Chapter 19 Part 2
Archibald Semeuse paced the length of his private chamber in turns agitated and elated. His evening had taken an unexpected turn to be sure, and now that he had taken his prize he finally began to wonder if he had done the right thing. His hands, usually so calm and still, fluttered to his mouth and then to the front of his robes and then to his pocket and finally back to his mouth. He stopped his progress and seemed for a moment to hover in place, his body poised as he stared at the body on the bed.
The boy on the bed was unconscious. A product of Semeuse's stupefying charm which by his own admission was perhaps a touch overly strong. Semeuse could only stare. He had brought the boy here; he had held him the whole way as the Portkey bounced them uncomfortably over the countryside. He had lain the boy's silent body on the large bed with its pure white bedding. But now he could not go near. He could do nothing but stare in amazement.
It was a giant step from thinking about taking the boy to actually taking him. He had not been thinking and part of his brain rejoiced for that. Had he thought, had he actually taken a step back, it was possible that he would not have tried something so brazen. He'd taken the young Malfoy of a public street, in full view of the fool who had deemed fit to leave him. And Semeuse was no fool. He had become aware of just who that fool was some months before – and from the look on his face tonight the fool still loved the boy on the bed. The Little Dragon...his Little Dragon.
Oh yes, he was as beautiful as Semeuse remembered. More so now that he was lying there on Semeuse's own bed. His skin was as pale and creamy as the most delicate of rose petals. His lips were so perfectly pink and the eyelashes that splayed across his cheek seemed to Semeuse to be the color of rain.
But he had done it. He had taken the boy off the street.
He resumed his pacing. No one would catch him. When morning came they would all be gone. He had purchased a special box to transport Lucius safely, and though it would be a tight squeeze, Semeuse was certain he could get Draco into the box as well. They would both be safe, and they would arrive unharmed. He would have to sedate them both. If Lucius was conscious he could create a fuss and he did not want the box to be upset on the flying carpet.
Everything was ready to go, and by sheer luck he now had everything he could ever want. Everything. The Gods must have seen his plight and offered the Dragon up. Why else would Semeuse stumble upon his path? He had not been searching for the boy. Not tonight anyway.
Dear gods the boy was beautiful.
It was a strange moment arriving at the Museum holding the boy. He was not heavy, in fact the boy was remarkably light, something belied by the feel of the slender body under the ill-fitting clothes. Semeuse was gentle as he placed Draco on the bed. The boy was fragile and not to be damaged. Delicate like a flower, to be handled with nothing but reverence would bruise the petals. Semeuse had set the potion that he knew he would need beside the bed and then wondered just how long the boy would sleep. Because it was sleep now. The Stupification charm should have worn off and so the boy was sleeping.
He must have been tired, too many nights spent staring at the darkened ceiling. Either that or he was hiding in sleep.
"But there is no need to hide little one," Semeuse whispered suddenly, "I love you."
But Draco didn't wake. He lay on the bed and slept.
The potion was a simple one, made of Basilisk tears and a few other key ingredients, and it did not paralyze the one who took it so much as incapacitate them. They would not be able to move and yet their limbs would be supple and easily manipulated. Semeuse knew he would have to use it, because when the boy did come out of hiding he would not stay still for long. If he was anything like his father he would fight.
Once again he stopped his pacing and turned to stare at his prize.
Draco was badly dressed. It was as though the boy had stopped caring about his appearance entirely. He looked dirty, even his hair looked greasy and he smelled like sweat. He was wearing filthy jeans and a jumper that was almost falling apart, It wasn't his initial on the front and Semeuse was fairly certain just who "H" stood for. Semeuse could not fathom the younger generations obsession with Muggle clothing. Robes lent such elegance to one's demeanor. Robes were traditional and made a Wizard look as a Wizard was supposed to look. The fact that this boy, despite his breeding and bloodline, wore such Muggle filth astonished Semeuse. He would have to take it up with his Angel, Lucius should have kept his son under tighter rein.
But, he was here now and that was all that mattered. All that came before was nothing now, it was the future that mattered. Draco's future was with his father and Semeuse and he would be loved. He would be dressed in simple clothes, cotton, natural fibers would be best for his skin.
But Lucius would be upset. Of course he would. He had tried so hard to keep his son away and he had not succeeded. Now he would have to share the attention. Semeuse decided that he would have to make a special effort with his beloved Angel, so that the Angel didn't get jealous.
Lucius was still downstairs in his glass case. Semeuse wondered if he knew that Draco was here. Could he sense the closeness of his son? Semeuse normally had him in bed by now. Would he wake up in his case and panic, not understanding why he had been so neglected?
Once again Semeuse's agitated hand fluttered to him mouth. He had to fetch his Angel to him. It would be cold and lonely in that case and the cotton shift he wore was only light. Semeuse worried over his fingers with trembling lips for a moment. Lucius would fret, but perhaps confronting him with his son so suddenly would cause a scene. It would be better to reacquaint them tomorrow, after they had gone from England. For now Lucius would have to stay where he was.
And Semeuse would have to decide whether or not he should resist temptation.
Draco was far too beautiful to resist. If the Gods did not want the boy to be taken, Semeuse reasoned, if they did not want him to be so devastatingly loved, they would never have made him so beautiful. Lucius understood that, and if Draco was indeed his father's son, he would understand that too.
There was no need to fret, and of course the boy would understand being loved so completely.
Semeuse could not hold himself any longer. He went to the bed and ran a hand over the ill fitting jumper. It felt dirty and he was certain that it hadn't been washed in months. The loss of his love had devastated him and driven him to this fate. He loved deep and that could only endear him further to the Curator who loved deep himself. Of course the problem with loving deep is that certain heart breaks could almost destroy the fragility of the soul. And Draco was fragile.
"You don't know how much I will love you little one." Semeuse smiled at the sleeping form and ran his fingers down Draco's long legs. "We will get rid of these dreadful clothes and I will give you the finest cottons. You need natural fibers little one. You need something that will let your beautiful skin breathe."
He lifted Draco's foot and began unlacing the scuffed boot. Semeuse had spent a long time spying on this boy. There had been a time when he had dressed well, when he had walked with a swagger and an arrogant sneer. But Semeuse had never caught sight of that body unclothed. Even when he thought himself alone, the boy had an almost paranoid fear of his own nudity. Semeuse could not understand it. The boy was no doubt as beautiful as his father, so he had nothing to fear. Semeuse removed the boot and tugged the sock off – and then started on the other boot.
It was strange that he would not wake. Not that it was a problem, but Semeuse would so like to see those grey eyes. The potion he had would take care of any fight left in the boy, but he would be awake and able to speak. He would be able to tell Semeuse how grateful he was that Semeuse had saved him from a life of heartbreak and loneliness.
He pulled the other boot and sock off and then admired the pale feet. Then he massaged each foot in turn, rotating them on his ankles and then kissing each perfect toe. He ran his hands up Draco's legs again, over the worn jeans and his fingers lingered on the waist band. He unbuttoned the fastening and gently slid the jeans down Draco's long pale legs. He pulled the jumper over Draco's head, and then he sat back to admire the boy. The T-shirt and underwear were clean at least. He took in the slender planes of Draco's body, perfect in every way, with its contours angular and sharp.
He had a scar on his right knee.
Semeuse frowned. The little dragon was not supposed to have a scar on his right knee. He grabbed the body joint and lifted it. The scar seemed to be coming from the back of his leg and Semeuse felt as though his heart skipped a beat.
He bent the offending appendage back to inspect the underside of Draco's knee.
And then he froze, still holding the leg in the air.
Ruined. He was ruined.
Ruined!
It could not be. Not with this boy, not with this flesh. He could not be so damaged as this! Damaged beyond repair. Semeuse released the leg, as though touching it would perhaps contaminate him somehow. He stared for the longest time as slowly his anger mounted and then he tried to breathe.
Perhaps it was only the leg…he could perhaps stand it if it was only the leg. Like some kind of ancient parchment, a flaw could perhaps not distract from the beauty.
But the Angel should have told him.
Semeuse sucked in a fitful breath and wrenched the cotton shorts down Draco's legs. He felt himself tremble as he sat the boy up to take the T-shirt, refusing to look ahead of time, wanting Draco to be naked before he turned him over. Knowing in his heart that it was only the leg. It had to be only the leg.
And then he turned him over.
It seemed for a long time that Archibald Semeuse forgot what it was to breathe.
He was destroyed. Utterly destroyed. The Angel should have told him! Why had he not? Why had he made such a fuss of protecting this…this…this thing? This travesty? Was it shame? Had he thought that he could not admit to spawning this? Could he not have said that his child was inferior, not worth his name, that the boy should have been destroyed at birth? What had caused it? It had to be a defect in the bloodline. Something from his mother's blood, something dirty. The boy would have to be left behind. Drowned perhaps, like the sickly runt in a litter of Pureblood pups!
Semeuse grabbed a fistful of Draco's blonde hair and wrenched his face up out of the pillows. The boys face contorted and he stirred from his slumber and whimpered.
"You have polluted my bed," Semeuse hissed, "you filthy, inferior little Mudblood."
Draco mumbled, some unintelligible words that ended with a soft moan that sounded like, "Harry."
Oh dear God yes, he had a lover. Semeuse had heard rumor that the Hero of their world was consumed with some kind of madness, but to be such a masochist as to allow himself to rut with this! The Boy-Who-Lived must be utterly insane!
An inferior gem was this...this thing.
"How could you?" Semeuse asked, wrenching Draco's head back further, twisting this head painfully on his neck. "How could you pollute my bed? How could you have lied to me? Your father! He meant for this to happen…he thinks this is some colossal joke…he knew I'd want you if I thought you were as perfect as he…and he made me believe because he wanted me to bring you here!"
Draco made a strange noise in his throat, registering the pain at being held up by his hair and for a moment his eyes shot open and the muscles under the ruined back flexed. Semeuse grabbed for the phial of potion beside the bed and thumbed it open. He pincered Draco's jaw in his boney fingers and forced Draco's mouth open. He poured the potion down Draco's throat and then held his mouth closed until he swallowed.
Draco coughed violently and suddenly vomited – and Semeuse waited for him to finish and then forced the remainder of the potion down.
The potion was an experimental one. He knew what it was supposed to do, but was unsure of the side effects. It was from a cache of stock that Semeuse had stored many years ago after Voldemort fell the first time. Aurors had raided various places that the Dark Lord had inhabited and the resulting artifacts had either found their way into the Ministries coffers or to the black market. Semeuse had picked up the potion in Knockturn Alley years before and had stored it safely away – and now he had a use for it.
Draco's limbs fell limp, but he was awake now, his eyes were open.
"I had wondered," Semeuse hissed, "why Mr. Potter left you – and now I understand. How could you deem to force yourself on him? You are disgusting!"
Draco mumbled as though he was having trouble speaking.
"He was with someone else and how can you blame him? How can you expect him to want you when he can have any man he wants? Why would he choose something as inferior as you? What perversions did he have that allowed him to tolerate you?"
Semeuse dropped Draco's head and stepped back, suddenly feeling unclean and realizing that his bed was becoming ever filthier with the boy's presence. He unceremoniously dumped Draco onto the floor and desperately began pulling the bedclothes off the bed. He would have them burned; there was no need to take them with him when he took the Angel away from here. He rounded the bed and looked at the boy on the floor.
Draco blinked and swallowed thickly.
But oh, without the scars on show he was as beautiful as he should be. Lying there he looked like something glorious. He was beautiful, he truly was. But that beauty hid the terrible truth. Without thinking Semeuse kicked him in the hip – and then he kicked him again.
Draco whimpered and then cried out; his grey eyes seemed to flicker, his face contorted in confusion.
"I cannot hurt you as much as you have hurt me," Semeuse said and then leaned down and slapped him.
"Harry," Draco whispered thickly.
"He's not coming," Semeuse snapped.
Draco mumbled something more but Semeuse could not decipher it, and then the boys eyes seemed to roll in his head.
Semeuse knelt beside him. Damaged as he was he still completed the set. But what could a lover have seen in him? How could anyone stand it? He placed hesitant fingers on the sharp hill of Draco's hipbone. His flesh was warm but at the Curator's touch gooseflesh crawled along the concavity of his abdomen.
The boy responded to touch very much as his father did, the muscles tightened, his nipples hardened and a shiver ran through him. Semeuse smiled in spite of the bitter disappointment in his heart. He gently traced his finger tips across the sensitive nipples and Draco's grey eyes flickered again.
"You are very beautiful," Semeuse admitted, "you are so stunning." He delved his fingers between Draco's thighs and Draco frowned.
"Can't you speak little one?"
Draco tried to reply but could not make the words come out. He whimpered again.
Semeuse smiled again. It was nice to hear a sound, however small. Lucius could speak, but the sound was in his head and not in the air of the room. Draco had cried out before, he had spoken he had whimpered and it was a wonderful noise. Semeuse wondered how he would sound if he cried out in ecstasy. And his face could move. The boy could frown, his mouth could move, he had an expressiveness to his features that Lucius lacked.
How would he look in ecstasy? Or pain? Or both?
Semeuse unbuttoned his own robes and let them fall away. He mounted Draco roughly, pushing his legs back and relishing the look of panic that swept across the boys face. He leaned forward, resting his weight against Draco's lean thighs.
"Do you want this as much as I do little Dragon? This is your chance to redeem yourself, your chance to make up for your faults."
"Don't…"
"Don't worry little one, you will pleasure me and I can forgive you for betraying me."
"I…don't…"
Semeuse stroked the pale flesh beneath him, taking in the long sinewy limbs, the sharpness of his collarbone and the way the skin covered muscle and bone to create an exquisite chest and ribs and belly. He did not move, but the words he spoke sounded more like sobs than anything else.
He did not think he was worthy and that melted Semeuse's heart.
Oh yes, he was so lovely.
Semeuse pushed hard into Draco's unready body and soared away with ecstasy as Draco found his voice and began to scream.
********
Ron lay in his bed and stared at the darkened ceiling of his childhood bedroom. The room hadn't changed since he had turned ten. He had thought that perhaps his parents would have done something to it after he'd moved out last summer, but no, the room had not changed. In the light it seemed that a giant orange had exploded and this manifold tattered posters of the Chudley Canons Quidditch Team ran and zoomed and waved about the room.
It was only now that he realized that he hadn't even considered taking any of these things to Grimmauld Place with him when he had moved. In fact, his room at Grimmauld Place was surprisingly adult. While Hermione had allowed her mother to give her the chintzy off-casts of her parents old drawing room to decorate her windows and walls, and Harry had kept a rudimentary sparseness to his own room, family photographs being his only concession to decoration, Ron had begged pieces from his three brothers and borrowed money to create a place just for himself. The result was modern and calm and had shocked his family and friends no end.
And yet now he was back here in his childhood bedroom staring at darkened Quidditch posters and wishing he was in his bed at Grimmauld Place. There was not one speck of orange in that room.
How had he ever managed to sleep here? How had he slept before the sedation draft or Angelina and her drug that he still occasionally craved like a missing limb or the perfect lover?
He blinked and stared at the ceiling.
Was his mother at this very minute prowling the hall outside the room? Was she keeping watch to ensure that he and Pansy stayed well enough apart? The very notion was ridiculous. They had shared a few small kisses, each lovely and wonderful and left him aching for more but Pansy wasn't ready to go further, and in reality neither was he. Sex had not proved wonderful for either of them and they were both content to sit and enjoy the others company and share the occasional kiss and that was all. There was no reason for his mum to prowl the hallway like a prison warden.
But he did like it so when Pansy was near. If he could, he would sleep beside her because he was sure he could sleep if she was there. They had talked about that too and she agreed. Pansy had found that sleep did not come so easily as it once had, especially without the sleeping draft. If they could just lie together and take comfort in each others presence…but he doubted Molly would understand the reasoning behind that idea.
And then a quiet tap on the door made him frown in the dark and reach for the gaslight. "Mum?"
The door opened a little and she stood there in her pink dressing gown looking slight and pale. "No, it's me."
Ron slipped out of the bed and ushered Pansy into the room, checking the hall outside quickly and closing the door.
"I couldn't sleep," she said apologetically, "I think it's the sleeping draft, I'm just so used to it."
"Yeah," Ron whispered, "me too. I can't sleep either, and I was just thinking about you."
"It's not normal," Pansy said a little desperately, "It can't be right having people addicted to a sedation brew to make them sleep."
"It gives me nightmares," Ron said and shuddered, "I hate the stuff."
A creak outside the door made them both freeze for a moment and then relax.
"I'm really sorry about mum," Ron said, "she's a little paranoid. She's convinced we are going to start humping and it's going to ruin our lives or something."
"She's just worried," Pansy said, "and she doesn't know what to do. My uncle was the same. He kept creeping around me and checking on me like I was just going to top myself if he didn't – I probably would have. In the end he couldn't stand it. He has little kids of his own and I scared them, so he had me admitted to the hospital."
"Mum won't do that."
"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier, for anyone."
"I just keep thinking that she wants to say something – I wish she would, I wish she'd just yell at me. Anything is better than this."
Pansy smiled and bowed her head. "I should go. I shouldn't be here, Ron. Your parents have been really good to me and I'm sneaking around behind their backs."
"But we're not doing anything, Pansy!" Ron thumped his hand against his dresser in frustration, "We can't sleep, we just want the company, that's all."
"I want to sleep with you," Pansy said, "I want to make love to you."
Ron's mouth fell open. "N…now?"
Pansy blushed. "I…I don't know…" She folded her arms defensively across herself. "I…I'd like to sleep…"
"We can sleep," Ron said, "we can just sleep now…if you want…"
"But your mum…"
"I know, but I need to sleep. I can't sleep without you." He took her hand and held it lightly in his, and then he led her to the bed and they both slid under the covers.
It felt good. Just lying there with her felt good and right. He had never lain with someone before. Angelina had never slept beside him and he'd had no other lovers. He spooned around Pansy and wrapped a heavy arm over her slender form. Their fingers entwined and he gave her hand a light squeeze.
And together they could sleep.
********
This is a dream, Draco thought, this is just a dream. I am really snug in my bed, where I belong. I'm only dreaming that I'm in a bathroom. I can put a stop to this just by waking up.
On the other hand, if this was a dream would he be able to feel the cold tiled floor beneath his back as vividly as he could feel it now? If it was really a dream would he be aware of the steam coming off the bathwater or the sharp pain between his thighs?
He shivered.
In the lightless void behind his eyelids something flickered and his eyes opened just a little.
Wake up!
Someone was humming. Someone had laid him out on the cold floor and was humming as they ran hot water into the bath.
For Gods sake wake up!
He wanted to move. He wanted to run away and he wanted to wake up and prove to himself that this was just some kind of troublesome dream…but he couldn't do either.
In seconds he was being hoisted up into some-ones arms and he could feel himself being dragged across the floor to the bath. With partially opened eyes he could cast a reassuring glance down the familiar contours of his own body and take some kind of comfort in them.
But there was something wrong. There was blood. There was blood running down his legs.
It's a vision, he thought, it's just a weird illusion. I'm not bleeding. I'm not hurting. This pain is just part of the dream. I am really in bed and Miss Kitty is with me and I am having a really fucking shit house dream!
Relax little Dragon, I have to get you all clean. Look at what a mess you have made of yourself, bleeding everywhere, silly boy. But don't worry, all you need is a nice hot bath and we can start again."
Draco's heart began to thump hard in his chest and his eyes opened wide as the realization finally hit him and he heard another voice join his in joy as he began to scream again.
*******
Harry was certain that his heart was going to explode in his chest. The muscles in his legs sang an agonizing chorus with every pounding step, his lungs felt raw and full. He emerged from the sodden undergrowth of the forest and plunged across the slippery flagstones that heralded the end of wilderness and the start of the castle steps.
It was so rare for anyone to approach the castle from the front. It was something for official visitors or, since Hagrid's death, first years on their first day. Harry could never recall having ever used it, which suddenly struck him as strange considering he had spent more time at this castle over the last eight years than any other place. Unreasonably, Harry wondered if the doors were open.
He slipped on the flagstones and skidded ungraciously into the wall. He felt his knee pop and only the need to keep going stopped him from doubling over and howling in pain. He forced his knee to bend and continued on a painful path towards the castle doors.
They loomed up suddenly, great heavy things that towered a good forty feet up the front of the castle itself and made the hero of the Wizard world feel small and insignificant in comparison. Harry stared up at them for a brief second and wanted to cry. They were closed.
But Harry knew a lot about castles by now. There was a smaller door, less impressive perhaps, hidden within the woodwork of the main ones. In the darkness of the rain Harry began to run his hands over the great iron studs that reinforced the door and kept the world out – and which unfortunately were currently keeping Harry out. Just as he thought his fingers were well and truly numb with cold they would catch the hard edge of another stud and sting – and the rain was not helping him find the tell-tale panel that would release the smaller door and allow him access. He shivered in the rain, his t-shirt was plastered to his skin and the bare flesh of his arms resembled a freshly plucked chicken. He knew that if he could see himself his lips would be turning blue.
"Come on…" Harry fumbled across the wet wood and metal. "Where the fuck is the door?"
Once upon a time he might have a vision to help him, or a friendly ghost might pop up and point out the opening, but tonight not even Peeves wanted to make an appearance. He began bashing his fists uselessly against the doors, tearing skin from his fingers, knuckles and palms.
"Where the fuck is the Goddamn door?"
Why tonight? Why did he have to get locked out tonight? Why did he have to take the supposed shortcut that lead him to a set of locked doors?
Why did he have to agree to kiss Fred Weasley and start all this shit anyway?
His knee throbbed hot and had begun to swell inside the denim of his jeans. He stopped bashing at the door and allowed himself to let his hope flag for a moment as he rubbed his knee and wished to the gods that he had kept his footing when he'd needed to. Then he turned back to the door and ran cold hands over it again. Above the sound of the rain he heard a barely audible 'click' – and the door swung open.
Oh thank you, thank you, thank you god…
Harry charged through the door, skidded across the floor and collided with the banister. He yelped and swore and began his ascent up the stairs, dragging his almost useless leg behind him.
********
Molly Weasley yawned and checked the clock and found it was later than she had expected. She had hoped that Arthur would have come home by now. He came home later and later these days and on occasion he did not come home at all. Molly found herself missing the man who had been content to sit in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and earn a pittance. Arthur had been talking about leaving The Burrow altogether. The Ministry had offered him an apartment in London and he reasoned that now that their children had left home, the apartment was big enough for them. She had reasoned that they had Ron and Pansy to care for.
Arthur had told her that he expected Ron would leave and go to Grimmauld Place. It was a ridiculous notion. Ron was sick, he couldn't take care of himself. And what about Pansy? If Ron left he could hardly take her with him. An apartment in London would hardly give them enough room to swing a Garden Gnome, and like many Witches, Molly preferred to stay away from the cities. As much as she appreciated Muggles, she had no desire to live side by side with them.
And deep inside there was a strange sense of panic at the idea of leaving this house. She had borne all of her children here, and she felt close to them here, all of them.
Arthur had not contacted her to say how late he would be, but that was nothing unusual these days. He was busy now that he was working towards being the Minister of Magic and she should expect late nights – all the more reason to move to London he reasoned. Molly sat her knitting aside and decided to go to bed, as there was no point waiting up for him. She would check on Ron and Pansy and make sure they were alright and then perhaps she might be able to sleep herself. She had been tempted recently to try the sedating draft sent home by St Mungo's, but so far she had resisted temptation.
They had given Pansy Percy's old bedroom. There was nothing of Percy in there now, as he had taken everything to London with him when he had moved there – in the time before he had died. Nothing had been returned to them and she had not gone looking for his things. They had reconciled before his death, but she did not want to see his things here and be constantly reminded of the loss. Pansy had few possessions but what she did own was placed neatly about the room. She received a great many gifts from Draco Malfoy that arrived by owl each week. Trinket boxes, ribbons for her hair, dresses and robes and despite Arthur saying that it wasn't necessary, a hundred galleons a week appeared in their Gingotts vault. Arthur refused to touch it, pointing out that it wasn't their money and that he had told the young Malfoy that they didn't need money to keep Pansy. Interestingly enough, Molly she realized that the weekly allowance was more than Arthur used to earn in a month.
Molly opened the door just a little to check on the girl, expecting to see her asleep on her side as she had been in the past. But the bed was empty and Pansy was not in the room at all.
Molly swallowed into a dry throat and felt her heart begin to beat faster in her breast. For a moment she hoped the girl was in the toilet, but she knew better than to think that. She turned and hurried up the stairs to the top of the house and the door that would open to Ron's room.
It had been the one rigid stipulation of Pansy staying at The Burrow. When Ron had first asked they had discussed it and as a mark of respect they had said that they must have separate rooms. They would not be together. Ron had laughed as though the idea of them being together was absurd. They had trusted him.
And yet they shouldn't have trusted either of them because she swung the door open and there they were.
"Ronald Weasley!"
Ron awoke with a start and scrambled out of the bed. The gaslight was still lit and burning brightly. Pansy stirred, realized that they had been caught and gasped.
"Get out of that bed, Pansy, and get dressed."
Pansy quickly climbed from the bed but did not need to dress, she was still wearing her pajamas and dressing gown.
"Mum," Ron said quickly, "it's not what you think – we were just sleeping."
"Sleeping?" Molly stared at them both. They were both dressed, but that meant little, because they could have dressed after. "I'm sure you were sleeping Ron, and I'm sure all of the excitement wore you both out."
"Mrs. Weasley, it's true. We were just sleeping. We can't sleep – it's easier if we're together."
"Be quiet Pansy," Molly warned and Pansy fell silent and bowed her head. "Is this what you've been doing every night? Sneaking around behind our back? Disrespecting us?"
Ron looked at Pansy and was sure for a moment that she was crying. He stared at his mother and was suddenly angry. She had finally snapped out of being the strangely cheerful nursemaid role and had started on him in much the same way she usually would if he had done something wrong. But he had done nothing wrong. Neither of them had. "We haven't been disrespectful to anyone, Mum, you've got the wrong idea! Nothing happened, we couldn't sleep, that's all!"
"If you can't sleep I will get you something stronger from St Mungo's," Molly cried.
"I didn't take the potion," Ron said, I won't take it again."
"Well, you don't have a choice Ronald. The healers prescribed it and you will take it."
"No, I won't," Ron said forcefully, "I won't take it. It makes me dream the most horrific dreams and I don't want them – they aren't worth it!"
"It makes you dream?" Molly asked, "how terrible for you Ronald. Do you know what I dream about? I dream that I get up to find you lying dead in your bed with your arms cut to ribbons, that's what I dream!"
"I'm not going to do that!"
"So you say, but I don't know it! You said you wouldn't have sex with Pansy but yet here we are."
"We didn't have sex! And even if we did, what's the harm in it? I'm nineteen years old mum, and I'm not a child!"
"Then why do you act like one?" Molly asked, the flood gates finally opening, "you can't deal with the choices you made and so you cut yourself up! There's more Ron, would you like me to make a list? You put us through hell!"
"And you put me through hell! " Ron's hands balled into fists by his side and he calmed himself. "I know I fucked up, but I won't spend the rest of my life apologizing for it!"
"But you haven't apologized for anything! You hid in your room and you cut yourself up and we were forced to forgive you!"
"THEN DON'T FORGIVE ME! HATE ME! DESPISE ME! BUT STOP TREATING ME LIKE I'M A BABY!"
Molly took a step back and looked as though she would cry. She certainly felt as though she would. "I never hated you Ron, I never could hate you. I treat you like a child because you're my child and I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. I go to bed every night and I'm terrified of what I'll find in the morning."
Ron sank to the edge of his bed and his face fell forward into his hands. When he finally lifted his eyes to his mother again she was wiping away silent tears. Pansy was standing motionless by the dresser, her dressing gown pulled tight around her body. "We can't stay here," Ron said. "Mum, we can't stay here."
Molly paled. "What? What do you mean you can't stay here?"
"It's driving both of us – you and I – mad. I don't want to spend every day pretending that everything is alright between us when it just isn't. I don't want to fight with you every day, but I don't want you to have to force yourself to smile at me either…and I don't want Pansy stuck here in the middle of it."
Molly looked at Pansy and shook her head. "Don't be so silly Ron, I don't force myself to smile at you. Of course you don't have to leave. I'd prefer knowing that you were here and safe!"
"Mum, I'll be safe at Grimmauld Place!"
"London? You want to go to London?"
"You knew all along that I would live there. I moved there last summer!"
"Yes, before this mess. You can't expect to go back there now."
Ron's eyes widened and he gaped a little like a fish. "Mum, I'm not going to stay here forever, I never was!"
"And Pansy? Do you think you can drag her off to London as well?" Molly rounded on him, towering over him as he sat on his bed. "Arthur and I accepted care of her. We signed an agreement, so you can't take her with you to London."
"No one needs to know," Ron said, calming himself outwardly at least. He was not going to leave Pansy behind. "We can just go, the house is all set up – you know it is, you helped get it that way. We'll be fine there, and you can come and check if you want."
And all at once Molly seemed to calm. "When do you want to go?" she asked and she sounded defeated.
"We can go tonight if you want us to."
"No…don't be silly. Wait until tomorrow. I'm sure your father will want to speak to you."
"Alright." Ron looked at her pleadingly, "it's for the best mum, you can see that, can't you?"
Molly turned away from him and went to the door. "Whatever you say Ron," she told him, "you can do whatever you want."
Harry could hear laughter. Dumbledore had company. Not that Dumbledore having company mattered much to Harry, because he would have stormed in on a meeting with Merlin himself at that moment. Harry threw himself into the office, dragging his leg with its popped knee behind him.
Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him, confused at the sudden intrusion. And then Professor McGonagall was up and hurrying over to Harry, casting a charm to dry and warm him as she went.
"No…" He almost pushed her away as she made to inspect the cause of his injured leg. "Draco…someone took him…"
Minerva urged Harry down to the floor, knowing full well that he was speaking to Dumbledore when it came to Draco, and knowing that Dumbledore would respond accordingly. She quickly decided her best action would be to try and work out what had happened to cause his to be dragging his leg behind him.
"Someone took Draco?" Arthur asked, "How could someone just take him?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Harry suddenly shouted, "HOW DO YOU THINK HE FUCKING TOOK HIM?"
"Harry!" Minerva snapped, "There is no need to shout, we are trying to help you!"
"WELL WHAT GOOD IS ASKING STUPID FUCKING QUESTIONS?"
Minerva pursed her lips and said nothing. She had hoped that he'd calmed down from the obnoxious little shit he had become during the war, and indeed he had been so promising during the year. She had genuine affection for the boy, but here he was, yelling at everyone around him as though they were nothing. He is stressed, she thought with as much patience as she could muster. It had become her personal mantra over the past two years, particularly when she felt like hexing him first and asking questions later.
Dumbledore saw the glazed look come over Minerva's eyes and hastened over to insinuate himself between the two. "What happened Harry?" he said calmly, "how did it happen?"
"We…" Harry's breath hitched as Minerva gave his knee a satisfying prod. "I went to Hogsmeade with Fred…" He cast a hasty look at Arthur. "There is a club there…Fred wanted me to go…and I asked Draco to come and he said no and then he just turned up and I…oh God this is my fault…"
"What? What's your fault?"
"I was…" Harry looked desperate.
"Good Lord, don't tell me you were having sex with Fred Weasley in a night club!" Minerva interjected, her voice shrill.
"No! Of course not! What do you think I am?"
"Well you tell…"
"Keep going Harry." Dumbledore pushed Minerva back.
"Fred kissed me and Draco saw and he got the wrong idea…"
"And why were you kissing Fred?" Minerva asked.
"It meant nothing. He wouldn't let me leave if I didn't…"
"And what? Did he do a Leg Locker curse on you?" Minerva demanded, "Was there some terrible reason why you couldn't leave unless he kissed you?"
"And Draco saw you," Dumbledore prompted.
"He saw us… and ran off. I went after him," and he thought it wise for the moment not to mention his delay in following lest McGonagall start at him again, "but when I got outside there was a man with him. He had hold of Draco and when I got there he…Apparated…with Draco."
"So Draco went willingly?" Arthur asked.
"NO!" If Harry had been standing he would have stamped him foot like a child who wasn't getting its point across. "He took Draco, and he Apparated with him. He Stupefied Draco and took him!"
"It must've been a Portkey," Arthur said to Dumbledore, "Apparating with someone else is hard enough, but someone who has been Stupefied…"
"Who did you tell about Draco agreeing to testify?" Dumbledore asked, "Anyone who would be loyal to the Aurors involved?"
"No, Kingsley knows about it, Remus, Tonks. They wouldn't have told anyone." Arthur turned to Harry. "Did you recognize this person? Was he at all familiar?"
Harry shook his head miserably.
"Fudge could have arranged it," Arthur said wildly. "One last effort to get back at me. He knows there are few enough victims left…" his mind whirred, "Oh Merlin, I have to contact Molly, and make sure that Pansy is safe."
Dumbledore looked troubled, because he didn't think Fudge so vindictive as to resort to kidnapping. "No, I don't think that is it. Harry, you said that Draco wasn't going to go in to Hogsmeade with you?"
"No, he was studying. He said he didn't want to go and I told him I'd come back early."
"So, he went on the spur of the moment," Dumbledore said. "This kidnapping can't have been planned. It was opportunistic. Draco was snatched him because he was there."
"So...some freak just took him for no reason?" Harry asked, panic rising once again inside him.
"No, I didn't say that. I don't know why this person has taken Draco, only that he has. What did the man look like Harry?"
"Tall," Harry frowned, the man had kept his hood on. "He was old I think, with a moustache – a thin one…I didn't get a great look at him."
"They must have known who he was," Minerva said, jabbing at Harry's knee with her wand. "Draco Malfoy is recognizable enough. And they can't have any fear of Harry, taking him out from under his nose like that."
Harry yanked his knee away from Minerva and scrambled to his feet. " Great, fine, they aren't scared of me, but that is not helping me FIND DRACO! I NEED YOU TO STOP TALKING AND HELP ME FIND DRACO!"
"There is no point running off injured Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder and forcing him to still. "We don't know who has taken Draco or where they have taken him to, and until we learn these things there is no point running around and blindly searching."
"Snape," Harry said firmly.
"Severus wouldn't have taken Draco," Minerva scowled.
"I didn't fucking say that. He found Krum that time after he hurt Hermione. Hermione said he had a thing that helped him find people, it's like a compass."
"It isn't a compass Harry, it is a potion made from Mercury that has a locator spell inside it. It is very hard to come by."
"But he has it," Harry said a little feverishly, "It would be in his room wouldn't it?"
"Possibly," Dumbledore said, "or he could have it with him, or it could be at the Fenn. We can't just start tearing up Professor Snape's rooms looking for something that may or may not be there."
"We should get Severus," Minerva said, "Harry is right. Severus has…ways…of finding people. He will find Draco. I'm more concerned about what he will do to the man who has taken him."
Harry was less concerned about what Snape would do to the bastard and more concerned that he wouldn't torture him first. "He's in London." Harry gnawed on his thumb nail, "They aren't due back until tomorrow."
"They are at Grimmauld Place," Minerva said. "We can go and get him."
"Good," Dumbledore said, "Minerva, you go and get Severus. Harry, you go to the hospital wing and see Madam Pomfrey."
"No way!" Harry cried incredulously, "she'll (he jerked his thumb at Minerva) go and get Snape and then he'll take off. If he's going, I'm going!"
Minerva had the glazed look again as she kept the mantra going, flexing her knuckles unconsciously on her wand. Dumbledore rubbed her arm gently. "Use the portrait hole and bring him back," he told her.
"I won't be long," she said, but she did not attempt a reassuring smile at Harry who would not have noticed anyway.
"Don't bring Hermione back through the Portrait," Dumbledore said tightly, "I will send a carriage for her."
"Albus…" Minerva looked sideways at Arthur, "How long are you going to punish them?"
"I am not punishing anyone," Dumbledore replied in that same tight voice. "Passing through that portal is a form of trans-dimensional travel…it isn't good for her…for their…the…"
"Oh." Minerva looked sideways at Arthur again.
"Am I missing something?" Arthur asked.
"Well…no…" Minerva flushed heavily.
"HERMIONE IS PREGNANT, OK? SHE FUCKED SNAPE AND NOW THEY ARE HAVING A BABY, NOW CAN YOU PLEASE HURRY THE FUCK UP AND GET HIM SO THAT HE CAN COME BACK AND WE CAN FIND DRACO?"
"I'm going, Harry!" Minerva snapped and had to physically restrain her hand from violently slapping him across the face. She was no fool, she knew that the situation was serious and she didn't need Harry Potter yelling at her and shoving her towards Phineas Nigellus' portrait.
Once again Dumbledore was gently rubbing her arm. "Calm down," he whispered, "he's upset."
"I don't care," Minerva hissed, "I told you once before, I don't care if he's going to die tomorrow, he can still treat me with respect." She didn't wait for a reply though, as she swung the portrait open and stepped through the hole, slamming the painting behind her.
Harry stared defiantly after her, not regretting for a moment what he had said. There was no time to waste and if she wanted to be angry at him that was fine. As long as Draco was safe she could hate him for the rest of his life.
"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said quietly.
"No," Harry replied stubbornly, "I'm going with Snape."
"Professor Snape, Harry."
"Whatever, I'm going with him."
"Then at least sit down," Dumbledore's voice was becoming strained, "so that we can have Madam Pomfrey come to you."
Harry slumped down into Minerva's vacated chair. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He had to go out. He kissed Fred. McGonagall was right, Fred had not put a bind on him, and he could have walked away at any time.
Dumbledore had gone to the fireplace and had obviously summoned Madam Pomfrey. When he returned, he sat down heavily in the chair opposite Harry and began to prompt him. "Let's start again, shall we? You went after him and there was a man there, tall, old perhaps. Did he say anything, can you remember?"
"No, he didn't say anything. He smiled at me and they just disappeared…Draco called my name, he was scared…" Harry sank lower into the chair. "It's my fault. I just had to go with Fred, I couldn't just stay here. I knew I should, and I wanted to talk to Draco, but no, not me. I had to have both. I should have gone after him straight away…why am I so fucked?"
"You're not fucked," Dumbledore bit out a little more harshly than he intended, "just calm down."
Dumbledore knew Harry well by now. He had spent so long building him up, knowing what fate had in store and knowing that if he was to survive the war he was going to need to be strong and powerful and able to see his way through anything. It was true that perhaps Dumbledore had built the boy's ego up a little too much, but at the end of the war that ego had crumbled and as strong as he was, Harry Potter was capable of some fairly spectacular depressions. It would be useless for him to crash now. But Harry had begun to rock back and forth and Dumbledore recognized the signs only too clearly. The boy would either explode into a fit of temper or break down completely.
"Where the fuck are they? You should never have sent McGonagall, she's a fucking cripple! I should have gone my fucking self!"
"Harry!"
"Where are they? That mad bastard could have done anything to Draco by now!"
"Calm down! Minerva will be back soon and Severus will be with her, but I can assure you that if you don't stop with this nonsense, neither of them are going to be inclined to help you."
"WELL FUCK THEM! I'LL GO ALONE!"
Dumbledore looked away and ground his teeth. He too had his mantras for dealing with troublesome students and he had once vowed that nothing would shake his calm with them – but Harry was pushing the point. "If you do not calm down, right now, Harry, I shall put you in a full body bind and have you delivered to the hospital wing for the remainder of the night. Understood?"
Harry swallowed hard and was silent.
*******
Blood.
Oh Gods, blood. Get it off, quickly, get off every sticky incriminating drop of it. Wash it all off. All of it.
Lucius woke up startled and realized he was in the bathroom. He must be sleepwalking again. Narcissa teased him mercilessly about it. He was naked, he could see his clothes scattered around the floor and he was standing in front of the basin savagely scrubbing himself with a wet washcloth. One of those thick fluffy ones that Narcissa favored, the ones that felt oddly heavy when they were soaked.
He looked at his reflection and was briefly paralyzed by what he saw.
His face was smeared with blood and beneath the blood his body was battered and bruised. His arms were spattered with blood, and his bare chest seemed thick with it.
He knew instantly that this was not his blood. For all of being battered and bruised he did not feel the distinctive sting of being cut. He had not been slashed or stabbed, and indeed he was certain that he was the one who had been doing all of that. But, he considered to himself, it was such a terribly strange thing, because he could never recall having ever slashed or stabbed anyone in his life. There was no need to do such barbaric things, because above all else he was a Wizard, and he could just use his wand to destroy everyone around him.
Except of course that he was rather adept at using a staff and they had the habit of reducing flesh and bone to bloodied gore and meat. Perhaps that was the cause of all the blood...perhaps he'd been out using his staff on some poor unfortunate soul.
But no, he knew he had slashed and stabbed. He just knew it.
He stared at his own gruesome reflection, fascinated at how the blood that stained his lips seemed so stark against his pale skin. He wondered how it was possible that he still looked like an Angel even though he was sheathed in gore.
Because you are an Angel.
Lucius frowned.
Narcissa was going to be pissed off that he had made such a foul mess of the bathroom. If she saw it she would scream blue murder. Or bloody blue murder. But who had he killed so violently? The war was over wasn't it?
Lucius let his gaze follow the curve of his neck, down his gore covered shoulders and across the hardness of his chest. His body was looking good. Muscular and fit. He felt strong, supple and healthy.
But you're not healthy are you?
He frowned again.
Refusing to draw his eyes away from the bloody reflection, Lucius turned on the taps so that he could clean himself up. He needed to rid himself of all this blood. Clean himself, mop up the bathroom and crawl into bed with his wife.
Narcissa. She was probably asleep, because if he had been sleep walking and she was awake she would have done something to stop him from wandering around. Wandering around killing things in his sleep.
He finally drew his eyes from the mirror and plunged his hands into the water to clean them.
Except they were clean. Perfectly clean. He looked down the length of his naked body and found himself flawless. Nothing marked that creamy flesh. He was pale and perfect and clean.
He looked back to the mirror and his bloodied reflection stared back.
Perhaps it was, he wondered, like the picture of Dorian Gray. All of his sins had decided to gather in his bathroom mirror – and he in turn would stay forever young and innocent of appearance while the blood of those he'd killed or wronged would simply cover him in the mirror. It was marvelously convenient. He certainly wasn't squeamish about such things and if it meant that he could stay young and beautiful forevermore, then all the better.
It was actually rather wonderful.
Except that it wasn't wonderful. He wasn't wonderful. And he certainly wasn't forever young. Something was terribly wrong here.
He felt strange on his feet, as though he was not supposed to be upright. He hadn't been standing for a very long time. But why?
He hadn't been sleepwalking. He was not awake. He was still asleep and this was a dream. The bathroom was a dream. He wasn't at home and his beautiful Narcissa was dead.
Daddy
Draco?
Lucius looked at his reflection and found himself as he truly was. A frail shadow of what he had been. Clean, his hair shimmering, a thin stream of drool running down his chin which was red from the constant contact with saliva. His eyes looked as though they were sinking into his face. His face looked skull-like. He was not beautiful any more, and he could only wonder what the Curator saw in him.
Daddy
Draco? Where was he? Lucius could hear him, it was so clear, speaking right into his brain.
It's still the dream. Draco is at school where he belongs, he's safe. But why could he hear him? Draco sounded so close and he was calling out. There was panic in his voice…desperation.
He couldn't be here, he just couldn't. He was at Hogwarts, and the charmed kitten would keep him there.
Lucius frowned and his eyes opened. It was late. The museum was dark and empty, the lights in each of the cases had been extinguished. The Sais room was deserted.
And Lucius was still in his case.
Any other night he would have rejoiced. An evening being left alone was a rare commodity. He had spent his day staring at familiar faces who in turn stared back. People he knew. Adults who looked repulsed and yet came back again and again just to stare. He did not know why they bothered. Why did they come back day after day? And then there were the children. Little monsters who pressed their faces against the glass and smeared Merlin only knew what across it.
But sitting here enduring the morbid curiosity of his kind was preferable to lying prone beneath the Curator while the old man made his special brand of love to Lucius' ever failing body.
But not tonight. He was used to the routine of his days and nights. He spent time in his case but rarely these days – he was always – always – out by six. There was a clock at the centre of the museum. It was striking midnight.
So why was he still in his case? Either Semeuse had lost interest in him; something he seriously doubted would happen, because he could be dead and he had no doubt that Semeuse would bugger his corpse. The only rational answer was that he had something else to occupy his time now. Perhaps Semeuse was still in Hogsmeade, or perhaps he had shown enough galleons and Antwon had offered a tour of his private collection?
Daddy.
Perhaps Lucius was on the final descent and now hearing voices?
He closed his eyes again and tried to centre himself. Panic was making it hard to still his soul.
"Draco…" He breathed out a long sigh and reached, trying to find any trace of his son's aura and hoping that he had to travel all the way to Scotland to do that.
But no, Draco was not in Scotland. Draco was far closer than that. Much closer than that. Lucius felt his inner eye turn and focus as the edges of Draco's aura came into view.
Draco's aura was fluid, like water. Shimmering blue, occasionally stormy, but always blue. But the edges of this aura was not blue, it was the darkest grey, verging to black. And then suddenly all cleared and Lucius felt his ears begin to ache as his head was suddenly filled with the sound of screaming. Screaming that he had heard before and had hoped never to hear again.
And then he could see, as though a fog had cleared and he emerged into the clarity of the day. But this light was horrifying. This light was more hideous than anything he had ever dared to contemplate. His son was there. His baby was there, in that room. His baby was barely conscious and he looked wet, as though he had just been bathed. And worse, Lucius watched from what seemed so very far away as Archibald Semeuse, so foul and decrepit, raped his son.
His blood felt hot. He could feel it coursing through him, boiling in his veins. He retreated, not wanting to see any more. He flexed one fist and then the other. Curled his fingers and then his toes. He rotated ankles painfully in unused sockets. Somewhere in the darkness he could hear the sound of breaking glass as display cases shattered.
And Lucius Malfoy opened his eyes and growled.
********