Chapter two
Draco woke the next morning stretched out on a carpeted floor, lying on his stomach in the corner of the pleasantly warm hotel room. The others were sleeping in their own beds, having dragged Harry into his at midnight, he being still unconscious. Ron had reluctantly thrown Draco a blanket and pillow and had promptly fallen asleep, leaving Draco the floor. The curtains were blocking the sun at the window, but the frame of light showed him that it was around mid-morning.
Raising his head, he stared around at the room, looking at each of the still-sleeping forms in turn. Hermione let out a vocal sigh as she woke, and Draco's gray gaze fell upon her. He had to admit, the young Muggle-born had caught his attention when she had opened the door to him the previous night. He found it hard to wrench his gaze away, but he did so when her deep brown eyes fluttered open. He rolled over quickly so she wouldn't suspect him of staring.
"G'morning, Malfoy." Her soft whisper caught his attention. Draco rolled back onto his stomach, staring up at her. She had crawled to the foot of her bed and was looking down at him. "Listen, Malfoy, I want to tell you something before the others wake up." He stared at her, confused. "Thanks for helping us. It was really brave and nice of you." Her cheeks turned light pink, and she crept back under her sheets.
Draco smiled sadly at her. His whisper of, "Thanks," barely left his lips. Turning over again, he lay on his side, staring at the whitewashed wall.
It was nearly an hour before Ron and Harry woke, groaning and shifting in the soft hotel beds. Draco lay still as they slammed about in the bathroom, going through their morning routines. Hermione sat on her bed, twiddling her thumbs. She had changed earlier (Draco had made a point of covering his eyes as she did so) and was totally ready for her day, while Draco, having nothing else to wear, simply waited for a shower to be available.
After waiting almost twenty minutes for Ron to get out of the bathroom, Draco became impatient. "Hey Granger, do they always take this long?"
Hermione chuckled, saying, "Only on good days. Most of the time they take longer." Draco stared at her. She shrugged.
He sat up against the television cabinet, which had been open almost since the trio had gotten to the hotel, so Granger had told him. Harry and Ron had been fascinated with the moving pictures generated by electricity, and had watched the different channels almost non-stop for the three days that they had been in Godric's Hollow, except, of course, when they had gone to visit Harry's parent's graves. Obviously Hermione had told Draco the entire story of their excursion that had begun directly after Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding, including the brief visit to Number Four Privet Drive.
At long last, Ron trudged out of the bathroom, clutching a towel around his waist, dripping with steam. Draco leapt up, nodded his brief thanks to Weasley, and then slipped into the wet and hot bathroom. Snatching a towel from the rack by the door, he dropped it on the floor close to the shower. He tugged on the faucet to send the hot water running then stripped his dirty, old clothes. He relished the first shock of the hot water on his mucky skin, enjoying the sight of brown water zipping down the drain.
His shower was far shorter than Ron's, lasting about ten minutes. Stepping out of it, dripping but content, his hair flattened around his eyes, he grinned at his foggy reflection in the mirror. He could barely recognize himself; it had been so long since he had seen a mirror that he had almost forgotten what he looked like. His cold gray eyes seemed dead in his face, his cheekbones high and outlined from loss of fat everywhere on his body. Toned muscles, worn from traveling, gave his pinkish skin form, but other than that he was skin and bones. Draco stared at himself, unable to wrench his eyes away. Slowly, his eyes locked with his reflection's, he took his towel and wrapped it around his middle.
Stepping out of the bathroom, the air seemed far colder than it had before. The slight breeze drifting in through the window that was slit open a crack stung his skin and made him shiver. "Mind closing that damn window?" Harry glared at him and shoved it shut. As Draco went about dressing, crouching in the closet for privacy, Harry drilled him with questions.
"Are you positive that I'm the Horcrux?" He sat on the bed, facing the window, staring out into the streaming sunlight.
Draco nodded. "I am, unless the Dark Lord lied to me, which I doubt." He emerged from the closet, fully clothed. "For some odd reason, he trusts me, which he won't anymore." He shook his head. "Anyway, I think he made you his last Horcrux to make a problem for you. It's the obvious answer."
He plopped down on the bed, watching Harry carefully. The dark-haired, green-eyed boy did nothing but stare at his socks. Draco shrugged, then lay back, staring at the smooth white ceiling. The blonde looked up as Harry spoke again.
"Well, he certainly has created a problem for me. I either die and someone else can kill Voldemort"—Ron flinched again—"or I don't die and Voldemort lives forever." Draco's eyes traveled from Harry's face to Hermione's, for the look on her features was heart-breaking. The bushy-haired girl crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking sadly at Harry. In a sudden movement, she embraced him, and before any of the boys knew what was happening, she was sobbing into Harry's robes.
Ron and Draco could only stare for a moment, before Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione as well. Feeling left out, Draco left the foot of the bed to stand by the window. "Crying won't do any of us much good, Granger." Hermione glared at him. "Of course, it does some good, I suppose," he amended quickly.
Ron growled. "You're learning, Malfoy. Now," he said, turning to Harry, "we need a plan." Hermione resurfaced, wiping her eyes, her face red.
"Ooh, I only wish we had some library to look into! Without something like it, were doom—"Harry scowled at her.
"Shut up, Hermione. You're not helping."
"Sorry," she squeaked.
Draco turned around, his gray eyes flashing. "She's right, Potter. It's the only way. We have to get some background information on Horcruxes. I believe that my father knows a bit about them—at least, there's a book about them in his personal library back at the Manor. We should go there."
Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at him. "Since when did this become, 'we'? You're not coming with us, are you?" Ron voiced, raising an eyebrow at Draco.
"I don't think you could very well get into my father's library without me, you dunderheads!"
"Oh, right." Ron looked sheepish, but he glared at Hermione, who was looking admiringly at Draco. Squirming uncomfortably under her warm gaze, Draco clapped his hands. "Shall we go then?"
Harry stared at him. "What, now?" Draco nodded.
"No time to lose, Potter. But we'll need to go in pairs. There's no way I'm hanging on tight to one of you two"—he gestured to Harry and Ron—"so I'll take Granger, I suppose." He held out his arm, which she reluctantly took. With a quick turn, the two young heroes Disapparated.
With a small pop, Draco and Hermione arrived just outside enormous brass gates. They stood still for a brief moment, until Draco realized that he still had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She was staring at him in disgust, and in response he pulled his arm back. "Sorry," he muttered. She shrugged and turned back to the gates. Just past them, a huge white manor was visible, rising above sloping lawns and lush gardens.
"This is where you live, Malfoy?" Draco spun around, staring at the new arrivals. Harry and Ron had just Apparated in, and both were staring up at the Malfoy house.
Draco shook his head bitterly at Ron, who had just spoken. "I lived here. I was forced to move, since both the Ministry of Magic and the Dark Lord is after my blood. Now I just move from hotel to hotel." He grinned wryly. "Well," he gestured at the house, "shall we?" He stepped forward, walking up the cobblestone walkway that led to the brass barriers. The others reluctantly followed as he approached the knocker on the gate. Without hesitation, Draco knocked, the huge brass hoop banging against the gate in a melodic fashion. Harry and Ron jumped as a tiny voice spoke, seemingly coming from the knocker.
"Owner identified: Draco Malfoy. Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy." Draco bowed as the gates swung open. His face lit up as he bounded through the gates, onto his luscious grounds.
"Oh it's good to be home!" He nearly skipped across the lawns, the others following meekly in his wake. It was a Draco they had never seen before.
The house was growing nearer, the whitewashed and painted sides growing more defined, until the ornate designs along the trim was visible. It was obviously and old and inherited house that had been passed down through generations of stuck-up, rich and snobby Malfoys. As they rounded the corner of the house, polished oaken doors stood before them, which Draco through open with a joyous squeak. His yelp of happiness was cut short by a pale hand around his throat.
"Welcome home, son. I see you've brought some friends out to play." The slow, menacing drawl of Lucius Malfoy echoed through the entrance hall as he emerged from the shadows behind the door, his hand tight around his son's throat.
