DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Twenty-Six - Summoning Dragons
Draco ran his hands slowly down the front of the black robe he wore, absently straightening the folds and brushing away imaginary wrinkles. He stood before the mirror in his bathroom glaring angrily at the reflection cast upon it. His features were pinched with distaste, blue eyes narrowed. Sniffing, he picked up the white mask resting upon the marble vanity and held it in front of his face. The mask did nothing to hide the fire burning in his pale orbs, nor did it conceal the revulsion and revolt that he felt at being forced to darn the Death Eater garb. Sneering at his image, he swung around and stalked from the room.
He halted just within his bedroom, hands fisting at the sight of his father perched elegantly upon his bed, ankles casually crossed. Resuming his course, Draco strode to his desk and seated himself gracefully. Swivelling in the chair, he observed his father while sliding his right foot into a black boot. "What are you doing in my room?" He asked finally, running the zipper up the inside of his leg. Patiently waiting for the older blond to respond, he grabbed the other boot and dragged it slowly on.
Lucius sighed heavily, slumping for a moment before shaking his head and straightening his spine. "Tonight, Draco, will either guarantee our survival or be the cause of our deaths. Unfortunately, all this rests upon your ability to play the Dragon's Maw. Neither I nor Severus will be able to cover for you; the Dark Lord will be riveted completely on you and the flute." Lifting a slender hand, the blond combed long fingers through his mass of hair. "Voldemort is fully expecting that the Mage Dragons will arrive shortly after you have called them. I need to ask you, my son, if you think the dragons will come."
Rolling his eyes, Draco rose and stretched fluidly. He turned away from his father and dragged open the top drawer of the desk, pawing noisily through its contents. His fingers snagged the silver chain he'd carefully placed there earlier, pulling it free of the clutter and debris. Spinning around on his heels, he held the necklace up and watched as the charm hanging from it swung back and forth. "Do you know what this is?" He demanded softly, stilling the dangling golden ring with a gentle touch. The flying dragon engraved on the metal winked at him, the emerald twinkling with promise.
"Please answer the question, Draco." Lucius said, leaning forward and squinting to better see the object his son was fondling. Frowning, he shook his head and stood, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. His hand reached out to capture the chain but he found himself clutching only air as the younger blond took a graceful step backward.
"I'll answer your question when you answer mine," Draco responded. Taking a few steps farther away from his father, he slipped the necklace over his head and cupped the ring resting above his heart. He ignored the huff of annoyance Lucius issued, turning his attention to the silver flute sitting forlornly on the small table next to the bed. Moving closer, he perched himself on the dark duvet and tucked his feet beneath the bed. His fingers fell away from the ring in favour of the instrument's shining keys, playing lightly over the rough dragonheads.
"We don't have time for these games," Lucius bit out. Whirling around, he stalked the length of the room, dark robes floating eerily in his wake. He gritted his teeth when Draco remained silent and turned to face him, flexing his fingers in agitation. When his son arched an eyebrow and glanced at the clock, he snarled softly and tangled his fingers in his hair. "I'd hazard a guess and assume it was some expensive trinket you felt the need to purchase but by the way you're handling it I'd say it's a little more than that."
"How observative of you," Draco commented, flicking his gaze to the wizard standing across the room. Shaking his head slightly in amusement, he picked the silver flute up and held it lovingly, thumbs brushing absently over the smooth metal. "Reginald Malfoy married Raveana Draconis; the ring I carry belonged to him. Even if I didn't already hold her flute, the ring would probably guarantee me some power over the dragons. However, the holder of the flute will not command the Mage Dragons; they have already chosen their leader. And to answer your question, the Mage Dragons will come to the call of the Dragon's Maw, their ability to hear the summons across great distances has already been proven."
"Voldemort will be greatly displeased if the dragons refuse to listen to him," Lucius stated.
Draco gave a sharp laugh and wagged his head as he began to disassemble the flute. He placed each piece gently on the night table, fingers and eyes searching for scratches or wear on the instrument. "He'll just have to take that up with Harry than, won't he?"
"What does Harry Potter have to do with any of this?" Lucius demanded angrily, storming toward his son. He halted a few paces away from the smaller blond, annoyed by the amused glint in Draco's eyes. Narrowing his eyes in warning, he planted his hands on his hips and waited for the younger blond to reply.
Draco stood fluidly and picked up the first part of the Dragon's Maw, sliding the delicate section of crafted silver into his pocket. "Surely you've put the pieces together by now, father." He murmured, lifting the second section of flute from the table and placing it carefully into a different pocket. Tipping his head, he peered at the taller blond with a smug smile. "Harry Potter is the only surviving heir of Raveana Draconis, formerly a member of the prestigious Potters. Don't tell me you didn't know."
Lucius stared at his son in slack-jawed fascination. "Draconis was a Potter?" He questioned softly, unable to get his brain completely around the little tidbit of information. His mind raced, trying to put the pieces together and failing miserably.
Draco glanced at the clock before nodding slowly. "The Mage Dragons will come when I call them, but they'll follow only Harry. No matter how well I might be able to play the Dragon's Maw, the Mage Dragons will always look to Harry for their orders. In him, they see her." Gliding across the room, he paused next to the desk and lifted the white mask from where he'd set it down earlier. Raising it into place, he turned back around to face his father. "Are you ready to leave?"
Lucius pressed his hands against his face, fighting down the urge to scream in frustration. Letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he stroked his hair into place and removed his mask from his pocket. Settling it on his face, he walked toward his son and found himself looking into eyes shining maliciously. He set his hand on his son's forearm, momentarily wondering what thoughts were making Draco's orbs glow with such an evil light. "Ready?" At the subtle nod of the younger blond's head, he flipped his hood into place.
Draco closed his eyes as his father's hand tightened on his arm, his unfettered fingers seeking the cool comfort of the ring hanging about his neck. As he waited for Lucius to apparate, his thoughts raced. What if Harry wasn't ready? What if the dragons left Hogwarts without Harry? What would happen tonight if the Mage Dragons decided that Voldemort was worth following? Gritting his teeth, he crossed his fingers. Moments later, the pair vanished from the bedroom with a quiet pop.
XxXxX
Harry shifted on the grass of the Quidditch pitch, his hands tightening on the book he held. His gaze lifted from the narrow script as a startled yip sounded from across the pitch. Frowning, he watched in amusement as Seamus, Dean, and Neville jogged toward him. Closing the small journal, he rose and brushed dirt from the seat of his pants. He slipped the book into a pocket as he walked toward the three wizards, waving a hand to shoo Esdra away from the flapping end of Neville's cloak.
"Hi guys," he greeted, arching an eyebrow at the heap of leather Dean was helping Seamus carry. A smile brightened his face as he recognized the saddle from his vault, though the leather seemed to have been repaired and returned to its original condition. Gesturing for the trio to place their burden on the grass, he dropped to his knees and ran a hand along the delicate curve of the seat. "Thanks a lot."
Seamus waved Harry's appreciative words off and rubbed his hands together. "Are you going to try and put that saddle on one of these dragons?"
Arching an eyebrow, the raven-haired wizard nodded and pointed at the sleeping Syren. Chewing his bottom lip, he contemplated the Mage. The book he had found in the hidden compartment of the trunk didn't seem to hold any information on the Mage Dragons, far from it in fact. Between the pages of the journal rested the tale of how the witch had been abandoned by her family and left to fight a battle she couldn't possibly win on her own. A very detailed introduction of Reginald and their relationship was also included. Altogether it was a boring read and Harry was considering giving it to Hermione as an early Christmas gift.
"Um, Harry? Help, please." Neville called suddenly, his voice filled with panic and just the slightest bit of desperation.
Swinging his head around, Harry winced and trotted toward the stout wizard. "She's just curious," he called. Esdra blinked amber eyes at him innocently, angular head tilting as he hissed at her in warning. Smiling apologetically at Neville, Harry grabbed the Sandtongue by the horn on her muzzle and attempted to yank her jaws apart. After furiously tugging for several seconds, he realized the golden dragon had locked her teeth together. "I'm really sorry, Neville. I'll buy you a new cloak." Mumbled the dark-haired wizard as he undid the clasp of the other wizard's cloak and freed him from the small dragon's grasp.
"That's alright, Harry." Neville said in a harried voice, quickly skirting both dragon and wizard for the safety of Seamus and Dean. Rubbing his reddened throat, the plump wizard offered a weak smile and glanced nervously about for any other dragons.
Shooting the Sandtongue one last disapproving glare, Harry returned to the saddle and began to gather the leather into his arms. He arranged the straps and stirrups carefully, scanning the pitch and checking the location of each Mage. Finding all of the dragons present and accounted for, he loosed a sigh of relief and picked the saddle up. The weight of the tack surprised him, as did the fact that as soon as he picked it up the head of every dragon in sight went up and swivelled to observe him.
"You're sure this is going to work?" Dean asked, folding his arms as he watched his dorm mate drag the heavy saddle toward the flashy metallic dragon lazing a short distance away. He bit his lip as the dragon opened one glittering eye and watched Harry's slow approach.
"Yes," Harry said firmly. He hefted the saddle and got ready to heave it into position, letting out a cry of shock as the Mage leapt into action. In an explosion of wings, Syren shot into the sky, leaving the Gryffindor sitting on his butt with his lap full of leather. Blinking in shock, he raised a hand and scratched his head, watching the Mage circle lazily above him.
"Are you going to try again?" Seamus called, a huge grin on his face as he shaded his eyes from the sinking sun. "I want to know if I should go and get some snacks from the kitchen, this looks like it could be quite entertaining."
Groaning, Harry flopped back onto the grass and closed his eyes. A warm puff of air had him opening one orb and staring into Esdra's worried eyes. Giving another moan, he closed his eye again and patted the dragon on the side of the face, smirking when she dropped Neville's cloak onto his chest. Grabbing the damp fabric, he sat up and pushed the Sandtongue playfully away. "Tricked you," he whispered, holding the cloak teasingly beyond her reach. Sighing as she grumbled and stalked away, he raised his gaze to the silver dragon floating gracefully through the darkening sky and shook his head. Something told him he was going to be here all night.
XxXxX
Draco's feet settled upon firm ground, his father's hand tightening on his arm before slipping away. Shaking his head to clear it, he stepped away from his father and peered curiously around him. Figures swathed in black were everywhere; they milled about mindlessly, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Lanterns hung in trees, small branches scrabbling at the glass as they swung back and forth. The eerie pools of light they cast danced over the grass and dirt, doing little to push back the darkness. Consciously, he moved closer to the taller blond, seeking the small measure of protection provided by merely being beside him.
"Stay close," Lucius ordered. Shooting Draco a warning look, he glided forward and merged with the crowd. He murmured soft greetings as he passed among the Death Eaters, casually glancing over his shoulder to make sure his son was following close at heels. Before he could move any further into the group, a hand reached out and settled on his forearm, halting him effectively.
Draco almost bumped into Lucius when the taller wizard halted suddenly. Steadying himself with a shaking hand in the center of his father's back, he peered cautiously around the blond's shoulder. His fingers tightened in the dark material as the wizards whispered loudly back and forth, the conversation becoming more heated with every hissed word. With a snarl, the pair separated, the wizard who'd grabbed his father striding angrily away.
"Who was that?" He asked as his father began prowling forward. Rolling his eyes when Lucius ignored him, he lengthened his stride so he could walk beside him. His gaze searched the darkness for anyone that seemed vaguely familiar, slowing as a new figure slid from the shadows. He felt his eyes widen in recognition as his gaze was caught by a pair of black orbs. Snapping his mouth shut, he stepped closer to Lucius and tugged subtly on his sleeve.
"Quiet," Lucius hissed in warning. Sliding a hand into one of the black robe's pockets, he closed his fingers tightly around the handle of his wand. Taking a graceful step forward, he shrugged off his son's hand and waited for the Death Eater to halt before him.
"Lucius," the cloaked figure greeted softly, stopping several steps away from the pair of blonds
. "Severus," Lucius murmured, reaching around behind him and grabbing Draco by the front of his robes. He tugged him from his shadow and placed him firmly in front of Severus, swinging his gaze around to see if any of the Death Eaters had noticed the maneuver. Sighing in relief when the many conversations occurring around them continued, he nodded to the Potions Master. "How are you?"
"I've been better," Severus growled.
"Severus! Is Harry okay? Are the dragons?" Draco asked softly, leaning forward so his questions wouldn't be overheard. Ignoring the hiss of warning his father released, he arched his eyebrows and peered out from behind the white mask he wore. His hands balled into fists as the Potions Master let out a snarl of anger and raised a shaking finger, black eyes narrowing.
"When I see that little brat, I'm going to make sure he never has another free minute to enjoy the rest of his short existence. He'll be lucky if he gets to see the light of day for the next two years!" His hand shook with rage and his voice grew louder with each growled word. Unable to fully express his feelings for the Gryffindor, he made a choking gesture with his hands and sputtered angrily.
Narrowing his pale eyes, Draco crowded the Potions Master and glared up at him. "What did you do?" He asked suspiciously, hand sliding into his pocket and seeking out the comforting touch of cool metal. Wrapping his fingers gently around the delicate keys, he began to tap his thigh impatiently with the other hand.
"What did I do?" Severus repeated in a hiss of disbelief. Rearing back, he folded his arms and began taping the toe of one boot. "I did nothing! If Potter and his friends hadn't skipped my class I wouldn't of had to go anywhere near those stupid lizards. Nor would I have had to waste my breath issuing a detention I won't even have the pleasure of seeing served."
"You gave Harry detention?" Draco hissed, aghast at the very thought.
"No, unfortunately Potter wasn't with them, which made the whole thing slightly less satisfying." Severus grumbled, straightening his spine and brushing his hands down the front of his robes. The arrival of the Dark Lord halted their conversation, bringing the loud voices of the other Death Eaters down to hushed murmurs.
"Silence!" Voldemort bellowed, stalking into the clearing in a rasp of black silk. The dark wizard glided through the Death Eaters, chuckling harshly as they all dropped to their knees in the dirt and bowed their heads. Scanning the crowd for signs of disobedience, he claimed the chair sitting forlornly among the trees. Folding his hands, he slumped into the chair and glanced around. "Lucius Malfoy, where are you?"
Lucius nudged Draco closer to Severus as he rose fluidly, weaving among the crouched figures until he reached the patch of empty ground at the Dark Lord's feet. He sank to his knees again, holding in the grimace of pain that threatened to escape as a sharp stone dug into the muscle of his left leg. "Here, my lord." Pressing his forehead to the ground, he patiently waited to be addressed.
" And your son?" Voldemort demanded, shifting in the chair. His words were cold and sharp, the silent threat in them very obvious.
Draco shivered but rose when Severus pushed him to his feet. Skirting around a trio of Death Eaters huddled together; he quickly made his way to his father's side. Sinking to his knees without hesitation, he lowered his face to the earth. "Here, my lord." He said firmly, fingers clenching at the dirt. Kneeling in the dirt at the feet of Dark Lord was not something he had ever planned on doing, nor was it something he would ever do again. The thought was a comforting one and had him breathing easier.
Flicking his fingers, Voldemort gestured Wormtail closer and waited for him to arrive at his side. Shooting the plump wizard a disgusted glare, he grabbed the wooden box from his silver hand and flipped the lid open. Inside, a silver flute gleamed invitingly, its keys shimmering tauntingly. "Your father say's you're not ready to play this flute, Draco Malfoy. That the Dragon's Maw is beyond your talents. Is he telling me the truth?"
Draco drew a deep breath at the question, the flute resting heavily against his thighs. "I believe that I am ready to try, my lord." He whispered, lifting his gaze enough to look at the flute sitting atop the burgundy velvet. This was going to prove to be a bit of a problem, seeing as the Dragon's Maw was currently in his pocket and the flute in its case was really his own. "Perhaps I might have a minute to practice, my lord. The instrument is old and may be out of tune."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes and glared at the pair kneeling before him, his fingers locking around the arms of the chair. "Fine," he snapped after a moment, waving the Malfoys away from the foot of his throne.
Draco fought back a relieved sigh and grabbed the instrument case. Giving a quick bob of his head in thanks, he scurried backwards with his father at his side. As soon as they reached the shadows at the edge of the clearing, the young blond dropped back to his knees and placed the box before him. He slid his hands into his pockets and pulled out the pieces of the Dragon's Maw, fitting them together carefully. When the instrument was complete, he lifted it to his mouth and played several notes.
"I never said you weren't a good player," Lucius muttered as he snatched Draco's flute from the case and took it apart. Haphazardly jamming the pieces into his pockets, he lifted his eyes to his son and smiled. "You can do this, Draco." With a flick of his wrists, he closed the case and stood, making his way back to where Severus crouched in the dirt.
Staring after his father, Draco gave a shallow nod and ran his fingers the length of the Dragon's Maw. The flute whispered sweet promises, the metal twinkling as the dragons flared and flapped their narrow wings. Closing his eyes for a moment, he inhaled deeply. His snarled name had him dipping his chin and opening his eyes. Turning around, he stared at the wizard watching him from across the clearing.
"Play the flute, Draco Malfoy." Lord Voldemort rasped, settling deeper into the throne sitting in the shadows. His pale face shone with an eagerness rarely seen, a small smirk curving his thin lips. He curved his fingers and gestured the young wizard forward, eyes narrowing slightly when the blond remained where he stood. Opening his mouth, he prepared to issue a threat but remained silent when the small robed figure began to approach slowly.
Draco stopped in a pool of shifting light, the Dragon's Maw cradled in his hands. He ran his fingers over the keys before lifting his gaze to the sky. Above the clearing, the stars glittered knowingly. Exhaling softly, he smiled and daringly met the red eyes of the Dark Lord. "With pleasure," he breathed. Closing his eyes, he lifted the flute to his mouth and began to play.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review! It has officially started!
fraewyn - The quill was just an object in the trunk, though it was probably used in writing both journals and the diary.
Lady Halaia - lol, over the last couple of chapters I've received that comparison quite a bit. I've not yet had the chance to read Dragonmasters but I've stumbled across it in my wandering and have mentally made a note to get around to it. Originality is one of the hardest things to find when settling down to write a story and I find myself constantly struggling with it.
tempete - Of course, a Malfoy always keeps his word.
Shinigami - I had to have a few different things in the trunk so I just kinda of looked around my room. The weapons will be explained later as I've just had a brilliant idea about why they were included in the vault. Many animals generally calm down after eating and will take a short nap, therefore Hagrid assumed the theory would also work on the Mage Dragons.
misstree - In the final chapter the dragons will find their home.
hieisdragoness18 - Very soon, although it may not go over quite as well as one would like it too.