A/N: This is a rewrite of chapter three.
It wasn't as easy as he'd thought, the books were mostly archaic by design and, no matter how he tried, Draco just couldn't see what Eugene would want from them. Flicking through a few more obscure pages he got up, blew out the candle and left the room, exactly as he'd found it. His head hurt and he still had another few hours research before bed.
The clock on the hall mantle chimed 2.30am.
The memory of his visit to Azkaban earlier that day came back to him unbidden and he found himself suddenly weak, drained. He'd been insistent that this time they would grant him access to see his father but they'd once again turned him away. He sat down heavily in one of the high-backed chairs, rested his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes painfully, but nothing could dispel the memory; he could still see the empty eyes staring back at him from dark cells, could still feel the despair.
He stood up quickly, knowing that if he remained seated he would once again spiral into his own despair and he'd get nothing else done tonight. And he was close to finding the answer; to completing the Dark Lord's mission; it would only take a little more effort and then he'd have the cabinet working.
Instinctively, Draco turned his mind away from the second half of his task, of what he was required to do, and turned his thoughts instead to Eugene. He knew that Eugene was planning something, something he was almost certain the Dark Lord wouldn't like.
He settled into his favourite chair in front of the library fire and pulled the books to him; he was close, very close. It was the sound of the book hitting the floor with a thump that eventually woke him and for a moment he didn't know where he was. The fire had died down to almost nothing and he was cold. He reached down to retrieve the book, becoming aware as he did of the erection pressed against his thigh, impossible to ignore.
Leaning back, he brought his hand up and slowly began to caress; his eyes closed, he saw once more the soft brown gaze on him, lips parted as if to speak; he recalled their closeness, so close they could have kissed; he recalled the smell, fear and something that reminded him of comfrey – fresh and pure.
His breathing grew faster, small moans that filled the room. He hated that he felt this way, hated that the other boy could do this to him without even knowing it, without even suspecting it. He thought about what it would feel like to kiss those lips, and see the confusion flash in those eyes. He thought about what it would feel like to lay him down, and run his hands over every available inch. He thought about…it was too much…he came with a cry, waking a few of the portraits that hung along the walls.
His cheeks flushed, he rearranged his robes around him, and stood up.
None of this would be happening if his father were still here...
"We've got to get out of here!" Ron said for the hundredth time, and both Hermione and Neville moaned. He'd been saying the same thing for the passed two hours, and yet none of them had been able to do anything. Neville knew there was no way out of his cell, he'd checked and rechecked everything, pulling at every bar and pushing at every stone, looking for weakness – all he'd managed to do was dislodge one brick from the wall; there was nothing else.
Sinking once more onto the mattress, he rested his head back against the wall. The guards would be here soon with breakfast; he could hear their heavy boots on the stairs. And, as the sound got loader and closer, an idea slowly began to form in his mind, and as it took shape, a sweat slowly broke out on his palms and he felt the muscles in his arms and back tense.
One guard moved to the far side of the dungeon, just as Neville knew he would; the other moved to Ron's cell, instructing him to stand at the back of the small space before opening the door; he held his wand on Ron the whole time. Hermione received the same treatment. Neville, however, knew he would not - they didn't see him as a threat.
He remained seated as the guard entered his cell. The man placed the tray on the floor, his wand still tucked safely into his belt. Neville, knowing that this was possibly their only chance, clenched his fist around the rough edge of the brick he'd dislodged earlier and as the guard turned away, brought the heavy rock down on his head; there was a sickening crunch and the man dropped to the floor.
Heart hammering against his chest, Neville quickly grabbed up the wand just as the other guard ran into view; shouting the first spell that came to mind, Expelliamus, he watched the other man sail through the air, hit a wall and crumple to the floor.
"Neville," Hermione shouted. "What's happening…are you okay?"
For a moment he couldn't move, the adrenalin making him feel light-headed, and then he walked the few paces to Hermione's cell, wand at his side. She gasped as she saw him, surprise on her face, but before she could ask any questions he threw her the wand and ran back for the other one. Wrenching it from the hand of the fallen man, he ran the short distance to the other end of the dungeon.
So far, everything was going far better than he'd hoped…
He skidded to a halt outside the only occupied cell, and stared at the person chained to the opposite wall. Even though he knew that speed was of the essence, he couldn't help but pause; if it weren't for the green eyes staring back at him he wouldn't have recognised Harry Potter under the layers of dirt, and blood.
Neville moved quickly, but Hermione and Ron moved quicker – they were both passed him in an instant and Neville was almost glad not to have to enter the cell. Turning on his heel he ran back to the stairs; there was no noise from above.
Perhaps, they stood a chance after all…
Severus stretched, luxuriating in the feel of water around him, his muscles beginning to relax after the exertions of a few hours previous. Narcissa had left by the time he woke, but had instructed breakfast to be prepared and a small but sufficient spread awaited him when he left the bathroom.
It was as he sat looking out over the Malfoy grounds, that his mind once again turned to the children in the dungeon; Potter, no doubt, among them. He knew he should have questioned further the unexplained 'return' of the missing students so soon after his conversation with Draco.
He sipped his tea, not able to decide if the children were here by design or simply victims of circumstance; from Draco he understood that Longbottom had undoubtedly been in the wrong place at the wrong time and earned the interest of someone he rather shouldn't; Weasley and Granger – well, only they knew what had brought them here, but it was almost certainly something both noble and reckless.
Placing his cup back on the saucer, he stood up and went to the window. It still unnerved him, how easily they'd managed to replace Potter. Eugene was an almost too perfect replica, and Severus hadn't once detected the tell-tale signs of polyjuice potion. And then there had been what Draco had told him: that Eugene was dangerous and needed to be watched.
He was readying to return to Hogwarts, when he heard the shouts of guards from below, and albeit reluctant to involve himself in whatever was happening, nonetheless felt a responsibility to Narcissa. Exiting the room and taking the stairs at a stride, he reached the first floor landing just in time to see Longbottom run passed the corridor ahead.
Without further thought, Severus took chase.