Title: Names
Authoress: Lady Domino
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they belong to J. K. Rowling.
A/N: Well, thank you for the reviews Kaluki and Shaitanah. Cough, cough. The rest of you hang your heads in shame! Anyways, here is chapter three. Bear in mind, Draco is not evil, he is desperate, and desperate people don't always do the nicest thing. Personally I am a Draco sympathiser and think he will probably turn out to be a good guy in the end of Rowling's books. Please review!
Actions
I left my mother with the house elves. Perhaps I should have stayed with her. She was Malfoy, I was Malfoy and we are supposed to value our own family over all others. All others, Father. That includes psychopaths with their melodramatic tattoos and their grand visions. A psychopath. A year ago I was bursting with pride because that same creature gave me his mark. What a fool I was! So thrilled that the mighty Lord Voldemort needed me. I could see my future laid out in beautiful clear lines. I would rise through his ranks; I would become his right hand man. My power would grow and grow until none dared challenge me, until people breathed my name with fear. How eager I was to learn Occlumency; and now I am forced to turn it against that same creature I was learning it for.
I suppose in my childish visions of power and glory I skipped the suffering and the fear. I certainly skipped the death. There is a huge difference between being entrusted with the task of killing Dumbledore, and pointing a wand at a living breathing person who is talking to you in a reasonable tone. I couldn't do it. I couldn't.
In those vital seconds my emotions concerning the Dark Lord changed unrecognisably. Gone was the respect, the wonder. Gone was any shadow of loyalty I may have retained from the beginning of the year. All I felt was fear and loathing for this tyrant who had trapped, threatened and terrorised me. He knew that I hated him. He had to; he had confronted me as soon as I had Apparated away from Hogwarts, whilst my mental defences were weakened through confusion and panic. He had let me live that time, discarding me as worthless. If he caught me defying him now I would not survive.
And so it was with my heart hammering and my feet clumsy that I snuck back down to the kitchens. I checked carefully around each corner before turning it, ready to run and hide if I saw him. Pathetic, isn't it? A Malfoy, skulking and scared in his own house. How you have betrayed us, Father. What a plague you have brought on our heads.
I made it to the kitchen without incident, fear running through my veins and adrenaline pounding in my ears. My breath came quickly and as I passed the mirror I barely recognised myself. Gone was cool, calm, suave Draco Malfoy. Instead there was a furtive, wide-eyed creature sneaking around in his place. The house elves made no sign that they noticed my second appearance that day, even though I hardly ever came down to the kitchens. As I slid through them, sizing each up, they averted their eyes and scrambled clumsily out of my way. I passed them warily, to the entrance to the cellar, and walked silently down the stairs.
He wasn't where I'd left him. Un-bloody-believable. The idiot had made his own attempt at escaping. I wanted to curse and slam around some of the wine racks, but couldn't risk the noise. Where the hell had the fool gone? He could be anywhere in the wine cellars, and they stretched for at least half a mile further. Malfoys do nothing in halves, and that includes drinking. We had one of the largest wine stores in England.
Potter must have wrapped the tea towel I had left him around his wrist, as there was hardly any blood on the floor. I squatted down and examined the ground. A cold smile spread over my face. Not very clever, Potter. The drag marks in the dust led deeper into the cellar. As I followed them, fiery torches spurted into life on the walls around me. I could not see any light in the darkness ahead, which meant he had either left the cellar or, more likely, stopped moving. The torches needed movement to trigger them, you see. I walked deeper into the darkness, past racks of Port my grandfather had laid down, and bottles of something my great grandfather had stowed there, the labels too dusty to read. I kept my eyes on the ground, intent on the scuff marks in the dirt. They looked like he had first crawled, and then half walked; half dragged himself along using the racks for support. And then, amazingly, the tracks moved away from the racks into opener areas. He was walking upright! His feet weren't lifting properly; there weren't clear foot impressions, but he was walking unaided. After four hours of torture. I pulled my wand out of my waistband. Potter might be more dangerous than I thought.
It was just as well that I was wary, as it saved my skull. The bottle came out of nowhere, hurtling straight at my head with shocking speed. I ducked hastily, and it smashed into the wall behind me. The thick glass cracked as it fell to the floor, bleeding deep crimson wine. Potter stepped out from behind the rack that had concealed him, holding a second bottle in his uninjured hand. He swayed as I watched him. I laughed harshly.
"Very brave, Potter. You were planning to hide down here for the rest of your life, defending yourself with bottles, were you?" His scowl was interrupted by flickers of pain and fear.
"Shut up, Malfoy." His voice was still rough from screaming. I was too highly strung to feel any pity for him, or any compassion, so I suppose I was harsher than I should have been.
"Expelliarmus!" The bottle flew out of his grip, and he wobbled again, alarmingly close to falling over. "Listen, you bloody idiot. You don't have a cat's chance in hell of getting out of here alive. If I wanted to I could call for the Dark Lord and watch him finish you off here and now. It wouldn't take long either, from the look of you."
"Then why don't you?" he spat, desperately grabbing one of the racks for support. "I'd bet you'd enjoy that, Draco."
"I wouldn't," I replied coldly.
"You didn't have any such delicate qualms when you broke my nose last year," he snarled.
"Still bitter are we?" I laughed. "Well, you can hardly complain. You paid me back with that very nasty spell in the girls' toilets. What were you trying to do? Disembowel me?"
"That was an accident," he panted, a spasm of pain crossing his face. This is what you get when you try to amputate your hand. Sigh.
"Sure," I said. "You just accidentally said a spell." I cocked my head, considering. "Snape's right though; it was a powerful spell. I must admit, I was a tad impressed. I think Snape was too. Not that you're at all impressive now." I walked over to him. He waved a hand, trying to claw me away. I batted it aside, placed my palm on his chest and gave him a hard shove. He fell backwards onto the floor. I leant down over him. "Look Potter, even you aren't thick enough not to see that I am your only chance to get out of here."
"And you want to save me, do you?" he answered. "If this is another of Voldemort's little tricks it's a damn weak one."
I sighed. Honestly, some people don't want to be helped.
"If you could stop thinking the world revolves around you for five seconds, and just consider the amount of danger I am putting myself in by even talking to you, I would greatly appreciate it." He said nothing. I groaned. "All right, look I'll say it. Voldemort is evil. Voldemort is wrong. I want to see him stopped. And I think you're the only person who can do that. So I'll help you." He laughed bitterly.
"I doubt I could stop a woodlouse at the moment."
"Well, I won't fight you there." No reply. I reached down and gripped his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Look, I don't have time for pep talks. I want him stopped. I want him dead. I want my father back. I think you might be able to help me."
"Your father is vile and cruel and I hate him," he retorted. "I'm not going to be helping you save him."
"But you'll free him," I whispered. "You'll free us all." He rolled his head on his neck.
"Why this sudden faith in me, Malfoy?" Hmm. Who had decreed that I had to be truthful?
I said: "Because there is no one else."
"Indeed." He actually smiled, a genuine mad, Harry-Potter-on-the-quidditch-pitch smile, and I knew he would do exactly as I said. "So, Malfoy. How exactly were you planning to rescue me?"
I reached into my right pocket and pulled out the vial I had placed there.
"This is Polyjuice potion. It has one of my mother's hairs in it; I took it only a few minutes ago. You walk with me to the other end of the cellar, drink this, we get you some clothes and walk out." He snorted.
"Voldemort's out there." The way he said the name reminded me of how Voldemort had sounded saying his. It was the way they kind of lingered over the vowels, as if just saying the name connected them to each other.
"Voldemort was looking for you in the attics last time I checked. We can sneak out of the back door, get you away from the house and then you can Apparate home."
"Away from the house?"
"Malfoy Manor is shielded heavily, and surrounded by Anti-Apparation Jinxes," I explained. "Similar to Hogwarts. Not even the Dark Lord can drop in unexpected – he has to use the door like everyone else."
"I don't think I can Apparate in this condition," he said grudgingly.
"The gift of Harry Potter," I replied. "Yet again you have someone on hand ready to help you." Yet again someone was risking their life for him, damn it. What was it about this boy which made people choose death over seeing him hurt? "Come on," I sneered. "I want you out of my house and as far away as possible as soon as possible. You're tainting the air."
Perhaps my very Malfoy words were enough to convince him that I was genuine. When I offered him my left hand he glared at it suspiciously, doubting, but then took it.
"This doesn't change anything, Malfoy," he hissed, and quick as a flash his other hand whipped up and drew my sleeve back. I gasped in surprise and then we were both frozen, staring at Lord Voldemort's mark, burned blackly between us.
"Your choice," Potter eventually said. "Your master. Defy him now if you wish but it doesn't make this arm white again."
"I'm not looking for redemption," I replied coldly. "And anyway, your own arm isn't that clean." The bitter anger on his face was priceless. "You know my motives. I offer you the way out. Take it now or leave it. Malfoys do not offer their help twice." He sighed.
"I'll take it."
"Good boy. Now let's go."
We walked slowly back to the entrance of the cellar, him hanging off me. I was glad when I was able to dump him down as we reached the foot of the stairs; quidditch practice had given him muscles and he was not light. I held out the vial of potion to him.
"I know you've done Polyjuice before. Drink it and the effects are almost instantaneous." He took it and clumsily unplugged the stopper.
"I'm going to turn into a woman?" He gave a nervous little laugh. "That's a new one." I grabbed his hand and held his uninjured wrist in a tight grip. The other one was still wrapped in its towel-bandage.
"I am warning you now. Misuse my mother's body and I will not only turn you over to Voldemort, but I'll also capture the whole thing on camera and send the pictures to your blood-traitor friends." The hatred that burned in his eyes was gratifying; I was almost afraid that I'd become too intimate before, too close. With just one sentence I had effectively raised the barriers between us again. Good. They were comforting, those barriers. They kept us at a safe distance. I didn't want to get close to a boy who had once tried to rip me apart. Deep down he frightened me, deep down he sickened me. So self-righteous, and yet when push came to shove he'd terrified me beyond belief. He's come damn near to killing me. I released him and he lifted the vial and drank the potion inside in one swallow. He closed his eyes, but opened them again a moment later.
"It isn't working. Why isn't it working?" His words were already slurring, his eyelids dropping. I gently took the vial from his hand.
"It's working just fine." His eyes fluttered. He tried to stand up, to sit up straighter even, but failed.
"You tricked me, Malfoy." I leaned over him and shut his eyes with the palm of my hand.
"It's for your own good." He did not answer.
I ran my hand across his forehead and then through his absurdly thick hair, dropping the few strands that came away into the vial of Polyjuice potion, before replacing it in my pocket. Then I checked his breathing; feeling the regular rise and fall of his chest, and pulled out my wand.
"Reducio." He shrunk down until he was perhaps half his previous size. "Reducio." Now he was getting seriously tiny. Smaller and smaller he shrank, until I could pick him up in the palm of my hand. I handled him gently, watching in fascination as his tiny chest rose with the breaths. How vulnerable he was. With hardly any effort I could have pulled him apart. I carefully wrapped his body in my handkerchief, leaving his head free. I didn't want him suffocating accidentally. Then I slid him into my trouser pocket, making sure he was not squashed. It was surreal; I, Draco Malfoy, had the People's Saviour, the mighty Chosen One snuggled up in my pocket. If I brushed past a wall too carelessly we could all kiss the dream of a brighter future goodbye.
I walked back up into the kitchen. Phase One of my plan was implemented, but Phase One was the easy part. Trick a scared teenager into drinking a sleeping potion. Phase Two was the part which could prove problematic. Don't even get me started on Phase Three.
Standing in the centre of the Malfoy kitchen is not a thing one does lightly. A roasting joint spat fat from where it was spitted and turning above the great fire. House elves scampered in all directions underfoot, some running with sharp knives clenched in their hands, others wielding ladles, and still others carrying bowels of ingredients. I needed one of those knives. Carefully I picked up one which had just been used to score pork rind, wrapped it in a towel and slid it down the front of my trousers. Hey, when you wear tight clothes there aren't that many places you can hide a knife. I had to make do with what I had. The elves kept their eyes averted from me, too frightened to meet my gaze. They wouldn't dare object to me borrowing this knife.
The smells were fabulous; Malfoy food rivals that at Hogwarts. I don't know where half of it goes actually, as the three of us could never have eaten all that I could see being prepared. No doubt Father had uses for it. The sounds were less delectable. Elves shouting to each other in their harsh guttural voices, garbling the words hideously with their animal tongues. The gurgle of dirty water finding freedom down the plug hole. The squelch of raw meat being slapped onto a counter. Honestly, it's enough to put you off your dinner, seeing it being made.
I scanned the kitchen. I was looking for an elf that wouldn't be missed; an unimportant expendable creature. My eyes lit on a miserable wretch wiping his nose on his pillowcase as he carried a bucket of potato peelings towards the bins.
"You!" He jumped, and a pall of silence fell over the elves. "Your name?" He swallowed.
"Bilpy, Master."
"Leave that and come with me. The rest of you are to take over Bilpy's chores; I have another job for him." Bilpy looked utterly miserable; he handed his bucket to another elf. They watched him walk to my side like a condemned man. Anyone would think I had announced that I intended to have him for dinner. I glanced down at him coldly. "Bilpy, you are to follow me in silence." He bowed.
"Master commands, Bilpy obeys." I said nothing more, but strode out of the kitchen. I could hear him scurrying behind me to keep up. Elves really are the most pathetic creatures. A race of snivelling servants. It's enough to make you hurl.
The fear had returned now. It was tempered with determination, with the knowledge that I was doing something, but still I could feel my pulse quicken as I stepped back into the main body of the house. My panic communicated itself to my legs, and I found myself taking the stairs two at a time. Up the first staircase. Turn. Down the passage past the library. Up the second staircase. Turn. Up the third. And then along a maze of corridors to a little known ladder leading up to the great attics. Bilpy scampered behind me, sniffing every now and then. It was the sniff that got me. Such an annoying sound. It wiped away any traces of pity I might have felt for him. We were in the attic now. I crossed it to the great, dirty windows which faced south. Sunlight streamed in through the grime.
The attic contained, amongst other things, old furniture. I sat down on a chair missing one arm and motioned Bilpy towards me. He stood in front of me, his overlarge eyes moist with misery, his hands wringing beneath the pillowcase. I hold out the vial of Polyjuice potion to him.
"Drink it." He cringed away from it.
"Master," he pleaded.
"Drink it," I commanded.
"Master please."
"Drink it now." He could not disobey me any longer. He reached for the vial with trembling fingers. I uncorked it and placed it in his hands. With a face of dread he drank the potion.
The changes were fast, and even weirder than usual. I mean, forget age change, forget gender change, this was species change. For a terrible second I thought it wouldn't work, that I'd end up with some terrible mutant on my hand. He squeaked shrilly as his flesh stretched and changed, as he grew, as his face morphed. Then it was over. In front of me stood a carbon copy of Harry Potter. Harry Potter wearing too small a pillow case.
"Urgh. I so don't need to see that." I drew my wand again. "Accio clothes." Up from my room flew the grey t-shirt, the boxers and the jeans which I had selected earlier. They were close matches to what Potter had been wearing, although of an infinitely better cut, of course. However, the clothes would not matter too much. It was the face that counted. I threw the clothes to Bilpy who stood there blinking stupidly.
"Dress yourself." A look of wonder crossed his face.
"Master has given Bilpy clothes." What? WHAT? Oh shit, I'd totally forgotten. I forced a smile across my face.
"Yes Bilpy, I'm setting you free." He picked up the shirt reverently. "Now why don't you put on your nice new clothes like a good elf?" The idiot nodded blearily and pulled on the clothes. It was torturously slow. Then he looked down at himself.
"Why has master changed my body?" I smiled and leant forward.
"You're going to be remembered in history, Bilpy, as the elf that saved the life of the mighty Harry Potter." A light entered his eyes.
"Harry Potter is here?" I stroked my pocket unconsciously.
"Nearby. Now Bilpy, are you ready to help him?" Bilpy nodded eagerly. I raised my wand again. "Good elf. Stupefy."
He fell backwards and collapsed onto a Victorian writing desk. I was running out of time and had to move quickly. When the body was found Lord Voldemort would look for two marks: the infamous scar and the newly impressed Dark Mark. I brushed Bilpy's fringe back and smiled to see the slash of lightning imprinted there. Excellent. However, I could not replicate the Dark Mark. And a bare left wrist would be a dead giveaway. Even the slashed mess that was Potter's arm had still borne the Mark clearly. I had to obliterate the actual wrist.
You see, if the Mark wasn't there then there had to be an explanation for its absence. I pulled the knife out of my trousers and gritted my teeth. I'm not a sadist like Father. I'm not good at hands on violence. I'm not good at blood. Do it quickly, Draco, before you lose your nerve. I gripped Bilpy's left wrist and in one movement hacked down on it with the knife. It didn't completely sever. In fact, it twitched reflexively, and he groaned in his comatose state. Oh God, I should have brought a cleaver. Blood was spattering as the arm moved, blood was trickling off the knife. I was ready to vomit now, but I controlled the urge. Another two hacks and the hand fell off. Bilpy wriggled and moaned unconsciously. His reflex movements had made it harder, but I needed him alive whilst this happened. I needed his heart to beat, so that it could push the blood out of the stump. If he were already dead the minimal blood on the end would have been noticeable to anyone familiar with wounds. I was sure Lord Voldemort had seen a fair few.
As soon as the hand fell off I burned the horrid thing with a fire spell. The fingers curled in the heat and the smell was horrendous in that it smelled just like any other meat cooking. My eyes told me to vomit, whilst my nose told me to get hungry. The conflicting feelings almost destroyed my willpower, and it was only with a supreme effort that I did not throw up. That would be disastrous; more mess to clean up, more difficulties, more chance of getting caught.
The next part was staging the death. It had to look real and it had to look believable. The Dark Lord would not be satisfied just finding a body lying around; he'd want to know how Potter had died, why he had died. It had to look like suicide, had to look like Potter had worked alone without any help from me. I picked up a light wooden stool and hefted it in my hands. Yes, it was possible that a boy with only one working hand could lift it, could throw it with some force. I set the stool down and picked up my wand again. Now was the hard part. My first ever kill. Alone and scared in my own attic. Who said the life of a Deatheater wasn't glamorous?
He looked too human. Oh God, he looked just like Potter. Bleeding stump and all. The bile rose high in my throat. But I had to be sure. I had to be sure that he did not accidentally survive the fall. That he ended up dead.
"Avada Kadavra." Was that my voice? Was that my voice? That dreadful hissing, those words of death? I felt my wand shudder as bright green light shot from it. My aim was true; the spell hit Bilpy square on. His chest fell and never rose again. I'd done it. I'd done it! Hooray. I felt even sicker than before. But I had to move fast now. Time would start ticking from the second I made a noise. And I intended to make a very loud noise indeed. I placed the knife on the floor near the burned stump, dropping it untidily so that it looked like it had been thrown to the ground, then picked up the stool again and gingerly lifted the severed stump. I used it to smear some blood onto the stool, just for authenticity. Then I flung the stool hard at the windows.
I swear the noise they made as they shattered was deafening. It must have been heard at least a mile away. Any second now the Dark Lord would come running. Thank God you couldn't Apparate in Malfoy Manor. I pointed my wand at Bilpy's lifeless body.
"Wingardium Leviosa." It lifted up and with a flick of my wand I sent it through the gap in the glass. I didn't see it fall, but I heard the impact. I'll hear that sound many times again in my nightmares. And then I frantically took a threadbare blanket lying across an ancient bookshelf and used it to wipe away the multiple footprints in the dust on the floor. And I ran. Oh God, I ran. Back to my room. Back to where I'd be safe. I tumbled in, and resisted the urge to slam the door. Too much of a giveaway. Instead I felt everything that I had done catch up with me. I ran to the basin and vomited heavily. Washed my mouth out with water. Hurled again. My limbs were heavy with exhaustion, but I couldn't sleep, couldn't sleep. There was still too much to do.
You like? Please review!