Chapter 3: Familiar Stranger

Harry opened his gummy eyes and rubbed them. He was warm, not at all where he should be. He shot up to a sitting position and scanned his surroundings. Across the room spotted a black-haired man, his back turned to Harry, in a small kitchen stirring something in a pot. Whatever it was smelled good and Harry's stomach rumbled with anticipation.

The windows were sealed with bricks and there were three doors, two of them opened. The other Harry determined was the only exit. It had no less than six locks on it. That alone sparked his suspicion. When he went for his wand, he noticed not only it wasn't on him but that he was naked under several layers of blankets.

In one seemingly swift movement, Harry stood up and cried "Accio Wand!" It flew into his hand from what looked like the bedroom. Instantly he pointed it at the man who, upon hearing Harry shout, had turned and drawn his own wand.

They stared each other silently. Harry eyed the stranger closely. He was young, around his own age and height, scared shitless too if his trembling wand hand was anything to go by. There was something familiar about his brown eyes but he couldn't recall where he had seen them. And Harry was Auror enough to never dismiss it when his brain told him it recognized something.

Suddenly the young man screamed, "Fire!" and dropped his wand – mostly out of panic than in surrender. Harry was about to say he wasn't falling for it but then the young man fell to his knees and started hyperventilating. Harry turned around and sure enough the blankets he had carelessly flung off himself had fallen too close to the fire.

With a simple "Aguamenti!" water spurted from his wand and extinguished the fire with a great hiss. He turned to find the young man shaking on the floor.

"Damn it..." Harry hated dealing with people when they broke down. He wasn't very good at it. He hurried over to the young man, picked up his wand on the way for good measure (in case this was an act to make Harry lower his guard) and shook his shoulder. "Hey...ah shit." The stranger was having a panic attack.

Through his gasps, the young man struggled to utter, "...Calm...draught...cab'n-ette..."

Harry hurried over to the kitchen, searched the cabinets and sure enough found an abnormally vast stock of the potion in one of them. Taking one, he rushed back, popped the lip open and handed it to the young man before standing back and pointing his wand again.

When Harry determined he was better, he asked in English, thankful that the stranger knew the language well enough, "Who are you?"

Hand on his chest, the young man scowled and cried indignantly, his voice shaking, "I'm the one who saved you from becoming an icicle on the side of the road, you barbaric oaf! Put that down immediately and stop threatening me in my own home!" Then, to Harry's further surprise, the young man blushed and turned his eyes away from Harry. "And for Merlin's sake, I set clothes for you on the bed – go and put them on this instant! The disgusting rags you call winter raiment are drying in the bathroom and a good thing I removed them when I did. You were seconds from catching your death in them! But instead of thanking me, no, I get almost killed by your stupidity and paranoia! How dare you! And give me back my wand." Despite his bravado, the hand he held up trembled.

The dramatics and posh English accent caught Harry off guard. He wasn't expecting anything waking up in a strange mountain cottage, but certainly not a melodramatic Englishman – and not one with a voice that was very familiar.

Harry didn't lower his wand and the young man stood up shakily. He realized the polyjuice had worn off and he stood before a fellow English wizard as Harry Potter – though, the young man clearly gave three damns about that. Which only spiked Harry's curiosity.

"You haven't answered my question. Who are you? And how long have I been out?"

The young man rolled his eyes and threw his hands up as if to ask the heavens to bear witness to this scene. Harry thought he was perfectly within his rights to question the stranger first, naked or not.

"My name is Taran Maelwaedd. I found you about an hour ago. And will you please give me my wand and go get dressed. To think: here I am making your soup, believing you might be hungry when you wake up. I should have dug a trench instead!"

Perhaps it was the way the young man huffed and puffed that Harry found rather cute, but he lowered his wand - though he had no intention of lowering his guard. He handed Taran his own wand back. It was an ugly, weak looking thing. Then he went into the bedroom, lit dimly by a single lamp on the bedside table.

Sure enough, there was a stack of clothes folded neatly on the bed. He put on the pair of bootleg jeans and thick socks and a turtleneck. Then scanned the room. Despite being shoved to the farthest corner, the large, four-poster bed took up most of the room. The thick, carved bed frame looked to be an antique and so very expensive it spelled out heirloom from old wizard money. On the side table next to it there was a small oil lamp and a CD-player beside a stack of CD cases. The topmost one was a Jean Paul album.

It was rather unexpected but it made Harry chuckle. He went over to peruse the small stack, finding Taran's taste in music rather versatile. Toni Braxton, Whitney Houston, Foo Fighters, Alanis Morissette...a Starship Troopers Soundtrack. One thing was for sure, the strange young wizard liked American Muggle music.

Taran was setting the table as Harry approached. When the young man took out his ugly gnarled wand, Harry stiffened but then loosened up when all Taran did was transfigure an old, Medieval-looking bench by the door into a chair - or what was supposed to be one but ended up looking like a slanted barrel. Harry drew his own wand and fixed it, barely catching Taran's embarrassed expression as he walked back to the stove to serve the food.

He noticed the vacuum cleaner by the kitchen, the car keys on a side table by the door, and a thick, white coat and scarf hanging on the wall. He lives like a muggle.

There were no less than three fire extinguisher hooked to walls around the small cottage, much to his surprise. He didn't sense danger and the place was homey but there was something lonely and sad about Taran himself. An English wizard, probably from high-born upbringing by the way he carried himself so straight-backed and the way he spoke. Living in a window-less cottage with only one chair in it. Who sometimes listened to a Starship Troopers soundtrack before bed. Harry was intrigued.

Sitting on the transfigured chair, Harry looked down at the bowl of potato and lentil soup, then up at Taran who sat across from him and gave him a wry look. "Yes, it's poison. You've managed to see through my evil ploy – though I had to sacrifice my last batch of potatoes. What will I do now? Oh—maybe I should have just let you freeze in the middle of a snowstorm. Then you'd be dead and I'd still have some potatoes left."

The amused little chortle that escaped from Harry came out of nowhere, surprising both of them. Harry cleared his throat and dug into his stew, realizing just how ravenous he truly was. He hadn't eaten since hours before the stakeout the previous night. Supper was eaten in silence, thinly layered in tension but the flavorful lentil and potato soup more than made up for it.

The wind outside shrieked and banged on the door.

"Looks like it's going to be a nasty blizzard," noted Taran.

Shit. I have to find Lestrange before he gets to Malfoy, Harry told himself, shaking his head to clear his drowsiness.

"You should rest," said Taran. "I could make the couch bigger."

"That's really kind of you but I can't stay here. I have something important to do and I don't have much time."

"We're snowed in," Taran said slowly with a sneer as if speaking to a contemptible three-year-old.

"I'm aware," Harry replied, keeping his temper in check. "Do you have Floo powder?"

Taran shook his head. That surprised Harry. What wizard didn't have that?

"Then can you deactivate the anti-apparition wards temporarily so that I can apparate outside?"

"Are you stupid? No, don't answer that. I know you are. There's a blizzard and I don't know if you noticed but you almost died out trying to brave it like the suicidal lunatic you've...you seem to be."

Harry couldn't argue with that logic even though his urge to find Lestrange before he killed Malfoy compelled him to get a move on.

Taran sighed and softened his tone. "Look once the storm passes I'll remove the wards so you can apparate outside. In the meantime, if what you need to do is so urgent, you'll focus better with some rest. Take this chance. Seriously, you look like shit."

Harry glared and said sarcastically, "Thanks."

"You're most welcome. Now that I have successfully completed my good deed for the next ten years, I think I'll retire for a nap. The anxiety you've continuously caused me today has drained me. Please don't kill me or burn my home down while I'm sleeping."

"I'll try," answered Harry dryly.

Taran nodded and stood up. As he walked towards his room he seemed to hesitate, turned partially as if to say something but then thought better of it and went into his room, closing the door behind him. Harry found that strange and he really felt the urge to interrogate him, but then figured Taran was right and he needed to be in better shape to deal with Lestrange. He went over to the couch, with a wave of his wand he elongated it (because Taran clearly forgot to), threw himself on the fluffy blankets, and let sleep take him.

When next he woke, Taran was still in his bedroom. It would have been hard to tell what time it was had it not been for the wall clock by the fridge that read six-twelve in the evening. With a soft groan, he sat up and set his feet on an expensive Persian rug lain in front of the couch under the coffee table.

He got up and started to nosy about Taran's home to get a good reading on the familiar stranger. One elaborately carved, heavy wooden table took the center of the room. A laptop sat at one end of it. Only one chair. One carved antique bench with white embroidered upholstery by the door under the hooks that held his coat and scarf and next to the side table with his wallet and car keys. A wizard driving a car and using a computer. He shook his head at the image.

The walls were wood, a few still paintings decorating them. The red kitchen stove was chic and shiny – not very old but well used and looked to be quite pricey. The couch was small but soft, the kind one saw in a Muggle magazine. The coffee table in front of it was strewn with a few books that looked fairly new and fairly muggle. Against the wall by the fireplace, just before the door to the bathroom, there was a small bookshelf. Harry went to inspect it.

The shelves were crammed with both wizard and muggle books. Only about twenty percent of them were fiction – most were about history, philosophy, and magic. What intrigued him was the muggle alchemy and esoteric books. Loads of tomes on potions.

No sign of magical items. The broom leaning on the side of the fridge next to the vacuum, the clock on the wall, the paintings – all non-magical. In the cabinets over the kitchenette, there were potions, mostly calming draughts, and potion ingredients. Those were the only relatively magical things the hermit wizard seemed to own.

Arthur would like this bloke, thought Harry.

The door to the bedroom opened and Taran stood there holding a box of what looked like a board game. He narrowed his eyes. "Going through my things?"

"I think waking up trapped in an unknown cottage with a stranger gives me the right to know who I'm trapped with."

Taran scoffed, "And did you find anything suspicious?"

"Weird, even interesting. But not suspicious...yet."

"Oh good. Then seeing as I'm in the clear for now you won't mind playing a game with me. I always wanted to play it but never...well. Now that you're here we can." He strode over to the table and placed the box on it.

"Monopoly?"

"Yes. I'd like to see what it is like to bankrupt someone, even if just pretending."

Harry snorted. "And why would you want to see what that is like?"

"Don't you? Muggles certainly do. Come, play me. Transfigure the bench – might as well just leave it as a chair for the duration of your stay."

Harry did so and he couldn't help feeling that there was something about the young man, perhaps the supercilious way he carried himself, that was familiar. Though Taran had been nothing but kind and friendly, there was something about him that irrationally vexed Harry. Made him want to be contrary. Perhaps it was the air of snotty pureblood that while not consciously present in Taran's actions seemed to underline his mannerisms – just barely held back. Perhaps it was the slightly sharp nose that he pointed up when he spoke and the way he expected things to go his way.

Harry told himself to loosen up. The man saved his life, kept him warm, fed him and now was entertaining him. Despite not being able to hide his wealthy upbringing, Taran was clearly a humble person. Harry could indulge him a game.

"Do you know how to play," Harry asked.

Taran nodded. "Well, I read the instructions and I tried playing with myself once, but that didn't go very well. Have you ever played it?"

"Er...only once. I don't think I understood it too well."

Nodding, Taran explained the rules. He was eloquent which made his explanations clear and easy to follow. They spent the next several hours playing the game, well into the night. Even with the red "speed dice" the game was long. They played two rounds, both in which Taran had ruthlessly destroyed Harry. The man was good at trading for properties he wanted with sly offers and underhanded tactics. He would have been a Slytherin through and through had he gone to Hogwarts.

By the time they were putting the game away, Harry was feeling rather cross at being bankrupt twice, but Taran was glowing. He said with a smile as pure as sunshine, "That was fun! There should be a magical equivalent."

Harry shook his head. "I'll stick with Exploding Snap, thanks." Taran shrugged and went to put the game away. Meanwhile, Harry tapped his foot, getting restless, his thoughts kept gravitating towards Lestrange. The Death Eater no doubt had noticed something was wrong at this point and most likely proceeded to hunt down Malfoy on his own. If the blizzard hadn't gotten in the way.

When Taran returned, he noticed Harry's worried frown. "What's wrong," he asked.

Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair and tutted. "I'm wasting time here, that's what's wrong!" He saw Taran's expression darken and Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. I am really grateful for all that you did for me. It's just that...it's a matter of life and death. And I'm running out of time."

"Are you after a Death Eater?"

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And how would you know that?"

Taran gave him a "duh" look. "Half the world knows you're an Auror obsessed with hunting down ex-Death Eaters that escaped capture. And you were polyjuiced as the werewolf one when I found you. I almost had a panic attack."

Blinking, Harry said, "Oh."

Taran turned his eyes away, looking a little uncomfortable when he admitted, "I, uh, went through your pockets. I saw the flask and the note...it had numbers on it?" Taran's questioning tone seemed to want to prod Harry for information.

Harry thought he could reveal a few things to keep Taran aware of the danger nearby so he could protect himself. "They're coded coordinates to the town near hear. I'm tracking Rodolphus Lestrange – was suppose to catch him there. So I suggest you keep vigilant after I leave. I'll leave you my card, let me know if you...what's wrong?" Harry suddenly stood up when he saw Taran sway and went to help him sit on the couch. His face had gone white as a birch.

Taran shook his head and whispered, "W-what is Lestrange doing here?"

"You know him?"

"Of course. Everyone knows he's one of th—You-Know-Who's most loyal followers. Everyone knows what he and his family did to the Longbottoms." Taran licked his lips and repeated the question. "There aren't many wizards around here so what does he want? Is he in hiding?"

Suspicions rose. Harry's heart began to hammer. He took this opportunity to interrogate Taran. "He's looking for someone. If what you say is true then maybe you've seen him. A wizard by the name of Draco Malfoy. Know of him?"

Taran nodded silently but wouldn't look up. All of a sudden he stiffened, then sprinted towards the bathroom and closed the door securely behind him. Moments later, Harry heard retching sounds. He waited behind the bathroom door a few minutes before entering. The man was slumped against the bathtub, one hand on the porcelain bowl.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

A perfunctory glance around the bathroom made him note the box of black hair dye on the counter by the sink and the dark purple specks on the sink itself. It had been recently used. He felt his mind grow restless with all sorts of pieces coming together – something which he usually indulged by sitting down quietly and contemplating until the pieces created a clear idea. He pushed the urge back and focused on calming the sick man so that he could interrogate him better.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No. Just leave me alone for a moment."

Nevertheless, Harry went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When he turned around, glass in hand, he watched as Taran slunk out of the bathroom and into his bedroom where he sat on the bed. Harry took him the glass of water and watched Taran drink while completely out of it.

"Hey, you'll be fine. I'm going to catch him. I'm good at what I do."

Taran snorted. "Of course you are, Potter."

"What?" Harry frowned. The way Taran had said his surname...

Harry drew his wand and cast, "Finite Incantatem," on Taran. Suddenly, he gaped at the man sitting in front of him. "Malfoy?!"

A black-haired Draco Malfoy glared up at him and Harry saw it then. Malfoy's eyes were brown but they were still Malfoy's. The glamour charm had seemed to soften his features and darken his complexion slightly. It had been such an immaculately and subtly cast spell that it completely went under Harry's radar. But all other signs had been there if only he had sat down and taken a closer look at them.

Malfoy muttered darkly, "Five points to Gryffindor."