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Ch. 13: Day Five, Part Three: Synthesis
The taxi dropped Ron off in front of a familiar boarded-up building, and the Gryffindor sighed in relief – he was pretty sure the cabbie had been odd even by muggle standards. He was much more comfortable now that he recognized something of his world, and he promptly entered the tavern. No one paid him any mind as he crossed through to the stoned walled enclave, where he struggled to remember for a second before tapping his wand against a sequence of bricks and. . .
The gateway opened up to reveal a bustling Diagon Alley. Ron grinned and set out through the Saturday night crowds, making sure to avoid anyone who might know him around the twins' shop. Going to the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary was a small matter, though he was relieved so late – but then again, some stores were simply such that best sales could be made during the later hours.
In the shop, his nose was foully assaulted, while his eyes perused past fangs and claws to the a corner where mushrooms hang from the shelf pillars, obscuring earthy potions. He smiled at the wrinkled witch behind a shabby counter, who only glared at him warily. Her disapproving expression turned to one of appraising, detached pity when she saw what Ron brought up the up to her desk. She accepted his money, but she rasped a warning, "Don't take it unless you can truly accept yourself, kid. That can open your eyes, but if you're not ready: it can break you."
Ron swallowed loudly and nodded, before fleeing the reeking confinement.
Now that the easy part had been accomplished, Ron felt his pulse pick up excitedly. Harry hadn't explained all the details, but it felt good to be out doing adventure, and it was an ego-boost to be doing it alone. He was nervous, but relatively confident. He could do this. . . right? He and Harry were going to fix time. Whatever that meant. What exactly was wrong with the timeline? What were they going to end up changing?
Ron found the questions a little disconcerting, but he didn't give it too much thought. Harry was always getting mixed up in matters much bigger than himself, and often all Ron could handle was his portion of such affairs. Besides, Ron trusted Harry. And that is why he descended into a cellar to don Harry's invisibility cloak. There was Gringotts, and Knockturn Alley was just around the corner.
He cautiously turned onto the foggy, humming street, sounds of activity betraying the presence of life hidden in the artificially bright steam and artificially dark shadows. Ron hugged the cloak tight to his body, took a measured breath, then hurried in. And, Merlin! The things he saw: a couple old wizards playing chess on rickety folding chairs, a trio of drunks, a man with a whorish witch under his arm, pan-handling bums of course, and dodgy wizards with drugs and potions and who knows what. Soon he caught sight of a dim light coming from the window of Borgin and Burkes. This was it.
!BREAK!
Ron didn't return until well after nine, by which point both Draco and Harry were beginning to suspect that he would not be coming back at all. Potter grinned in relief and hugged his friend, who looked eminently pleased with himself (if a little shell-shocked).
"Did you get it?" Potter asked when their manliness began to feel threatened by the length of their embrace. Dragon sat morosely on the couch watching their exchange.
"I sure did," Ron gushed smugly, retrieving one small vial and one tiny vial from his robes. "I had to wait until someone enter Borgin & Burkess, and slip in with them. It was fantastic! I tiptoed around and looked for it, and I was almost beginning to panic 'cause I couldn't find the bloody Blood! But then I managed to maneuver into a storage room, but just as I closed the door behind me, I almost got scalped by this flying sword! There was nobody there, but this thing was cursed to all-hell! It took several swipes at me before I was able to petrify it! As it turned out, this huge and terrifying battle sword was so big and unwieldy that it was too slow for me. Those D.A. practices really paid off. . ."
Potter smiled at his friend's rant with genuine interest, but mild impatience, and was relieved when his tale finally came to an end," . . . Merlin, it was so loud I thought I'd be caught out! But I managed somehow. I swear, getting the trixit – uh – traxi back here was the hardest part, until I figured out that all you have to do is wave your hand and one magically appears. It's pretty clever."
Dragon rolled his eyes, more out of a general sense of aggravation than any genuine irritation towards the Weasely. His nerves were on edge and he was frightened; whatever had driven him to change time must have been unimaginably horrendous if he had managed to survive so many agonizing years without resorting to such extremes. That he couldn't remember a past that felt real made it all the more ominous. But it didn't matter, he kept telling himself: however unbearable his true life, it would have to be borne, for now there was so much more at stake than just him.
His mind shied away from thinking of his guest as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. When he had first met the endearing Gryffindor, he had sensed an inexplicable connection, as if their personalities and souls fit, and it had felt fun and wonderful – not just to experience such a connection, but to do so with the great Harry Potter. But it had become apparent that, if they could indeed by friends, it was only because they were polar opposites in so many ways: Potter was determined and brave, and destined for great things; while Dragon Maloy was nothing more than a weak and cowardly attempt to escape the inexorable fact that he was Draco Malfoy, who had been unsuccessful even at that transformation.
Dragon rubbed his fuzzy scalp for a moment taking his failure hard, before his irritation at his two guests forced him into action. Ron and Harry were discussing the two vials, comparing them, holding them up to the light, eyeballing them. . .
"Christ!" Dragon blurted, jumping up and striding towards the Hogwarts students. He grabbed the two vials out their hands, uncorked them, and did a quick mental calculation based on the quantity in each. Then he poured half of the Ent Tree's blood into the larger vial.
"Uh, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ron asked uncertainly, and Dragon looked up to see that Harry's nervous expression.
"I think it's a little late for doubting me," he sneered, a familiar nastiness surfacing under strain, before beginning to vigorously shake the bottle. But the provocative behavior didn't infuriate Harry the way it used to, as he was newly able to read the behavior for what it was – a defense mechanism born of fear.
"Draco. Dragon, whatever. I just. . . I just want you to know that you have my help with . . . what is to come. I'm going to make sure we both get out of this whole mess." Potter's words were earnest, and Harry had always been oddly charismatic, but Dragon was not the trusting sort. He was pretty certain that Harry fucking Potter was about to ruin his whole life in one day.
Then Wealey and Potter watched motionlessly as Dragon lifted the vial, its once blue contents now indigo with the addition of the red Ent tree's blood. He sniffed it warily just once before throwing his head back and shooting it down in two swigs.
It tasted like grape liquorish. . .
Feeling odd and a little dizzy, Dragon opened his eyes and blinked at the two wizards in his living room. Were they looking at him strangely? He glanced down at himself – he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. When he looked back up at them, they seemed a little blurry. . . Actually, their bodies seemed to be rippling. . .
"Oh, it's going to be one of those kinda trips," he rasped, this throat constricting in fear.
And that was all the sound he made before a bright flash engulfed him, disappearing instantly and leaving an unconscious body to fall limply to the ground.
! BREAK !
He dreamt he was leaving down the stairs of Hogwarts, briskly, as if holding check the desire to run. (Except that he had never been to Hogwarts , he wasn't supposed to know what the great castle looked like.) He walked down a hill, past Hagrid's hut, into a dark forest. The trees oozed hostility, and the blackness echoed the noises of evil creatures. He was going to send word to the Devil – to the monster that haunted Dragon's dreams.
Suddenly a serpent man was before him, with a glare that seared his mind's eye. . . Rows of robed followers stood at attention, his father among them, watching him with Voldemort. . .
Then a bright light forced him to the floor, withering in agony, before Dragon suddenly woke up screaming.
He bolted up and struggled to his feet, except that neither vision nor balance was stable; and when he stumbled and fell again, arms reached out and grabbed him.
From his knees he looked up and saw double – not a x2 double, but like two slides placed on top of each other and held up to the light. The singular image of two young men triggered two tangential sets of memories, but he found himself unable to visualize either of them for fear of being engulfed by one or other. Panic made in hard to think at all, though this lessened at finally making out the looks of concern on the faces. Still, he had to push back the threatening overload and concentrate on the transaction at hand.
The two young men helped him back onto the couch, then he asked suspiciously, "Who are you?"
The tall, freckled redhead spoke up, "I'm is Ron Weasley, and this is Harry Potter."
Only on hearing these names did both worlds snap back into focus and exist together – if only in Draco's mind. It was hard not reel at the staggering revelation, but a instincts kicked in immediately.
The Weasel. And Harry Potter.
A familiar fit of hate, fear, and jealousy rose up from his gut, and the duo stepped away at the angry expression contorting Draco's normally regal features. A dissimilar, but equally familiar reflex had him grabbing for his Desert Eagle – only to find no gun holstered in the back of his pants.
"Yeah, I thought it might be a good idea to relieve you of this while you were out," Potter explained calmly, removing the gun from the waistband of his own pants. All three teens stared at it intently for a beat, before Potter figured out how to eject the bullet cartridge and it clattered to the floor.
"You!" Draco yelled, jumping to his feet and jabbed a finger at Potter. "You interrupted the potion! You're the reason I have to go back there – to that nightmare! You- you knew! Before I took this just now, you knew what you were sending me back to! I can't go back there! I'm going to die! Everyone I care about is going to die!"
Draco was shaking and sweating, and his delirious mind veered away from the pain. Confusion flared up again, shifting attention to . . . Kel. Rob, Pablo. Cars, racing. Life, freedom.
"No, no, nonono," he mumbled, palms pressing painfully into his eyelids, shaking and shaking his head. "That world is dead. This is the one that is real. I've escaped all that, years ago, I ran away. I left that sick bastard, that whole fucking haunted-house world! It was the hardest thing I ever did, and the best. You can't take that away from me, you can't make me go back to- to. . . that."
A soft touch on his shoulder sent a pulse of fear and excitement down his spine, and he reluctantly glanced up into sea green eyes. Then, for just a second, he could understand how so many people could give up reason to place their faith and future with this boy-man; but he blinked away even as Harry Potter spoke, "Look, I know you don't believe me, but I want to help you too. I need to get back, no one else can stop Voldmort. And I need you to get me back, obviously, but I'll help you if I can. When we get back, I mean, I'll help you as much as I can."
Dragon didn't want to hear platitudes; he didn't want to be believe in Potter; it just hurt too much. Pride and anger reared up, if only to save himself from an unquantifiable pit of despair. Quickly, he moved away from the two wizards that were watching him as if the fate of the world rested on his shoulders (which it sort of did) and returned to the window he had stood at just a couple of hours ago. . . It felt like days ago. He was no longer the same person, clearly, but part of him didn't even to know who he had been. He felt torn between two personalities that had diverged so long ago that they were irreconcilable – except for where they weren't.
Long, tense minutes were spent staring out the window at the weak, constant rain that pelted the gray city. For as long as he had lived in that flat, the view had calmed him, and even now he felt his warring selves retreat as a consensus gradually overwhelmed him: through the pain, the fear, the anger: he had no choice. He could not forsake the world to Voldmort, not in any realm, especially not in one that part of him still felt was his. No part of his conscious truly supported his deep, selfish desire to stay here, where he had made a good life for himself and was happy.
The pain was exquisite. It was not like torture of the mind or body or soul, which is brutal and overwhelming; it was like an orgasm so close it hurt. How could he have come so close to saving himself, only to fail? How could he not have this better life, now that a bit of him had already lived it? Neither Dragon nor Draco had cried real tears in years, yet the pain was so bottomless and complete that a burning lump swelled in his throat, making it hard to breathe, and hot salty water pooled in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, then bit his lip and dug his nails into his palms in an attempt to fortify himself. The bitter sarcastic voice of his mind commented, once more unto the breach, dear friends.
He turned, steely-eyed, towards Weasley and Potter. Weasley had sat down on the couch, rubbing his eyes and obviously fighting off an intense fatigue, while Potter had taken to leaning tensely against a wall, vigilantly scrutinizing the blonde. What had recently seemed rather impressive to Dragon now just inflamed a restrained hostility that quickly made his apartment unbearably claustrophobic.
This was all bloody Potter's fault.
Drag glanced down at his watch – half past ten. "Okay, Potter, you win. . . again, as always," he gritted out resentfully, before heading towards the door. "I'll do as you have forced me to, just don't expect miracles overnight."
Weasley stood, and Potter strode towards him, wariness etched clearly in expression. "What do you mean?"
Dragon turned the knob and opened the door as he glanced over his should. Merlin, didn't these fools know anything about the Quareo Tempus? One would have thought they'd do better research on something this critical. Dragon rolled his eyes, "You total, utter imbecile. The Quareo Tempus creates alternate timelines that exist aside each other. To get from this one to the original, I – or we rather – have to travel back through all the ones in between."
There was some small satisfaction in seeing Potter's face noticeably sicken, though he scrambled to find his voice as Dragon stepped out the door. "Where are you going?"
Already stomping down the stairs, Malfoy called out, "I'm not going to spend my last night with a pleasurable life cooped up with you lot. I'll see you tomorrow."
And that was the last either Weasley or Potter saw of Dragon Malloy.
! BREAK !
Dragon tried to call Kel, but he only got her voice message – wherever she was, it was probably too loud to hear her phone. The loneliness intensified, and he had to remind himself that it was inevitable; that tomorrow all his friends would be gone, whether or not he said good-bye. So instead of searching the city for Kel and Rob and the gang, he reminisced gently as he forlornly strolled the streets of London. He walked for over an hour before finding himself in front of his garage, where the fondness for his Lamb drove him to enter and climb into his ride. Once settled in the driver's seat, and the door closed, he leaned his head back and just let the bottled fatigue and despondency seep through him. He fell asleep with a doleful pout and heavy eyelids.
! END CHAPTER!
Sorry it took so long guys. I have not abandoned this story, life just got out of control. First my mom and brother came to visit, then my father came to visit, then I went on a road trip. Between that, partying, and starting school again, there really isn't any time to myself. But things are settling down now, and I will give more of my time to finishing this. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW.
