Chapter Twenty-Seven

Severus was sitting his his rooms, eating a solitary dinner when a feeling of complete dread seemed to blanket his form, and the bitterness of bile rose in his throat. He knew, instinctively that something was terribly wrong with Draco.

The Unbreakable Vow weighed heavily upon Severus with its added responsibility, but he had been unable to deny Narcissa. He wasn't unfeeling, or nearly as cold-hearted as many thought him.

He understood the crushing pressure that bowed the boy's shoulders and the tight confines of the public facade that he was forced to wear, and honestly he felt sorry for Draco.

Severus had made many foolish choices in the course of his lifetime, but he'd chosen them, they hadn't been forced upon him.

He'd known – thanks to the magic of the Vow – exactly when the Dark Lord had called the boy to him and how ruthless Voldemort had been in his torture. It had rubbed against the grain to ignore Draco's pain, but he'd known that Voldemort wasn't intending to kill Draco.

The Dark Lord simply liked his amusements. The activities that the Dark Lord enjoyed during his revels would terrify and scar the most staunch of wizards. Some of those "amusements" had caused Severus to remove many a memory from his mind simply to be able to sleep at night.

This feeling, however, had felt completely different. He'd felt, in the marrow of his bones that Draco was in mortal danger.

The pull of the Vow let him to the boy's lavatory, wand out and ready for potential enemies. What he saw instead shocked him to his core.

Severus pushed Harry to the side roughly and knelt over Draco, drawing his wand an tracing the path of the slash wounds. "Vulnera Sanentur," he murmured quietly, thanking Merlin as the flow of blood began to ease. He whispered the spell several times and was relieved when the wounds began to knit together.

He heard the splash of water as Harry pushed to his knees, followed by the sound of retching.

Severus helped Draco up, looping the boy's arm around his shoulders to help him across the room. "You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might be able to avoid even that..." He trailed off when he noticed that Draco was not following. The boy was mumbling under his breath and seemed delirious, and lost consciousness soon after.

Severus grunted under Draco's full weight and performed a simple lightening spell to keep a better hold on the unconscious boy.

He turned his attention to Harry, voice laced with cold fury. "You wait here Potter."

Severus pushed his fury and questions for Potter to the side and rushed Draco to the hospital wing. Once the boy was in Poppy's care he returned to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Moaning Myrtle was hovering beside Harry, simply staring at the boy with censure.

"Go," he said to Myrtle, and the ghostly girl swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

"I didn't mean it to happen," Harry began, "I didn't know what that spell would do. I wouldn't have..."

Severus's eyes narrowed. There were defensive spells, nasty ones even used by students in schoolyard squabbles, but not Sectumsempra. Sectumsempra was for enemies, for those that you didn't care if they lived or died. Severus knew this. He knew the incantation intimately. He was its creator after all. There were only a one way that Harry could have learned it. The old potions textbook he had lost long ago. He just didn't know how Harry had found it when he himself had been unable to locate the tome.

"Apparently I underestimated you Potter," he finally said quietly. "Who thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?" He wanted the boy to admit it.

"I read about it somewhere," Harry said haltingly.

"Where?"

"It was in a library book. I can't remember what it was call–"

"Liar," Severus snarled. He pushed through the boy's mind, rifling through his thoughts and memories like a stack of papers, scouring his brain for even a glimpse of the book. He got a flash of what he thought was the tattered copy of Advanced Potion-Making and was determined to confiscate the book before the boy could foolishly harm someone else with his ignorance.

"Bring me your schoolbag," Severus said softly, "And all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!" He practically yelled the last word, satisfied when Harry turned at once, splashing out of bathroom in his haste.

Harry returned quickly, panting breaths, color high in his face. It was obvious that the boy had flat out ran to his dormitory.

Severus held out his hand wordlessly for the schoolbag. One by one he extracted Harry's books, taking the time to quickly flip through them until only a copy of Advanced Potion-Making was left.

He examined the book carefully before turning his attention back to Harry. "This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, still breathing hard with exertion.

Severus never ceased to be amazed at the gall of the boy. Lying directly to his face. "This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes," Harry said once more.

"They why," he asked, "does it have the name Roonil Wazlib written inside the front cover?"

"Its my nickname."

Severus's brow rose. "Your nickname?" he repeated.

"Yeah, its what my friends call me," Harry said.

"I understand what a nickname is," Severus said coldly as he looked at the boy. How Harry reminded him of his prat of a father in this moment, all faint glimpses of Lily fading away as he mouthed deceit.

"Do you know what I think Potter?" said Severus, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar. A foolish boy who dabbles in things he doesn't understand. You're a liar and a cheat and you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"

"I – I don't agree, sir," said Harry.

"Do you realize that you could have killed Draco this evening? You don't do you? You don't have a care as long as you still get your way. Well, we will see how you feel after your detentions," said Severus. "Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But...Quidditch...the last match of the..."

"Ten o'clock," Severus whispered, baring his teeth in the semblance of a smile. "Poor Gryffindor...fourth place this year, I fear."

He left the bathroom before the boy could utter one more word, heading toward his Great Hall.

0o0

The deep teal glow of the Inconcussus charm surrounding Draco's bed greeted Severus upon his return to the hospital wing.

Poppy stood over Draco's prone form, the blue of the charm highlighting the lines of concern etched into her kind face.

"His wounds are healed, but I haven't been able to get him to regain consciousness. I've tried everything I know, even Spirit of Hartshorn. His ailment is beyond my ability. I can only stabilize him, but if his condition should worsen," Poppy began to wring her hands in frustration as her professional facade broke. "He needs the stills of the Healers at St. Mungo's, but I'm not sure if..." her voice trailed off as she looked meaningfully at the the mark that was inked darkly against Draco's pale forearm.

"Its probably just a false mark. Many people have gotten them, thinking that it might..." Severus began.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Severus," Poppy interrupted. "I'm not interested in where his loyalties lie at the moment. This isn't a battlefield. This is an infirmary, my infirmary, and I made an oath to do no harm. All I'm interested in at the moment is getting this boy well, and I'm telling you that he needs to be sent to St. Mungos."

"No, that isn't possible," said Severus.

"What do you mean, not possible? If he needs further medical attention you have to send him to the hospital!"

Severus turned to see the Davis girl rushing into the infirmary. Her hair, which had obviously fallen in her haste to get to Draco's side, was hanging in a limp partially constructed topknot.

"No," Severus said bluntly.

"Its not up to you! You aren't a Healer. If Madame Pomfrey thinks that Draco needs to be in a hospital, then I'm not going to go against her expert opinion," Taryn said.

"We can't assure his safety there," Severus said, breaking through Taryn's increasingly irrational tone. "Even here, we can't be sure of who to trust," he said, ignoring Poppy's insulted glance. "Right now he is stable and it gives me time to find someone I can trust to work on him."

"Someone you trust?" Taryn said disbelievingly. "What gives you the right? I'm his fiancee, and since his parents aren't around to say differently, it should be my decision."

"You may be his fiancee, but you are still a minor. His mother gave me the legal right to make decisions on Draco's behalf in her absence," said Severus.

0o0

Harry had hurt Draco.

That fact ran through Taryn's mind over and over as sat next to Draco's bed, her hands clasped together to prevent her from breaching the stabilizing bubble that surrounded Draco's bed.

Harry had almost killed Draco, and he hadn't even had the decency to visit the hospital wing to see if he was okay. She cared about her friend, but what he'd done...

She knew that Harry didn't like Draco, but she hadn't thought that he would do something like this. She hadn't wanted to believe Snape when he'd explained what had happened in the boy's lavatory, but it matched the story that Moaning Myrtle had quickly spread around the school.

She needed to hear the story from Harry himself, and she hoped that she would be able to control herself, but it would have to be later. After she knew that Draco would be okay.

He had to be okay.

She wanted to hold his hand, and kiss away his furrowed brow. She shifted, the ache in the small of her back from sitting in the hard chair for hours was forgotten as gazed at him.

The stillness of his form unnerved her. It wasn't like when he'd been taking the potions at bedtime. Then, at least, he'd moved in his his sleep at times, and pulled her closer to his body.

She closed her eyes against the pricking burn of tears. Her stomach churned with regret. She didn't know what she would do if the last conversation that she ever had with Draco was and argument. She didn't like to fight with him, but their relationship seemed to have two settings. Delirious happiness, or burning anger and she knew it was unhealthy. They were both passionate and stubborn, and one spark of anger could build into a wildfire of an argument between them. Usually when they fought, as heated as their fights got, it would eventually burn out and end with an apology, and oftentimes wicked makeup sex.

This fight, especially if it was the last they would ever have caused unease to curl in her belly. As much as she loved Draco, she wasn't sure if their relationship would last if he didn't learn some give and take.

She didn't want to be treated like a china doll in their relationship. She needed to know – he needed to know – that he couldn't keep important information from her. He had to understand that, or she didn't think she would be able to marry him.

0o0

The wind rushing against his face felt absolutely real. The crisp chill, which caused tears to stream from his eyes as he flew through the air felt completely authentic, but Draco knew he wasn't actually flying. He wasn't soaring over the New York City skyline – and indeed it was New York, as evidenced by the excellent aerial view he'd had while flying past the imposing figure – and he definitely wouldn't do so, even if he could, totally naked.

So he knew, logically, that he wasn't actually standing in the lavish marble entryway in which he'd suddenly appeared, though it was nice to be out of the cold air. Thankfully he wouldn't be navigating the rest of this hallucination – vision? – totally naked. A length of pure white linen, held in place by a heavy silver belt, was wrapped around his lean hips.

The brush of his hair against his shoulders surprised him as he moved forward, and he reached up to grab a hand of it. What the fuck? His hair had grown several inches and was threaded with silver, actual silver strands that gleamed like tinsel, and just reached his shoulders. He grimaced, reaching down and pulling a strip of cloth from his kilt to tie back his hair. He didn't like his hair long. It reminded him of his father.

He'd had hallucinations before, brought on by lengthy bouts of Crucio, but he was beginning to think that this wasn't one at all.

This was as clear as a Pensive memory, but it was more – palpable. He could feel the cool stone beneath his feet and smell the small bowl of potpourri on the table beside him.

He almost expected someone to come out of the doorway to his left and demand to know why he was standing in their home half dressed.

It was strange. He could feel everything he touched, but he couldn't move it. He tried to move the small bowl of potpourri for a full five minutes before he gave up on the notion.

There was a reason he was here.

The last thing he remembered was Snape's voice, and the copper taste of his own blood in his mouth. And the pain. That he remembered clearly. The slashes of the unseen blade wielded by Potter cutting in his skin played through his mind vividly.

He wondered if he was dead for a moment as he took in the extravagant decor around him.

Whoever lived here had a love affair with ancient weaponry. Thanks to Lucius' rather obsessive love of anything bladed, and weaponry and warfare in general Draco was easily able to identify several of the the battle implements mounted on the walls, and displayed under glass cases.

Draco almost jumped out of his skin when a woman brushed past him, a steaming mug in her hand.

Curious, he followed her as she walked down a short hallway, her long black hair swinging with each step.

He paused when she stepped through an open doorway.

"Are you busy? Or are you ready for a break?" he heard her say.

"In a little bit. I just need to finish typing this paragraph while I can still remember how I want to phrase it," a masculine voice said in return.

"Okay," the woman said. "I'm going to go start on dinner. Oh, and don't forget to call Kyle later. I'm sure he wants to talk about the possibility of staying off campus this year. I told him that we would think about it, but that he would be responsible for paying for part of the rent."

The man chuckled. "I bet that went over well. I don't mind it if he continues to get good grades. I'm paying for our son to go to college, not for a place to throw loud parties."

"Yes, well, we can talk about it later I suppose. You still want alfredo for dinner?"

"That's fine. I'll be in to help you with it in a little bit."

"Okay."

Draco heard the sound of what was unmistakably a kiss, before he heard footsteps heading his way once more.

He waited, his back against the wall, to get a glimpse of one of the people he'd just heard speaking.

He'd expected a middle age woman, but when she stepped from the room he was shocked to see a pretty Asian girl who looked no older than he himself.

She walked past him, a fold of her pink robe brushing against his leg, and headed toward the kitchen.

Draco debated with himself for a moment before pushing away from the wall, and heading toward the open doorway of the room the girl had just left.

He drew in a deep, fortifying breath, before stepping through the doorway.

Draco hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the large, airy office he'd just entered, with its large, floor to ceiling window.

A man, a boy really, was sitting in a large, comfortable looking chair, his feet on the desk in front on him, tapping away at a notebook placed on his lap.

Draco could only see him in profile, but he could tell that he wasn't any older than the girl he'd just seen. These two had a son old enough to go to college?

Wizards lived longer than Muggles, but they still grew old. They didn't stay ageless. Despite its rampant popularity, magical plastic surgery didn't achieve this perfect suspended youth. It just made you look like you'd had magical plastic surgery.

Draco knew what magical plastic surgery looked like – many of his mother's vapid friends dabbled – and he knew it wasn't the case with this couple.

The vision that had seemed mostly harmless grew darker within Draco's mind. What sort of creatures were these people?

Draco studied the boy in front of him, taking in the silver – silver?! – streaked dark hair, bound into a ponytail very much like his own at the nape of his neck.

Suddenly the boy stiffened.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, turning to pin Draco in place with the intensity of his silver eyes. And they were silver. They looked like trapped mercury within his irises.

"You can see me?" Draco blurted.

"Of course I can," the boy said, his mouth quirking. "Why wouldn't I be able to?" His accent was mostly American, but Draco could just hear the thread of another accent underneath.

"Its not an illogical assumption," Draco said huffily, "the girl couldn't see me."

"Shui doesn't share the blood, she wouldn't be able to see you. Frankly I'm surprised to see you myself. I didn't think He was up to His old tricks, but since you are here I can see that He has been. Sixteen yeah?" The boy asked. He lowered his feet from the desk, and placed the computer on the the flat surface.

"Sixteen?" Draco asked confused.

"Your age? You are sixteen correct?"

"Yes, but what has that have to do with..."

"You are coming into the power," the boy's head crooked to the side as he gazed at Draco. "You don't have any idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"Of course I bloody don't know what you're talking about!" Draco said in frustration. "All I know is I was in a fucking duel with Harry Bloody Potter, then I was flying naked through the fucking New York skyline before appearing here wearing a knock off Egyptian kilt!" Draco practically screamed.

"Calm down," the boy said standing. "You must be in some kind of trauma, otherwise the power in your blood wouldn't have brought you here. Its surprising actually. Most of you die. Most don't have enough power to reach out for like. You intrigue me," he said, looking at Draco in consideration. "Tell me where you are. Where your body is."

Draco snorted. "Sure, I'll tell you where am," he said sarcastically. "I'll tell the strange creature before me where my helpless body is so you can skip on over and Avada Kedavra me with all due haste."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "Avada Kedavra?" his features settled into satisfaction. "So you are a wizard," he said tapping his chin. "I though He would have learned from that mistake."

Draco cursed at himself for letting the anything slip. "So? I'm not telling you where I am creature."

"Creature?" the boy laughed. "That is the pot calling the kettle black in my opinion. Why don't you just call me Kieve?"

"Kieve? What kind of name is that?" Draco sneered.

"Well, I thought that we were a little informal for you to be calling me Mr. Emrys, but if you would rather..."

"Can we stop with all of the witty repartee?" Draco asked, interrupting Kieve.

"Fine," Kieve said, dropping the banter. "You will tell me where you are if you don't want to die. You are probably British, judging by the accent, and most likely rich, judging by arrogance. If you go to school it is either Hogwarts or Durmstrang. I could most likely deduce where you live just from the hints you unknowingly give, but that would take far longer than you probably have, and honestly I can only help you to survive until you reach Him."

"Who is this He you have been speaking of?" Draco asked.

"I can explain that later, but you need to tell me where you are if you want to live," Kieve said.

"Bullshit," Draco said, calling his bluff. "You haven't given me any reason to trust anything you've said."

"Don't you have people you love? Care for? You don't want to leave them without your protection correct?" Kieve said, instinctively knowing just where to strike. "I'm not unaware of the Voldemort business brewing over in your parts, but I haven't involved myself. The balance of power you understand. It seems though He has tipped my hand, if He even knows of your existence. If you want to be there for them you will tell me."

Draco paused. He couldn't allow himself to die. Who would protect Taryn then? He was the only one who could tell people who she actually was, and she didn't have anyone else. He didn't trust Dumbledore to care for Taryn, at least not unless it also helped him to achieve his own ends. He made a quick decision. "Scotland, you asshole. If you hurt anything of mine, I swear that I'll flay your skin from your bones."

Kieve laughed. "I believe that you would try, we are family after all. I would expect nothing less."

Draco tensed in shock, but was was ripped away from the room before he could say another word.