "Percy is crucial in the counting of paperclips. I bet he'll get a promotion underlying big words in office memos, any day now."
Ron rolls his eyes. "How have I survived without your brilliant wit all these years?"
"Beats me," I smile.
The dusty door at the end of the room opens and out pops a short little woman with a great hive of greying hair. A huge smile spreads on her face as she spots Ron.
"Mr. Weasley!" she greets happily. Ron walks toward her and gives her a friendly kiss on the cheek. "How are you, Ruby?" he asks genially.
"Fine, fine." She gestures towards the open office door. "He's waiting for you."
Ron smiles and then grabs my arm, pulling me across the room. "Let me do the talking," he commands in a whisper.
"Yes Sir!" I huff. Brothers…who'd have them?
We walk into the office, like the waiting room it is desperately in need of a makeover and air freshener…definitely air freshener.
There are two chairs crammed tightly in front of a desk. Behind the desk, is a huge leather chair. It looks beyond ridiculous.
"Ah, Weasley we meet again," the furniture talks. I glance at Ron as if to say 'are you serious!"
The chair swivels around and before me is the person who will, supposedly, help our troubles. His sandy blond hair is slicked back in a bad imitation of early Draco and he is seriously over-dressed in a black suit and tie. He looks like a pubescent James Bond.
It is of course Colin sodding Creevy. Ron and his bright ideas!
"Ginny, old girl, I haven't seen you in years!" he grins, reaching over the table to shake my hand.
"Yes, thank God Ron brought us together again…" I reply pointedly, shooting snide daggers at my brother.
"Indeed," Colin agrees. "So, Ron what can I do for you?"
Shifting in his seat, Ron begins in a calmer voice than I could ever fake, "We've recently had some…unexpected news. I don't need to tell you that full discretion will be needed."
"Of course," Colin nods, switching from old friend to professional (professional what? Spy? Detective? World class Quidditch champion? Figure skater? Lord of the Hippogriffs?)
"My sister," Ron continues formally, gesturing towards me as if to clarify between all his other sisters sitting in the room. "Was visited this morning by Blaise Zanbani. He told her something quite unusual, something which we need to know more about. The only problem is that our cat burglar has decided to vanish without a trace. As you know, he is very rarely seen out and about, meaning that it is bloody difficult to track the prick down. I need you to locate him," Ron pauses before adding in a no-nonsense tone, "quickly."
Colin picks up a notebook and scribbles something down.
"Shouldn't be too difficult," he says assuredly. "I'll get right on it."
"Thanks mate. I appreciate it." Ron stands up. "There is one other thing." He lets out a shaky breath. "I need you to put the word out in the muggle world. I'm looking for a male, early twenties, black hair, shorter than me, light build and wearing glasses."
Colin lets out a low whistle. "Narrow it down would you, Ron?" he says "That description won't get me very far."
"Ok," Ron replies heavily, briefly glancing at me. "He's got a scar on his forehead, shaped as a bolt of lightning."
We both stare at Colin, waiting for the inevitable.
"You don't mean…" He shakes his head and looks at me with a question in his eyes.
I nod in confirmation. Even now, it doesn't seem quite real.
Colin, shock making him look even younger and sillier in his posh tuxedo, puts a hand on the desk to steady himself. I feel oddly disappointed; the sight of him falling of his chair would really cheer me up right now.
"Bloody hell!" he bursts out in understandable disbelief, "How is that even possible?"
"Remember our rule?" Ron asks warningly. "No questions."
"Yeah, sorry…it's just…"
"Insane," I supply.
Colin nods and pushing back the leather chair, stands up. "I'll do my best, talk to some old contacts. I'm guessing you've already ruled out the wizarding world. Nobody as famous as Harry Potter could ever stay unnoticed there." Colin squeezes past the desk and moves to show us out.
"Blaise will be found by the end of the day. That's a promise." He appears serious and confident; perhaps I was too quick to write him off earlier.
"Nice seeing you again," he says to me, "You've aged quite well, apart from the eyes of course, there's a few little lines cropping up. Ah, well can't be helped."
"Thank-you-Colin," I mutter in a tone that re-defines snappish.
We quickly say our curt goodbyes and soon enough we are back in the waiting room.
"Well, where now?" I ask Ron. Ugh…obedience doesn't suit me.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, a sure sign that disapparating is our next move.
"Home," he answers simply. The butterflies are back with a vengeance. He isn't talking about Malfoy manor…
"Oh," I murmur nervously, "Who, erm…will be there?
A smug, knowing grin accompanies, "Everybody."
That's great…really, really… (BUGGER!)…great.
DRACO
"Why, the business of destroying your life…of course."
"And just how are you going to do that?" I question him mockingly. I control the urge to turn away and check on Harry. The damage is already done. There is nothing to do but bluff, bluff my way into appearing cold and unconcerned. Easier said than done.
"Cancel my subscription to witch weekly? Or perhaps, turn all my shirts pink. What's it to be, Zanbani?" I continue, with a sneer.
Our wands are still outstretched, each pointing to each other's heart. A direct hit, if either other of us chooses to take it.
"Impressive," Blaise starts, moving to circle around me, golden eyes remaining fixed on mine. "I've always admired that about you. The 'cold-hearted bastard' is a hard act to pull off, but you, well you've got it down to a fine art. I envy you that." His voice carries only the slightest hint of scorn. To unknowing ears he might even appear sincere.
I let out a cold scoff, "Is that your master plan? To kill me with compliments?"
"Who ever said I wanted you dead?" Blaise says in low, secretive tone. He puts on a mock-perplexed expression and moves his head to the side, watching me closely.
"On the contrary, in fact. I'd like to keep you very much alive. It'll be more fun that way."
Complications. Why are there always complications?
I stay deathly silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an outburst. I can not afford to tip my hand, too much is at stake. I can't be sure of how much, if anything, he knows. Obviously standing here, wand posed to blow off Potter's head does fall into the 'caught-red-handed' category but still, one can't be too sure, especially when dealing with slippery bastards like Zanbani.
Blaise, undeterred by my lack of response, continues in his 'o-so-scary-I-think-I'll-wet-my-pants' tone of voice, obviously savouring every second.
"Pansy didn't need to tell me." Pansy? That lying bitch!
"I was there," he goes on, voice dropping to a whisper. His exotic face shines with forbidden knowledge in the night sky. "Watching. I saw how you dug her up. Didn't like getting your hands dirty, did you Draco? You were anxious that night, scurrying around like a frantic animal. But there was a problem wasn't there? The draught used to mimic death ran out too early," his voice grew more brutal, "she was nearly dead by the time you shoved her on the ground. Did you panic Draco? When your fingers felt no pulse, did that dubious heart of yours beat that little bit faster? For your sake, I hope it did. I want you to be a human. I want you to feel the same pain that I did. Worse actually."
"Blaise, I never knew you cared," I drawl but all the while my mind is going insane. Everything has been turned upside down, torn apart and ripped to pieces. My perfect future with Ginny, is tippling on the brink of destruction, falter but a little and all will be lost…
I want to demand that the cocky prick answer my questions. I want to spell him into submission. Unforgivable curse, one after another until he breaks. But to ask him, however roughly, however violently, would be supplying him with power over me. No living creature can be allowed to have such a thing. There are two ways I could handle such a situation. I could get angry, emotional and panic like a grade A wuss or I could-
"How very interesting," I slither smoothly. "You have enough fictional material to write a best-selling novel, or maybe just a permanent position in the bargain bin. Either way, kudos Zanbani, I always thought you as dull as water, but at least now I can firmly have in confidence that you are a flaming nut job!"
Blaise's lets out a low, livid growl and those unnatural eyes burn like heated coals. I might even be scared…if I was an eight year old girl!
His voice, unlike mine, cannot be controlled. Every emotion he feels is painted vividly on his face. Like fire, he is uncontrollable. Like fire, he is dangerous.
Standing before me, teeth bared in a predatory fashion, is the same boy I noticed but disregarded at Hogwarts. Blaise had always been the life of the party; an extrovert who appeared to blaze brightly through every situation. I thought him beneath me.
But the mind that seemed to tick in a frenzy of feeling, hidden almost by those who saw only his good-looks, was not cruel, it was not cunning. Scrutinizing his body movements, coiled, ready to spring and his face, exposed and incensed, I can see that he is not driven by logic but by passion. But the question is, who for? Passion for who?
PANSY
'Do this for me Pansy and I'll give you anything.'
'Anything?'
"Whatever you want. Will you do it?"
"Yes Draco, I'd do anything for you, I promise. But I need something from you first."
Pause. "Pansy, is this for you or them?"
"Does it matter? When Harry has been taken, she'll be yours forever. Is it so wrong for me to want a piece of you, something which she can't take? Nobody will ever love me like you love her, I know this and I accept it but just for once I want to feel…I just want to feel…something. Draco, will you love me, just for one night? "
"No, I won't love you. But I'll give you what you want. It'll make father happy…but I'm sure I'll get over that unfortunate side effect. You help me get Ginny and I'll give you a child"
"Thank you. You won't regret this"
"Yes, I will…"
"Avada Kedavra!"
That noise. Screeching, terrible, torturous, a final burst of hatred from a creature incapable of anything else. He was my master I should be sad. But the grip on my shoulder is too tight, the whispered command too urgent, "Get ready, Pansy!" I swallow the bile rising in my throat and slowly turn around. Looking into Draco's wild eyes, I see the monster within him, I should share his perverse excitement but all I feel is disgust. Disgust – at myself, at Draco and at the swaying, near-destroyed figure of Harry Potter. If only he had chosen another girl. If only he had stayed away from Draco's property…
The colours of the battleground, rush into my eyes like an unstoppable comet heading for earth, on the path to utter destruction. Smoke grey, flash of green and red…so much red. The stench of blood seems to cloak me, smothering any sense of reality. This can't be real. I'm in a nightmare. I'll wake up. I'll crawl out of bed and walk into my mother's room. 'I had a bad dream' I'll say quietly. She'll smile and pull back the covers. Shush, everything will be all right…go back to sleep. I must be going mad, since when did my mother ever give a damn!
"Come on." Draco grabs my hand and pulls me up from the undergrowth. We both look over to the centre of the forest. A satisfied smile creeps on Draco's triumphant face. "Looking good, Potter," he snipes, stepping softly forward, dragging me in his wake.
Harry, battle fatigue causing his movements to be sluggish and robotic, turns towards us. His eyes remain blank, his face, black with filth and dried blood, is utterly still. It is the face of a child sent out to war and not understanding why. Then finally, there comes a small spark of recognition.
"Malfoy?" he mutters flatly. As if he can't quite believe his weary eyes, he forces himself to move closer. The wand he used to kill Voldemort stays clutched in his hand.
"What are you doing here?" The simple questions is too far removed from the madness of the situation, it hangs in the air ominously, a threat lingering on each wary word.
Draco merely grins and shakes his head. "Pansy, are you prepared?"
No. Never. Don't make me.
"Yes," I reply. I close my eyes and feel the familiar pain of the transformation send convulsions through my body.
Harry lets out an unbelieving gasp. He is staring at himself. Fading green eyes looking into my own, an exact imitation. "What the fuck?" he exclaims but any further outrage is cut off by Draco's smug shout of 'Crucio!"
"I've been waiting a long time to do that." Draco walks towards the cowering figure on the floor. He ignores Harry's screams and roughly kicks him in the stomach. Again and again. The actions of a jealous little boy. He kneels smoothly down, his wand pointing at his victim, in eager anticipation. The memory charm he has spent years reciting in his sleep, falls from his lips. Wisps of grey vapour coil out of Harry's head and circle around Draco. He is in control. Drawing back his coat, he pulls out the pendent and taps his wand once upon its awaiting surface. The vapour, a small cloud of fog in the clear winter morning, moves towards the object and in a sudden blast of red light, disappears into it. All that was Harry Potter has been lost. Forever.
I steal a glance at Draco. Never have I seen him so happy,
Harry is immobile and doesn't even wince as Draco touches his cheek and delicately takes the silver necklace from his neck. Draco stands up and plays with the necklace in his fingers, bringing the ring to his lips briefly before passing it to me.
"Put this on," he orders. "I have to go. They will be here any minute. Have you got the draught?"
I nod, feeling the weight of the small glass vial in my hands. How can such a tiny thing contain a force as powerful as death?
Draco bends down and easily takes Harry's weight over his shoulder. The face I love too much, gazes up at me and smirks as if to say, easy, wasn't it?
"Three days," he says, "I'll see you soon." And with that he disappears, taking Harry with him.
I am left alone with only the blackened corpse of Voldemort to keep me company.
With a deep breath, I remove the stopper from the vial and lift it to my mouth.
"Not yet," a voice smoulders. Blaise. How could I doubt that he would come?
"I have to. His friends are coming." I can hear their cries already. "HARRY!" they urgently scream, over and over. "HARRY!"
I don't turn around to face him. I simply hold out the necklace. I feel my fingers tremble as he takes it.
"Are you going to tell me why you want this?" I ask not caring about the answer.
"No." Blaise places a hand on my shoulder. "Lie down."
I shudder as the draught flows down my throat. It's all fading away…I'm fading away…
"I'll be there when you wake…" is the last thing I hear.
Draco's beautiful face, flashes through my dimming mind.
All for you…always…
I embrace the darkness.