A/N: Happy Sunday Potter people! Here's a new chapter, and like I've done in the past, I'm going to do my very best to update on Sundays. I also wanted to add something I've always thought, but never put into words. Draco, although still underage, uses magic because the Trace can't tell if it's him or his parents using it. And besides, who would dare trouble Lucius Malfoy over something like that? Figured I'd address it in case anyone was curious!
This chapter goes out to my guest reviewer; I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story and promise Astoria's role will only get bigger!
xXx
Draco awoke abruptly, although he couldn't place why. He had the distinct sense he'd been dreaming about something; good or bad, he couldn't say. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he cast a glance out the window and noticed the sun was just beginning to rise. That's what I get for falling asleep so early. He rolled over, away from the early morning light of his window, and allowed his mind to wander.Thinking back to last night, Draco remembered the mundane events of the dinner. Astoria's company at dinner hadn't been…unpleasant. It was nice to converse with someone his age who held no preconceived notions about him. Or, he thought shrewdly, is observant enough to judge people off what she sees instead of what she's been told. Draco felt his eyes roll in his head. That's Ravenclaw foolishness if I've ever heard it. Staring contemplatively at the ceiling, he continued to run over the details of last night's dinner. Truly, matters had been going rather well until his father had intervened and…
Draco sat bolt upright, the color draining from his face, as a nasty shiver ran down his spine. Skyler.
Before he could think through the consequences, in what his calm self would deem an alarmingly Gryffindor burst of impulsivity, Draco had changed and charged out of his bedroom. Eyes wide, he paused to listen, ensuring the other occupants of Malfoy Manor were nowhere around. Draco practically sighed in relief as his ears were greeted by nothing but the sound of his own quick breathing. Being slightly more cautious now that he had left the relative safety of his room, Draco took careful steps through the hallway, down the stairs, and to the door leading to some of his worst memories. He paused, hand hovering inches away from the handle, before steeling his nerve and turning the knob. It gave way effortlessly; which Draco couldn't say he was thrilled about. He shook his head slightly, irritated by his swirling emotions, and quickly descended before he lost his nerve. The sight that greeted him wasn't pretty.
Before he could even put much thought into his surroundings, the smell of blood hit him so forcefully that he actually took a step backwards. The acrid scent hung so thick in the small room that Draco felt he could have reached out and touched it if he felt so inclined. The smell of blood was quickly followed by sweat, which was quickly followed by yet another stench that knocked him back a step: vomit.
Despite every inch of his body telling him to flee, Draco couldn't. This is all my fault, a small voice inside him stated. This must have been what he occupied himself with yesterday while I was too busy to be his punching bag. Deciding his self-pity would have to wait, he inched toward Skyler, trying to keep his stomach from losing the contents of last night's dinner. She was unconscious, blood matted in her hair and a look of terror on her pale, thin face. Draco took all of this in with a blank expression. He reverted to his oldest and most successful coping mechanism: stick to the facts. She has a head wound. And judging by her cracked lips, probable dehydration, although not the most pressing issue. Wait a minute…is she breathing? As if trying to give her the air from his lungs, Draco held his breath as he watched the girl's thin frame, silently urging it to move. After a few long seconds, her chest moved shallowly. Not great, but enough to sustain her. At that very moment, Draco witnessed her hand twitch. The after-effects of being held under the Cruciatus curse for too long, he thought automatically. He had seen it enough times in his own hands to recognize it in someone else's. That thought threatened to bring up a torrent of unpleasant memories, and Draco willed himself once again to stick to the facts. The head wound concerned him more than anything else. He crouched down so that he could see her head more clearly. He gingerly touched her head, feeling for the site of lesion more than seeing. Skyler didn't react in the slightest, another cause for concern, but Draco selfishly appreciated it at the moment. He didn't think he could face her. He winced slightly as he felt the open wound on the back of the girl's head. Probably hit her head while under the Cruciatus curse, he thought, detached from any emotion that could complicate matters. Suddenly realizing he needed a sealant balm, as stitching up the injury would prove Draco's interference, Draco reluctantly called upon Tiki.
Tiki popped into view, nervously wringing her hands and eyeing the girl with concern, but not surprise. So, she's already been down here, Draco mused. I wonder what role my father made her play.
"Sir?" Tiki questioned uneasily. "Is youse needing something from Tiki?"
The house elf's small voice shook him out of his dark thoughts. "Yes, Tiki, bring me some sealant balm from my stash." After a pause, he added, "and be discreet".
Tiki nodded and disappeared, leaving Draco alone with Skyler. He did his best not to linger on her face, knowing that he needed to heal her head quickly and get out and that letting his emotions cloud his mind would not speed the process along. He briefly considered the possibility that Lucius had taught him one useful thing: how to completely separate himself from his emotions when needed.
Tiki reappeared, jar in hand, along with some rags and a bucket of water.
Draco nodded his thanks, took the items from Tiki's outstretched hands, and turned his attention back toward Skyler. He felt Tiki's nervous energy behind him, hesitating, and so he uttered a quick "you can go now" in the coldest voice he could muster, hoping his tone would be enough to send the elf away. She hesitated a second longer, and then he heard a soft pop behind him. He didn't enjoy intimidating the elf, but he didn't have time to spare on something as trivial as her feelings.
He set to work, cleaning the wound as best he could and applying the thick paste to the sizable wound. The balm took effect quickly, and he could see the skin forming a thin scab. Thinking he could do nothing more to help the girl, he deposited the jar of balm into his pocket and spelled the dirty rags away. He turned to go, steps away from the staircase, when the rustling of chains behind him made him flinch. Shit.
Sure enough, he turned around to see foggy, blue eyes staring at him. At a loss of what to say, fatigued by holding his emotions captive, Draco found he could do nothing but stare back. They stared each other down for almost a minute, neither saying a word, before the girl pushed herself stiffly into a sitting position and mumbled something. Draco continued to stare, unblinking, not sure if she had been attempting to communicate or merely feeling the extent of her injuries.
"I said," she repeated in a hoarse, croaky voice, "Merry Christmas."
Draco's eyebrows shot up. He had been expecting an insult, or a plea, but not…a holiday greeting.
Too stunned to think up a clever response, Draco merely said "Christmas was days ago."
"Ah, yes," the girl retorted, examining her surroundings theatrically, "it seems your father has forgotten to fit my room with a calendar."
Draco felt incredulity sweep over him for a second time. Can this girl say anything without sarcasm? He bemusedly thought to himself that he'd like to see what she was like when she wasn't chained to a wall in a madman's house.
"I'm afraid I can't stay long," Draco drawled, choosing to ignore her sarcasm, "but I could grab you some water."
Skyler eyed him shrewdly. She opened her mouth to speak again, apparently thought better of it, and shut her mouth with a snap. Then, to Draco's surprise, she simply nodded her assent.
"Right…" Draco wasn't eager to subject Tiki to a conscious Skyler but seeing as he couldn't very well summon water to fly from the kitchen to his outstretched hand, he figured it the safest option.
"Tiki," he called out yet again. Tiki appeared quickly, and her large eyes widened even more when she noticed Skyler was awake.
"The whereabouts of my parents, if you don't mind" Draco drawled, Skyler watching him impassively.
"Mistress Malfoy left moments ago to visit a friend," Tiki supplied dutifully, "and Master Malfoy has been gone for hours, summoned before the sun came up".
"Summoned," Draco thought aloud, "but who would have—"
Draco's voice died in his throat. Voldemort. Tiki nodded nervously, knowing he had figured it out. Skyler was watching the two intently, confusion apparent on her face.
"Well," Draco said quickly, an edge to his voice that hadn't been there moments before, "bring two breakfasts, a black coffee, and a water bottle down here, Tiki."
The elf nodded and moved to snap her fingers when Draco hastily added "and tell me the second my parents arrive home."
"Yes, little master!" Tiki said earnestly, and with a snap of her fingers, she was gone. This left Skyler nothing to distract herself with except for Draco.
Draco resolutely ignored the small witch for a moment and closed his eyes. He willed the barriers he had in place to relax as he felt some emotion reenter his thoughts. It wasn't worth draining his energy to keep up pretenses around a mudblood. Draco winced at the term he labeled her with but opened his eyes to see Skyler staring at him. She made no effort to hide it, continuing even after Draco had opened his eyes.
"What?" he finally snapped, her intense gaze making him inexplicably angry. That was the problem with attempting to smother one's emotions, he thought dully. They can just as quickly smother you. Taking a deep breath, and refusing to let the small girl get to him, he switched tactics: "What could you possibly find so interesting on my face?"
She smirked and replied, "nice Christmas present from your father?"
Draco didn't understand and did not like the feeling one bit. Perplexed, he merely raised a signature eyebrow, hoping it would give her the answer she was after.
She shook her head slightly, a look of exasperation on her face. "You don't even know, do you?"
Draco was spared answering by Tiki's reappearance. She had brought the requested items, balancing them on a silver tray, and set the tray down in front of Draco. "Is youse needing anything else from Tiki, little master?"
"That will do," Draco replied, immediately busying himself with bringing one plate and the water to Skyler. Tiki popped away.
"Thank you," she said, although it seemed more like an automatic response to being handed something than a genuine sentiment. Draco studied her face, and by her look of disgust at thanking her captor for something, he knew he had been right.
They ate in silence; both teens had more than enough to think about to keep themselves occupied. Draco sipped at his coffee pensively. Father's off to see Voldemort. I wonder if it's a meeting or…an event. He knew event wasn't the right word to describe his father's torturous actions under the command of a certain Lord, but he couldn't think of another way to put it. At least his summoning could last hours…or even days. However long it lasts, he will either be elated or enraged when he returns. Unfortunately, he thought with a shudder, I will be on the receiving end of either reaction. He sipped his coffee rather quickly after that, choosing to focus on the heat and the bitter taste over the thoughts of Voldemort that suddenly plagued his mind.
The water and hot breakfast had filled Skyler with courage, apparently, because she picked up their prior conversation as if there had been no interruption. "Your face. Why don't you just heal it?"
Draco brought his hand to his face with a start. Sure enough, he could feel the discolored skin, slightly swollen under his own hand. Two thin bands hurt more than the rest, and Draco realized the worsened bruising was from the rings his father wore.
"You are a wizard, are you not?"
"And you a witch. Yet here we both are, me with all the power and you chained to the wall like a dog."
Skyler recoiled at his harsh tone but seemed to recognize Draco's increase in animosity as a sign she'd struck a nerve. She merely gave him that same, superior smirk, and Draco felt a strong urge to wipe it off her face.
He haphazardly slipped his wand out of his pocket and began to twirl it between his fingers. The movement may have looked casual, but Draco knew by the widening of Skyler's eyes that she saw it for the threat it was.
"Next time," he hissed quietly, aware he had her full attention, "next time you find yourself unconscious in my home, because of my father, I'm going to take my wand and make you wish he'd finished the job. And don't worry, mudblood," he said, almost like an afterthought, "because there will. Be. A next time."
He punctuated each of his last few words word with a menacing step toward her. Skyler was no longer smiling; the little color she'd regained from eating had entirely drained from her face. Although Draco wanted to feel satisfaction, all he felt inside was empty. Deciding immediately he needed to get out of the dungeon for both their sakes, he disposed of the plates with a wave of his wand and stalked out of the dungeon without looking back.
Draco stormed all the way back to his room. Even though he had the house to himself, he felt most comfortable here or brewing, and he knew he didn't have the required focus to brew anything successfully at that moment. He opened his door with renewed anger and slammed it behind him once he'd entered. Why do I even bother trying to help her when she can't even show the tiniest bit of appreciation or gratitude? A smaller voice in his head, one he didn't like to listen to very much, told him that Skyler was acting this way because she was a scared and imprisoned child. Draco chose to ignore this voice because it did nothing to help his mood.
He entered his bathroom and sighed at the sight of his face. He had been in too much of a rush when he first woke up and had completely missed the purple handprint on his cheek. Irritably, he grabbed some of his medical supplies from the cabinet and began to methodically rub bruise balm on the spot. When he was satisfied it had healed properly, he put everything away and went to flop himself onto his bed dramatically.
As he stared at the ceiling, feeling rather sorry for himself, he became aware of a faint humming noise. Intrigued, he picked his head up slightly and listened. There was definitely a faint, constant humming noise, but where was it coming from? Draco sat up fully and briefly wondered if a songbird had gotten trapped in his trunk. He investigated his closet and his trunk, but still the noise continued, barely loud enough to hear unless one was listening for it. He sat back down on his bed to think when he realized that coming back to his bed had increased the volume of the noise. He cast an exasperated look around when his eyes landed on his nightstand. Could it be?
Draco leaned open and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand. Sure enough, the volume increased, and Draco peered curiously inside. To his astonishment, the source of the humming was the small notebook he had taken from Astoria. Curiosity piqued, and his bad mood forgotten, Draco reached out slowly and picked up the journal. He opened it, a little excited, to find that a second line of words had been added to the page. His message from the night before was untouched, but it was now followed by three simple words:
What's the password?
Draco stared. He knew it was not possible that anyone had written in his copy of this seemingly charmed journal, as the drawer was charmed to only open at his touch. And yet, a new message had appeared, and he knew it wasn't his own hand that had written it. Upon establishing in his mind that he was, in fact, writing to a second entity, Draco considered the actual contents of the message. What's the password, he thought incredulously, how should I know? Draco briefly considered writing exactly that but knew this was a game of intellect and he was not one to give in easily. Excitedly, he grabbed a quill from the drawer and wrote back You tell me.
Satisfied, he smirked to himself, placing the journal by his side as he mulled this latest development over. As he had Astoria's copy, whose was he writing to? He tried to conjure up who her friends were but fell totally blank. Truth be told, he hadn't given the girl much thought before that fateful night at the Christmas Gala. He was about to start running through all the third-year's he knew, which wasn't many, when the journal began to hum again. Draco shot up, not expecting an answer so quickly, and watched in amazement as new words began to appear on the page.
Two of the statements below are false.
The password is contained within this sentence.
The password is not in this statement.
The correct password is only in one of these statements.
At least one of the above statements is a lie.
Draco watched, unabashedly intrigued, as the message finished writing itself. A riddle, he thought bemusedly, how quaint. The author, however, was not done writing. One more line presented itself, a line that instantly gave away who he was talking to.
You tell me, Draco.
He a smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long time. So, baby Greengrass wants to play with me? His smile was quickly turning into a devious smirk, his brain spinning into high gear as he reread the riddle. So be it. Draco was determined to prove that no Ravenclaw could out-wit him. And Draco Malfoy was never one to shy away from a challenge.