Disclaimer: The story plot and the original characters are mine. You know what belongs to J.K., and so do I! The only thing intended with this story is for entertainment purposes.
Spoilers: I'll say the first 5 books, just to be on the safe side!
Note: I know it's been over a month since I updated, but I come bearing good news. I've wrote 86 pages and just never updated, so I've split it up into four parts—and I'll add a new one for the next three days, or every other day! I do have to warn you, though: It's basically eighty-some pages that covers a basis of one day. I'm sorry I didn't get to respond to your reviews, before, and I'm going to do that, now. I kept putting it off until I decided I was going to next update, but that ended up being longer than I had intended! So, I apologize, and I just want to thank you guys so FREAKING much. You have no idea how much I appreciate the feedback. You guys are the best, and thank-you, again, so much! I hope I still can keep you interested in the story, and, if I do, I hope you enjoy the rest!
Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Twelve
The Dreariest Dream
Draco had not lied when he had suggested that Harry would have fallen into a sleep sooner than later. Only a couple of minutes after Draco had made his exit, Harry had allowed himself to fall prey to a tired ache, thankfully taking in all of the different things he had discovered and discussed that day. These events, he wondered right before he conked out, might have intruded on his dreams, later that night. Nearly all he did was think about Voldemort—how to defeat him, how to outwit him, how to outsmart the brilliant mastermind who had managed to stay alive, in spirit, for longer than a decade before returning back to the flesh. It was nearly a miracle that Harry wasn't having nightmares every night because he was doing so much thinking about one thing.
But, Harry was, at least, grateful that he didn't have to deal with Voldemort in dream state.
Harry felt alive in his dream, that night. It was a dream that felt real, where he felt emotions, and he could feel his footsteps. He could feel things that dreams usually didn't allow. He didn't know how he got to where he was, or what, if any, dream he had had before where he stood, but he was there. He was standing at the end of a dark tunnel. Up further ahead was a gray-area, and he could see the shadows of people milling around. He turned to look behind him, but there was only a wall that greeted him.
Harry started down the hallway. He could see himself. He was out of his body, like he was walking right by his own side. While his body was walking, the viewpoint that Harry could see sped up to get a look at what was going on. It felt as if his body was burning as soon as he was five feet ahead of his body. The perspective stopped and he waited for himself to catch up. When his body did, it looked right back at him with an expression that hissed, "Be patient!"
After all, it was a dream.
Eventually, the walk down the hallway came to a close, and his perspective was back in his body, so he could no longer see himself. He was seeing everything from his old green eyes. His hands clasped over his glasses, and he frantically felt for the ear-pieces to make sure they were really there. They were. He pulled them off of his eyes, in awe, and examined them, turning them from side to side. Funnily enough, his eyes were seeing everything perfectly. There wasn't the slightest bit of blur or fog, but Harry still put them back on his face and returned his attention to where he was.
From the hallway he was in, he could turn left, or he could turn right. He stuck his shoulder against the left side of the hallway, etching up toward the very edge of the corner. To the right, there seemed to be no one. And, the shadows that had once swallowed the hallways were beginning to disappear. He didn't know why or what they were, but they seemed to be leaving for a reason.
Harry tightly closed his eyes before he bravely opened them and stuck the smallest sliver of his face out from beside the corner, looking, hurriedly, for anything that might have been in the hallway. His eyes immediately landed on a group of men. They were dressed in dark wizard robes and were circling a shiny, spotless, black marble roundtable. They were working on something, but there were too many of the men for Harry to understand what it was. And, there he stood, at his corner, his eyes trying to see through the occasional space that popped up between moving bodies.
Harry began to wonder if he should step forward. He knew that dreams could be deceiving—very much so. He knew they could be real, as well. Very real. He knew Voldemort could access him through dreams. But, at first glance, these men didn't look threatening. They were laughing with each other, sharing stories that Harry tried hard to understand, but couldn't, even though they were speaking in English. It was like he had never heard a lick of English in his life, yet he was thinking in it.
It was at this moment that Harry realized that his dream wasn't just a dream. He was there. He was actually thinking about what he should have done. He knew he was asleep, as he stood there, but he also knew he was awake. Immediately, he withdrew himself from examining the men. He looked around, hurriedly, and down into the dark tunnel that he had entered through. It was still empty, which was even more disconcerting. He closed his eyes, again, and willed himself to wake up.
When he opened his eyes, he was still standing in the dim tunnel.
"Fuck," Harry mouthed to himself, defeated. He turned back around to the wall he was standing against. He placed his stomach against the wall and hesitantly peaked out the smallest sliver of his head, again, just enough so that he had a full view of what was going on. His heart was pounding, furiously, against his chest. It was so loud, in his brain, that he was scared to death that one of the men, about fifteen feet away, would hear his beating heart. The last thing he wanted to do was stand there, wand-less, seemingly trapped in a dream, while men hawked around him as a threat. He as obviously a threat, and that was no good for him to even acknowledge.
The ground below his feet suddenly shook, and Harry was thrown from the left side of the wall to the right. His back slammed, silently, to the wall, with his arms out, shoulder-length, to each of his sides. His eyes rolled up, in pain. He felt as if he had been thrown fifty feet and had landed on his back. For a fleeting moment, the wind was knocked out of him. But, he was too alarmed and determined to not be seen to have paid attention to his health. As fast as he could, he threw himself off of the wall and landed, five feet later, back where he had first began. It was possible that someone had seen him—if they could see him, at all.
The room exploded with delighted laughter.
"Ladies, gentlemen, we have a visitor."
The laughter was killed off, at once.
Harry's body doubled over, and he bent at his waist. The pain he suddenly felt pulled and clawed at his entire torso, right from his gut. His back was to the opening of the tunnel as he clutched his palm over his burning scar. He knew that voice. He would know it anywhere, in any language. He stood tall, once more, trying his damnedest to fight the pain. Was Harry their visitor? Were they going to sweep around the corner and kill him? Were they aware he was there? Who else would they have been talking about? He held his breath as he looked over his shoulder. No one was there.
The only sound he heard was the opening of a door.
And, seconds after, a chorus of, "Lucius!" went into the air, strongly, with cheer and admiration.
Harry peeked right back around the corner, his eyes enflamed with disbelief. Lucius? It had to be a dream, and Harry knew it. Lucius was with Dumbledore, with the Order of the Phoenix, and there was no way that they would have let him escape. He watched with unblinkingly enthralled eyes, as Lucius Malfoy stepped out from the door on the right side of the hallway, opposite of Harry's wall, only to meet Voldemort, who had stepped out from a door on the left side of the hallway.
The two stood in the center of a group of men and women who Harry was beginning to recognize as death eaters. Lucius said nothing, he just looked around at the group, and then set his cold, dark eyes onto Voldemort. But, something was very different about Lucius. The only difference that Harry could pinpoint was that Lucius's bright, long locks of platinum hair had been... shaved off. He nearly didn't look like himself, but at the same time, he was even more darkly bright than he had ever been. In fact, if Harry wouldn't have heard Lucius introduced by name, it would have taken him a few minutes to realize that it was Lucius, indeed. Seeing him without hair was... awkward.
Out of the inner corner of Harry's right eye, a sharp movement caught his eye.
Alarmed, Harry turned his attention to where he had sensed motion. At first, he blinked. He stared straight ahead at a face peeking out of a corner, like he was doing. They were opposite of each other, separated by at least thirty feet. On first glance, Harry wondered if there was a mirror on the other side of the hallway, being that whoever was there was peeking out just like he was, but he realized, a second later, that it was no mirror image staring, with horror, back at him. It was a pair of bright eyes and a bright lock of hair that suddenly screamed at Harry to stop being an idiot, mentally.
It was Draco.
Harry returned the look to Draco, startled.
Draco turned his eyes away and stared at Lucius, however, far too surprised to continue to stare, unflatteringly, at Harry. Harry seemed, by way of expression, to understand more than Draco did. And, Draco was also far-too involved with staring at his father—albeit it, his father without his hair—to keep his attention on Harry. He was panicked, deep down, because he had had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he was feeling fully, and thinking, and the last thing he had remembered was sitting down on a lounge in his study and resting his eyes.
A dream? Was he in a dream? Oh! Oh!
Draco knew exactly where they were, why, and how. He was sure, however, that Harry had no idea where they were. Draco had heard stories from his father about the way the Death Eaters kept in contact. It was a place that outside forces couldn't have known about or interfered with. It was the dream-state, and within the dream-state, Voldemort had set up a place to summon his armies. It was a safe house for the Death Eaters. Those who were traveling, those who were in hiding, and even those who were in Azkaban, could all contact each other in the dream-state. They could all be together, and that was how they had put together many of their plans.
It had also been successful in tricking Veritaserum, because often, during trials involving Death Eaters, they would be asked who they contacted and where—and, because no one ever figured that the dream-state was a location, the Death Eaters had been able to lie, successfully. It had been key in keeping many men and women out of Azkaban. It was a brilliant place—one which was rare, and Draco was sure that there were few people who had ever existed who could have manipulated a place, in dream state, to act in the way Voldemort had made his location act.
In general, manipulating dream-state was nearly impossible.
But, impossible to Voldemort? Apparently not, and the realization of this hit at Draco's stomach.
What were he and Harry going to face? Well, Harry, mostly? They were supposed to defeat a man who was powerful and skillful enough to manipulate a place that wasn't a place, at all. God, what were they doing? What were they going to do? For the first time, Draco felt anxious for Harry. Though he had always known the power of Voldemort to be great and extensive, he had never realized just WHAT the man could do. And, there, standing, with all of his functions and thoughts, in his own dream, he was clobbered over the head by the knowledge that Harry was seventeen and had to bring down a man who no one had ever bee able to bring down.
But, Draco's thoughts of Harry left him, and he just stared at his father, gape-mouthed.
Harry, from across the hallway, couldn't help wonder if Draco appeared so horrified only over the state of Lucius's hair. After he thought this, he tried hard not to laugh. Sure, he thought highly of Draco, and he knew Draco wasn't a one-sided person who only cared about shallow things, as he had years earlier, but the small flashback just seemed to fit right in the moment. But, it phased past him, and he looked at Lucius, too. What was going on? Why was Lucius there? What had happened to his hair? Why did he seem so different, but in a non-physical way? Where were they, anyway? Was it Death-Eater's headquarters or something of the sort? Fucking brilliant, really, being trapped there, in a dark hallway. He had been constantly trying to will himself to wake up, but it hadn't worked.
Harry looked, once more, at Draco. Draco seemed calm and not panicked. Harry tried to emulate this.
Lucius stepped forward, at last, and met Voldemort.
Voldemort stretched out his hands, in a grand gesture, smiling, and Lucius lifted his own.
Voldemort took Lucius's hands, almost affectionately, and gave a nod, "Lucius."
Lucius lowered his head, "My lord."
Harry saw Draco's entire head peek out from behind his wall, and he looked furious.
Harry almost went to yell out at him, but he quickly silenced himself with a bite to his own tongue.
It was at that moment, as well, that Lucius lifted his head up, took a deep breath and dropped the hold of Voldemort's hands and vice versa of Voldemort to Lucius, "Draco," his voice boomed. His voice silenced the room—and, he also stilled the body of his son, who Harry had seen Lucius's eyes momentarily fall over. But, Draco didn't move, too startled to hardly even breathe, and Harry wondered if he was even thinking, his light eyes very still and noticeable even from the dark corner that Harry was hiding in. But, Lucius didn't acknowledge Draco. His mouth smoldered into something of a Cheshire-cat smirk. "Draco," he repeated, at ease, "will not be joining our ranks, my lord."
Harry bravely stuck his head out, too, and when he saw Draco looking at him, Harry gave a hurried, tiny wave of his right hand's index finger, for Draco to get back to his corner, which he was at least visible five inches away from, from the tip of his head to the tip of his visible shoe. It seemed to wake Draco up, because he immediately disappeared, again. Not knowing what was going on, and intent on remembering every single thing that Lucius said, Harry tried as hard
as he could to focus, and he made his ears listen harder than he was sure they had ever listened.
Harry had seen Lucius spot Draco and then look right back at Voldemort, as if it had not happened.
"That was not part of my deal with Gregarold, Lucius. His son, and your son."
Lucius did not say anything, at first. And, then he did something very un-Lucius like.
"No."
Voldemort did not seem irritated. Rather, he gave a sigh, as if Lucius was saying something that the two had discussed before, perhaps time and time, again, so much so that it brought a hesitant side of Voldemort out for display, "Lucius, you knew this day was coming."
It was then that Harry noticed the way Voldemort was eyeing Lucius's head, with swollen-eyed curiosity.
Draco seemed to notice it, too, because they randomly looked at each other, for the first time.
Draco was fascinated by how distracted Voldemort seemed to be over his father's lack of platinum hair.
Lucius cleared his throat, "My lord," Lucius smiled, and Voldemort hissed, "I do not advise you to try your hand with Draco while I'm gone," he spoke, very quietly, but it was loud enough for Harry to hear, which meant Draco had heard it, too.
Lucius picked up a glass full of something bubbly from a woman who had appeared with a tray of beverages. Everyone else took their own drink off of the tray, as she walked around the group, milling through the bodies. But, it seemed that no one truly wanted to drink, because no one was. They were looking between Lucius and Voldemort with darkened, emotionless eyes, far too curios to indulge in anything human.
Voldemort's head seemed to tick, "Lucius, my lovely Lucius, where are you? You've not visited." He sounded sly. Snake-like. The epitome of Slytherin.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Where was Lucius? He was right there! He hadn't visited? What? Hmm.
"Oh, that," Lucius drawled. He took a sip of his drink and swallowed, staring right into Voldemort's eyes. He cleared his throat and held his goblet out into the air, to his left. It disappeared from his hand, with a pop, and then he dropped his hand, albeit with a gentle grace. "Well, my lord, I'm surprised that wasn't the first thing you asked."
Voldemort seemed to find Lucius endearing, because he laughed, "I figured you would have told me before I asked, Lucius," he jabbed, slightly leaning forward, with his right hand extended and his fingers positioned in stiff, yet meaningful, shows of just how he had perfected his many arts. There was something about Voldemort's hands that intrigued Harry, for the first time ever. They were their own tool. They had power of their own. Skill—skill that Voldemort seemed to know they so strongly possessed.
Everyone in the group laughed, including a very un-amused Lucius.
Harry shook his head, very slowly, his face furrowed in dislike.
The way the Death Eaters fawned over Voldemort's every word made Harry's blood boil.
The only person who did not laugh, at all, was Voldemort, and his eyes were locked onto Lucius. And, when he saw Lucius's nearly-nasty reaction, he waved his right arm in the air, sharply, and it silenced the group, again. He stepped forward, this time with truly suspicious eyes. He began to circle Lucius, taking his time, as graceful and ethereal-looking as ever—and, more human than Harry had ever seen him. "What happened to your hair, Lucius?"
Harry's nose snarled up in disgust, as Voldemort placed his hands on Lucius's mostly-bare head, with clear caution.
Draco felt his own face fall. How could his father let that man—thing—touch him? How?
"My hair is recognizable, my lord. I was too easily spotted."
"But, you're lying to me, Lucius," Voldemort announced, slowly lowering his hands. "Lucius."
Lucius stared straight forward, up onto a wall, "My lord, would I lie to you?"
"Regarding your son, Lucius, it would not be the first time, "
Draco's left eyebrow hooked up, and he felt his surprise devour his body. He missed his father. He hated the way that things had been left between them. He did love Lucius. He loved every memory and every pore on the older face. Lucius was his father, and he had taught Draco many things. He had given Draco great joys, great laughter, and great memories. But, things had changed, in years past, and Voldemort had, at last, seemed to wear down on his father, and his father had welcomed it.
But, standing there and watching his father interact with the Dark Lord, Draco... felt appalled.
Draco had never supported Voldemort, but he had also never been in a room with him. And, the room was cold. It seemed perfectly warm in temperature, but there was an air that surrounded Voldemort, and it was not, at all, easy or welcoming. It was uneasy and very foreboding. How could anyone ever have been so charmed by Voldemort to have taken up with him? Sure, he was eloquent. Sure, he was charming. Sure, he was powerful. Sure, he screamed of the answers no one seemed to have. Sure, he appeared to have the skill rare-others had—but, he was Voldemort! He was intriguing to Draco, but in a way that one would study a strange creature, not jump, full-fledge into being in cahoots with.
Something within the very core of Draco's body began to venomously unravel with fury—raw, hard, horrid fury.
"We're not speaking about my son, my lord."
Voldemort was standing directly behind Lucius, glaring into the back of his head.
Harry and Draco could both see Lucius's and Voldemort's expressions, now.
"I've not been able to track you, Lucius. I've summoned your dreams, you've not come."
Harry swallowed, accepting his suspicion as truth with a quick squeeze of closed eyes. They were in dream-state.
Lucius closed his eyes, holding his hands behind his back. He had hardly budged. And, when he spoke, he spoke with soft confidence. His voice didn't falter. It didn't waver. It didn't quiver, "I've simply not had the chance, my lord."
Draco tilted his head. His eyes were squinted. The way his father spoke to the Dark Lord... and the way the man returned his words... it was not normal in a Lord to servant sort of way. Every person, including his father, that Draco had ever spoken to, about Voldemort, always made it clear that Voldemort was not easily questioned, especially in front of his Death Eaters. He was a friend to his followers, yes. But, his followers were not friends to him. They were simply his family—family he nearly controlled. But, the way he spoke to Lucius, and the way he allowed Lucius to speak to him, made Draco wonder just how much respect had been shared between his father and the man standing behind him.
What was worse than Voldemort being angry with his father was Voldemort respecting his father so severely.
God-damnit! And, why wouldn't he? Lucius had been loyal.
"You've been on the run, Lucius, have you not?" He hurried around Lucius, until he was standing straight in front of him, again. And, he grasped the front of Lucius's robes in his long, thin, bony fingers, though they seemed strong, because Lucius's body lurched. He did not fight the grip, but his eyes did lower from the ceiling and anchor right down into where Voldemort's seemed to be. "Why have you not come to me, Lucius? Why have you not come to stay HERE and let me help you out of this?" And, he shoved Lucius away from him, clearly distressed. "You have NEVER not come to me—when did you stop coming to ME, Lucius? What is it that I've done? Have I not treated you with enough riches, enough respect, enough love? You turn away from me as if I am nothing, and I ask where you have been, and you lie to me!"
Harry's jaw dropped.
Voldemort turned away from Lucius, and he seemed maddened with Lucius in all ways possible.
"You should not have thought against my strict hesitance on Draco's involvement, my lord. Perhaps I would have come to you, then."
Draco's heart wrenched. Oh, God. He was a horrible son, if what Lucius spoke was the truth.
There he had been, knowing his father as Voldemort's puppet—but, he was much more than that.
His father had clearly taken Draco's hesitance to heart, and he had forbidden Voldemort to bait Draco.
"And, you mock me, so, Lucius Malfoy!" Voldemort declared, as he sharply turned back to the group.
"Mock you, I do not," Lucius retorted through clenched teeth. And, for the first time, his face began to contort. "I forbid you to involve Draco, like I did then, and I'll not stay here while you're either defying or obeying my wish." But, in truth, he was not capable of staying anywhere other than a secret room in a house he had never been able to place to a location, a street, or even a country.
"Draco has been involved since he was a child, Lucius! He's destined to be great. There is no one better than I to bestow upon him the knowledge of what he could do."
Lucius stepped forward, very quickly. Powerfully, until he was standing directly in front of an immobile, contemplative Voldemort. Whereas the group looked down at the floor, as if shaking their heads over what was going to happen next, Voldemort did not move. He did not even blink. And, Lucius stared straight into the warm eyes opposite of him. They were never cold to Lucius. They were the eyes of a once-handsome man, and once of a teenager, and once of a child, and once of an infant—but, they were never those eyes of a true father, no matter how many Death Eaters Voldemort had been a father-figure to, in many ways.
Draco leaned his eyes in further, unable to deal with his guilt and his heart-break.
"Draco is destined to be great, my lord, but in a way that we are not. He does not WANT this, therefore it is not his destiny. It is his curse, and he despises it, and he despises you, and he despises me, and I won't have him despise his father. You'll leave him alone, Tom, and don't doubt that I know how and who can pull you down, and don't doubt that I'm not in hiding by choice, or that I'm in hiding at all and not being taken hostage by those who do not wish for you to interfere with Draco at all."
TOM! Tom? Lucius was calling Lord Voldemort by his NAME?
In result, Voldemort turned from Lucius, while the group of Death Eaters all began to shudder with anticipating sorrow.
Harry felt ill. What was going on? His eyes kept flickering back to Draco. Draco kept glancing back.
Carefully, it seemed, Voldemort spoke and breathed, "Are you threatening me, Lucius?"
Harry was awed that Voldemort had so-easily side-stepped being called Tom in front of the Death Eaters.
"No," Lucius returned, at once, "I'm telling you, and all of those you control, to leave Draco alone."
"Draco will never be left free of us, Lucius. His blood has not made him so easy to dismiss, nor his looks."
"HUSH," Lucius shouted, losing his obvious cool, as everyone laughed at the bit about Draco's looks.
Voldemort's chin rose into the air, at Lucius's demand.
Harry noticed that Voldemort had a flash of pride in his eyes.
But, Lucius seemed to ignore everything about Voldemort's expression, and he stepped further away from the group of silent, offended Death Eaters and closer to Voldemort, without a flaw or murmur in his step. He was nearly demanding of Voldemort, "You will leave Draco alone, and if you tell me otherwise, I'll slash my throat, here and now, and if you ignore my plea to you, I will not be the one who makes you regret it, my lord."
Voldemort's face washed over with despair, as if he knew Lucius's threat to slit his throat was very real.
"You will regret it," Lucius continued, with a very serious, very telling voice. "There are forces who will not stand to see Draco within fifteen miles of you, in reality, in dreams, or even in theory. It won't be me who comes for you, my lord, and I wouldn't be a fraction of the threat as who will. You've had the best, my lord. You can't control the world—and, you can't control those who wish to defy you."
Harry's eyes squinted, and he felt a small knock at his chest. What was Lucius talking about?
Draco's lips screwed up, having been trying to decipher what his father was speaking about. He had failed at trying to figure out what it was, or who it was, that his father had meant. But, it seemed that Voldemort didn't shoot down Lucius's information or the reasoning behind it. But, who would be this powerful force that was concerned with Draco being near Voldemort? Dumbledore, surely? Why couldn't his father just have said that, then? Were there more people? A list of the most powerful contenders started to flash over Draco's mind, as he stood there.
Draco had been wondering what he had had to do with any of what was going on, but came up short of answers.
It was very quiet.
Harry was half-expecting Voldemort to laugh at Lucius's words, as if he did not see the problem, but no such laugh came out of him. Instead, his chin lowered and his eyes fixed, intensely, onto the brightly glinting eyes of Lucius Malfoy. They were eyes that were alit by the massive amounts of candles that were flickering from the walls of the hallway. Lucius kept the eye-contact, with his hands resting simply at his sides. His face was intense, and with his lack of hair, his incredible bone structure reigned more supreme than it ever had. Gone was his frilly hair, that softened his image in the pretty way that it had—he was just pure nerve, pure sneer, and pure cheekbones.
Harry couldn't help but still see a resemblance between Draco and Lucius, though there was no blood shared.
"Lucius, where are you?" Voldemort stepped closer to Lucius, as if he could figure it out by closing the distance.
For some reason, Harry could hear this, though Voldemort had whispered it only to Lucius.
Lucius turned his back and started for the door, "A place you can not interfere, my lord."
Draco's breath got caught at the top of his throat. Seeing Lucius turn his back to Voldemort was incredible.
Voldemort followed him, however, trailing by a foot, "I don't like that answer, Lucius."
Lucius opened the door. And, before he walked into it, he turned to Voldemort, "Believe me, my lord."
"Forces, Lucius," Voldemort returned, to make it clear to Lucius that he understood. He was being warned.
Lucius bowed his head, once. But, once he was finished with the respectful gesture, he looked up, as if he were no longer under any sort of obligation to be respectful. It was Lucius, this time, who made his demand, yet again, "Don't touch Draco, my lord. I will not be happy."
"You've made that clear, Lucius."
Draco's teeth clenched. WHY DID VOLDEMORT want Draco so badly? Draco had heard nothing of this.
"He will be more unhappy than I, my lord."
Draco's heart fell. It fell very, very far until he felt a hole open, nearly, at the pit of his stomach.
Who would be unhappy? Who was it that had anything to do with Draco? WHO!
Voldemort raised his hands into the air, at once. It was a grand gesture, and his long fingers elegantly stuck out from the falling robes on his arms, "Lucius, you and I shall talk in private before you leave. The rest of you, leave my sight, and I do mean that in the most lovingly way possible." He carelessly flickered his fingertips out, on either side of him, and the room began to clear. He didn't seem to move a millimeter while the room faded from group evil to individual loyalty.
The men and women disappeared into the door that Voldemort had walked out through. And, when they were gone, Lucius re-entered the nearly empty hallway with a calm, careful, pleased step. And, when it was completely emptied, Voldemort closed the open door behind him and stared Lucius down. "Who has you, Lucius?"
"I will not tell you, my lord, for my own protection."
Voldemort let out the first humanly aggravated sound that Harry had ever heard from him—a sound he hadn't even deemed possible, which made something physically happen in his body. How dare Voldemort try to be human—he wasn't human, he had nothing human about him, besides a body—which wasn't even completely human, "I would not harm you, Lucius! Do not insult me as such!" He crossed his arms over his chest, as well, imitating Lucius's action. He continued to wait, patiently, on Lucius. "I never have wanted Draco to hurt him, Lucius. My interest in him would do exactly the opposite. I took you in the same way, Lucius, and have I harmed you?"
"Directly, my lord, no. But, in other ways, you have."
"Have I?" Voldemort asked and stepped forward, as if searching for more from Lucius, truly seeming clueless.
Lucius cocked his right eyebrow, "My lord, my son hates me because of you. My wife, as well."
"That's only because you've allowed your emotions to be so vital in your life. I taught you otherwise—"
"My lord, you have never been a father to a son, and if you had been, it's rare you would have had a son like Draco."
Voldemort hummed, deeply, from his throat, nodding, "You love him very much, Lucius."
Draco pressed his forehead against the cold, stone wall, and he closed his eyes, hidden, once again.
"My lord. For your good, for my good, and for the wellness of Draco, I plead with you not to go against this."
"Lucius!" Voldemort simply exclaimed and turned away, rubbing his hands over his face, clearly distressed.
Harry could not explain the awe that he felt in his body. The way Voldemort spoke to Lucius, in the group, had made Harry impressed. But, this? This was too much. Lucius Malfoy must have been to Voldemort what no one else to Voldemort had been. A son-figure? A close-friend? Both? He was human around Lucius. For Merlin's sake, he was standing there, with his arms crossed, and with expectant eyes. He was asking questions of Lucius and not demanding answers of the man opposite of him. He was looking for conversation, and when it had been suggested that Lucius wanted to keep silent for his own protection, Harry swore that he had seen Voldemort's face quickly flicker with offense and hurt.
"My lord, when I was declared Draco's father, I took on the responsibility of keeping him safe and happy."
"Cornwell should have thought about that, Lucius. He knew who you were to me, and he still let it happen."
Draco's knees nearly gave way, and his eyes shot open like bullets.
"You do not understand why Cornwell did what he did, my lord. It's in his head, not mine."
"I never could understand Cornwell, and he used it to his advantage."
Harry's eyes could not even have budged from Draco's deadly-white, tight face if he had wanted them to.
Draco looked like he had been stabbed, and he disappeared from his corner.
Harry turned away from his corner, too, and covered his hands over his face. Unbelievable.
Lucius stuttered for a long moment. No longer were Harry or Draco visible to him. He had not been able to look at Draco, not once. For Draco's safety, Lucius had not wanted anyone to see his own eyes lingering in the corners of the long hallway. But, aside from that, even if Lucius had been alone with his son, there was no way he would have been able to look Draco straight in the eyes. Things had been left so horribly between them—so violently with harsh and regrettable words of impassioned anger and shock.
But, now... now, Voldemort had lifted Cornwell into the conversation, which was something that Lucius had been trying to avoid rising into the air, and as soon as Cornwell's name had been said by Voldemort, Lucius knew that, from that moment on, a part of Draco's life would never, ever be the same. But, at the same time, Lucius had an obligation to Draco—to Cornwell, even, somehow—to let Draco know as much as possible, and that, just because Cornwell was brought up, by Voldemort, did not mean that Cornwell had anything, at all, indeed, to do with Voldemort, "I've heard you sent a group to try and rid of him?"
Voldemort sighed an amused laugh, "They thought it might work. I humored them, Lucius. I didn't have the heart to tell them they would be unsuccessful."
Harry frowned.
"Did you not think about all of the deaths that would have sufficed if Cornwell had been aware?"
"He was asleep, Lucius, and completely unsuspecting. He had no idea." He paused. "I can only suggest, now, that it was a treat for him—a little reminder of where he came from and what he never finished."
"And, where is he now, my lord?"
"I assumed he'd run—possibly to Gregarold."
Harry fumed. Gregarold! Cornwell! Dumbledore! What in the bloody hell was going on and who was behind it? He clenched his top and bottom teeth together as hard as he could. It produced an immaculately insane amount of pressure in his temples, and when he released it, his jaw clenched to one side, and he just balled his fists with frustration.
Lucius's laugh echoed the hallway, "You think he'd run to Gregarold after knowing the deal you cut with him over Draco's safety? And, having heard that our ranks killed Maureen and Alexander, you think he would go to Gregarold, of all people, and put Draco at blatant risk?"
"Where, then, Lucius? All of his old friends have been stripped, as he was."
"He was never stripped, my lord! Don't make me laugh—ah ha. Ha, ha, ha." Lucius's laugh was cold but brilliantly clever.
Draco had never cried so hard, or so silently, or so painfully, in his entire life. He was in anguish, his whole entire fist nearly balled up into his mouth with his teeth crushed down into the skin. But, he couldn't even feel the pain, because he was so emotionally thrown-off and displeased that it didn't matter. He didn't know what to do with himself. It was no longer a dream. It was a nightmare. It was the most horrible nightmare he had ever had. First Voldemort, then his father, then Cornwell. CORNWELL being mentioned by Voldemort like some bloody arch-nemesis! The nerve! The... the... but... it was Cornwell. His innocent, bright-eyed, non-magical, loving... father... who... no! BLOODY... damnit.
NO!
Draco swallowed down his agony as best he could.
"No, Lucius, I saw the records."
"You saw nothing, my lord. He was never stripped. He stopped using magic, altogether."
"Lucius—"
"Who do you think went to Draco as soon as I was gone, my lord? And, how do you suppose he knew I was gone?"
It was very silent.
The sound of something slamming into a wall and shattering was the only response of Voldemort's.
Harry peeked out from his corner, again. He was looking for Draco. He cared about what was being said, and the information that was being leaked, but he cared more about what the hell Draco was doing. As important as what they were learning was, which he knew was probably for a good reason, Draco's sanity was a big plus for whatever they were going to do. Somehow, Harry knew he couldn't do it, alone, and he knew it for the first time, ever. But, there was no Draco in sight. And, at Harry's gut, he felt a pull of adrenaline. He didn't even know how Draco was keeping silent. The look on Draco's face, when Cornwell had been mentioned... just... Harry... Harry couldn't even fathom making himself look like that, or what it would take to make that expression appear on his own face. It felt too intense for Harry to even look at, to observe, and he felt half-relieved that he didn't have to see the expression on Draco's face.
Harry looked away from Draco's empty corner.
Lucius Malfoy was staring directly at him, within seconds, while Voldemort fumed, silently, hunched over.
Harry snarled.
Lucius looked in Draco's empty direction, and then back to Harry, as if to ask where Draco had gone.
Harry was disgusted. What a fucking bastard! Where was Draco? Probably trying to kill himself!
Lucius looked away from Harry and back to Voldemort, blankly.
Voldemort tilted his head back up, and his jaw was clenched, hard, "Where is he, Lucius?"
Lucius went to respond, but he hesitated, "I'm sorry, my lord," he muttered, and he began to back away. "You can take Draco from me, one day, but you can't take Cornwell from Draco. You won't get Draco out of Cornwell's grasp. Cornwell won't have it. He's given you way too much to be happy about, up to this point. The idea of you getting into Draco's head is, probably, the worst possible thing Cornwell would ever stand to see happen, and if Draco knew that his father was who he was, I'm sure he'd feel exactly the same way."
"LUCIUS!" Voldemort bellowed, his wand pointed at Lucius within seconds. "Draco knows about Cornwell?"
Harry's jaw dropped. Around the corner, Draco reappeared, and he appeared to seem totally liberated.
Lucius did not blink, "He's always known, my lord, since he was a boy."
"But—"
Lucius, finally, for the first time, genuinely hesitated about what he said, next, "Cornwell lived with us, my lord, until Draco was fourteen."
"WHAT!"
"My lord," Lucius bowed his head. "I'm a father first, your servant second. Draco never believed so, however, but he still chose me over Cornwell, my lord. Whatever it was that made him turn to me over Cornwell, I will never know, but I've heard he and Cornwell are on terms, again, like they once were—though, I'm sure they're not the great terms they were once on. Draco's stubborn and Cornwell is unapologetic. I know you are not pleased, my lord, but Draco is my son. I wasn't going to lie to him, and Cornwell wasn't going to just turn his back."
"I can't even..." Voldemort tossed his wand to the floor and turned away from Lucius, stuttering and steaming.
Harry saw Lucius look at Draco. Draco's skin was the color of white paint, but his eyes were nearly on fire.
"Lucius, if you don't tell me where Cornwell is, I will kill Draco, myself."
"My lord," Lucius quietly replied, "don't you suppose that I'm under strong protection, right now?"
Draco's nose snarled. God-damnit.
Voldemort turned around, silently.
Draco shivered as the man stared at his father, with lethally unapologetic eyes.
Lucius's eyes returned the emotion, which seemed to infuriate Voldemort even more, "Enough protection to question your authority in front of the others, as I have? Don't you suppose that I won't be divulging anything to you, anything of importance? And... don't you suppose that Cornwell, being that he's openly out of hiding, though no one has even seen him aside from, well, Draco, is out in the open for a reason? Don't you think that something much larger than what you think is going on?"
Voldemort took the one, solitary seat next to the table, and he stared at Lucius, "I suppose you're clueless?"
"I am, my lord. All I know is that I'm under extreme protection, and I don't doubt Cornwell is one of those protecting me right now—for the sake of Draco, my lord. Cornwell doesn't care about my safety. Cornwell knows you want him, but he's not going to let you get close to Draco. He's going to assume that you're after everyone he might care about."
"Everyone he cares about is DEAD, LUCIUS. I MADE SURE OF IT."
Harry's lips parted. Cornwell Black... was the mother-fucking-missing piece of the puzzle. Harry felt on the verge of spontaneously combusting to the point that it was physically hurting him and pounding at his joints, as a way to break through the skin.
"MY LORD," Lucius barked back, over him. "You've not outwitted Cornwell. You may have killed those important to him, but you have NOT taken everyone who means something to him—and, God, my lord, you have no idea who's dead and who's not."
Harry's teeth clenched together. He was far too furious to listen to Lucius, anymore.
Why had no one ever told him about Cornwell Black?
Why had no one ever made the point of divulging intimate details about one of his father's best friend?
Why had he never read about Cornwell? Heard about him? Not even rumors! Nothing! This man had come out of no where, only weeks before. He had come in with the most welcoming, warm aura, and the most genuinely friendly, caring eyes. He was kind, and sweet, gentle and innocent. Sure, Cornwell was, at times, very darkly genius in his eyes. He was intelligent in a way that Harry had never imagined intelligence to be, and he had been nothing but loving to Harry—nothing but crazy about Draco, since the moment Harry had set eyes onto him.
What was it that Cornwell had given up? What, exactly, was the legend of Cornwell Black? And why did it seem so important, yet so flawed, that it could not be spoken about?
And, why, in Merlin's—or God's—or whoever's—name, did Tom Marvolo Riddle—Lord Voldemort—speak about this character, this Cornwell Black, with such intrigue and damnation that it seemed to spark of near adoration and rivalry in Voldemort's tone? What was it that Cornwell had done? What had he been? He had been young, the same age, at least, of Harry's own father. He couldn't have been important to the Ministry, because he had only been three years out of Hogwarts. What he could have been, Harry could not fathom or imagine.
But, whatever Cornwell Black was, or whoever he was, was someone kept out of history books, kept out of talk about Voldemort, and kept out of Harry's life, when he so obviously had been an important factor in Harry's father's life. This man was someone that Voldemort spoke of extreme distaste of. He had said that he had tried to do away with all of the people in Cornwell's life who Cornwell had cared about!
Cornwell was obviously someone who Voldemort knew was an enemy. But, why?
Why? Why was Cornwell Black so secretive? Why had he never, EVER, not even in passing, been mentioned to Harry? The man had been an INTRICATE part of James Potter's life, and probably of Harry's mother's life, as well! He had been friends—cousin's, even—with Sirius, which meant Remus had known him, as well. All of these people had known Cornwell Black—his professors, his friends' parents—and Cornwell had never been mentioned! Not ever! But, why! Why!
Harry was infuriated. He was missing huge strides of information, and he needed them to stay sane.
"Cornwell is fifteen steps ahead of you, my lord."
"He's not, Lucius."
Lucius sighed, aloud, "My lord," he breathed, with sincere honesty. "He's back for a reason."
"Obviously, Lucius. He's back to kill me."
"Yes, my lord, he's back to kill you, and I'm sure he didn't come unprepared to do so, and he's not the one who will do it. He's far too clever for that."
Voldemort peered, eerily, at Lucius, "What was that?"
But, Lucius turned his head away from Voldemort, "I'm sorry, my lord."
"I don't suppose I could kill you in dream-state."
"No, my lord, there are those forces who have seen to it that I'm very—perhaps—immortal right now."
The word seemed to make Voldemort spasm, "There are only a handful of men that powerful, Lucius, and I'm one of them."
"No offense, my lord, but if the other men teamed up to work together... you'd have no chance."
"Gregarold, Dumbledore, Cornwell—Halleite, Spare? All of them?"
"I was only being hypothetical, my lord—"
"Lucius, why do you think I want Draco? Judas? Why did you think I wanted Harry Potter?" He paused, and he laughed an evil, nearly giddy laugh, his fingertips almost covering his lips as if what he were about to speak was so good it was sinful. "Draco, powerful. Judas, powerful. Harry Potter—Gods, that boy would have been more powerful than me, than Cornwell, than Dumbledore—and, more powerful than his father—his poor father, could have been the most brilliant wizard of all time. So sorrowful his son was of my interest, in the long run, and too bad for his son that his father and Cornwell developed the friendship they did—I crave the sons of the powerful, my dear Lucius, with clear paths and no one having told them about those paths," Voldemort whispered with an evilly milky, convincingly menacing whisper.
Harry saw that Lucius could hardly even raise his eyes.
Voldemort turned away from Lucius, "Draco is first to me, now. He's not only your heir, with your background, but he has the blood of Cornwell Black—and, dear Harry, the blood of James Potter. Oh, Cornwell and James, could you imagine what would have happened if Harry and Draco had ever known? Oh, what they could have done to me! What they could have done!" Lucius spat. "What they could have done to the world! If only Harry hadn't been like his father, Lucius. And, your Draco is following in Potter's footsteps," he said footsteps almost teasingly. "Saying no to me never did Harry any good, Lucius. I suggest you contact Draco. And, Judas, too. I've heard he's not fond of me."
Lucius closed his eyes, "My lord, you should not have said that."
"Should not have said what?"
"Oh, my lord, you should not have said that," Lucius repeated, sorrowfully.
Voldemort should not have just indulged in being gleeful in admitting that Draco and Harry could have done... anything to him—to the world—to each other. Power, in the hands of young men, was far more dangerous than it was in the hands of those who abused it at elder ages. Therefore, such a power in the hands of Harry or Draco, or both of them, would either prove to be completely genius or completely devastating. It ruined young men for the rest of their lives—case in point, Voldemort, himself.
"They're all against me, Lucius. I just don't understand! I could offer them everything and anything."
"They don't WANT everything and anything, my lord!" Lucius exclaimed, and it sounded as if he wanted to hit Voldemort upside the head for not getting the picture. "They're different. Times are different. They have options—they have Dumbledore and the Order. Draco was never fond of Dumbledore, but he always stayed for a reason, even when I suggested other schools. He was adament. He won't be a puppet, my lord. For God's sake, he's Cornwell's son—he'd NEVER be a puppet of yours. He was practically born with hatred for you in his blood. I tried to sway him, but he was never interested, no matter what I threw at him, because it's in his blood, my lord."
"Well, why do they have to use it against me?"
"Because they ARE against you!" Lucius haggled, with a great, monstrous roll of his eyes.
Harry was speechless. Voldemort sounded like a hurt, offended child when speaking of he and Draco.
And, a couple of very silent minutes later, it was Voldemort who finally spoke, though both Harry and Draco were no longer watching, but down standing behind their corners and listening, both too emotional and caught in their own thoughts to need to pay attention to the physical conversation taking place below the words between Lucius and Voldemort. And, Voldemort spoke with hesitance, and even sadness, for Lucius, over his own agenda, "I won't have another incident like Potter's, Lucius. Draco will be mine."
Draco tilted his head back and up, standing against the cold wall. Like hell, you fucking bastard.
"No, my lord, I can guarantee you that you will not have Draco under his free will. Cornwell isn't the only reason."
There was a pause.
Harry was the other reason. Like bloody hell would Voldemort take Draco away from Harry. No. Fucking. Way.
"If Draco and Potter had ever known, my lord, I don't doubt they would have figured out how to bring you down."
"Possibly, when they were older," Voldemort spoke as if he were mourning the loss of what could have been, as if he would have welcomed the thought of Draco and Harry trying to bring him to his demise. "At sixteen and seventeen, however? Of course not. They're young, They always clashed too much to ever be anything great, together, anyhow. I suppose we don't have to worry about that, do we, Lucius? Potter is gone."
And, he laughed.Draco's entire face tightened, and his mouth scrunched until it was as hard as a rock.
Harry slipped down the wall, in the hallway, silently, in his soundless, cotton pajama pants and shirt.
Cruel, sadistic, evil bastard—Harry wanted him dead. Gone. Bloodied-up. Knocked out. Lifeless. Just gone!
"It's only Draco and Judas. I could sway Judas, easily. All I would have to do for Draco is dangle glory at him, and he'd cave. Or, if he's anything like you, I could dangle a little boy-toy at him—kidding, kidding, don't give me that glare, Lucius. I was only kidding." He paused. "I was trying to reminisce. I suppose we can no longer do that, can we, my lovely, precious Lucius Malfoy? I suppose our interests are driving us apart, at last."
Draco was rubbing his face, nearly raw. His body ached all over, but not nearly as bad as his heart.
"Oh, my lord, I think you have something right, tonight, at long last," Lucius chuckled, as he backed away from Voldemort. "As for Draco, you underestimate the powerful. Draco's had glory. Draco's had sex. Draco has had... everything. There is nothing you could offer to him that he hasn't already had or that hasn't already been taken from him."
Harry peeked out at them, from the floor, for the first time in what seemed to be hours. Interesting.
Voldemort stood up with a distracted smile, "Nice visit, Lucius. Do come back, soon."
"Might we ever meet like this, again."
"We will meet again, Lucius."
"Shall I rephrase?" Voldemort's eyes flickered with slight anger. "We might never meet under friendly terms again, my lord. Should you decide to take your chances on Draco, I don't doubt that I will not let my respect for you get in the way of my anger. Cornwell will protect Draco, as will the... others. Don't make me turn my back on you, my lord."
"If you do, Lucius, I'd turn my head the other way. Draco may be your son, and an important part of my plans, but I will never harm you, Lucius. To do so, I would forsake everything that I have been and everything we have shared. I have seen your hesitance with Draco for years, now. Of course, knowing that he's known about Cornwell all along has... drastically changed everything—still, Lucius, I could not turn my back to you, ever. But, my face... perhaps."
Harry blinked, and he mouthed to himself, completely bewildered and befuddled, "What?"
But, Voldemort changed the subject, "Who are these forces, Lucius? You're a tease—always have been."
"There is really only one person you won't realize is out there until you meet him, again, my lord."
Harry.
Lucius didn't give Voldemort time to interrupt or question him, for the first time, "In the meantime, do I have your word on Draco?"
"Yes, for now you do, Lucius, until I figure out how to correct your betrayal, as, like I've said, I've not expected Draco to have been as knowledgeable as he has been on Cornwell—which does present a monstrous problem." It was very clear, at the way Voldemort kept pressing this issue, that he was not, at all, happy with what he had been told, and he made it so very clearly. "As for Judas, I can't say there is anything stopping me."
Harry saw Lucius try not to smirk, "Sure."
Harry's left eyebrow rose, and he leaned forward with more interest.
With that, Voldemort turned and left Lucius standing in the hallway, alone.
Lucius did not dare look at Draco. Instead, he stared directly above the door Voldemort had disappeared into, "Don't take what you heard the wrong way. I don't doubt, after this, you'll be on the offensive with Cornwell, possibly as soon as you wake up, but you'll be taking it the wrong way. He's a good man, and there is a reason we never told you why he did what he did with himself." He paused, rubbing his hands over his head, distractedly. His eyes flickered, bravely, to Draco, who was standing, visible, with furiously intense eyes. And, when Lucius saw, he dropped his hands and closed his eyes. "I brought you both with me for a reason—and, I can't say anything more about what's going on or why, but at least now you know that there is someone else who knows about you." And, he looked at Harry. "It was his brainchild. He thought he saw something in the both of you that wasn't hatred in a picture in the Prophet, and I can't say I believe you won't kill each other, but he thinks otherwise." And, he carefully looked back at Draco. "To leave, you say Morsmoreda and picture yourself waking up."
Draco's mouth was twisted.
Harry stepped out from his corner, too, about three inches.
Lucius looked at him, and then back to Draco, "Cornwell is not in touch with anyone else. He helped set this up, and then he disappeared and decided not to keep contact, which means he doesn't know that I'm showing you this. He wants as little to do with you two and this setup as possible. He knew you'd find out, but he didn't know when. He's not in contact with anyone, and no one, including me, knows where he is. I know you two do, but it should stay silent. Truth is, he thinks highly of both of your abilities—"
Draco went to open his mouth, but Harry stomped his foot down on the ground.
No! Draco! God-damnit!
Draco restrained himself, looking at Harry, who was just shaking his head as if to tell Draco to not breathe.
DRACO HAD QUESTIONS! What had been said was not acceptable. Cornwell was his... papa. That was supposed to be the only big secret in Draco's life.
Draco fumed and clutched his hands over his head, as if to symbolize that his head was about to explode.
"You know some of his past, now, but don't be fooled. He is still the same man—a very good man."
Draco knew nothing! He had heard his father mentioned! Cornwell! Cornwell was supposed to have been stripped of magic, completely! He was supposed to be the loving, doting father that Draco had grown up knowing him as, with blind eyes and pure trust. This man was supposed to have no idea what was going on with Draco and Harry. And, suddenly, he knew? Not only did he know, but he was a huge part of it? He was a huge part of the past of their entire world! He was, apparently, a huge part of Harry's father's life, and... there were just so many things that made sense about Cornwell, and so many snippets of information that Draco felt he was missing, and it was those snippets that did not make him fail to feel the most furious betrayal he was sure he had ever experienced. He had never loved a person like he loved who Cornwell had been to him what no one ever had been, but as he stood there, trapped in some freakish dream, the only thing he knew about Cornwell was that he was not who Draco had thought him to be.
Draco had never been told the secrets of Cornwell's past. He knew, now, that Cornwell was powerful and had fought Voldemort—two things which he was VERY distractedly angry over not ever being told. Those things shouldn't have just skipped the intake of time! He should have been told! He should have known! He should not have been lied to! Sure, he had known that there were things about Cornwell that his mother told him he had been too young to handle, or he was better off not knowing just yet, but this? He hardly knew anything, at all, and he felt like he had been punched in the stomach and had his heart ripped out at the same time.
And, then Lucius, standing in front of him, a man Draco loved and, at times, loathed, was asking Draco to trust that Cornwell was a good man? How was Draco supposed to believe anything that came out of the mouths of anyone around him? His mother, his father—Lucius—or Cornwell—or... or whoever his father would be the next day! Dumbledore had lied. Voldemort had lied. Even Harry had lied to him, when he had come into Draco's life in the form of an old childhood friend.
Everything was a big lie. Everything had fallen apart over the last couple of years, and that very summer was the beginning of the last spiral, and he could feel it tingling in his blood. His friends! Himself! His parents! His lifestyle! His morals! His beliefs! His childhood enemy! His everything had gone to hell! Everything had changed since he had walked out of Hogwarts, the very last time. He was practically in-love with Harry Potter's entire existence, and he would have rather died in his own death than to go on without Harry, from there on out.
Harry was the only person who was going to keep him sane, because he was the only person Draco was sure things would never effect in a way that effects had already damaged them both. He didn't want to keep sight of anything ahead of him without Harry, and for many reasons which he wasn't ashamed of or unknowing of. There were a lot of questions to be answered, and a lot that had to be sorted out before they could ask questions—to themselves, to each other, and last of all, and most importantly, Cornwell.
Harry was the friend Draco had never had, and they hadn't even been friends for very long.
Draco would damn himself to hell before he turned his back to Harry. They were meant to be friends.
Life just had not worked out that way on the first go, was all.
Draco's thoughts shifted away from Harry and to Cornwell, again. He couldn't simply swallow the new information. Cornwell had been the loving, doting, innocent father figure of Draco's past—and, that was all that kept flashing over Draco's eyes, and suddenly it had taken a new light. The idea that Cornwell had been in proverbial hiding, and Draco had never realized it, hurt more than anything. They had gone to church together! Other people had seen Cornwell! And, he was supposed to have been in hiding? This, to Draco, made even less sense than anything he had ever heard.
With his thoughts all over the place, trying to make sense of everything he had just learned, Draco raked his fingers through his hair, and he just looked at Harry, completely speechless.
Harry tried to give a look of understanding, his head nodding, twice, to show sympathy. He knew it was hardly comforting. He knew it was hardly anything, and Draco probably didn't give a damn whether Harry said a word or even breathed in his direction. The boy opposite of him seemed completely, completely devastated and distressed, with a mess full of bright hair and light eyes, that were usually so glinted with genuine intent and contented gleams, that seemed dazed and astronomical units away from where they were standing.
"I don't know how he'll react if you corner him."
Draco went to respond, again, but Harry slammed his foot down.
When Draco looked back at him, very frustrated over not being able to respond to the world that had just been turned upside down, ONCE AGAIN, Harry pretended to zipper his mouth, as if Draco should have done the same. He knew Draco was going to have a fit when they were back in the physical world and awake. A fit was an understatement, and Harry felt very terrible for Draco. Even his heart ached—his heart was aching for Draco Malfoy. He couldn't imagine having just overheard what Draco had heard and being in that position, with two fathers, who he cared about very much, on two different ends of a spectrum, and both trying to protect him, but he had been lied to in the process.
Draco had been lied to big time. Perhaps no one had meant to lie to him, nor hurt him, but they obviously had.
It was Draco's world, and he knew nothing of the truths of it. He couldn't fathom how deep Cornwell was into whatever he was into. Why was it that Voldemort spoke of Cornwell with such hesitance? He even spoke with a disappointment and agitation. He had said that he never had been able to understand Cornwell, and he had used it to his advantage, which mean that Cornwell and Voldemort had had some sort of relationship in the past. But, what kind of relationship?
They never could have been friendly, and Draco was sure of that above all other things.
The largest question, which Draco admittedly could feel the enormous pull of, in his gut, was the question that settled on the very bottom of his list, though he knew it should have been on top, because what Draco was, in Voldemort's scheme of things, was the reason why, supposedly, Cornwell had come back from the supposed hidden-life he had been living. Draco Malfoy... was what? WHAT was his blood? WHAT had made Cornwell WANT Voldemort? And, why was it Voldemort hadn't seemed to have any inkling about where Cornwell had been, or why, or who with. And, what did Voldemort—the darkest lord, the darkest evil, on Earth, want with Draco Malfoy—no, Draco Black?
And, finally, Lucius looked right to Draco. He went to say something, but he closed his mouth and swallowed.
Draco's lips fumbled together, very boyishly, and he tried not to make it obvious that he was tearful.
Harry pretended not to notice the situation, looking about the hallway around him, very carefully.
"I'm safe—not free or happy, but safe."
Draco pointed at Harry, as if to suggest Harry had told him so.
Lucius nodded, once, "Go on, we've already spoken too much."
Harry looked at Draco and pointed, as if to say, "You, first, Malfoy."
Draco stared at his father. His body burned to say the words he could not. Instead, he mouthed them, "I'm sorry."
Lucius smiled with a closed mouth, contentedly, and he nodded at Draco, nearly with his nose, affectionately.
If Harry had been expecting Draco to put up some sort of front and refuse to leave, he had another thing coming. Draco turned away from Lucius, from his father, with one last glance that Harry had not dared to intrude upon. And, then, like that, Draco mouthed something and was then gone, vanished from the strange, cold eerie hallway that neither had planned on ever visiting. This left Harry completely alone with Lucius Malfoy, whom, regardless of whether or not was loving toward Draco, could care less about Harry.
Deciding that he would much rather be making sure Draco wasn't already awake and charging out of some room, on a mission to find Cornwell and assault him, Harry turned away from Lucius, who had simply looked at him, almost as if there was something he wanted to say. But, anything that Lucius Malfoy would have had to say to Harry didn't matter, at least not at that moment. He stepped back behind his corner, closed his eyes, pictured himself waking up and murmured a quiet, "Morsmoreda," as he began strolling back toward the dark barrier at the end of the hallway he had, apparently, entered through.
Harry awoke with a start. It was almost as if he had just simply walked out of a dream. Not bothering to think anything about where they had actually been, but rather what they had heard, Harry threw himself off of the bed, fighting with the covers and pillows that seemed to follow him, picking unnecessary fights with his limbs. He tore off of the bed and was out his bedroom door within seconds, tearing down the hallways of the Malfoy manor with the intent of skidding in front of Draco's study door and making sure that Draco hadn't gone off and done anything rash. Rash was not good.
Harry flew down the grand, front entry-room's elegant stairs, his left hand smoothly gliding down the banister. Without shoes and without concentrating on the fact that he was running down the steps, he was amazed that he hadn't tripped by the time he had reached the ground floor of the Malfoy's exquisitely complex, intricate estate. It was hard enough to deal with all of the hallways, and Harry had since given up on trying to figure out his way around. He stuck with the basics—his bedroom, the studies, the kitchen, the dining room and the main hall. Other than that, it was far too much work to put into learning the floor-plans of a house when he had other things on his mind, even though he was sure it would have been the smarter move to know the Malfoy-estate like the back of his hand.
Harry jogged across the large room until he reached a long hallway that he knew to lead to Draco's study. He hurried down it, rubbing his hands together in front of him. But, halfway down the hallway, Harry began to slow his pace. Draco wasn't going to do anything stupid. He was far too level-headed to go off and confront Cornwell without having calmed down. Right? No? The information that Draco digested would probably take a few minutes to even slightly BEGIN to settle into his head. Even Harry was having a hard time with it.
It was when Harry turned that last corner to Draco's study, passing all of the other closed, blank doors without so much as a glance, that he was finally met with commotion. Because, as he turned that very corner, the doorway that opened up into the last hallway, which led to Draco's study, flew open.
The door handle smashed so loudly into the wall that some of the picture frames, hanging on the walls, shook and slanted on their angles.Draco never made it through the doorway.
Harry rushed him and threw his hands out, immediately, onto Draco's shoulders, pushing Draco back in through the doorway, gently, although Draco didn't really battle. He was hissing all sorts of bits of useless information, his eyes searching Harry for answers which they both knew Harry didn't have.
As soon as Harry had Draco contained within the hallway, he closed the door behind him and turned around, exhaling a low, breathless sigh of exhaustion and hopelessness.Draco just stood against the wall with his hands on his sides, his chin tilted down. He couldn't take his eyes off of the floor. His intentions and his thoughts were all sitting on that floor, because they were not good thoughts, and they were not good intentions. He was sure he was experiencing emotions he had never felt so extremely, before. His sadness had been taken over by anger—which was not something that Draco had ever been known for taking part of. He was never quick-to-temper, but nothing about the past made any sense to him, as he stood there, completely exasperated and unfocused.
At last, Harry stepped away from the door, silently. He stopped a couple of feet later, his eyes latched onto Draco and afraid to break away. He had never seen Draco look so intense, which was saying a lot. This intensity was something more overpowering and deeply rooted than it had ever seem to be, at least from Harry's perspective. And, he had no idea what to say. He had no idea what to do. All he knew was that he was glad he had caught Draco before he had escaped his study and set on a rampage for Cornwell and answers.
Draco looked up at Harry, silently.
Harry didn't do anything, just stood there with his hands at his sides.
Draco dropped his hands from his sides and slid them up over his face, down his face, to his cheeks, and then they cupped over his ears. But, they dropped away, again, because they didn't seem to help Draco's nerves at all. Nothing, Draco was sure, would even be able to come close to soothing away his current anger. He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what that something was. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick. He didn't want to cry or mope. He wanted to punch, shove, and bloody something or anything—hell, everything.
Noticing that all of the people in the paintings were staring between himself and Draco, Harry knew it would be best if they were to take their conversation into Draco's study, which was where Draco appeared to feel safest, anyway. With a brave step toward Draco, he cleared his throat, "Flora," he muttered, into the air, as he started for Draco's brooding, stiff, tense, lean figure on the wall.
Draco said nothing, just waited and watched for what Harry was doing.
As Harry walked by Draco, he extended his right hand and wrapped it around Draco's wrist, and he pulled Draco along with him, heading back for the study's wide-open door. There was no struggle from behind him, but rather a knowingly hesitant walk. He felt horrible for Draco. All he knew was that he was going to make Draco stay in his study, at least for an hour, until he calmed down.
"Yes, sir, Mister Cliffdale, sir?"
Harry looked over his left shoulder, as he swung Draco around his right side, in a circular motion, and into the study's doorway. His eyes landed on Flora, who was just standing there, in the center of the hallway, having just appeared with a small pop. Harry didn't let go of Draco's hand, and he didn't yet answer Flora. He turned back to Draco and gave the Slytherin a nod of his head to walk into the study, as he let go of the wrist. Without a hassle, Draco walked in, right to one of his sofas, he tore off his glasses, threw them at the wall and then kicked the carved wooden leg of his coffee table, which resulted in it sliding a good foot toward the fireplace.
With a grimace, Harry turned his attention back to Flora, who had joined him in the doorway.
"Sir, what may I get for you?"
Harry didn't force a smile, because he didn't feel it was appropriate for the situation, "What does Draco usually ask for?"
"At this time of night, sir, a two-range butter-beer."
With a great sigh of hesitant laughter, imagining what would happen if Draco decided to get at-all intoxicated that night, Harry shook his head, "No, that definitely won't do. Coffee, do you have coffee?" She nodded, her eyes locked onto Draco. She appeared truly worried, and seemed almost as if she wanted to run to Draco and ask him if he was okay. He could see the pain in her eyes, as she lowered her eyes and began to back away from the doorway. He turned around and watched her, his eyes squinted. "Thank-you, Flora. But, could you bring a non-alcoholic butter-beer, too?" She simply nodded.
When she disappeared, Harry walked in and closed the door behind him.