Day 9

Draco gasped and sat up, trying not to let the memories follow him into his waking hours. He hated that, as soon as he fell asleep, he relived those weeks of terror again and again and again, no chance for respite. Panting harshly, he let himself flop back onto his bed, grimacing when he felt the cold sticky sweat of his night clothes. He was too exhausted to get up, but he didn't want to go to sleep either, since that only meant more nightmares.

For the past two days, Asmodeus and the two vampires had taken turns dueling him to exhaustion every day. Well, duel was a little bit too optimistic of an expression; to Draco it seemed more like an exercise in 'make-the-mortal-as-miserable-as-possible'. The vampires positively delighted in showing Draco just how inferior his fighting abilities were, slamming him into the ground as often as possible. And Asmodeus also gave him a lot more exercise than he had bargained for. All three of them were incredibly fast and strong, not only magically but physically, too.

To be honest, Draco had never really seen the need for physical exercise beyond flying. Almost every spell could be blocked with a shield, and those that couldn't be blocked with a shield could be intercepted with a summoned or conjured item. So why should he make the effort and dodge them?

Well, those last days certainly had shown him why. All of them were so fast and strong at casting that it had been virtually impossible to keep up a proper shield defense. Secondly, they liked to rush in and engage in close range combat, which Draco was worse than a novice at, according to the dark-haired vampire. And if his wand was constantly busy blocking, there was no way he could attack. That meant that he had quickly been forced to change his strategy to dodging as much as possible, blocking only the barest minimum, and keep them away by casting as many offensive spells as possible.

At first, his attacks had been half-hearted at best since he had been afraid of hurting them and subsequently being punished. But, to his surprise, the vampires had been the first ones to demand that he go all out. The blond, he could see, because Silas actually was almost nice besides the whole vampire-business. But the black-haired one?

Yesterday evening, he had asked Asmodeus who had merely laughed and commented that vampires liked a good fight almost as much as sex and blood. Draco must have looked somewhat skeptical because Asmodeus had added that, if Draco managed to hit the vampires, they deserved it.

Draco had been a bit offended at that comment, even if it was the complete truth. Even going full out, he managed to get in maybe one hit for every twenty he received, and he barely ever inflicted any real damage. And, compared to the fight between Asmodeus and the winged beast he had observed a week earlier, the three of them had to be holding back quite a bit.

He shuddered, thinking about just how much better they were than him.

Well, at least he was learning.

Finally, he dragged himself into the shower, moving very carefully as to not stress his aching muscles overly much.

Wincing a little bit, he carefully patted the towel over a place where he hadn't had enough energy to heal a bruise last night. He had become quite proficient with his healing spells over the last two days, if only from necessity. They refused to heal him beyond the most serious injuries, most of the time only showing him the spell once and then expecting him to reproduce it the next time. That way, Draco had learned three different bone-mending spells, a diagnostics charm, a spell for torn ligaments, and a stronger version of his general healing charm. He definitely knew that he did not want to learn another bone-mending spell; every time he had gotten it wrong, the blond vampire had had to rebreak his leg. When he had finally managed to more or less heal his shin, he had passed out five times, and was so sick to his stomach that he hadn't even had the strength to retch.

Then, again, the cruciatus curse had hurt worse.

But not by much.

When he exited the bathroom with once again dry clothes, it was at least not completely dark anymore. Waving his wand for a quick tempus spell, he saw that it already was half past five in the morning. That meant that he had slept for more than six hours. That had to be a new record for him; apparently, the grueling training sessions exhausted him sufficiently to grant him at least a minimum of sleep. But not enough for him to feel refreshed. Never. The nightmares made sure of that.

Sighing wearily, he decided that, if he didn't want to heal all his injuries with spells today, he should better see if he was allowed to make some potions. Ever since he had helped Asmodeus with the Aescolapius solution, he had been allowed into the potions laboratory to make his own potions – as long as somebody was present and he told them what he was making. To his surprise, the vampires hadn't used that chance to torment him beyond their presence, letting him brew under their unnerving stare without comment. Sometimes, he even forgot them. When he had asked Asmodeus, the sorcerer had merely laughed and said that neither of them was overly fond of brewing healing or blood replenishing potions, and Draco went through a lot of them.

Reluctantly taking his daily mouthful of the lime green concoction, he shuddered through the familiar pain. During the first week, he had found out that the more he interacted with Asmodeus in a day, the worse the potion hurt. But yesterday, he had been given a new vial for the second week, which apparently also included the two vampires. The pain was much stronger, and took longer to abate.

Unclenching his death-grip around one of the torch holders, he congratulated himself on not falling to the floor. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he took a deep breath to steel himself for the coming day. He had a feeling that it was not going to be a good one.

No matter how far he had come with thinking rationally about vampires in general, their presence triggered something inside him that made him freeze in terror. Especially the black haired one. Draco remembered his father telling him that Malfoys feared no one, but the two vampires were so much stronger and faster and powerful than him…

Suppressing a shiver, Draco made his way downstairs, not very surprised to find somebody already up despite the hour. Judging by the low light coming from the sitting room, it probably was one of the vampires. Asmodeus, too, could read in a light that was much too dim for Draco to see anything by, and he wondered how the man managed that. But this looked too dark even for Asmodeus. It was barely more than the lightening grey of dawn, nearly invisible in the glow from his wand.

Biting his lip, he cautiously knocked on the door, waiting to be admitted into the room. The black haired vampire had made it more than clear that he didn't appreciate Draco entering a room without announcing himself in some way. Draco's throat still throbbed from the memory.

"Enter," came a furious growl. The black haired vampire.

Swallowing heavily, Draco opened the door. There was some kind of completely white fire burning in the hearth without giving off any warmth and only minimal light. Draco's own lumos was much brighter, but still not enough to light the whole room. The vampire's skin seemed even paler than usual, and his black clothes melted right into the shadows. Long teeth were bared at Draco in a snarl, glittering wetly in the light. Like that, he looked truly undead.

Draco immediately froze, not wanting to anger the vampire any further.

"Oh, stuff it, Daray," a voice from behind Draco called jovially. Draco startled so badly that he almost lost his wand. Swiveling around, he recognized Asmodeus, together with his infernal snake wrapped around his neck and shoulders. The snake had its head raised, tongue flittering in Draco's direction, eyes reflecting his lumos. Asmodeus chuckled lightly, inordinately awake so early in the morning. How had he snuck up behind Draco without him noticing?

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow, his unnervingly gold, white, and black eyes even more eerie in the wandlight. "You're blocking the door."

"S-sorry." Blushing, Draco hastily moved the only direction that was available to him – backwards into the room. Asmodeus sauntered past him, igniting several torches and the chandelier with a careless wave of his hand. The vampire rounded on the man, apparently in a bad mood. Draco pressed himself against a wall to evade as much of the fallout as possible.

"Turn off the lights again!"

Completely unimpressed by the vampire's attitude, Asmodeus shot back. "Now, now, don't get your stale blood all heated up. It's morning already, so why shouldn't it be light?"

"Just because you got lucky with your little girlfriend last night doesn't give you a right to be so chipper today!" The vampire growled. Draco felt increasingly uncomfortable, not only because of the conversation that was rapidly heading into a direction he didn't want to know about, but also because of the pressure building in the room. He didn't want to be the target if it exploded.

"Just because you've been frustrated by your little ritual all night, you don't have to bite my head off."

"I'm not frustrated," the vampire growled menacingly. "I'm done, and that's all your fault, Thunder."

Draco didn't know what to make of that strange statement; apparently Asmodeus didn't either, judging by the curiously raised eyebrow. "How is it my fault that you're done?" Suddenly, the raised eyebrow turned into a smirk. "Oh, don't tell me – I was right and lightening was the missing element."

The growl vibrating through the room intensified. "Yes! See how your unnatural love for electricity has infected me? Do you think I'm fond of having a few thousand volts pouring through my veins while trying to cut clear runes?"

Draco didn't quite know what volts were, but they seemed to be something related to lightening. To his surprise he found that he had to agree with the vampire. During the eight days he had spent at the cottage so far, he had never made personal acquaintance with Asmodeus' love for lightening in all its form, but he had more than once only barely evaded bolts that had reflected from the vampire's shields. The few times they had come close enough to make the hairs on his arms and neck stand straight up had only reinforced that belief.

Asmodeus was cackling madly now. "Want to practice a little bit so that you can keep it up?"

"No!"

A black blur shot by Draco, startling him badly. The blur pounced on the vampire, who apparently was as surprised as Draco. A wandless shield repelled the attacker clear across the room, resulting in a strange cross between yowl and hiss. Only then did Draco recognize the panther.

"Don't do that, Nuri! You're lucky I didn't stick that into you!" The vampire held up a dagger for the big cat to see. Draco had never even seen the vampire draw the weapon. The panther didn't seem impressed, haughtily turning its back on the vampire.

Asmodeus wore a frown. "You didn't sense him?"

The vampire shook his head. Privately, Draco wondered just how aware those two usually were of their surroundings, if Asmodeus had indeed sensed the panther.

A new voice from the doorway intruded. "Then it's good that Sierra's said that Aunt Tashanna's ready today."

The blond vampire entered the room, and Draco was caught more or less in the middle. Pressing himself even further into the wall, he hoped that none of them would turn on him.

"They're done?" The black haired vampire suddenly broke off, going completely still. His eyes glazed over, and he stopped breathing. Cautiously looking around, Draco saw that both the blond vampire and Asmodeus looked somewhat out of it, too, only that Asmodeus' features also tightened slightly from time to time. Was someone contacting them? How far did vampiric telepathy reach? Should he use the opportunity and get out unnoticed?

Before Draco was completely done with his questions to himself, all three focused sharply on him.

"Change of plans. I don't want him getting into stuff he's not supposed to, but we can't take him with us, either. Any suggestions?" Asmodeus asked.

Draco nervously licked his lips at the gleam in the two vampires' eyes. Asmodeus rolled his own, adding "And no tying him to his or your bed!"

The black haired vampire mock-pouted, and Draco grew increasingly uncomfortable. Last time, Asmodeus had merely locked the rooms he wasn't allowed to enter, but apparently, with Draco's wand returned, things were a little bit different. Suddenly, all three of them grinned at him. Draco's very, very bad feeling was returning with a vengeance.

Twenty minutes later, that very, very bad feeling had turned into a very, very bad reality. First, the blond vampire had fed on him – he didn't know why the black-haired hadn't joined in; during the past days, they had more than once fed on him at the same time. Afterwards, they had escorted him into the sparring room, fetched enough food and water for him to last the day, and Asmodeus had summoned a few books on warding for him. Finally, they had left and warded the door from the outside, telling him that, if he got bored, he could try and use his books to break out.

At first, Draco had been utterly perplexed. What in the world was the meaning of locking someone in together with a step by step instruction on how to get out? Where was the trap?

He doubted that the wards would harm him in any way unless he did something spectacularly stupid, but it couldn't be that easy. Could it? Seeing how quickly the three had thrown together the wards, they shouldn't be too elaborate, either. So where was the trick?

Taking a deep breath, Draco started with all the ward detection and destruction tricks he already knew.

Half an hour later, he grudgingly had to adjust his opinion. None of the spells he had tried had worked. A few of them had made dents into the tightly woven strands of magic, but the wards had snapped back with a resiliency Draco hadn't seen before.

Sighing, Draco conjured himself a pillow and sat down against the wall with one of those books on warding. It was going to be a very, very long day.

______________

Frowning, he looked at the multicolored lines crossing the doorway and around it. They were tightly woven together, forming an impenetrable net.

It had taken him more than three hours just to find a spell that made all those magic strands visible, and he had a feeling that the worst was yet to come. The book had warned him that this was an easy short-cut to ward-breaking that should only be used in emergency as it was a pale substitute for feeling out the magic on one's own. Draco had tried that, too, but beyond a dim sense that something was there, he hadn't been able to use it at all. He'd have to fine-tune his magic sense a lot more to be helpful in such situations.

According to the books, professional wards were dismantled either by finding a spot that wasn't covered, overloading a weak point, or unmaking the ward. An interesting chapter in the warding book discussed a fourth method, disrupting the power source of the wards, but that was only possible as long as the source was accessible, not hidden behind the wards. And, to Draco's dismay, Asmodeus had done exactly that. He could see where the ward-lines sank into the stone – sadly on the other side of the door. So he had to apply a different method.

Since he couldn't detect any uncovered spots or weaknesses, he was stuck with unraveling, incidentally the hardest of them all.

Sighing deeply, he went to work.

At first, he had to identify all the different strings of magic and what they warded against. A bright reddish one always reacted when Draco exercised magic in close proximity, probably a ward to prevent spell-damage to either door or wall.

A greenish thread always flared up when Draco himself got closer, meaning that it was there to either keep people out in general, or Draco specifically.

Sighing, he studied the other threads in purple and blue, but couldn't make heads or tails of them. He saw them connecting the red and green threads in an intricate weave, but they themselves hadn't shown any sign of activity yet. Were they supporting threads to keep the wards stable, or did they have a more sinister purpose?

Well, he was quite certain that Asmodeus wouldn't kill him, but he wasn't very keen on being cursed unconscious, or any variation thereof. The book had said that nearly any spell could be tied to wards, with the only limit being the caster's imagination, skill, and power. And Draco would bet his right arm that Asmodeus had all three in spades, and even if he was lacking in one of those areas, the vampires would make up for it.

Glaring at the wards, Draco tried to find a way to untie the net without it tangling him up completely.

Luckily, he didn't have to bother with having to keep his manipulations unnoticed, since Asmodeus had more or less dared him to free himself. Making the ward strands visible certainly wouldn't have been a good idea in that case. So, how was he going to remove the threads?

_________________

He woke up to voices outside. Groaning, he vanished the mattress he had conjured for himself and cast a quick tempus charm. Nearly nine in the evening.

That meant he had slept for almost four hours. Uninterrupted, for once.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that.

The wards had proven too much for him. After nearly two hours of continuous struggles, he had actually managed to move the threads of the first one enough to dissolve it. But, to his horror, just as it had been dissolved, it had suddenly snapped back into existence again, in all of its green, red, purple, and blue glory.

At that point, he had almost started banging his head into the walls.

That time, it had only taken him one and a half hours to dissolve the ward – only for it to come back yet again.

At that point, he had been so frustrated that he had turned his back to the door, beaten the stuffing out of a few conjured pillows, and cursed them to hell and back. Afterwards, he had conjured a mattress and lied down for a bit. Finally, the continuous exertion of moving the ward strands combined with his interrupted night had caught up with him and lulled him asleep.

Which was the reason why he was waking up only now.

Looking at the wards, he saw someone detach them from their anchor points on the other side of the wall, and then they dissolved into smoke.

The door opened, and Asmodeus came in. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Draco's rumpled clothing and the eviscerated pillows on the ground, but didn't comment on it.

"You know," Asmodeus smiled, "you're quite good at cracking wards. You were almost through."

Draco frowned. "But they always jumped back to their initial configuration after I dissolved them!"

"Well, we certainly wanted you to think that. But, no, they didn't jump back to their initial configuration. What you did was peeling away the first layer of an onion. Each one of us cast the exact same ward at that door, with the inner layers activating as soon as the layer above fell."

Draco groaned. "So how many layers would I've had to go through?"

Asmodeus' smile turned humorous. "Well, we were three people who cast the wards…"

Once again, Draco barely restrained his need to bang his head into the wall. If he understood Asmodeus correctly, he would have only had to dissolve the final layer, and then he'd have been free!

"Now, come on, you've been staying down here long enough. I think Daray wants to have another chess match."

He was tired, his brain was mushy from all the concentration for moving wards, and he was still groggy from sleep. He was so going to loose that chess match. Not that he'd been doing anything else for the last two weeks.

This really wasn't his day.

A/N:Thank you very much for all your encouragement. Since many people have asked me about it, here's the answer as of now:

I haven't written anything else than those two weeks, where nothing extraordinary will happen that you don't already know from Changes in a Time of War. I just want to give Draco's perspective on things, nothing more, nothing less. The only thing I might want to do later on is the scene at the Conclave, where Draco sees Rahkesh in his full basilisk-induced glory.

Sakiku