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Ch. 12: Day Five, Part Two: A Race Against Time
Large, rimmed tires screamed as the vehicle immediately executed a left turn to skid onto the street. Barely a beat had past before they were tearing down the road, swerving to pass other cars, and then on the sidewalk, barely dodging pedestrians. Still, they were lucky that Malfoy lived in an outlying neighborhood of London – if they had still been near the center, the sheer density of automobiles and people would have made even speeding virtually impossible.
The Lamborghini squealed down street after street at such a death defying and reckless speed that Harry hadn't even the time or wits to figure out where they were going. His eyelids were peeled back, his hand gripping the seat and door. Malfoy drove like he flew – full speed and on spontaneous reflex, and not an ounce of common sense. It was far more sickening for Harry as the passenger than it had ever been on his broom, as Malfoy's opponent.
Abruptly, he turned down a one way road cul-de-sac, gas peddle to the floor, flying over the curb (with a loud thud!) and onto a field. Harry heard a shot and suddenly saw through the front window a good number of cars accelerating through the dusty grass. . .
Malfoy had pushed the car to a nauseating speed, tearing a direct path towards the racers. Then his horn and his tires were screeching as the vehicle hit the dirt road, just behind the other cars. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Harry's grip on the seat and door had become so tight that his knuckles hurt.
"I can't believe those pricks started without me," Malfoy growled, like the asshole any sane fool knew him to be. Harry dared take his eyes off the road to glance at the driver. Malfoy was tense, teeth clenched, with a determined glint to his wild eyes: he was going to win or die trying, just like when they flew. Except that Malfoy was right – this was more frightening and more exhilarating than anything on a broom. It was terrifying, just knowing that there would be no magic around to save them in case of an accident, and that they were racing around in four ton metal death traps that wouldn't leave time for magical intervention anyway.
Out the front window, so much dust was being kicked up that Harry could barely even see the cars in front of them. Malfoy took the opportunity to say something, as if they weren't at the heart of a very dangerous situation. "Hey!" he said over the engine roar. "You wanna know the best thing about racing cars instead of brooms!"
"What!" Harry asked reflexively, too focused on the road in front of them to really participate in any verbal exchange.
"Inertia! You know, that 'objects in motion will remain in motion'! Brooms are charmed to dampen inertial effects, but that really throws me off! It's so unnatural. When you run there's inertia. And when you drive, inertia is half the experience. It's what lets you do this-"
Given the poor frontward visibility, Malfoy's words were all the warning Harry got before the massive mechanical monster lurched and swerved. Malfoy had punched the break, and violently wrenched the wheel to right, so that tires scraped along the ground and the body of the car swung out left. Harry barely had time to whimper before Malfoy floored the gas again and shot forward: this time, however, the dust had cleared considerably and only a handful of cars could be seen in front of them. A quick glance over his shoulder proved that they had left the rest of the cars (and the dust cloud) behind them at the bend. Harry thought he could make out what looked to be a pileup.
"Malfoy, you prick! You're gonna get us killed!"
Malfoy was grinning maniacally, looking every bit as crazy as he momentarily was. "Don't call me that, my name is Dragon! And I've never gotten anyone killed so far, but I guess it could always be time to start!"
"Whatever," Harry retorted, but his words got swallowed as Malfoy switched gears and released another burst of acceleration. By this point he had a pretty good view of the four cars ahead of them: two flashy sports cars, one modified junker, and in front. . . one real racing car! With a mini body and protruding tires and everything! Harry was impressed – he'd never seen a real one in person, and now he was racing one! Gradually, his anxiety was being replaced by his love of speed and excitement. Odds of death aside, this was actually pretty thrilling.
Just as they were nearing what looked to be a hairpin turn, the Lamborghini finally caught up with the lagging sports car, and Malfoy experimentally rammed its back fender.
"Dunno who this arsehole is. Must be a newbie," Malfoy muttered, barely audible over the engine whine. He inched his ride forward to nudge the other car again, this time more persistently, leaning on the left side of the bumper. For a long second the cars rumbled strangely in unison, before Malfoy shifted up to the highest gear (Harry was pretty sure that normal cars didn't have gears that went up to 7!). And then, with a nauseating lurch, the other car spun out violently to the left, executing a 540 degree (A/N: this is a full circle, plus a half circle) turn before coming to a shocked stop.
Harry found himself laughing in a mix of genuine excitement and borderline hysteria, while Dragon released a very un-Malfoyish cry of jubilation. "Haha! Eat dust, newbie!"
Harry was so caught up in the thrill of the encounter that he didn't realize that they were on the cusp of the hairpin turn, traveling at a kamikaze speed. Malfoy wrenched the steering wheel, sending them into their own gut-jerking spin that somehow, miraculously, landed them in the right direction to take off after their next target – the junker.
Malfoy wasted no time regaining their previous velocity; indeed, he managed to do so faster than their target, and in moment they were baring down on it.
Suddenly it appeared, inexplicably, as though the other car was moving to the left of road to let them pass.
"Get your head down," Malfoy gritted out as they pulled along side the other car. Harry obeyed in time to see the other driver point a medium-sized handgun out at him.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three bullets raddled off in quick succession and glass shattered all over Harry.
He knew he hadn't been hit, but there was still a long second in which he foresaw his death – the tragic passenger in a speeding car with a wounded driver.
Still, when his death did not prove immanent, he glanced over a Malfoy, who had now brandished his own big-barreled Desert Eagle AN: look up a pic of this baby online! and was aiming at the other racer over Harry's crouched back.
BANG!
The noise was deafening, then a scraping of wheels indicated that, even if the other driver hadn't actually been shot, he was at least careening off the road. Harry's head bolted back up to confirm this, before turning to Malfoy, wide-eyed in shock. Mugglized Malfoy he could handle, racing he could deal with, but guns? He felt just like he had the first time he had gone to Diagon ally when he was eleven – like he had just entered a whole new universe. One with firearms.
Malfoy didn't seem particularly surprised, though he was distinctly enraged. "Son of a bitch! That's the second time that bastard has tried to off me on the track! I'm gonna fucking kill him! Completely unacceptable behavior!"
Completely unacceptable behavior? Who said things like that in situations like this! Well, besides Malfoy obviously. . . Harry found himself again laughing somewhat hysterically. His whole life was simply surreal to the point of insanity. Did the world have no rules, no laws, whatsoever? If magic could exist, and gun-totting Malfoys, who was to say that anything was impossible?
"Well, I'm glad someone's having a good time," Malfoy grumped, bringing Harry at least partially back to his senses. Malfoy had already set his sites on the only car left in front of them – the blue, somewhat beat-up racecar. (The other sports car having fallen victim a shot tire.)
"Who does this arsehole think he is!" Malfoy demanded loudly (sounding a little crazed) over the engine roar. "Doesn't he bloody well know that racecars belong on a fucking RACETRACK!"
"Maybe he thinks the competition is easier 'round here!" Harry yelled back. Oh yes, there were bother off their rocker. . .
Malfoy scowled in outrage, flipping open a flap near the stick shift to reveal a big, ominous red button. "Hold on!"
Harry was already holding on with a life-or-death grip, but that didn't prevent him from trying to clutch harder. Malfoy punched the button, and Harry felt his body flatten against the seat as the car leapt forward at an incredible speed. Knowing little about cars (and nothing about nitro), Harry could only assume that Malfoy had preformed some form of magic on his ride to make it capable of such speed.
In the distance Harry could make out what appeared to be the end of the race, while the actual distance between the Lamborghini and the racecar was dwindling to nothing –
Shit! They were going to crash into the other car!
It happened so fast, it barely registered. They rammed into the racecar's protruding wheels at such a speed that they smashed off the blue tailfin and mounted the back of the car! The Lamborghini's front tires came in contact with the racecar's back tires, and the combined force of the spin sent them reeling through the air, over the top of the other car. . .
Those moments in the air were terrifying in a way that flying on a broom had never been. Harry's stomach plummeted, a petrified 'eep' escaping his lips. Malfoy himself could be faintly heard yelling panicked expletives. . .
And then they hit the ground with a sickening thud, just fractions of a second before the racecar inadvertently hit their fender – both cars swerved uncertainly before the other driver lost control and the racecar veered violently and unevenly off the road.
Harry didn't even have time to regain his wits before they peeled across the finish line in first place.
! BREAK !
Once they came to a stop, Harry bolted out, barely able to stand his legs were so shaky. A loud and rambunctious herd of people had suddenly mobbed the car, but luckily they seemed much more interested in Dragon Maloy than they did in Harry Potter. Well, except for this one redhead –
"Harry! That was excellent, mate! I didn't know muggles had it in them! The way you flew over that other car! Did you guys use, uh, well, you know?"
A couple passersby jostled Harry and he stumbled into Ron. "No. . . That particular incident was as much as a surprise to me as it was to. . . Dragon."
"I can't believe this guy, I bet we would have been great friends if he hadn't run away," Ron gushed. Harry could barely believe his ears, but Ron barreled on, "I wish I had been the one racing with him! But Kel's motor-circle was super cool! She drove here so fast, it was like being on the world's biggest broom!" Only then did Ron seem to notice the condition of the Lamborghini. "Merlin, what happened to the bloody windows?"
"You didn't see it?" Harry asked incredulously, his stomach knotting just at the thought.
Ron shook his head. "There's so many people, it was hard to see anything!"
"The bastard in the other car pulled a gun on us! Then Malfoy pulled a gun on him! It was like something out of a bad movie!" Harry looked over to where Malfoy had been less than thirty seconds earlier, but he had completely disappeared in the crowd. "Shit. Let's go track him down. I need to his help today."
! BREAK !
It was half past five by the time Harry and Ron managed to pry Malfoy away from his adoring fans and his wild friends to finally have a much needed private conversation. Malfoy had been most reluctant to leave the burgeoning festivities and now sat on his couch looking like he knew that whatever Harry Potter and Ron Weasley wanted from him, it wasn't going to pretty.
It could never be said that Draco Malfoy wasn't astute.
"So what is this all about?" Malfoy's gaze flitted between the two standing wizards, while Ron watched Harry with almost as much apprehension.
Harry chewed his lip for a moment: he'd had plenty of time to plan how to break the news to Dragon Maloy, and yet he found himself winging it, as always. "Have you ever heard of a potion called Anticipare ab Deducere?"
Malfoy frowned for a split second before an appalled and wary expression solidified on his features. "Yes, actually, I have," he asked, suddenly defensive and suspicious. "Why?"
"I need to brew it, and it has been suggested that you might know how."
Malfoy's sharp eyes narrowed even further. "Suggested by who, exactly?" Malfoy ground out, sounding every bit as dangerous as the Malfoy Harry had know for years.
"Severus Snape," Harry answered bluntly, with such candidness that he even impressed himself. He only hoped his gamble paid off. What if this Malfoy had never even known Snape?
"Oh," the studly blond stuttered, clearly surprised, and his suspicions seemed somewhat eased. "Well, he's right, I do know. But why didn't you just ask him?"
A credible lie popped into Harry's head unbidden. "First of all, he's a teacher, isn't he? He can't get involved to deeply into what are, regrettably, covert and somewhat illegal affairs. But he did point me in the right direction. And secondly, well, the situation is a little more complicated than just the Anticipare ab Deducere."
Malfoy blanched slightly – a feat that was only really possible because this Malfoy was substantially more tanned than any of the previous. "This is about the Quareo Tempus, isn't it?"
Harry nodded and Malfoy dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes and forehead. Finally, he looked back up, appearing tired and defeated in a way that was completely foreign to his Dragon Maloy alter ego. "So you want to know how to brew it?"
Harry nodded and Malfoy continued, "It's easy actually. There's this divination potion that you can buy at any apothecary – it's called Animadverto per Vicis. All you've got to do is add Ent Tree's blood, and you have the Anticipare ab Deducere."
Harry took reign of his emotions to prevent himself from shouting out in relief. He was so close now, he couldn't afford to blow it. He turned to Ron and beckoned him nearer. He reached into his pocket and was disappointed to find only a couple galleons and a few knuts.
His eyes locked with Ron's for a weighted exchange meant to convey the critical significance of what he was about to say. "I need you to do something for me. Here. Take this money and go to Diagon Ally. Buy a vial of Animadverto per Vicis."
Ron nodded, and Harry reached into his pants to pull out his invisibility cloak and handed it to his best friend. "I know this is a lot to ask, but it's more important than anything I have ever asked of you before. I also need you to go to Knockturn Ally and steel some Ent Tree's blood."
Ron squirmed unattractively, but his freckled expression held just as much determination as fear, and he managed a terse nod. "You can count on me, Harry."
Harry gasped his friend's arm reassuringly. "Thank you. . . Do you remember Malfoy's address?"
"Yeah," Ron assented uncertainly.
"Okay, then. I'll call you a cab, when he comes you can give the driver the muggle address for Diagon Ally and he'll take you there. To get back just wave down a cab on the street – there's a lot in that part of London – and give the driver this address, okay?"
Again, Ron nodded apprehensively, and Harry turned back to Malfoy.
"Malfoy-"
"That's not my name!" Malfoy exclaimed, obviously upset by the speedy spiraling of events.
"I'm sorry – Dragon. . . could you spot Ron twenty quid for cab fare?"
Malfoy's eyes twitched and his fists clenched, and Harry thought for sure he was going to refuse. . . but instead, he reached into his pants, retrieved his wallet, and fished out several bills. He held them out to Ron with such resignation that Harry recognized suddenly that Malfoy – Dragon, rather – was feeling much the way Harry had felt for the last few days: completely bowled over by outrageous and unwelcome (yet undeniable) twists of fate. As Harry knew only too well, there was nothing to do in situations like this except go with the flow and surf the waves of change; either that or drown.
"Could I use your phone?" he asked quietly, feeling a pain of sympathy. Malfoy nodded, gesturing to a wall-mounted telephone.
Ten minutes later, Ron was gone and Harry sat on the couch next to Malfoy, who had neither spoken nor moved. Harry studied him where he was sprawled, eyes closed and head facing the ceiling as it rested on the back of the couch. He was beautiful and sexy, he couldn't deny it, but Harry still didn't know what conclusions to draw from any of the Malfoys. The hate he had always felt was gone, certainly, and the anger too, but his affection was fickle and vacillating, and his understanding of the blonde's true personality was weak. He knew what the clearly dissimilar versions had had to endure and how they had reacted to their different situations, but he could sense that there was an underlying consistency of character that was just beyond his grasp. Even now he had no idea what the other teen was thinking.
After a weighty, but oddly comfortable silence, Malfoy was the first to speak. "So now what?" Malfoy finally asked, opening his eyes and looking over at Harry.
Harry shifted a little closer to Malfoy, figuring that that he would need a little softening up before Harry dropped the horrible bomb on him.
"Voldemort's back." Okay, so maybe it was less of a 'softening up' and more of a roundhouse punch to make the KO that much easier.
Malfoy had completely frozen for a beat; then, in an infinitesimal and fascinating transformation, his expression hardened ferociously.
"My father will be pleased," he hissed, baring several teeth in the process. Harry shivered: he could feel the vicious depth of Malfoy's emotions that were so clearly painted across his features, and it reminded him of Voldemort's irrational hatred and rage. Though Malfoy's sentiments probably sported a fair share of rationality and justification.
Harry nodded. "He was. He's in Azkaban now though."
"Good. He certainly belongs there," Malfoy spat, jumping to his feet to pace and light a fag. Harry could see the handgrip of Malfoy's Desert Eagle peaking out from the back of his pants. After a long drag Malfoy asked, "So how exactly do I fit into this foul situation?"
Harry considered his next words carefully. "It has been prophesized that I am to be the one destroy Voldemort. Well, either that or die trying. As you, can imagine, this is quite a responsibility-"
Malfoy snorted, and Harry abandoned his careful words as irritation flared at the flippant interruption. Then, as Harry continued, his irritation bloomed into a full blown venting of the pent up anger he harbored towards Malfoy for having gotten him into this situation.
"- A responsibility I was doing my best to fulfill before your cowardice screwed everything up. Now the wizarding and muggles worlds are at the mercy of a genocidal maniac, and there's nothing I can do because I'm stuck traveling through your insane alternate realities! All because you couldn't suck it up and deal! So your shit is bad Malfoy, well so's mine! But you don't see me running to some Quareo bloody Tempus potion! Do you!"
At the beginning of the tirade, Malfoy had listened with shock and trepidation; but as he pieced together what Harry was ranting about, his clever mind picked up on a serious flaw in the accusations of Boy-Who-Lived. "Hold up, just one second, Harry fucking Potter," Malfoy shot back with his anger. "Firstly – Quareo Tempus only takes the ingestor to alternate realities. Which means that, if you truly are skipping realities, that it is you who took the potion. Secondly – don't think that half a day in my company means that you know anything about me, or my so-called 'shit'! You know nothing about me!"
Malfoy's skin was flush with rage, and poison dripped from his words, but by this point both boys were feeding off each other's antagonism. "No, Malfoy! You made the potion! For yourself! I tried to stop you, but we both got soaked in it! Only it wasn't finished, so then we got sucked into this horrible nightmare instead! And you're wrong! I've known you for years! And I know a lot about you and your fucking shit! Your father is a monster! I know what he did to you! He hurt you and abused you and ra-"
Harry abruptly swallowed his words as he found himself staring down the bloated barrel of Malfoy's very intimidating handgun. "Don't. Finish. That. Sentence."
Anger was instantly replaced with a cold fear and Harry suddenly missed the days of fistfights and hexes. Somehow, an Avada Kadavra just didn't evoke the same primordial fear as a firearm – maybe it was just a result of being raised muggle.
After a moment he noticed Malfoy's arm shaking faintly and he cautiously inched his hands towards the Desert Eagle pointed at his head. Eyes locked with Malfoy's, he gently eased his arm down until the gun was pointed at the floor. He recognized the moment as a delicate one, and he tried to formulate delicate words. "I'm sorry, Mal- Dragon. I had no right to get mad at you, you have no memory of our history. And you're right, to an extent – I've known you for years, and I know more about you than either of us would like to admit, but I've never really known you. I can only imagine what it must be like to be you, what it must have taken to drive you to such desperation that you would ingest that potion. But. . . from what I've seen, I don't believe that you are a bad person. I even kinda. . . uh, you know, like you. That's why I've come to you directly, instead of trying to trick you or something. Because – Merlin, I hate to say this – I've gotta save motherfucking the day, and right now I can't do that without you. And I have reason to believe that you might be up for helping."
Harry was impressed with his own eloquence, and he could only hope that Malfoy was too. Indeed, during the course of Harry's speech, Malfoy's stance had gradually relaxed and his expression had become pondering. "I like you too, Potter, even though I just met you. It does kinda feel like I've known you forever. . . and, oddly enough, I. . . I trust you. Well, that's not true, but I believe you anyway. . . like there's a part of me that is skeptical that I'm living this life that I have right now. . . like there's too much at stake, and the pain is too fresh. . ."
Malfoy sighed wearily and sucked on his neglected cigarette with dying aggravation, trying to gather his wits for the next Act of their conversation. "So, let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to take the Anticipare ab Deducere so that I can return you, and me, to a timeline that I apparently I abhor. . . So that you can save everyone from the Dark Lord."
"That's right."
Malfoy turned away and walked to the window. Harry's words were too easy to believe: they felt true, despite their outrageousness. Malfoy's gut knew that he was. . . too content, too carefree. . . too foreign. This was not the life that had made him who he was. His memory claimed that he had had six years of independence in which to have gotten over his father's abuse, but his emotions and his body were too raw. Misery and desperation felt too familiar. Scheming and deceit were a second nature.
Of course, there was no moral ambiguity to the situation. Malfoy's mind whirled silently for over a minute, trying to find a hole in Harry's story and evaluating just what options were available to him. But it didn't take him too long to figure out that he didn't really have a choice. He could hardly deprive the wizarding world of its prophesized hero; he had stooped pretty low in his life, but leaving everyone to rot was. . . inconceivable.
Damn! It just seemed so unfair that Harry had interfered in the first place. If Malfoy's other self had been left to his own devices, he would have successfully executed the Quareo Tempus, leaving Harry Potter securely in his own timeline and transplanting himself safely to this realm, where he could be. . . happy.
Malfoy absently crossed his arms around his stomach and hugged himself. He spared a moment to bask in the warmth of what it felt like to be him, here, in this life. He could almost. . . love himself, and that felt heart-breakingly good.
With a final drag on his cigarette, he stabbed it out on the windowsill and turned back to where Potter was carefully observing him.
"Okay, Potter. I'll take us home if I can."
! END OF CHAPTER !
Thank you for reading. Please review. This chapter seemed to go on forever! I sincerely apologize for my severe case of long-windedness. I wrote myself into a corner and there was nothing to do except keep going on. Next chapter marks the beginning of the second half of my story, which will be told more from Draco's point of view. I'm very excited!
