Chapter 19 – Part 3
Minerva stepped through the portrait hole and into what she decided had to be a guest bedroom. It was sparse, furnished for function rather than comfort. She had been told that Harry Ron and Hermione had all moved into the house over the past summer, and she figured they would have decorated their own rooms and this room was far too impersonal. Albus had told her that Harry and Ron had once shared this room. He'd wanted Harry to be in there specifically at the time, because the portrait hole was there. But Harry had evidently decided to move himself elsewhere in the house. Either that or he lived a Spartan existence.
Despite the room being empty she whispered as she called for light.
The hallway was as dark and as miserable as it had always been, even as she lit the wall sconces she could only wonder at how the Black's had lived in such a miserable place. She wondered just how Harry planned to live here.
On her visits to this house, Minerva had only ever been to the main hallway and the kitchen. She knew nothing of the upper floors and she had no idea where Hermione might be sleeping, and even less about where she would house a guest. Obviously not in the room she had just come from. The Blacks were a traditional Pureblood family, and from what she knew of traditional Pureblood families they kept all the family bedrooms together. If Harry, Ron and Hermione followed that pattern, Minerva reasoned that she should be able to find Hermione.
Minerva only hoped that she didn't scare the girl half to death when she woke her up in the middle of the night.
She continued down the hall and found each room empty, then finally she reached the stairs and decided that she would have to go up to the next level. She did so with a little reluctance. She had heard stories about this house and its dislike of anyone that didn't believe in the Black Family philosophy. Still, the Order had resided here comfortably enough and so she mounted the stairs and climbed them, ignoring the stiffness in her legs and hips.
Once on the next level she saw Hermione's room immediately. It was slightly ajar, but it was the ridiculous door plaque that gave it away. Winnie the Pooh – dreadful name – stuck halfway out of his hole, his mouth covered in honey and a colorful rendering of "Hermione" gaily danced across the sky.
Minerva hated Winnie the Pooh. She could not tolerate the saccharine sweetness of the dreadful characters and the bizarre fascination both Muggles and Witches seemed to have for the character served only to bemuse her. She shook her head at the sign and couldn't help but take a step back. Hermione Granger was almost twenty years old for goodness sake!
But there was no time to scoff at door plaques. Minerva knocked on the door and hissed Hermione's name in an urgent whisper.
From inside Minerva heard a rustling of bedclothes and a muffled groan of someone trying to wake up.
"Hermione?" Minerva cleared her throat and spoke a little more clearly, "Hermione, it's Minerva…"
"Minerva?"
That was not Hermione. Minerva's eyes widened and she shuffled from her spot beside the door.
"Minerva?" The voice was more insistent now.
"Severus…It's actually you I need."
More rustling and Severus suddenly appeared wrapped in a pastel pink sheet. "What's wrong?"
"It's Draco, "Minerva said seriously, "Harry has just come back from Hogsmeade, and he says that someone has snatched Draco off the street."
"Snatched?" Severus asked confused, "what do you mean by 'snatched'?"
"Harry says it was a man, an older man…"
"And Potter didn't stop him?"
"Calm down! You're as bad as Harry!"
"Severus? What's going on?"
Severus turned back into the darkened room. "It's nothing, go back to sleep," he snapped.
And of course Hermione was suddenly out of bed too and appeared at the door.
"Harry didn't have a chance to stop him," Minerva said, looking at both of them, "he said that he got out just in time to see them go. If he had come out a moment later he probably wouldn't have known that Draco was missing until morning."
She stopped as Severus' normally sallow flesh went chalky and he seemed to shake with a rage that he was fighting to keep in check. His lip curled back, baring uneven teeth and for the first time in a long time Minerva could honestly say that he looked fearsome. She swallowed hard.
"Severus, Albus wants you back at the castle, because we have to find out who…"
"I know who took him." Severus turned away from them both and all but screamed "Lumos", making the room suddenly and unbearably bright.
Minerva edged into the room in time to see Severus pulling a faded green under-shirt over his skinny frame. For some reason she wanted to ask him just how old that under-shirt was, but found she did not need to when he turned around and found it read Slytherin: 1975 Quidditch Cup Champions. But just as there was no time to scoff at door plaques, now was not the time to torment him about his choice of underwear. She swallowed any comment as he pulled on black corduroy trousers and a woolen jumper. When she did find words they were rudimentary and to the point. "How do you know who took him?"
"It doesn't matter how I know," he snapped, shoving his wand up his sleeve. "I know who took him, and so I will go and bring him back. How long has he been gone?"
"I don't know. I don't know how long it took Harry to get back to the castle. Half an hour, an hour perhaps?"
Severus swore bluntly. His initial instinct was to go straight to the Museum, but if Archibald Semeuse had had Draco for an hour…God only knew what the man had done. If Draco had panicked, Severus was going to need a ready supply of Navitas to get him through it. But going back to Hogwarts was going to cost him precious time. Could he risk not getting the Navitas? Could he hope that Draco's body would hold out against whatever punishment Semeuse would visit upon him? If he had to rely on Draco's willpower alone, he knew Draco would get through it – but his body was a weak shell, and Draco had been through a great deal in the last year. Too much perhaps.
He was going to need Navitas.
"I have to go back to the school," he said quickly, "I was going to organize for a carriage to take Hermione back in the morning…"
"Albus is sending a carriage for her now. He says for you to go back through the Portrait hole. He said Hermione couldn't, it would harm the baby."
"Can you make sure she gets back?"
"Severus, I am perfectly capable of getting myself ba…"
He kissed Hermione quickly. "Go with Minerva." He turned away and patted Minerva's arm absently and without a word he hurried out the door.
*********
"That went…" Pansy stopped and looked at Ron, "that went…well," she said.
"I think I pissed her off," Ron said, but he sounded relieved.
"Yep, I think you did." She sat on the bed beside him and tucked a few stray hairs behind his ear. "Are you happy?"
"No…well, I'm not happy I pissed her off…but it needed to be said." He hardened his jaw. "She needed to get things out of her system as much as I did."
Pansy nodded and raised her eyebrows as she conceded that point. "So, we're leaving tomorrow?"
"Looks like it?"
"And we're going to London?"
"Yeah," He gave her a hasty smile, "don't worry, it's not going to be like St Mungo's. The house is great, it's really big and…" really dark and depressing actually, "it's Harry's house. He inherited it from his Godfather and it's right in London and we can go everywhere…"
"Ron," Pansy hesitated, "we have no money. I mean, I've got nothing and, well…I don't think you have anything either. I'm pretty dismal at Household Charms and I can't cook in the Muggle way either. How are we supposed to live?"
Ron stared at her, and it was obvious that he hadn't thought that far ahead. He shrugged and felt a helpless smile spread across his face. "I could get a job," he said, "and I'm not so bad at Charms. I'm sure if I had the book I could learn all the Household Charms in a flash."
Pansy shrugged and smiled. "I could probably learn them, and I was actually pretty good at Charms. And besides, I could get a job too."
"But you won't need too, I'll get a job and I'll look after you. You don't need to worry."
Pansy frowned. "I'm not worried…why would I be worried? I can work, Ron. I don't need you to look after me." But even as she said it she knew she was lying. She was damaged, inside and out and while she was learning to fall in love with Ron, strangers terrified her still.
"Look, Harry has a kitty at the house, it has about a thousand Galleons in it…"
"A thousand Galleons?" Pansy almost laughed at the very idea, "that's more than some people have in their Gringotts vault!"
"I know, but Harry is obsessed with never being caught short. He has a terror of starving to death…something about his aunt and uncle not feeding him."
"You know, I've never actually had a conversation with him."
"He can be pretty intense," Ron said.
"Why doesn't he love Draco?"
"He does," Ron said, "I have no idea why, but he does. The problem with Harry is that he is really moral and he sets his morals in his head and he can adjust them if he needs to accommodate things that he does, but he can't for anyone else. He can't understand some things that Draco did, but he still loves him."
"Does it bother you?"
Ron sighed heavily. "It did. It really did. I kept saying that Harry should have told me, because he hid it from me for months and I kept telling myself that if he'd told me I would have accepted it. I can see now why he didn't tell me, and I know now that there was no way I would have accepted it then if he had told me."
"But now?"
"Well, I guess there's something about going to hell that makes you see clearly."
"I thought you guys were such arseholes," Pansy laughed, "Gods how I hated you."
"The feeling was mutual," Ron grinned.
"I know, you used to call me Pug faced Parkinson."
"I was a fucking twit."
"I thought you were fucking Hermione Granger, and I couldn't understand why."
"I thought you were fucking Malfoy."
"Oh God I wanted to." Pansy rolled her eyes dreamily, "I fantasized about it like you wouldn't believe."
"And did you?"
"No." She grinned, "I didn't. He wasn't interested in me and he said he wouldn't have sex with his friends. He didn't believe in relationships back then."
"So, he was a bit of a slut then?" Ron chuckled.
"I guess he was. He was pretty discreet though. He never bragged about anyone."
"And what about you? Any conquests I should know about?"
Pansy froze and Ron realized his mistake. She pulled away from him and slid up the bed, pulling the covers with her.
"I'm sorry, Pansy, I'm so sorry."
"Maybe we should get some more sleep," she said quietly, burying her face into the pillow.
"I'm sorry…I didn't think…"
"It's alright, it's not your fault."
"I shouldn't have said anything. I should have thought before I said anything…"
No, you weren't to know," she said quietly, "let's just get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."
He slipped in behind her and wrapped his arm around her again. "I'm going to take care of you," he whispered, "even if you don't want me to, I will."
"I want you to," she answered softly, "just promise me you'll never leave."
*********
Snape burst through the portrait hole so fast he almost tore the canvas and elicited a sharp cry of protest from Phineas Nigellus who disliked all the activity during the night. Phineas had hoped that once the war had ended his portrait would no longer be used for the comings and goings of Albus Dumbledore and his motley crew.
Snape didn't offer any greeting other than a grunt as he strode through the Headmaster's office towards the door.
Dumbledore followed him, seemingly unperturbed by such behavior. Arthur Weasley was still reeling with shock over the revelations that Hermione Granger; a girl he looked upon almost as a daughter, was having a child with the Potions Master. He'd heard the whispered rumor of a relationship – mostly because Remus Lupin had told he and Molly of what he had seen at the New Year's party, but in truth Arthur had dismissed it, sighting the fact that Remus had been drinking rather excessively that night and was probably hallucinating.
Harry, on the other hand, had calmed down considerably. He got out of his chair and followed Dumbledore, ignoring the flaring pain in his knee.
"Do you need to be filled in on what has happened, Severus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.
"I know what happened."
"Do you know who has taken Draco?"
"The Museum Curator."
Harry found himself jogging to keep up as they made their way down the corridor towards the dungeons. Dumbledore seemed to be keeping easy pace and Harry couldn't help but curse his mean stature. He couldn't allow himself to limp however, he knew that any weakness would be an excuse for Snape to leave him behind – and he wasn't planning on being left behind.
"Why would a museum Curator want Draco?" Harry demanded. "He'd have to be insane to just snatch him off the street like that!"
Snape didn't think the question worthy of an answer, and he figured the evidence stood for itself. He began his descent to the dungeons with the same purposeful stride that had gotten him down the hall in a few short minutes, kicking a curious Mrs. Norris satisfyingly out of the way as he went.
"How would he have known Draco was going to be there?" Harry continued, jolting his throbbing knee on every stair. "Draco wasn't supposed to be there…maybe he was waiting for someone else and took Draco by mistake!"
"Waiting for who?" Snape asked, not breaking stride, "who would be special enough to cause the man to lurk in Hogsmeade waiting for him?"
"I…" Harry flushed pink.
"Oh, you think he was waiting for you?" Snape hissed silkily, "don't flatter yourself Potter! The man worships beauty above all else, and aside from a half decent set of eyes there is nothing about you that would attract him."
Harry felt an unreasonable pang at Snape's blunt assessment of his physical attributes. "How…how do you know it was him?" Harry asked, panting a little at the effort it was taking to keep up, "How do you know he wanted Draco?"
"A House Elf told me," Snape growled, as he muttered the password to his chambers violently and the door swung open with a bang. Still he did not break stride. He went straight to the cabinet at the back of his small sitting area and opened it. Inside sat a multitude of bottles and jars, all medicines, all labeled neatly with names and dates. Harry was taken aback as he suddenly realized that almost every medicinal potion for any ailment of any student was sitting there under Snape's guard. Harry had always assumed Madam Pomfrey made them all, but now he knew better.
"What are you getting?" Harry asked stupidly.
"What do you think I'm getting?" Snape replied, not bothering to look at Harry. He pulled a large square jar of luminous green liquid from the cupboard.
Harry flushed. He had been so preoccupied with getting help that he hadn't considered the greater consequence. He had seen Draco at the start of an attack before. But what happened now, if Draco panicked, what would happen? Could they already be too late? "Do you think he'll need that?" Harry asked quietly.
"How long has it been?"
"A while, more than an hour."
"Then yes, I would say he will need it," Snape replied caustically.
"Why…why has this Curator taken Draco? What is he going to do to him?"
"Probably the same thing he's been doing to Lucius for the last year."
Harry paled.
"Severus," Dumbledore warned, "don't."
"It's alright," Harry said, "I know what has been happening."
Snape was looking through the cupboard for something more, but that didn't stop him from taunting Harry. "You knew then did you?" he asked, "If you knew why didn't you think to take more care of Draco? You were happy to screw him weren't you, but didn't that also extend to protecting him too?"
"I was…I wanted to…I was too late…"
"Then what good are you?" Snape found what he was looking for. To Harry it appeared to be a large syringe. Not the little plastic ones that populated Muggle hospitals and certain back alleys, but a heavy glass thing surrounded by silver filigree work. Snape attached a long and lethal looking needle and drew a measure of Navitas up into the glass tube. He then placed the whole thing into an ornate silver box.
"Why do we need the needle?" Harry asked.
"Emergencies." Snape tapped the box twice and it shrunk down to a tiny size. He pocketed it quickly and wished he had time to change into his robes.
"Can you do what is necessary?" Dumbledore asked, "treating the effects of Madragora in an emergency is a lost art, and you know what will happen if the needle misses its mark."
"What choice do I have?" Snape replied with some venom, "if he's so bad that he needs me to use it, then he's not going to make it to St Mungo's and even then…"
"There are so few healers who know how to administer it." Dumbledore sighed and nodded, his skin looked slightly ashen.
"I know the principles of the application," Snape said carefully, "and I may not have a choice."
"Do you know where he might have taken Draco?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Harry's pale features and deciding it best to get down to business.
"I'm assuming the museum," Snape replied preferring this subject to the last, "which poses problems in itself."
"The museum is ancient," Dumbledore agreed, "the building itself is like a maze, unless you know where you are going…"
"He may as well have taken Draco to the furthest reaches of the universe." Snape lit a fire and plucked a handful of glittering silver powder from a small pot on the mantle. He threw the powder into the fire and called "Non!" sharply into the flames.
A mini tornado began to whirl in the grate and within seconds the little House Elf that Harry remembered from Malfoy Manor clambered out of the hearth.
The little Elf dusted himself off and glared balefully at the Potions Master.
"Yes, Master Severus?"
Snape scowled. "The Curator has Draco, where would he take him?"
Non's eyes widened. "Master Severus should have let Non stay at the Museum," he cried, "Non could have warned Master!"
"You got caught you little rodent, and you're bloody lucky you aren't dead. Now, where did he take him?"
Non seemed to tremble for a moment but then looked stubborn. Harry guessed from the neat little suit he was wearing that the Elf had been freed, but unlike Dobby this little Elf had no reverence for his human companions. He glared at Snape. "What about the kitten?" he demanded.
"The charm obviously failed, or you aren't as skilled with a wand as you had hoped." Snape's voice edged towards a dangerous hiss, "now where is Draco?"
"Curator Semeuse would have taken him to the Museum," Non said, he glanced around at Harry and Dumbledore, "he would have him in his bedchamber."
"And where is his bedchamber?"
"At the top of the Museum. The entrance is secret. Non knows how to get there, so Non will have to take Master Severus."
"No, Non will not be coming. Non can draw a map. I'm not taking you with me."
Non looked disgruntled but did not argue. "As Master wishes," he agreed quietly.
"Good," Snape slapped down a piece of parchment and a quill, "now draw."
Non looked at the quill and parchment as though he had no idea what to do with them, then he set the quill aside, licked the tip of his finger and began to draw.
It was surprisingly effective. The line came out solid and black and he did a good job despite having Snape hovering over him like a vulture.
"You have to go through the Sais room," Non explained, "that's where the Death Eaters are kept. Curator Semeuse usually keeps Master Lucius with him, but if he has Master Draco then he probably won't have Master Lucius – Master Lucius will be very angry. Curator Semeuse goes another way, but the House Elves take these doors…" He drew in the doors. "You go through the Sais room and up the stairs, there are different landings, when you see three doors in a row you take the middle door and that will take you to the top of the museum. You go down the corridor and at the end are two big white doors, these lead to Curator Semeuse's chambers. He will have Master Draco there, Non is certain of it."
When he finished the map Harry snatched it from his boney hands.
Snape in turn snatched the map from Harry. "And just what do you think you're doing Potter?"
"Going with you of course!"
Snape smiled tightly. "Stay here and wait Potter, I'll bring him back to you."
"No," Harry said equally tight, "I'm coming with you."
"I am not going to argue with you Potter."
"Good," Harry said reasonably, "that'll make it nice and quiet when we get to the museum."
Snape sneered, but had to admit that Potter might be of some use, especially if there was a fight, and standing in his chambers and arguing about it would do nothing to help Draco. He nodded briskly, checked that he had everything he needed and grunted for Harry to follow.
"This will help you," Dumbledore said pulling a chain from his pocket. "The pendant is a Portkey, so that when you get Draco it will bring you all back to my office."
Harry took the chain and hung it around his neck, then he and Snape headed out the door without a word.
**********
Somewhere in the distance came the wail of sirens. Fire Engines. Draco had been aware of them for a while. A number of minutes perhaps, five minutes at least. He was sure they were Fire Engines. He'd heard them before when he'd been to the village near his house, and again when he had gone to London during one minor act of rebellion four years past. Once his father had found him he had explained that the huge red trucks went to extinguish fires that some fool Muggle had lit and could not put out. Draco had stared at them with a little wonder and then stepped back from the gutter to avoid being run over. He remembered the sound of the sirens distinctly.
They were coming closer, rapidly growing louder and louder, coming closer and closer until the sound swelled, as though the sirens were right outside the door – and then they passed, receding into the distance.
But just as the sound dwindled a little, new ones shrieked afresh, coming hard on their heels.
Must be serious, Draco thought vaguely, the castle must be on fire.
He knew he should move, but he was so comfortably asleep. Or was he hiding in sleep? The bed was soft beneath his back and even if the castle was on fire, he reasoned that there were plenty of Professors there to take care of it. And there were Fire Engines. Great big Muggle Fire Engines.
His back was burning.
He wondered who had called for Fire Engines. Why did they need them? Wasn't Hogwarts hidden from Muggles? How would they find it?
Something is very wrong here.
The thought startled Draco as though it was a whip cracking in front of his face. He sucked in a hard breath and suddenly wasn't comfortable any more. His lungs hurt. His back was burning and his heart was pounding in his chest. From deep in his belly a powerful and inexplicable surge of panic electrified him. He felt his fingers curl unbidden and grasp the bedclothes so tightly that his fingernails began to split and ooze blood from under them.
Something is…something is very very wrong…
The air around him seemed oppressively heavy, like a weight smothering him and not the merciful source of life that it should be. It was hot and thick, as though it was not actually air at all but a bitter and poisonous presence.
He tried desperately to breathe but he couldn't. He could not pull the air into his lungs. It was as though an invisible weight sat squarely on his chest, crushing him down. Killing him.
I can't breathe!
He tried to cry out, certain that if he did someone would hear him and come to help him. But panic had rendered him mute. He was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming and immobilizing fear.
But fear of what? He demanded of himself. What am I afraid of?
The fire. It had to be the fire. That was why the air was so hot and thick. That was why he couldn't breathe and his body felt as though it was burning. He must be trapped in the fire.
But there is no fire. There are only sirens.
He struggled against the unreasonable terror that had locked his muscles and joints. He tried to move but found he couldn't. He tried to open his eyes and found his lids impossibly heavy. And then he remembered. He was not at school. The sirens outside were not coming from trucks winding their way up muddy mountain tracks, and the terror he felt was not unreasonable. Not at all.
And now that he remembered he could feel it. Pain. His entire body seemed to erupt into pain. He knew why his back was burning. He knew why his heart was pumping wildly and he knew why the blood that coursed through his veins stung every nerve and fiber it fed.
He knew why he couldn't breathe.
His eyes snapped open.
"Ah! You're awake little one."
Draco wanted to scream. Every instinct told him to get off that bed and run. He would do anything; even hurl himself over that balcony and into the street below. He wanted to but he knew he could not. He couldn't move. Muscles and limbs would not respond, as though the all important part of his brain that controlled them had short circuited and left him powerless.
He forced himself to look up at his tormentor and take in his features. The Curator was an old man, not as old as Dumbledore perhaps, but old enough.
Draco desperately tried to move. He needed to get up, he needed to get out of there – or die trying.
"It's a potion." Semeuse explained gently with a smile in his voice. "Don't fret little Dragon. If you relax you will grow used to the sensation."
Draco didn't want to 'grow used to the sensation.' The very idea of staying this way terrified him. His limbs, as though by the very act of paralysis, had become hypersensitive and ached.
He closed his eyes again, going against everything his father had ever told him to do. He could almost hear Lucius now, 'never turn away from an enemy, always keep him in your sight.' But Draco doubted that his father had kept his eyes open every time this mockery of a man had mounted him. There was no way he could have. And Draco needed to close his eyes, because if he looked at the Curator he would never be able to focus on his breathing, and he had to keep breathing.
But the air was so heavy. How could anyone breathe when the air was so heavy?
"Draco? Wake up my little Dragon. It is always so much more pleasurable when I can see your eyes."
Oh God. No no no no no no no. Draco opened his eyes again, his lids lifting to reveal the terror that he felt.
"Ah, my beautiful boy. Look at you. You are so very lovely." Semeuse stroked the length of him, allowing long fingers to trail over Draco's belly and into the concave hollow of his hip. "You must forgive me my earlier temper my darling, the scars came as a shock. Your father has been a very naughty Angel, because he didn't tell me that you were so desperately flawed. But really, some of histories most wonderful artifacts are all the more beautiful for the damages wrought by time." He smiled, concentrating his fingers on that milky white skin. "Perhaps in time the same can be said of you, little one."
Draco drew a deep painful breath. He had to speak. If he could not move he at least had to speak. He had to survive this, he had to stay alive long enough for someone to come and save him. Harry would come. Harry had seen him go and Harry would come to get him…even if Harry wasn't his Harry any more.
And Harry didn't have anything to do with this. Draco just needed to survive long enough for Harry to get there…or maybe Uncle Severus. Uncle Severus would be better. Uncle Severus wouldn't hurt as much as the pain in his lungs.
He drew in another painful breath and opened his mouth, forcing his throat to work and his tongue to move. "N…Navitas…"
"Navitas?" Semeuse frowned a little and then smiled with elation that his prize had decided to speak. "What is that little one?"
Draco felt tears coming again and he forced them down. He had to breathe and crying wasn't going to help that. "Navitas…"
"I don't understand you darling heart, what do you mean?"
Draco blinked and forced his dry throat to work again. "Medicine," he rasped, "Navitas…"
Semeuse smiled and gently stroked Draco's hip bone again. "You need medicine my Darling? Well, my Little Dragon, we will see how well you do now and I will look into this medicine later."
A tear escaped Draco's eye and slid down the side of his face into the tangle of his hair. He knew that 'later' was probably going to be far too late.
Semeuse licked the salty trail away and lifted Draco's hips, bending his knees back and spreading him wide for the assault.
Draco closed his eyes tight. He didn't want to watch the Curator's face while he was being raped by him. He'd already endured it more than once, and he didn't want the last thing he saw to be that man's face.
"Open your eyes, Draco."
Draco didn't respond and was rewarded with a slap across his cheek.
"Open them Draco, I want to see your eyes."
Draco opened them, hating him, finally hoping that he would just die, that the Madragora left in his body would finally finish the job. Semeuse was staring down at him as though he was some precious treasure but it meant little to Draco. Behind the Curator. Unseen and unnoticed, storm clouds gathered across the ceiling inside the room.
Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened in wonder. He couldn't say anything…he didn't get time to.
A murderous barrage of lightening crashed like a volley of explosions from a Death Eaters Staff. Seven and then eight bolts rattled the windows and doors, one right after the other without a pause between them. For the first time Semeuse looked panicked and he backed away from Draco, crawling off the bed as each boom came, drowning out the last and heralding the next.
Draco watched the Curator as he stood in the centre of the room staring wildly around the ceiling as the storm mounted. Any sound of panic that Draco could make would never have been heard over the crashing thunder that was so loud it made his bones vibrate.
Then a fresh volley of lightening came and the sharp bursts of purple white light produced a series of jerky strobe like images that would be burned into Draco's brain. The Curator dancing dementedly in the centre of the room. Jumping into the air laughing maniacally and screaming into the storm;
"Your fireworks won't work my Angel! This immense electrical display is all for nothing! They are nothing but clever tricks my beautifully clever Angel!"
The last of Draco's breath caught in his throat and his heart, which had pumped dangerously fast in his chest, suddenly skipped as a searing pain shot through him, threatening to tear him apart.
For a moment he thought it had.
Oh Gods, this is it…
The last thing he saw was a dark spinning shape that crashed through the doorway, tearing out boards and plasterwork from the wall as it made its' fierce approach. The blackened shape slowed and seemed to unfurl and for the briefest of moments Draco felt himself smile.
Oh wow, he really does have wings! And then everything faded to black.
**********
Hermione had packed her carry all and had neatly folded Severus' things into his battered old bag. It felt strange returning to Hogwarts. For the first time in her life she was not looking forward to it. This had seemed too much to her like the life she was supposed to be living and returning to school felt so much like a step backwards. Still, she had to finish school and there was only a month to go before the start of exams.
She waited for the carriage in the lounge room where Minerva was prodding the fire irritably and muttered to herself about someone being stressed and deserving a bloody good kick in the arse. They wouldn't be waiting long for the carriage and she knew it. The Thestrals were swift and they would be back at Hogwarts within the hour.
Back at Hogwarts to wait.
"Are you feeling well?" Minerva asked, rousing her from her thoughts.
"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione replied and closed her eyes to rest them for a moment. "I'm just tired. I'm always tired at the moment though."
"It's the pregnancy," Minerva said and she sat on the couch beside Hermione, "you really should try to sleep while you can."
"I want to get back tonight," Hermione said and yawned.
"He won't thank you for wearing yourself out." Minerva picked Hermione's hand up out of her lap and inspected the ring on her finger. "This is very pretty, did Severus buy it for you?"
Hermione smiled without opening her eyes, "yes, he didn't want you to see it."
Minerva's eyes opened wide. "Why on earth wouldn't he want me to see it?"
"He says you'll think it's cheap."
"Oh don't worry about me, I just don't like diamonds very much – Albus loves them, he says they're whimsical."
Hermione laughed quietly and then thought it absurd that she was laughing while one of her friends was in some kind of terrible danger.
"Is it an engagement ring?"
The blush said it all but Hermione nodded and then she opened her eyes and looked seriously at Minerva. This woman had been something of an influence for her, she certainly respected her as a person and she was her head of house. In recent months a friendship of sorts had formed, and Hermione felt that she could perhaps talk to her about serious things. "Do you think I'm being foolish? Having a baby I mean?"
"I don't think bringing a new life into the world is foolish and when I was your age it was almost expected that we'd be married and procreating, so I can't tell you that you're too young."
"But what about my future, what about my career?"
"There is no reason why you can't have both a family and a career Hermione. A lot of Witches do it every day."
Hermione's experience of Witches with families was restricted to Molly Weasley, and while Hermione respected the woman no end, she did not want to end up like her.
"I had children and I still did as I chose," Minerva continued, deciding that giving an example was probably the best thing she could do.
"You have children?"
"Well, I had children, two sons, they died."
"Oh." Hermione blushed and looked horrified, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be, Hermione, they died before you were born."
"How…" Hermione wondered if she should ask it, and what if it was some terrible answer that she didn't want to hear, like they died in child birth?
"Voldemort killed them, oh a long time ago now."
"You seem so…calm about it."
"I've had a long time to accept it," Minerva said matter of factly, "and now I don't want to talk about them any more."
They fell silent and Hermione's thoughts once again turned to Draco. She felt sick but somehow she knew that taking a potion was not going to make her feel any better. "Do you think Draco is alright?"
"I don't know," Minerva sighed, "I hope so."
"The Curator, from the museum, he wouldn't hurt him…do you think?"
"I don't know," Minerva said again, "I hope he doesn't."
"What if…what if he does to Draco…what if he treats Draco the same way that he treats Draco's father?"
"What is he doing to Draco's father?"
Hermione coughed, because Minerva had obviously been kept out of that particular loop. A sound outside alerted them to the presence of the carriage in the street. She pushed herself up out of the couch and picked up her bags. The idea of Lucius Malfoy and the conversation she'd had with Severus earlier came into her head. For all of Severus' intelligence, Hermione had managed to get the hang of using the journal faster than he had. She figured that it was an illogical thing, and like many Wizards, Lucius Malfoy was illogical. After deciphering Harry and Ron for eight years, Hermione was used to illogical things – whereas Severus had a habit of dismissing them.
And Hermione knew where the Angel oil was, and that was a vital ingredient in the potion that Severus was brewing.
She could find the rest of the ritual. There had to be a key to it. Finding an actual Angel could not be the answer, so there had to be a substitute, a trick in there somewhere. She could find it out if she sat down and consciously went through the journal – she knew what she was looking for now.
"Come on dear, we should go."
Hermione smiled and followed Minerva to the door.
"So what has the Curator been doing to Lucius Malfoy?" Minerva asked.
"I'll tell you on the way home."
**********
Thunder clapped around the bedchamber which quaked under the onslaught of the internal storm. From outside came the sound of rain, pounding in unison and rattling the windows relentlessly as the storms ached to merge.
Semeuse did his very best to ignore the thunderous demonstration of power. He did not know how the Angel had discovered the presence of his son, but he did know that this storm could not last. Lucius could concoct fireworks to his hearts content but there was nothing he could do that would stop Semeuse from actually getting what he wanted. The Angel was having a tantrum, but very soon he would be exhausted and the storm would die down. Semeuse had no doubt that Lucius would eventually get used to the fact that Draco was here and in time he would grow to enjoy the company.
Draco was fading out of consciousness yet again and Semeuse wondered if perhaps he had given him too much of the paralysis potion. He was unsure of the potions side effects; so perhaps this strange need to sleep was one of them. Then again, perhaps his faculties were not quite sound, an inferiority from his mother, like the deformity of his back. But he truly could not seem to keep his eyes open and he made a dreadful sound with every breath he took. Semeuse touched his hand to the boy's chest and felt the heart racing beneath the ribs. His flesh was terribly hot, as though he was being consumed by fever.
Perhaps the boy was sick. Semeuse took a step back. He could not stand illness, he could not stand to look after an invalid. Semeuse had no fear for health of his beloved Angel. Lucius would last forever, or at least as long as Semeuse himself. The boy on the other hand appeared to be of a sickly constitution. He screamed during lovemaking, screamed and cried loudly and inconsolably. Semeuse had found himself longing for the quiet sobs and perfect flesh of his Angel.
If he could return the boy to where he found him, Semeuse reasoned, he would. As it was he would be leaving in a few short hours and taking Lucius with him. As for this child, it would perhaps be best to perform the Avada Kedavra and put the whelp out of his misery.
Then again, he didn't look very good, perhaps the curse would not be required after all.
"I don't know why you love him so, Lucius," Semeuse shouted into the storm, "he is weak, and he is not worthy of you!"
"I told you not to touch him."
Semeuse froze. The voice, so wonderfully familiar now, was not inside his head. It did not speak to the most intimate parts of his brain as Lucius' voice so often did. This voice, Lucius' voice, was shouted out, thundering above thunder. The voice was born into the air.
The voice came from behind him.
Semeuse swallowed. "Clever Angel," he said, not turning. He didn't want to see Lucius yet. "You learned to climb stairs. You must be exhausted."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises."
The storm died down and the resulting silence was unsettling. Semeuse could hear the sound of the rain outside, gentle now instead of the heavy sheets threatening to batter in the roof. He could hear the various creaks and groans of the museum, things that would never have made his notice in the past but now, in this strange silence, they seemed distinct. He could hear Lucius breathing behind him. The breathing was steady, not heavy with exhaustion as it should be. Lucius was obviously calm; both the in and out of his breathing was even, and Lucius hadn't even broken into a sweat.
How had he managed the stairs?
Semeuse looked at the youth lying sprawled on the bed. He looked like a broken doll. With a small note of disgust Semeuse noticed the blood soaking into the linen. Lucius bled, but not like the son.
And speaking of Lucius
Semeuse turned to confront his Angel. To calm him. To dominate him. To forgive him the storm and demand his understanding.
Semeuse felt his mouth fall open.
"Angel?"
And he was.
In his deepest imaginings Semeuse pictured Lucius to be golden, surrounded by light and if he was to embody the Angel that Semeuse thought him to be, then those glorious wings would be as white as freshly fallen snow.
But finally, after so long imagining, Archibald Semeuse could see just what kind of Angel Lucius Malfoy was.
He had fallen from heaven this beautiful Angel. Still beautiful, but as dark and as terrible as the deepest pits of hell. Semeuse could see finally just why his Angel had been so feared. Semeuse stumbled, his body working instinctively in an effort to get away. He fell backwards, almost falling on to the bed and yet he recovered himself. His mind whirling, wanting to see and to understand just what he had here.
The wings; dear gods he had wings, twitched and held Lucius suspended close to the ceiling and they gleamed as black as those of a raven. His eyes were no longer grey, instead they seemed huge black pools and his lip was curled back in a feral, wolfish snarl.
"I told you to leave him alone. I told you not my son! "
Semeuse's mouth opened and closed dryly. He had lived a long time and had seen a great many things. He had learned as a young child never to underestimate the limits of the magical world – but this was…an Angel. An actual Angel.
"What's wrong Archibald? Cat got your tongue?"
"My…my…my Angel…Lucius…"
"I know who I am Archibald."
"How? How is this possible?"
Lucius smiled. He actually smiled and Semeuse marveled at the sight of him. "I must say, Curator, I didn't think you would be so lost for words. You usually have so very much to say. I've been waiting a very long time for this, I really do think I'm going to enjoy this."
Semeuse recovered himself and forced a calm smile. He spread his hands out openly. "You can't hurt me my Angel. Don't be silly my darling, you have no wand!"
Lucius chuckled low and deep. "Oh Archibald, how precious of you. Who said I was going to use magic?"
Semeuse's eyes widened and a moment too late he turned to dive for his wand that he had left so carelessly on his dresser. But Lucius, his dark Angel borne on black wings, was faster. He swooped down, tearing the Curator's head back by his silver hair. Semeuse gasped in shock as a second hand, surprisingly strong, cupped him under the chin.
"Now, this might hurt a bit," Lucius hissed, and twisted hard.
The resounding crack resonated through the room and Semeuse felt his breath catch – and then he fell.
********
Hermione had not coped with the carriage ride particularly well. She felt positively green as she stepped out and had to sit down on a stone bench in the stables. The night was cold and as wet as ever, she had hoped they had seen the last of the rain for a while. It chilled her to the bone, but right now the cold felt good on the back of her neck.
"You need to rest," Minerva said, "I'll get you up to bed."
"No, I'm fine. I just need to let my stomach settle."
"I'll get you to Severus' room if you like, but I still think you should rest. You don't look well." Minerva pursed her lips and folded her arms. "You should leave this potion or ritual or whatever you have been babbling about to Severus, because you can't be running about trying to do everything – especially this."
Minerva had been skeptical about any help that they could offer to Lucius Malfoy. She had pointed out that Severus had a strangely soft spot for the man and that perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly himself. Hermione had insisted that he was going to discuss a deal with the Ministry. Minerva didn't like the idea of Hermione involving herself with it.
"I just need to go to Harry's room and get the journal and then to Severus' store room to get a few things and then I'll be happy to sit in his room all night and I'll disturb no one."
"Why are you doing this?" Minerva asked, "you don't owe Lucius Malfoy anything."
"I know…I…" So why was she doing this? She really did not owe Lucius Malfoy – the man had been nothing but evil, she knew no good of him. In fact he had often expressed an opinion that people like her shouldn't even exist. The world would be better off without him.
But she knew why she wanted to do this. It was not because she wanted the knowledge, it wasn't even that she wanted to help Severus. Her motives were simple and foolish, but strong enough to drive her on. She had to take her mind off what was happening with Draco, and working had always been that one thing that would focus all of her attention. Working on something complex, a puzzle, trying to find an answer.
She stood up and dusted herself off. She picked up her bag and started up the stairs to the main hall of the castle and from there she would go to the South West Tower to find the journal. Minerva shook her head, sighed and followed her.
********
It would have killed a lesser man. It would have killed a Muggle. But it took a lot to kill a Wizard, everyone knew that. Lucius knew that. He smiled down at the Curator who lay on the floor, his head at an odd angle. He could read Semeuse's thoughts as easily as he could talk into his head, it was a skill he had perfected over the past months of hell and he couldn't help but smile a little broader as the man began to think that perhaps Lucius didn't want to kill him. Hurt him perhaps, flex his muscles, but ultimately they would be together. But as paralysis spread over the Curator's body his brain began to spark, sending out signal after signal to his body that was suddenly powerless to respond.
Lucius chuckled and drifted across the room to pick up the Curator's wand from the dresser. He waved it in Semeuse's line of vision.
But you said you weren't going to use magic.
Lucius shrugged unconcerned; "I lied," he said.
The Curator made a strangled sound in his throat.
"You don't know how I had hoped for this," Lucius said viciously, "I sat every day and hoped that I would get to see you die."
But I loved you.
Lucius hissed and raised the wand. "Crucio!"
The Curator's body began to jump and twitch and wrestle around on the floor, his head lolling around uselessly on his snapped neck and Lucius began to laugh.
"Does it hurt?" Lucius asked with elaborate concern, "does it feel good? Do you like it?"
Semeuse twitched as Lucius set a fresh wave of the Cruciatus curse upon him.
"Oh Archibald, I can only take pleasure in your misery…"
A soft moan interrupted him and Lucius swung around and felt his mirth subside.
"I think our time together has ended, Curator."
Semeuse gurgled a protest even as the death curse hurtled towards him, and then in an instant he was gone.
Lucius hovered for a moment and looked upon the body of his tormentor, and then a pain shot through him and he fell soundlessly to the bed.
The Angel that had kept him alive for so many months was exhausted and curling inside him, aching to be free of the mortal body that trapped it. The wings that had burst from his back had torn muscle, bone and flesh to ribbons that streamed in bloody strips of gore down his body. But all that didn't matter now. He felt the surge of power leaving his body and he suddenly felt very heavy.
"Draco," he said urgently, "Draco, wake up for daddy."
But Draco did not wake. He was sprawled on the stripped bed, cold and unconscious and horribly naked. Lucius stretched out his hand almost unconsciously and a thick blanket flew from the linen cupboard to him for him to cover his son. At home Draco had developed an almost prudish embarrassment of his parents seeing him naked, and while various rumors and tales suggested that he had no trouble being naked in front of other people, Lucius couldn't help but wrap him quickly to save him something.
"Draco, please, you must try to wake up."
Draco mumbled something through swollen lips. Semeuse had obviously beaten him and Lucius correctly assessed the reason as being the immense scarring from Draco's encounter with Alastor Moody.
"Open your eyes Draco!" Another pain shot through him and Lucius cringed into it. The wings began to fall away.
"You had wings…"
Lucius smiled and coughed out a sobbed laugh. "I know, I know sweetheart, but they are going away now, open your eyes, look."
"Harry…" Draco mumbled.
Lucius looked around desperately. Potter would come. If he knew Draco was missing and if he could find him, Potter would come.
Or Severus perhaps. Severus would know who had taken him. Severus would know where to go.
"Someone will come sweetheart. An Auror…or Snape…"
"Harry…"
"Or Harry."
"No…" Draco seemed to sink a little into the blanket, "he's not coming…"
"Don't, don't sweetheart. Stay awake, open your eyes."
But Draco couldn't and Lucius knew it. He placed his hand flat against Draco's chest and felt the erratic heartbeat. His breaths were becoming short and labored. Lucius felt everything he was begin to crumble. He could not know to whom he should appropriate blame, to Moody for weakening Draco so much, to Semeuse for beating and raping him or himself for being such an evil shit that Draco had been tortured in the first place. It didn't matter now. His son was dying. The only thing he had ever done that was any good was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
Someone had to be coming. Severus, or one of Aurors downstairs who might have heard the breaking glass and gone to see what the trouble was. Someone would come and they would help him. They would take Draco to the hospital and he would be fine.
"Draco, you have to listen to me. You must relax, I know it hurts but you must relax and breathe. It's very important, you must breathe for daddy." He crawled beneath the blanket and held his son and once again a pain shot through him. He closed his eyes and made sure that he could breathe himself. He couldn't die, not yet anyway. "Keep breathing Draco, out and in, we'll do it together." He kissed Draco roughly on his forehead, held him tight and said a silent prayer that someone came soon enough.
*******