Potter47
Part One
The Shadow of Death
"Lost time is never found again."
Benjamin Franklin
Chapter Six
Draco's Detour
"Be careful, Granger," Malfoy warned smugly, "you never know who's listening."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
Malfoy's voice was but a harsh whisper. "I hear my dad pulled the wool over your eyes, up at the Riddle House. Heard everything you said to that traitor." It was clear Malfoy's high regard for Snape had blown out the window and was now chasing its tail in the Forbidden Forest. "Wish I could've been there; I would've loved to see the look on your face... Oh, right, you never said; how is spew going these days?"
"Say, Malfoy," ground out Ron. "Did dear-old-daddy also say what Hermione here did to him?"
"Be quiet, Ron," snaped Hermione.
"I know she didn't swear..." Malfoy said knowingly, not paying Ron the respect of looking his way.
"She hit him right in the face," said Ron proudly, ignoring them both, "with the--"
"Silencio!"
Ron's final words were cut off by the Silencing Charm. His eyes widened, and he looked, enraged, at Hermione. But she paid him no mind, for she was too busy cursing Malfoy into oblivion.
"Iterius!"
Malfoy awoke.
His eyes opened slowly and his ears began to hear the sounds round him; rustling branches, leaves... footsteps, too, but he couldn't really make them out, couldn't really tell what they were.
His eyes saw only the leaves below him, and he realised that he had dirt in his mouth. He spit it out, and attempted to get himself off of the ground; he couldn't. His legs seemed to have stuck together, or to the ground, or something, and he couldn't move them. He tried to move his arms, and eventually he managed it.
He pushed, trying to get into a sitting position, but he only managed to roll himself over, so that his back was to the ground. He could see the trees, now, towering above him on all sides.
Crunch-crunch.
He jerked his head to the side, hearing now what he hadn't known he had heard before: footsteps.
Malfoy closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember how he had come to be here, in these woods, in this forest. Where was this forest? He had so many questions to ask, if only there was someone around to answer them.
Crunch-crunch.
He shivered slightly, despite the summer air. It was summer, yes? For some reason, he felt as though a great deal of time had passed since he last remembered.
Crunch-crunch.
Someone else was here—or something. Malfoy could feel it, could sense it, but couldn't tell what it was.
He pulled himself as best as he could, dragging his body along with his arms. He felt like a snake, though of course snakes do not have arms.
Can't imagine how they manage it, he thought, grimacing as he caught his foot on a root.
He reached out for a rock that looked sturdy enough to use to pull himself... but as soon as his finger touched the rough surface, he remembered.
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
And what's supposed to mean?
Whisper: Dad pulled the wool over your eyes, with the riddle in the house. I heard everything you said to that traitor. There to see the look... Never said.
Spew?
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
Hermione did to him?
Quiet.
The face with the silence.
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
"Iterius!"
Malfoy shook his head. What had that been? Just a blur... a blur of a memory. As if the full memory had attempted to get through to his mind, but some had been held back, or lost in translation.
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
Malfoy stopped at the rock, breathing in and out.
Crunch-Be careful, Granger-crunch.
His head felt now as though it had swelled up, his brain being crushed by his skull. It pained him greatly and he wished it would stop. He fell back down to the ground, covering his head with his hands,
(just as the Thing jumped at him, attacking its prey; it missed and was past him before it knew it had done so)
just as he felt the slightest tingling in his legs, the first he'd felt since waking up.
He lifted his head and gazed down at his legs, and as soon as he looked at them, they seemed to come alive, and he was left wondering whether he really hadn't been able to move them in the first place.
Standing now, Malfoy looked round him, really looked round him, for the first time.
The woods had a darkish light to them, the sun shining through the leaves high above. Malfoy turned round in a circle to see,
(and the Thing hid behind a tree from its prey, with much more stealth than is to be expected from a large, humpbacked creature such as itself)
and began to walk.
He walked slowly at first, then faster and faster until he was running and all the while he did not know why. He kept running, and before long he heard something running along behind him. He did not look back,
(and the Thing was glad, because it could never have gotten out of the way quick enough)
and he felt that if he did, he would wish that he hadn't.
Running, running, running, flying he went, as he tripped over a tree root and found himself sprawled on the ground. Something seemed to have cracked, and not just the tree root.
Malfoy could not get up, once more, and in a moment the Thing was upon him.
Malfoy screamed as he turned round and saw it; large and greyish-purple, with uncomfortably sharp horns and a humped back, Malfoy recognised it as a Graphorn from his texts. And he recognised its horns as very painful when the came into contact with his skin.
The next moments blurred into each other for Malfoy. He was battered about in every which way and the next thing he knew he had been sent flying through the air once more, landing in a puddle of something that felt oddly thick.
The Graphorn made a sound of panic as he landed and dashed away without a backward glance.
"What in the hell was that about?" he said, and then whimpered in pain as he realised that he shouldn't have tried to speak. His throat hurt dreadfully from being tossed about—he reckoned he'd gotten the side of a horn there—and all he wanted was to get out of the woods, get back to the school, or to his Manor. Would school still be in session? Had school still been in session? He couldn't remember.
Malfoy realised that his eyes were closed, and part of him wanted them to stay that way, so as to not see what he looked like after his beating, and part of him knew that he had to see where he was now.
He opened them, and saw below him an odd mix of scarlet and silver. The scarlet was his own blood, dripping from his wounds at what could be called a leisurely pace. The silver was... he wondered what the silver was.
And then he knew; he'd seen it once before, a long time ago. A time that seemed even longer ago than it truly was.
The silver was unicorn blood.
Again he was divided; part of him, by reflex, wanted to jump away from the blood, to wipe it off of him and leave it undisturbed, to be ashamed that his blood had polluted its surface.
But the rest of him...
Malfoy dropped his face to the blood, looked at it from only inches away. He opened his mouth...but no. It was wrong.
He could not drink his own blood as well, could he? At least he couldn't look at it. So he took his hand now and swirled the blood around
—a creature, greyish-purple, stabbing its long, sharp horns through the heart of a pure white beast with a single horn of its own, the unicorn fell to the earth and blood poured out from under it, the creature ran at the sight, feeling the slaughter of innocence, the guilt encompass its mind and heart, and it ran—
and the red was devoured by the silver in moments. Malfoy grinned, and dropped his face once more.
He drank of the blood, and he no longer felt the pain of his wounds. He drank of the blood, and his wounds themselves disappeared into his skin. He drank of the blood, and his eyes suddenly felt clearer, all three of them, and—
...what?
He had two eyes. Why had he thought he had three? Who had three eyes?
No one—a slip of the mind, that was all. A slip of the mind, and nothing more. Yes. That was it.
Malfoy stood now, after one more drink, and he felt the bliss of pureness rush through his veins. He could walk fine now, with no trouble, and he did so.
He walked, and walked, and walked, and he soon found himself at the edge of the forest. It had not taken as long as he had expected, or perhaps it only was less strenuous than it may have been.
He was at Hogwarts, now, from behind the oaf's hut. He paused to consider what to do next.
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
Granger. He would find Granger. She had done this to him, hadn't she?
Hadn't she?
Yes, of course she had. Iterius. Iterius. It was her, I remember. Iterius.
But where would he look for her?
Well, where does she live? That's where she'll be, yes? It's the summer now, it is, I know it—the castle's empty, I can see it. But where does she live?
He could find her. Surely there was a way.
He stayed well in the forest, keeping sight of the edge, and moved along the grounds towards Hogsmeade. He had to get off the grounds, so that he could Apparate. He would have to thank his father for teaching him early... actually, no; if he told his father anything, then Lucius would be angry that Malfoy'd been stupid enough to not Apparate while he was lost.
"Why didn't I?" said Malfoy to himself. "That was idiotic."
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
Crunch-crunch, went Malfoy's feet as he walked, though he was trying to be as quiet as possible. The inevitable sounds of the forest floor he could do nothing about, though he hoped no one would notice—no one was near, after all.
Crack!
Malfoy had Apparated from the edge of Hogsmeade, and he was thankful not to have splinched himself—he had done it without a specific location in mind. He'd just tried to go to 'Granger's house', so desperate was he without knowing why he was so desperate. He wouldn't be surprised if he had missed by miles.
He was now in the middle of a Muggle street, and he put his wand away quickly so as not to be noticed. Surely if he was to be given away, it would be his robes that did it, and not something he could have prevented.
He moved over to the sidewalk when a car came down the pavement, and walked at a steady pace, wondering how he would identify Granger's house.
As a large family came down the same side of the sidewalk as Malfoy, the latter moved over to the side, brushing up against the garden fence
—a family sitting round a Christmas tree, two little girls with blonde pigtails jumping on their parents' laps—the same family eating a turkey dinner, the girls both reaching for the same piece of bird—the mother and daughters gathered round a gravestone in a cemetery, the little girls on the ground crying with flowers in their hair, the grave is that of the father, who has been killed by mysterious terrorists wearing black robes and silver masks—
noticing that it wasn't only poor wizarding families that had too many children for their own good.
Hang on.
Malfoy stopped, looking blankly ahead but not really seeing anything. Had he just...? What had that been?
He backed up a step and touched the garden fence once again. In his mind flashed the image of the gravestone, once more accompanied by an explanation of the event.
And then it was gone.
How did I do that?
Malfoy did not know, but he knew that he had—and he knew how he was going to find Granger.
Walking along the street, Malfoy touched each garden fence carefully, watching each vision of what he somehow knew was the past and the future. Occasionally, he wondered what was happening to these families now, in the present—but then he realised he didn't care.
He passed deathly-ill children and unfaithful spouses, and everything in between, until he came to the last house on this side of the street—where the block turned to the right and continued along the next street.
Just as he reached for the garden fence of this last house, the house's door swung wide and Granger herself emerged. Malfoy hid himself quickly, for some reason, even though he had wanted to find her.
She wore a bag over her shoulder and dashed out to the end of the lawn, seeming extremely careful not to touch the end of the property. Malfoy realised that Dumbledore must have put a protective spell over the house.
"Where are they?" said Granger to herself, consulting her watch. "They're late."
Malfoy smirked.
Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening.
She let out a frustrated breath, before hurrying back inside the house. Malfoy didn't know what to do next; he had wanted to find Granger. But what was he going to do, now that he'd found her? Kidnap her?—that was the first thought that came to mind. But no—he couldn't do anything, if Dumbledore had put a charm on the place. And how would he go about kidnapping her, anyway?
Thinking, thinking, thinking, he thought, and then he'd thought of the perfect thing to do. Smirking slightly once again, he placed his hand on the garden fence. A flash came into his mind, as though he'd thought it himself, but also clearly foreign. He grinned fully as he saw it, and he spoke quietly, so that even if she were to come back out, Granger couldn't hear him:
"Be careful, Granger. You never know who's listening."
Malfoy had left the Muggle town much more confidently than he had arrived, for now he Apparated to Malfoy Manor, a point he knew very well.
"Draco!" said his mother now, as soon as he appeared—he was in his room, and his mother was sitting on his bed and overlooking the back garden. "You've returned!"
"Yes, Mother," he said.
"Your father has been so worried that you would not make it in time for the full moon—you've missed one already, you know, Draco, and you know how much of a trouble the Dark Lord finds it to initiate new members near the start of term... Everyone's rushing for school supplies, no one has time to do anything for him."
"Of course," said Malfoy. He'd forgotten that he was to become a Death Eater—he'd better not let the Dark Lord know that, though, or he wouldn't.
"Lucius!" called Narcissa now, out the bedroom door. "Lucius!"
A small House-elf appeared before her. "Master is busy right now, Mistress. He sends Snooks to tell Mistress to wait a minute."
"Tell Lucius that Draco's back!" said Narcissa, ignoring the elf's words.
"Yes, Mistress," said Snooks, looking fairly miserable at the news. Malfoy smirked.
In a moment the Elf had gone and reappeared.
"Master tells Snooks to take Master Draco to meet Master and Master's Master at once, Mistress."
"Go ahead," said Narcissa, and Malfoy followed the House-elf down the long corridors of the Manor, until they came to the Apothecary, where the resident brewer made all the potions the family might need, in addition to doing Malfoy's Potions homework.
The resident brewer was not in at the moment, but both Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort were. Malfoy bowed low to both of them, but much lower to the latter.
"Rise, Draco," said the Dark Lord. "You're late."
"I apologise, Master," Malfoy said. "I was cursed on the train."
"And it takes you a month to return to us? Tonight is the full moon, and the next is not until just before your new school term. You would not have been able to take the mark, Draco; it would have shown through even your school robes, as it will for the first week."
"Yes, I am sorry, Master."
"I am not your master yet, Draco," said the Dark Lord. "And sorry is not enough. Crucio!"
Malfoy braced himself for the pain, but it didn't come; it took a moment for him to realise that the Dark Lord had cursed his father and not himself.
"You have inconvenienced me," said the Dark Lord. "But I have something to show you."
Curious, Malfoy stepped forward. The Dark Lord led him to a cauldron in the back of the Apothecary, which was bubbling with potion.
Malfoy recognised it.
"Polyjuice?" said he, peering into the cauldron.
"Severus would be delighted that you recognised it," said the Dark Lord, smirking. "Yes. Polyjuice."
"Why are you showing this to me?"
The Dark Lord's voice turned to that of a little child, telling a secret to the closest of friends. "Because, Draco, you must be aware; there is some pretending to be done yet."
"Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep' – the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast, –"
Shakespeare
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