Penndragonne

By Tashasaphi

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own Photoshop 7. And a pencil.

Year 6 and all is not well at Hogwarts. After a devastating attack on the castle, the world is turned topsy turvy for the work-stressed Harry, and he finds a new light in a new companion…A story of love, friendship and abusing ones minions

WARNINGS: SLASH ON THE WAY. Do you think I'll get away with it on here? searches hurriedly for some hosting ;;

A/N

Whee! CHAPTER 6! Lots of Malfoy manor in this one. I expect Malfoy Manor is going to take at least one more chapter A new character in this chapter, and a repeat appearance of a certain pale figure

I hope this chapter doesn't feel very pointless. I worry about that sort of thing. I've tried to really delve into Silver's character this time, hopefully drawing out the truth about him for anyone who hadn't got the twist yet.

LOADS more the come, more new, but vital characters on the way, and luscious scenes too. And the chapter of uber slash will follow directly after Malfoy Manor. I will flag it up, I promise.

Oh, and this chapter is pretty short, innit?

Harry awoke with a throbbing headache. He knew this sort of pain. Someone had wiped away part of his memory. He sat up, trying to locate what was missing, and was reassured, somewhat, that it was only his trip from the servant's lounge to his quarters. Part of him was glad that this was the only bit missing, the other part anxious about getting lost. He looked at an ornate clock on the opposite side of the vast room. Five am. And yet, Harry had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't get back to sleep, even if he tried.

'All right,' he muttered to himself. 'Time to explore.' He shuffled around in the scarlet-sheeted bed and stepped onto the cool hardwood floor. A sharp snort made him freeze, but Silver merely rolled over and proceeded to sleep, clutching his little blue bottle like a teddy bear. On the bedside table, even in the dim pre sunrise light of the room, Harry espied the little boy and his penndragonne playing on the rug in front of the hearth. He had dismantled the frame. He now knew, by the writing on the back of the photograph, that the boy, so cheerful and jolly and small was in fact five, not three, and was in fact an odd incarnation of a young man he knew all too well. Harry, standing over the bedside table, picked up the photograph, studying it cautiously. This wasn't the Draco Malfoy he knew. Draco Malfoy of the present day had forgotten how to smile, how to really laugh, how to care. And he HATED animals. And the Draco Malfoy of the present would never have admitted to having a comforter, or three nurses popping in from other portraits of photos from time to time to check on his fever, deliver him medicines and the suchlike.

'It was a sickly child,' said a black haired woman from a portrait on the wall. She was very beautiful, and quite familiar. 'It enjoyed playing on the floor, even when it was too sick to be doing so. Silly wretch.'

'Are you…' Harry began, but shook his head. He placed the tiny photo back in its frame and moved to the wardrobe, where his belongings had been meticulously unpacked and arranged. He pulled out nice nicest non-formal gear, a little daunted by the surroundings, wandered awestruck into the en-suite to bathe, before dressing and exiting, binding Silver to his bed before he went.

Malfoy manor was very different to any place he had been in before. He had half expected it to be lavish and marbled, like a roman bath or villa, but it was dark, secretive, and oppressive in atmosphere, with deep, lush carpets, dark décor and thick curtains over the infrequent windows. And there was not a wall without a portrait, not an antique side table without an antique atop it. What somewhat surprised Harry was the frequency of which an animal would appear on his travels. Currently he stood facing a tank filled, it seemed, with ash. However, a silver grey serpent had just finished laying a clutch of flaming red eggs, and eyed him dolefully before combusting. The eggs flamed furiously, and Harry could feel the heat from all the way across the corridor. Within a few minutes or frivolous burning, they hatched, and one by one grew to full silver size, and began circling the tank. Not out of want, but out of necessity, Harry had stayed watching them for quite some time, seeing what he perceived as the second generation begin to lay their eggs. He was hiding because he had heard muffled voices, doors opening and closing and the suchlike, just around the corner in the next corridor in the labyrinth of the guest's wing. When all was clear, he meekly bid goodbye to the Ashwinders, before dashing with catlike silence down the next corridor and to where he perceived the silence provided some safety.

Silver stirred on the blankets. Ron was nosing around the room. Silver proceeded to ignore him and attempted to escape to the quiet serenity of under the bed. His plot of foiled by his choker. Silver growled, wisps of blue smoke trickling from his nostrils, before crawling behind the pillows lest he be bothered by the ginger moron.

'Harry?' Ron asked the bathroom door in a stage whisper. Silver rolled his eyes. It was entirely obvious by the weakening of Harry's scent that he was not present in the immediate area. Silver nearly choked on his tongue and spluttered violently. Scent! Immediate area! What was he thinking! It was almost as if he…

'Hey, runt,' Ron said, peering behind the pillows. 'Have you seen-' His words were cut short by a shaft of flame piercing through the still air like a firework and singing his eyebrows as he recoiled. Like a sultry gecko fugitive, Silver crawled over the pillows, glared at him, and slunk to the end of the bed and up one of the four posters.

'Bloody pompous lizard,' Ron growled as Chudley bounded around the floor, chasing dust motes. Silver snorted at him, puffing professional smoke rings. As Ron ranted below, Silver spotted something he hadn't suspected.

The breathing hole…

He knew of force fields. He knew of their properties. However, he had not expected something made by the always perfect Hermione Granger to incorporate such a weakness as a breathing hole. The breathing hole, as it was often referred to, being a gap in the force field for emergencies, or, as the name suggested, a free flow of air. He wouldn't have noted it if he hadn't been able to sense the change of air consistency and scent. As Silver climbed out onto the top canopy, he felt the collar loosen. The moment Harry noticed what had happened, he'd be entrapped again. Silver narrowed his eyes. Now was the time to get out of the transmit range, if there was ever going to be such a time. Cautiously, avoiding Ron's gaze, and his wandering guard dog, Silver crept down the back of the bed, slithered behind the bedside table and scampered out of the door. He peered back in, smirking.

Idiot.

Harry leaned heavily against the wall at the top of the stairs, sighing. This corridor was completely quiet, and almost all of the rooms had open doors. Empty. He slowly padded through the thick, deep emerald carpet. This corridor was far longer than any he had seen so far, and richer and grander, if it were possible. A long, vibrantly striped three headed snake ambled past, pausing only for one head to glare at him.

'It's mischief makers like you who give us a bad name,' said the head, before the whole creature slithered off.

'Thanks,' Harry muttered, before pressing on. A myriad of beautiful bedrooms, libraries and baths passed by, all open. The corridor bent away ahead of him. He looked behind him. Nothing had followed. He checked his watch. It wasn't even six am yet. Harry, sighing sleepily, turned the corner, before flying backwards in terror, and colliding with the wall with an almighty crack.

'OW!' Yelped the portrait above his head, now swinging, as Harry, glazed eyed, looked on in pure horror as two pairs of flaming blood eyes bored into his, and lips began to peel back in growls.

'Crap,' was all he could muster as a clawed forefoot hit the wooden floor between the stretches of carpet. The two chimeras couldn't have been bigger than great danes, but with every intake of breath they seemed to grow bigger, teeth becoming more and more visible and snarls deepened, crests being puffed up in defensive rage, claws exiting their sheaths and wings opening. One hissed violently, clumping forward on a solid hoof. Harry swallowed hard. Should he run and risk being chased and torn down? Should he stand still and accept his fate? Should he back away slowly and pray? Who the hell kept a chimera inside, anyway?

'My father,' said the portrait. It was only then that Harry realised he had spoken out loud.

'Don't you have a pendant?'

'What?' Harry whimpered as one chimera snapped. The portrait frowned.

'Of course, I and father don't need one, but mother carries one. They won't attack a pendant bearer.' The boy in the portrait sighed. 'Did you forget yours?'

'I don't have one,' Harry admitted, pressing himself against the wall, wishing it would swallow him and save him the nasty, flesh tearing sensation he was expecting. The boy snorted.

'Oh, you must be a trespasser then,' he said lightly. 'They'll kill you for that.'

'Thanks for the reminder,' Harry growled. 'But it's not helping.' The portrait huffed.

'It wasn't supposed to help,' he explained. 'Why on earth should I help a trespasser in my-' the portrait stopped and began wildly gesticulating. 'There it is! You didn't forget it! Silly serving boy!' Harry turned his head briefly from the slavering, vice like jaws to see where the boy in the portrait was pointing. He looked down, and sure enough, a gold chain hung out of his pocket limply. His eyes widened.

'Evelyn,' he whispered, before yanking it out and brandishing it like a holy cross. The Chimera froze, and seemed to shrink as they deflated themselves and their crests, and withdrew into themselves again. The one with forepaws whimpered and placed his tail firmly between his legs, whilst his female counterpart demurely stepped aside, teeth still bared a little. Harry glanced between the amulet and the beasts, somewhat confused. What exactly was this thing?

'You can go now, serving boy,' the painting drawled, brushing a strand of hair from it's eyes. Harry turned, expecting to see another Draco picture, but was surprised to see an unfamiliar face, with perhaps a slightly softer face. Harry read the inscription.

'Ignatious…' he pondered.

'A rarely used forename,' the portrait interjected hurriedly. 'You may go now, serving boy.' And despite the boy being only canvas, Harry allowed himself to be ushered past the silent, still creatures, who eerily watched him go, before assuming their posts, grumbling in some unknown bestial tongue to each other. Harry swore he could hear some traces of what to him sounded like human slang in their speech, between the snarls and hisses, but he later attributed it to either nervous delusion or parseltongue. When Harry had begun focusing on his surroundings (after checking his watch- now six fifteen), he noted a change in the decor. This corridor, though immaculate, was a lot darker than the rest. Also, it smelt... natural, less like air freshener and absence. This corridor, so heavily guarded and so remote was well used. Harry felt a little tickle of dread slither down his back like an icy worm. This must be the living area of Draco... and his parents. Harry swallowed a little. When he had woken up, he'd been adamant on adventuring off around the manor... but why? Did he really expect to find some proof that the Malfoy's needed to be locked away in some dark, dank hole and left there to rot for their ties to Voldemort? Had he suspected there to be some huge clue just... lying around. Embarrassed at himself, Harry admitted yes. Well, even at the heart of the mansion, all was quiet. Nothing seemed too unusual, especially for a wizards house. It was pre-wake up, dark, a few dim lanterns lit here and there, the occasional and generally dozing portraits and a dozen doors leading off to various rooms, each one shut against it's ornate framework. No statues, ornaments or animal tanks. No curtains, windows or alcoves. No where to hide. No where to escape. Harry's nostrils filled with a luxurious incense as he passed a burner, thinning the air, making his pulse race. He could hear maids around the corner, bustling to and fro, chatting in whispers. A loud sound of a clatter echoed from one of the rooms. The Chimeras turned, snarling, and Harry couldn't contain the whimper as he froze up, with no where to go.

Right. Left. Straight on. Dodge the maid. Right. Right. Up first set of steps, then left. Through portrait gallery. Silver's little clawed feet sunk to elbow height, and it waded vigorously through the thick fronds of carpet where it could not click along hard wood panelling. It's nostrils filtered the air for scents, whole body tensed and ready to flee for cover. It sighed heavily. What was the world coming to. It pinched it's eyes shut and tried to remember before... it's body did not respond. Again it tried, puffing at itself, straining at an invisible target. Silent feet padded down the corridor and stopped behind it. It's legs gave way and it panted, almost oblivious when a hand seized it's wings to it's body and lifted it up. Silver stiffened irritably, hissing, but did no more than that. It turned an eye to the grasper, before eliciting a shriek. A face peered down at it, pale, shadowed, troubled, with a mop a thick, coarse dark hair that looked weather beaten and blown. Dark rings rimmed the eyes, which were half shut, and, like a cat's eye, caught the light in a ghostly hollow way, reflecting back scarlet. A slender, underfed, poorly kept waif of a figure, that instigated pure horror and disgust in the tiny, writhing, screaming creature. Soulessly, without expression, the figure turned and walked to a tank containing a solitary, irritated looking doxy. The free hand of the figure unlocked the top and reached inside, clutching the doxy fearlessly as it bit into his flesh, tearing and poisoning. Silver had lost all his colour, and shivered in an ice cold grip as the doxy was drawn out, legs wriggling in powerless gesture. Silver noted with horror how ever poison filled bite ever so easily closed and healed cleanly and seamlessly, as if the almost translucent, unhealthy skin had never been cleaved. Silver groaned nauseously. The figure bent stiffly, as if his body needed oiling, and placed his face above the top of the globe like glass tank. He exhaled without inhaling, and clouds of noxious dust flew out. Silver averted his tiny head, wheezing and spluttering, avoiding the filth as best he could. The figure straightened up. Silver could feel his own pulse thudding, but not one to battle against it in the tight, icy grip. It unsettled him further and in one last protest he wailed, writhing and clawing. He deigned not to taste the inhuman flesh. The figure turned creakily to look down at the wriggling, irate doxy, before allowing his fingers to close ever so slightly tighter. The Doxy whined, wriggling, turning a slightly unhealthy colour, before appearing to flutter and feint, blue black gloopy liquid run with green sliding slick between the slender pale digits. The figure turned it's head. Silver defiantly dug in his claws, snarling. The figure's stoic face did not respond, but mechanically the arm raised Silver high over the bowl, before squeezing tightly. Silver moaned in agony, feeling joints crick, bones bruise, air leave his lungs and rubs refuse to draw more in, and even his eyes bug out a little at the internal pressure. He felt his body desperately falling limp, before a sudden gasp of air filled his lungs, only to be smashed out against cold, rancid smelling glass. Shakily, dizzily, he raised his head, eyeing through blurring and doubling vision the hand lowering from where it had relinquished it's grasp and dropped him. The face peered down soullessly, before the lid of the tank slid eerily and automatically back into place. Silver had not the strength to protest as the figure abandoned him there, and he sheathed his bloodstained claws and promptly passed out.

Whoever had knocked over whatever they had knocked over, did not exit the room. In fact, from the very same room he heard a sleepy groan and the sound of body hitting a slightly squeaky mattress. Back to the land of nod. Harry couldn't believe his luck. Neither could the now very disappointed Chimeras. He could see in their eyes that they knew he didn't belong there, but the amulet was his pass through, and without order, they were bound to leave him alone. Sighing, relaxing, he leaned back against the wall, before jumping away in fright at the shadow that crossed his form. He stared, tingling and bristling, before listening, irritated, to the self righteous and derogatory sniff and snort from either Chimeras as they eyed him. He could feel their smirks bearing down on his back. They were longing for his flesh, and he knew it. What had startled him was nothing more than a door knocker, casting eerie shadows in the half light from the lanterns. The knocker was at face height on the nearest and first door, but it hung down to the middle with ornamentation. Delicate runes were carved around the base plate, gold and silver enamelled leaves dipping and fluttering gracefully around the stagnant centre piece. Some sort of beast, lost between a frilled lizard, snake and dragon lay in this vertical nest, clawing to it with highly crafted feet, hammered into the base plate with heavy, crude yet obviously strong nails. Harry peered at it for some time, studying the intricate carving of each individual scale, the gloss sheen on the metal, and the perfect replication of the small features of the ornamental creature's face. Sighing, he turned away, hands in his pockets, scuffing the carpet with worn trainers.

'Phew,' came a soft, humming pant from behind him, and he whirled with terrible velocity, eyes flicking to and fro for the source. Everything was still and silent. Too silent. Slowly, calmly, he turned, clutching the locket carefully in his right hand. He began to pace in measured steps away from his previous spot, and when a very soft grating of metal met his ears, he surreptitiously shot a glance over his shoulder, which met secretly with the tiny stirrings of an irritated metallic lizard, trying to scratch it's itches.

'-wretched, bile choked braggart!' it snarled, it's tail twitching irritably, as it rubbed a slightly bulbous eye on it's scaly shoulder. Harry crept towards the knocker, slowly, but surely, before in a swift jab, snatching the tail into his grip. There was local pandemonium as the lizard yowled and hissed, lashing as best it could and shouting obscenities that reverberated down the corridor. The Chimeras turned, ears pricked, glaring with blood eyes at Harry.

'Shut up,' Harry hissed desperately. 'Someone'll hear!' The Lizard stopped writhing and laughed mirthlessly.

'That's a joke,' it hissed. 'There hasn't been a Malfoy parseltongue since Amadeus,' he broke off, bitterly, 'and I doubt there ever will be again.' Harry frowned.

'What exactly are you?' he asked quietly, aware of the oppressive silence. The Lizard eyed him cautiously.

'What the bloody hell does it look like I am?' he snapped back. 'I'm a doorknocker.' The Lizard moved it's impaled feet a little, flexing the claws in a pained sort of fashion.

'I can see that,' said Harry, after pausing to watch. 'But... what are you meant to be? Shapewise?' The Lizard glared at him through bronze eyes.

'I'm not supposed to be anything,' he growled. 'I'm Project Sixteen, the winged companion lizard. Suitable substitute for Owl and pet.' He paused in his recital to bear his teeth. 'Viciously loyal.'

'Project sixteen?' Harry repeated. 'Are you another of the illegal breeding projects here- like the chimeras.' The Lizard rolled it's eyes, wriggling.

'Let me straighten something out,' the lizard drawled. 'We weren't illegal in the sixteenth century,' he paused. 'And I'm nothing like the chimeras. They were One of Amadeus' later project... he hardly worked again after creating them, he was so proud. And then...'

'And then what?'

'Government raiders broke in, thinking he was planning some sort of revolution,' the lizard said bitterly. 'They beheaded him in his laboratory.'

'Oh,' Harry managed. The Lizard looked miserable.

'The chimeras did one thing right, though,' the Lizard said,' they broke out of their cages and defended him with all their might, and even after he'd... gone,' the lizard swallowed.

'They tore the rest of the attackers to shreds, and became guardians of the manor. They attacked anyone and everyone who didn't smell like Amadeus... anyone who wasn't a Malfoy, and more so, anyone who wasn't of his line of Malfoy.' The Lizard smirked.

'Myself and the other early projects, like the failed wadjet, we used to watch and make bets on how many the chimera's would bring down, whenever a group came into the grounds.'

'So why won't they attack amulet bearers?' Harry asked. The Lizard grinned.

'Amadeus's wife was a dark sorceress,' the Lizard hissed. 'She extracted all his blood, even that which had been spilt, even that which lay stagnant in his corpse... and contained it in that crystalline material.' Harry looked down uneasily.

'This is... blood?' he managed.

'Amadeus Malfoy's blood,' the Lizard hissed, mirthlessly grinning. 'Useful stuff, isn't it?'

There was the thud of footsteps around the corner.

The Chimera's ears pricked, but the continued glaring at Harry. Harry stared in that direction, blanching a little, before moving away from the door knocker, creeping down the corridor in search of an open door.

'Where are you going!' the Lizard stage whispered. 'Are you insane!'

'What?' Harry protested. The Lizard shook it's frills.

'You won't find any hiding places that way,' he snarled. 'From here on it's Lucius Malfoy's private suites. There aren't only chimera's guarding those...' Harry moved back towards the door.

'Well were else am I supposed to go?' he spluttered, the Lizard paused for a moment, before speaking. From this angle, Harry could seen that although the outside of the Lizard was brass, the inside of it's mouth was flesh, with creeping trickles of metal that had seeped past the lips. Harry felt a little sick.

'Smooth down my back fins,' the lizard hissed. 'Hurry!' Harry did as instructed, and the door swung inward. Harry smiled.

'Thanks,' he whispered. The Lizard nodded.

'Anything for a parseltongue. I haven't got many conversation partner's around here, you know.'

And with that, Harry entered the room, and a pair of glinting flaming eyes watched him. The Chimeras wilted backwards from the watcher, who exited a door about half way up the corridor. As the door Harry had entered snapped shut, the figure, clad in a night gown, padded noiselessly down the corridor. White lips pressed together a thin line as the figure studied the door knocker.

'Misbehave again,' said an icy, languid voice, like running a paddle through chill yet rich liquid chocolate, 'and you'll find brass in your lungs.'

'I look forward to it,' hissed the knocker, hatefully. The fiery amber orbs flashed and the lizard's confidence wilted a little. Perfect hands, hands of the ice queen's pianist, ran heated lines down the wood of the door, the point where the hinges seemed to call out in burning desire.

'What are you doing?' said a husky voice from a tired throat. The amber eyes turned to watch a dusky, darkened, shadow dweller pass unnoticed through the guard, eyes locked to his despite the obvious pain their luminescence caused.

'It is nothing,' silken threads of voice whispered. 'nothing for you to concern yourself with.' Balls of amber inferno narrowed. 'Where have you been?'

'Out,' the deeper, rougher voice replied, smearing oil slick blood between his fingers.

'And then in. I'm here now.'

'Now deliciously vague,' the nightgown clad companion mused. 'Did you enjoy the body in the grounds?'

'It wasn't really there when I arrived,' hollow black eyes replied. 'More like a gorey splatter and lumps of gristle in a patch of poison ivy.' There was a rough chuckle. 'Not even enough left for you, I'd merit.' His companion laughed, raising a hand to his chest.

'Oh, I had my fill,' he whispered, smirk playing on lily-petal lips. 'Delivered to me, no less.'

'How good for you,' his companion drawled back, before hissing at flame clashed painfully with hollow nothingness.

'Get to bed,' the soft, velveteen voice of the watcher commanded. 'Today is Saturday. You will need your rest for Sunday.' Growling a little, the figure, seemingly unseen by the snarling guards, moved stiffly past, casting fleeting, soft glances at the willowy figure he left behind. Alone once more, the watcher's fingertips trailed the door. As the figure entered his chamber, he felt the heat and desire of the very walls blast out their desperate cry to him. Knowing himself, he shut them out, and closed the door.

R+R? puppy eyes