THE CROOKED HEART
"Only he may say he has done everything he could, who paid the price of death." – Wladyshaw Bartoszewski
Chapter Two: Godric's Hollow
Harry squinted in the dark and then jumped a little as the popping sounds of Ron and Hermione apparating next to him broke through the silent night air. He looked around and could vaguely make out the line of their figures.
"Lumos!" said Harry and the tip of his wand glowed brightly in the dark. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
Hermione pulled out a glossy book from her robes. "Yes, this looks right. I've never used a Wizarding Street Directory before, but it's fundamentally the same as Muggle Directories."
Harry sighed and held his wand aloft, the street illuminated. There were large brick houses on both sides. They looked tidy but still rather gloomy – like no one had lived in them for a while. There were weeds in the front yards and the letterboxes were crammed with mail and there were no lights on.
"Sorry-looking place, isn't it?" said Ron, standing behind Harry, waiting for him to make the first move.
"Just a little," said Harry. He took a deep breath and began walking forward.
"We probably shouldn't stay here too long, Harry," said Hermione walking after him. "Mrs. Weasley would've noticed we've disappeared by now and Ginny will be incensed at us for leaving her behind. Plus, Lupin will probably know to try looking here."
"We won't be long, don't worry."
"Jeez," said Ron irritably. "My trunk is sticking in to my hip-bone." He pulled out his shrunken suitcase. "Can you shrink it a bit more, Hermione?"
Hermione waved her wand and Ron put his now match-box sized suitcase back in his robe pocket.
"What do you think happened here?" asked Harry. "Where is everyone?"
"Well, it's pretty obvious really," said Hermione.
"Care to enlighten us then," muttered Ron. "'Cause it looks like Ghost Town to me."
"The people have left, of course," said Hermione tartly.
"Oh! Is that what's happened?" said Ron sarcastically.
"Because of Voldemort," said Hermione crossly. "I mean, this is the last place he attacked the previous time, wasn't it? It would've made people more than a little nervous!"
"I really wish you wouldn't say his name."
"Harry does!"
"Yeah, well. That's Harry, isn't it?"
"Will you two shut-up for a minute?" interrupted Harry. Ron and Hermione had been squabbling since they'd snuck out of the Burrow. Harry thought it might be out of nervousness and that made him feel a little guilty, but still, bickering wouldn't help anything.
After Harry had told Ron and Hermione they were leaving, they had all packed their things hurriedly, shrunk their suitcases and then had pretended to go out the back for a bit of stargazing. Everyone in the house was far too upset over the Wood family's murder to realise it was morning.
When they had crossed the fences bordering off the Weasley property, Ron and Hermione had looked at Harry expectantly. It was then Harry considered that perhaps his actions had been a bit rash. So they had spent the entire morning trying to formulate a plan. He hadn't really thought about where to start. Hermione had sighed at him. "Look," she'd said after three hours of bickering about whether to return to the Burrow for some floo powder. "I brought this. It's a Wizard Street Directory. It'll show us detailed images of streets so we can apparate there. Why don't we start with Godric's Hollow, Harry?"
"Yeah alright," said Harry rubbing his forehead tiredly. "It's what I'd intended to do at the start of the summer, anyway."
After three unsuccessful attempts at getting all three of them to apparate successfully to Godric's Hollow – one attempt where Ron nearly splinched himself – they were finally there, under the early night's darkness. They were looking for Harry's parents' house but they weren't sure which one it might be. They all looked like very different homes but Harry could see no sign that might distinguish his from all the others in the neighborhood.
"Look!" said Ron suddenly. "There are names on the letterboxes! Family names."
"Well that'll make it easier. We should split up, and send green sparks up when we find it. Red sparks if we get into trouble," said Harry.
Hermione headed back where they'd come from, whilst Ron turned left down Buzzbee Avenue and Harry turned right down Periwinkle Street.
The houses on Periwinkle Street seemed to be a little grander than the others. But they, like the rest, were completely deserted. Harry continued down the street, reading the names on the letterboxes. Harry wondered were all these families were, the Yates's, the Polanski's, the Smith's and Harrington's. Were they in Ministry shelters? Did they have small children? Were they Death Eaters? Did they leave their homes the moment the Ministry revealed Voldemort's return? Harry had images of crowded halls with children crying and afraid. He felt an overwhelming pity for these people. And a sense of helplessness.
Then Harry stopped suddenly.
Potter.
The letterbox was made out of hard red brick, and Potter was written in shining gold wire. Harry slowly lifted his head and held his wand aloft. The light brightened and Harry looked upon the house that had once been his home.
It was huge. Much bigger than the Burrow. Harry wondered what his parents had done for a living to be able to afford a home like this. It had huge oak front doors and bay windows. It was three stories tall and there was a balcony on both the second and third story. He wondered where his room was.
He stepped back suddenly and lowered his wand, not wanting to become overwhelmed. He had to be businesslike about this; there would be time for grief when it was all over.
"Nox," said Harry. The light on his wand turned off and he sent up green sparks. Not ten seconds later, Hermione apparated in front of him, followed by Ron.
Hermione lit her wand and held it up. "We have to be careful."
"Why?" said Ron. "There's no one here. We could play Quidditch naked and it wouldn't matter."
Hermione snorted. "As usual, only thinking plainly."
"Well why don't you just tell us what you're on about instead of being all cryptic. It's really annoying, you know!" said Ron.
"You're really annoying, you know," bit back Hermione.
"No. You are both really annoying!" said Harry, turning around and scowling at them. "Ron, stop picking a fight with everything Hermione says." Hermione looked smugly at Ron. "Hermione, stop being cryptic and just tell us what you're on about." Ron returned the expression.
"Fine," said Hermione snottily. "I could be wrong, it's only speculation, but I'll be surprised if there isn't a Domus Custos Charm on a big place like this."
"Oh yeah," said Ron in comprehension.
"A Doma-whatta?" said Harry in confusion.
"Domus Custos. It's like, keeping a reservation on the house so that it always passes down the blood-line. Grimmauld Place had one. That's why Dumbledore was surprised Sirius managed to give it to you. Sirius must have broken the charm somehow," said Hermione. "So because you're the closest blood relative to your parents, you would now own the house. But you have to claim it first. The doors won't open 'til you do."
"How do I do that?" asked Harry, picturing mountains of paper work.
"I'm not sure," said Hermione.
"Ha!" said Ron. "I know. Come with me."
Harry and Hermione followed Ron through the double-door gates and up the pebbled path to the front door. Once standing before the big oak doors Ron looked at Harry expectantly.
"What do I do?" said Harry.
"You knock of course."
"Knock?"
"Yes," said Ron. "You knock."
"Are you sure Ron?" asked Hermione, skeptically.
"Of course I'm sure! Look, Dad inherited a property from our old Aunt Muriel a couple of summers ago. Disgusting place, Dad's renting it for knuts, couldn't get any better. Anyway, this is what he did," Ron explained. "You see, if you are the next in the blood-line, when you go to knock on the door you'll unconsciously like, do this family knock thing which signifies the new owner. The charm will temporarily disappear until you die, and you can open the doors." Ron smiled confidently.
"Well," said Harry. "Alright then." He stepped forwards slowly and raised his fist and gulped loudly, having no idea what sort of knock he should produce. Then suddenly Harry felt like he had just been hypnotized, and very naturally he did four quick knocks, a small break, and then another two.
There was a sharp whistle in the air and the apple tree in the front yard swayed viciously. Then there was the sound of several locks being undone behind the door. The whistling stopped and the apple tree stood up right again and Harry, still in a little bit of trance, pushed the door open.
As they walked into the entrance hall, candles began lighting in bursts around them until they could see clearly without their lit-wands.
"Wow," muttered Hermione. "This place is great."
The house certainly looked very grand. The floors were polished and tapestries and paintings covered the walls. There was a long, thick red carpet that led up the stairs, and that's were Harry, his heart practically beating out of his chest, headed.
"Just curious," said Ron softly. "But why is the house so clean if no one's lived in it for sixteen years?"
"There must be a house-elf," said Hermione. "They aren't just bound to people; they're bound to the house as well."
"Well, they're doing a better job than Kreacher did to Grimmauld Place."
Harry heard none of this. His eyes had just caught a painting of his mother and him as a baby on the top of the stairs. He stopped in front of it and watched Lily gazing lovingly down at his baby form. She looked up at him suddenly, as he watched her with his sad eyes; her own sparkling green ones matching his.
"Hello dears," she said quietly to them. "Shh … he's sleeping. Isn't he perfect?"
Harry looked away quickly and continued walking down the hall. His throat felt like it was being stitched up. Hermione came up beside him and took his hand.
"It's okay," said Hermione. "You're allowed to be sad."
"I k-know," Harry choked and cleared his throat. "But not now, alright?"
Hermione nodded her head and let his hand go. He opened the door on his right. He took one look at the toys on the floor, the great big cradle in the centre of the room and the white curtains covered with moving broomsticks and quickly shut the door again. He cleared his throat and moved on to the next room, Ron and Hermione dutifully following him in silence. This one had a massive four poster bed and burgundy sheets. There was a wedding photo on the dressing table. This door was quickly closed too.
Harry turned to move on to the next door when a high-pitched squeak caught his attention. Before he had time to react, a small, rubbery-looking creature with a red, polka dot dress flung their arms around Harry's knees.
"I guess the house-elf theory was a good one," said Ron quietly behind Harry.
"Oh my Mar'ster! Ruby knew you vould return," a weak French accent drifted up from the tiny she-elf. "Is Mistress with you?" The elf stepped away from Harry to look up at him with tears shining in her eyes. "Ruby 'as kept lit'tel mar'ster's room spotless! Jus' like Mistress said!"
"Oh dear," said Hermione, and the house-elf turned to her. "She thinks you're James, Harry."
The house-elf turned back to Harry, her big, brown, doe eyes wide in shock. "Lit'tel Mar'ster?"
The elf fainted with a soft thud on the red carpet.
Draco gulped nervously and stared at the clear substance. Draco didn't like this at all. He had trouble being honest at the best of times. His eyes strayed back to the painting of his Clydesdale and he clenched his hands into the leather sofa.
"Don't be scared Draco," Bellatrix Lestrange ladled a teaspoon of Veritaserum into Draco's Firewhiskey. "You need to know the best way to fight this off. And the only way to learn is to practice."
"How exactly," drawled Draco nastily, "am I meant to fight off a potion that makes you tell the truth?"
"I'm going to show you. Now drink up," Bellatrix ordered. Draco scowled and raised his cup to his mouth cautiously. He swallowed it all in four big gulps.
"Good," said Bellatrix as Draco's eyes began to glaze over slightly. "Now, the first thing you need to know, Draco, is how to fight off the trance. Veritaserum has an element of gretiawood, which is used in sleeping potions. By adding this ingredient, the drinker is put in an entranced state and is unable to think clearly. So the first thing you need to do is fight the gretiawood, which luckily, is very easy."
Draco's stormy eyes remained emotionless. Bellatrix smiled unpleasantly.
"Listen carefully now Draco, I need you to focus on something you care about very much. Money, a girl, or those wonderful silk robes Aunty Bella brought you … just pick something."
Draco's mind felt foggy and light. But he heard his Aunt Bella's words and immediately his mother's face sprang up in his mind.
"What have you chosen, Draco?" asked Bellatrix.
"My mother," Draco said without hesitation. Bellatrix made a face.
"Very well, you have to concentrate on her. Think about the things you've done together."
Draco thought about his mother, the way she wrinkled her nose, her little half-smile, her blue eyes, her fingers running over a piano, her crying softly in his hair the day before he left for Hogwarts … as he went through different incidents, his mind began to clear and the glazed look in his eyes slowly left.
Bellatrix smiled. "Good boy. You're still compelled to tell the truth, but you can think freely now. What you must do Draco, to fight Veritaserum, is find holes in people's questions. Do you understand?"
Draco was silent for a moment as he tried to deny her an answer. "No," he spoke at last.
Bellatrix laughed. "A born fighter, aren't you? But like I said, you are still compelled to tell the truth. But now you can think about your answers. For example, Draco, where is your father?"
"Azkaban," he glowered.
"Indeed he is, but you do not have to tell me so. For it is true that he is in Azkaban, but do you know where Azkaban is?"
"No," said Draco.
"No, you do not. So your answer could have been, "I don't know", because you do not actually know where your father is, do you?"
He looked up at his aunt with a small smile. "No, I don't."
She smiled again. "So Draco, where is your father?"
"I don't know," he said triumphantly.
"Very good. Do you understand what I mean now?"
"Yes."
"Good, let's have another go. The question dreaded by many teenagers, and one I promise I don't really want to know but nevertheless; have you ever slept with anyone?"
Draco thought for a moment. He had never had sex with anyone before but he had slept in the same bed as his mother and father, and had shared a bed with both Pansy and Blaise.
"Yes," answered Draco victoriously.
Bellatrix cocked her head to the side. "And now to find out of you lied, have you ever had sex with anyone or anything?"
"Anything?" Draco scowled. "No."
"Anyone?"
"No."
She smirked. "Good boy, you're getting the hang of it. Now there will be some questions where a loophole will be impossible, like the one I just asked you. But should you ever find yourself under questioning, if you are able to lie half the time, you should be able to confuse the questioner sufficiently enough that they believe nothing you have said. They won't be able to decipher the truth from the half-truths. That's why the Ministry doesn't use Veritaserum in trials.
"Now, a question that your insufferable mother refused to let me ask you." Bellatrix leant forward with a slightly mad gleam in her eye. "What was it like seeing Dumbledore being killed?"
Draco swallowed loudly. Words instantly tried to escape his mouth, none of which would sound good. Words like 'horrific' and 'distressing'. Things that Draco didn't realise he had felt. At last, when Draco had been about to spit out 'cataclysmic', a suitable word came. "Different."
Bellatrix stared at him curiously. "I'll bet it was," she said uncertainly, scrutinizing him. He returned her scrutiny with an arrogant smirk and she seemed satisfied for the moment. "I do wish I had been there. Never mind, I shall be present for Potter's ruin and that'll be worth it."
Draco said nothing. He hated Potter, that he was certain of. But he was not sure if he wanted him to die. Not anymore.
"Alright then, do you have a girlfriend?"
Draco thought for a moment, he was involved with someone, but Blaise was not a girl. "No, I do not have a girlfriend."
Bellatrix smiled. "Now I know you must be lying. You have a little love bite on your neck. Tell me how you lied?"
Draco gulped, his eyes wide. "I did not lie."
"Then did you give it to yourself? To look impressive?" Bellatrix laughed nastily.
"I did not give it to myself," snapped Draco crossly.
Bellatrix stopped laughing at once and looked down at Draco with narrowed eyes and a nasty smirk. "Who gave you that love bite on your neck?"
Draco tried to find a loophole, but there was none. "Blaise Zabini."
Bellatrix was shocked. Draco could tell by the widening of those heavy lidded eyes and the thinning of her lips. She did not however, shout or clamp her hands over her mouth, for which Draco was grateful. She paced back and forth for a moment whilst Draco tried to appear like this information was no more important than a chocolate pudding recipe. She suddenly raised her hands to her hips and whispered dangerously, "What gender would you prefer for an intimate, sexual relationship, Draco, males or females?"
Again, Draco tried to find the loophole, but again, there was none. He sighed. "Males."
Bellatrix looked down at Draco disgustedly. "If you were not my nephew, my sister's child; if you did not have the most precious blood in the wizarding world, that of the pure-blooded Black's and Malfoy's. If you were not in the favor of the Dark Lord – I would kill you now."
Draco looked away from his aunt and she stooped over him, her eyes full of questioning malice. "That night at Hogwarts, when Severus killed Dumbledore, why could you not do it?"
Draco looked back at his painting of the beautiful Clydesdale. "Because I am no killer."
Narcissa looked through the dining room doors, wondering how her son was faring with her sister.
"You should not be concerned, Narcissa. Draco is a fast learner." Snape sipped his tea at the table carefully.
"I know that," snapped Narcissa. "But what if he says-" Narcissa closed her mouth and gripped her tea cup.
"What if he says something … unfavorable?"
Narcissa nodded her head gently.
"Well then I should think it good that the Dark Lord chose Draco's aunt for this particular training exercise," said Snape.
Narcissa stifled a snort. "Hardly. She prefers him to many, but not enough to save him should he …"
Snape nodded his head and said quietly, "I will make sure I am present when she reports back to the Dark Lord."
Narcissa sighed in relief. "Thank you, Severus."
"Are you that concerned about him?"
Narcissa scowled. "There is a reason he could not kill Dumbledore, beyond first time jitters. I know it. I fear what that old fool may have said to him. He is different, surely you see it?"
"I do see it. But Draco was never influenced by Dumbledore before that night," Snape shook his head in disagreement. "I doubt he would be then. I think it was just fear … weakness … which can only be expected in a sixteen-year-old."
"My son is not weak," Narcissa whispered dangerously as something snapped inside of her. "And do not think," her voice rose, "that I am so foolish as to not see how pleased you were at the opportunity to kill the old man – even after all the work Draco had done! Off you went immediately to the Dark Lord, boasting your success and gaining even more favor whilst Draco was punished. While I was punished!"
"You forced me to make that Unbreakable Vow," said Snape calmly. "If I had not done it I would have died. And I did not wish punishment on you or Draco."
Narcissa rose from the table. "I think you should leave." She turned on her heel and stormed out leaving Snape sitting in the dining room alone.
Harry stood in the study and breathed deeply. At the offering from the little house-elf - whose name was Ruby - of food, Ron had instantly ran to the kitchen and Hermione had trailed behind to keep him out of trouble. So Harry searched the little study alone, and what he was looking for, he wasn't entirely sure.
There were shelves of books on the walls, and a large Blackwood desk stood in the middle. Harry was standing behind the desk with his hands on a big wooden box. It was a plain box but for the imprint on the lid. An imprint of someone's hand. Harry slipped his own hand into the imprint cautiously. Nothing happened so Harry tried turning his hand and as he did, a wooden head pushed Harry's hand out of the imprint, and wiggled its way up. He looked down at it fearfully. A pointy little wooden nose and sharp wooden eyes stared up at him impertinently.
"Password! Five guesses!" it barked.
Harry stared in shock. Password? "I … I dunno?"
"Wrong! Four guesses!"
Harry's eyes widened. "That wasn't a guess," he said angrily. "I was just saying I don't know!"
"Wrong! Three guesses!"
"This is bull- oh, oops!" Harry finally found the sense to slap his hand over his mouth.
"Wrong! Two guesses!"
Harry racked his brain. This must be my dad's, Harry thought. But what would his password be? Harry wanted to ask the wooden face what would happen if he didn't get the password, but he didn't want to waste another guess. He took a stab in the dark.
"Quidditch?"
"Wrong! Last guess!"
Harry looked around him for the answer. Could it be him? Or maybe it was his mother, Lily? Harry opened his mouth to say "Lily" when it hit him.
"Prongs!" he said.
"Correct!" The wooden head shrunk back and was replaced by the original and lifeless hand imprint. Harry smiled to himself as the box flipped open. He looked inside, cautiously. There were only two things in there, a large notebook and a map. Harry pulled out the notebook carefully and opened at a random page. It looked like a journal entry.
Bloody Sirius. He was late to dinner and then went bounding into the nursery waking up Harry and chucking him up in the air and feeding him Chocolate Frogs and then had the hide to call me "An old, boring, over-protective Hufflepuff fluffer with a Quidditch pole stuck up his karker," just because I hexed him to the shit and refused to let him hold Harry for the rest of the night. Well. He can get over it. Harry's MY son and I don't have to "learn to share," nor do I have any more maturing to do.
Harry smiled and a sweet bitterness flowed through him as he thought of his dad and godfather wrangling over him. He turned a few more pages and stopped to read another entry. It was hard to understand as it had obviously been written in haste. Harry could only make out a few lines.
He wants … Dumbledore kept saying … away from my son … I need to see Regulus; we need to get this done … I think I found another horcrux, in the caves on the Cornish coast. God, I hope I'm right.
Harry took in a deep breath. My dad was hunting horcruxes with Regulus Black? This answers a few questions, thought Harry, dryly. Like why Regulus had been murdered for one. Harry hurried to the door way and yelled down the corridor for Ron and Hermione. They came sprinting up the stairs and down the hall towards him. "What is it Harry?" Hermione asked with her wand out, looking around them as if expecting Death Eaters to pop out from behind a tapestry.
"Read this," said Harry, thrusting the journal towards her. She took it and read quickly. "Oh my gosh! Your Dad was looking for the horcruxes!"
"I know," said Harry gravely at the same time as Ron said, "Gimme a look."
Ron snatched the journal up and looked into it. "With Regulus … as in Sirius's brother?"
"Must be," said Harry. "Voldemort must've found out about it."
"Huh?" said Hermione. "What makes you say that?"
"It's why he killed my Dad. Dumbledore told me that he was going to let my mother live if she gave me up, but that he'd never have let my Dad live. This must be why. And this must be why Sirius's brother was killed," said Harry.
Ron laughed and Harry frowned at him.
"Oh no," said Ron looking apologetic. "I wasn't laughing at you. It's your Dad, he's really funny! Listen to this; 'Fiona tried to tell me that her nephew was cuter than Harry so I stuck her to the ceiling and refused to let her down until she admitted she was full of shit. She's tough for a teenager, stayed up there well past midnight singing that muggle Elton John's songs until Nick Polanski came 'round and told us to stop the noise or put a silencing charm around the house. I chucked him up there too.'" Ron laughed out loud and then, seeing the look on Harry's face, quickly stopped. "Oh, sorry Harry."
"It doesn't matter," said Harry, turning back to the desk. He pulled out the map from the wooden box and laid it out.
"What's this?" asked Hermione, coming around to have a look. It was a map of Great Britain and there were six little red dots, one of which was on the rocky coast of Cornwall.
"The Cave …" Harry whispered, pointing to it.
Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "You mean, where you and Dumbledore …?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "I think so. He never actually told me where we were."
"These are locations of the horcruxes, aren't they?" said Hermione quietly. "Or at least where your Dad thought they were."
"Hey!" said Ron suddenly pointing to a dot just outside of Brighton. "That's where Malfoy Manor is!"
"Riddle's diary," said Harry indifferently, studying a dot in Swansea, Wales.
"Huh?" said Ron.
"Lucius Malfoy had Riddle's diary," explained Harry. "It's already been destroyed. And don't forget, Dumbledore destroyed the ring. The ring is in my trunk but I gave the diary back to Lucius. So there are four more to find."
"Are you sure that's the diary? Do you think Voldemort gave Malfoy the diary before he was destroyed?"
"I guess," said Harry. "I reckon he would have hidden all the horcruxes by then. Besides, what other explanation is there for this dot? And Voldemort wouldn't favor Lucius in that way; by giving him more than one. This dot must represent the diary."
"And where was the ring found?" Ron asked.
"I don't know."
"Well," said Ron, crossing his arms. "I must say, it's bloody lucky your father was as pro-active as you are, Harry. Where shall we start?"
Harry looked at them carefully. "Do you think it's odd that we had no real plan and now everything seems to be conveniently falling into place? Or am I being paranoid?"
Ron smiled cheekily. "Little of column A, little of column B … lets go hunting."
Draco stood in the lavish study and breathed deeply, searching for the scent of his father, but it was not there anymore. It hadn't been for a few months now. He sat in his father's chair, his hands on the arm rests, and closed his eyes, keeping his mind clear just like his aunt had taught him. Though his reasons for blocking his sub-conscious now, were not the reasons why he had been taught Occlumency.
Draco had found Occlumency quite easy, really. He did not know why. He had supposed, at the time, that it was because he was particularly intelligent and talented. But Theodore Knott snorted at him when he'd shared this view one time at the Slytherin table. "It's got nothing to do with that. Some of the most talented wizards can't do Occlumency to save their own lives – literally. It's about your own disposition."
"What the hell are you talking about?" drawled Draco, annoyed at being censured.
"What kind of person you are, I mean. How good you are at suppressing emotions," said Theodore patiently. "For example, look at Potter. I've never seen anyone pull a shield up that strong and that quickly before," he said, referring to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Snape. "But he'd be a shit-house Occlumens. Wears his emotions on his sleeve. Or rather, in his eyes."
"Well I had no idea, Theo," drawled Draco, "that you observed Potter so much."
Theodore snorted again. "Not nearly as much as he observes us."
"What are you talking about?"
Theodore rolled his eyes and looked away muttering, "I might as well be talking to Vincent."
Draco sighed loudly and it echoed through the study. He had been thinking about Theodore a lot lately. Or rather, thinking about the things he'd said throughout the year. Draco wondered when and how Theodore became so … astute. Or maybe Draco had just never noticed before? He had seen Theodore as a rival for the position of group leader at first, but Theodore had shown absolutely no desire to play that game with Draco, and so they had developed a friendship. One of respect at being two of the least stupid in their house. But they had drifted apart in sixth year. Draco had had other things on his mind, and evidently, so had Theodore.
Draco sat up and opened his eyes. Lucius had never allowed Draco into the study unless he had been there with him. This embargo, naturally, had awoken a curiosity in Draco that would not have been had Lucius kept quiet. But Lucius lacked the self control Narcissa did. The self control she had passed on to her son. The self control that had kept Draco from snooping about in here previously, lest he got caught and had to face the rather formidable wrath of his father. But that was not likely now, so opened up one of the drawers in his father's desk and peeked inside. There was nothing in there but a few ink pots and a blotchy looking note book. Draco pulled out the notebook curiously. It was covered in dry ink and there was an odd sort of hole right through the middle. Like someone had stabbed it with a blunt knife. He opened the pages. Each one was completely blue with ink.
"Your father always was a sentimentalist." Draco's head snapped up and he dropped the book in shock. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up. His heart stopped. It was still summer but very suddenly the room seemed like a giant refrigerator. Draco stood quickly and bowed low and clumsily. "My lord."
The Dark Lord, in grey robes and foul features, smiled maliciously down at Draco. He looked away from his servant, but his very presence was enough to make Draco feel indescribably ill.
"Rise," said the Dark Lord.
Draco stood straight, and did not meet his master's eyes. An unannounced visit by the Dark Lord was not a good thing. The only time he ever held a private audience was to punish or reward. Draco did not want either. He immediately cleared his mind from his master, and hoped he would not have an inkling to probe.
"How have you been, my child?"
Draco could not hide his astonishment at being asked such a thing by such a man - if it were even possible to call this abomination of evil and destruction a "man". The Dark Lord looked down at him with an unreadable expression, waiting for a response. "I am fine, my lord." Draco was pleased that his voice had not shaken.
The Dark Lord looked to the floor where Draco had dropped the inky notebook. "It was mine, a long time ago," he said, referring to the notebook.
"Yes, my lord." Draco looked around the study, attempting to avoid the Dark Lord's eyes.
"You are restless, no doubt. But you need not fret at your current idleness; Lord Voldemort has a new plan."
"He does? I mean you do, my lord?" Draco repressed a shudder, he had been the key player in his master's last plan, and he did not desire involvement in any more.
"Yes, I do. I trust I will have your complete assistance?" His words were a question but his tone was a threat. Draco did not know how to answer and settled for a nod of the head. "Yes, my lord."
"Good," he said, not without malevolence. He took a step towards Draco his eyes glittering red and Draco swallowed loudly. "I saw your Aunt Bellatrix today, Draco." The Dark Lord spoke pithily and almost nonchalantly. But he looked at Draco significantly, as if waiting for a response to this. Draco did not answer, but held his breath. "She had the most interesting news." Now he sounded venomous and Draco paled. He looked away from his master with disdain, a habit used most foolishly at this time.
"Crucio!" The Dark Lord spat harshly and Draco fell to floor screaming bloody murder, his bones twisting inside his body, bending him into odd shapes like he was clay. After a moment, he pulled the curse off. Draco choked on his breaths and rolled onto his side away from his master.
"There is something wrong here, young Draco." Draco could sense the Dark Lord pacing menacingly behind him. "You were going to be my star Draco. The next generation. The better, unconditionally loyal generation. Crucio!" Draco let out a devastating howl of pain and he cursed himself for not be able to hold his cries back. The pain was too great.
The Dark Lord kept the curse on Draco for several minutes, watching him twist and howl in pain with a smile on his face. He did not take the curse off until Draco's voice broke, and he could scream no more. Draco lay twitching on the floor, his head lopped to the side. He saw a pair of black heels at the door way and his eyes looked up to his mother. She looked horrified, with her hands over her mouth. But she stood there, stock still, doing nothing. Something inside Draco hardened then and he moved his gaze away from her, unable to move anything else. A trickle of blood crept out of the corner of his mouth and slid down his porcelain, white cheek and the Dark Lord gazed at it almost fondly.
"You are forgiven, Draco," he said crisply. "Once again, my child, you are forgiven. Mr. Zabini has been removed from the manor, and you will partake in the coming mission. Avery will keep an eye on you, and shall report to you soon. In the meantime, I suggest you consider very carefully what sort of role you want when we are victorious. You are losing my favor." With that, he slithered out of the study without another word.
After a few moments, when it appeared the Dark Lord had flooed out of the manor with two Dementors in his wake, Narcissa bustled towards her son who was beginning to regain feeling in his bones, but remained twitchy and shaken. 'Draco! It's alright I'm here-" Draco kicked her away violently and she let out a squeal of pain and clutched her right knee. "Draco, what's wro…" Narcissa faded at the inanity of her query and Draco began to slowly pull himself off the floor. He stood shakily and Narcissa looked on worriedly. "Severus was meant to protect you … I'll kill him for this. Please Draco, let me help you. How do you feel?"
He looked at her with only coldness in his grey eyes. "I feel clarity, mother."
… to be continued.
Author's Note: "Domus Custos" means - in my rather maladroit Latin - literally, "House Keeper". And thank you to my Beta's; Kristin the creative wit, and Nicki the grammatical genius.
rainingslash