CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER THREE (Harry/Draco)

[dysonrules]

I won't be posting every day (because I need to finish this *cough*) but this chapter is short.  The next one is not.  LOL!  This is for everyone who wondered about Hermione.



Chapter Three

 

No one regards what is before his feet;

We all gaze at the stars

 

            -Quintus Ennius

 

            In the end, Harry went to see Hermione.  She granted him access through the Floo Network and looked at the clock as she sighed.

            “What happened?” she asked and set aside some ridiculously large tome she had been reading.  A Brief History of the Ministry of Magic.  Harry made a face.

            “Ron was drunk,” he said.

            “I suppose you haven’t eaten?” she asked and answered her own question by marching into the kitchen.  Harry trailed after her and sat at the small table while she heated water with a spell and tossed in some pasta.  She pulled a bowl of sauce out of the fridge and warmed it.  Hermione’s house was a curious mixture of wizarding and Muggle items.  She had a modern cooker and a refrigerator, although both of them ran on magic rather than electricity.

            Harry gratefully ate the pasta with cheese-laden meat sauce and drank two butterbeers.  Hermione dipped small pieces of bread into the extra sauce and watched him eat.

            “So Ron is still acting like a stupid prat?” she commented when he finished.  Harry flushed.

            “He has a right, Hermione.”

            “It’s been seven months, Harry!  He does not have the right to inflict his perpetual self-indulgent anger on everyone around him.  If the Weasleys would stop coddling him and treating him like poor, broken little Ronnikins—”  She broke off and took a steadying breath.  “Sorry.  I know this is a sore point with you, but Harry, you have got to stop blaming yourself.  What happened to Ron was an accident!”

            Harry nodded and examined the wet rings left behind on the table by the condensation from the bottles.  He lifted one and made random circular patterns by setting it down and picking it up repeatedly.  He did not believe Hermione’s words and she knew it.  Harry felt responsible for Ron’s injury and Hermione’s subsequent break-up with him.

            “Any interesting cases?” she asked to change the subject.

            Harry gratefully turned his mind to work.  “Yeah, actually.  There is one I could use your help with, but I have to get permission first.  Hopefully I can convince him.”

            If anyone could help him track down the potion used on Malfoy, it was Hermione.  Harry did not relish trying to convince Malfoy of that, however.  Hermione nodded, knowing he would not say anything else about it.  Their conversation turned to random Ministry happenings and Harry felt much calmer when he returned home and climbed into bed.

 

~~ O ~~

 

            Draco was annoyed.  After his sixth trip to the mirror to check his hair, he realized he was primping for Harry Potter.  Not only that, but he was looking almost ridiculously forward to another visit from the git.  He supposed it only proved he was desperate for companionship, no matter how inane.  Draco had nearly owled Greg and asked him to drop by, almost willing to divulge his secret in exchange for normal conversation.  In actuality, Draco had been avoiding Greg, who would likely start to feel slighted if Draco came up with another lame excuse to avoid seeing him.  He would probably have to reveal himself, and hopefully his long-time friendship with Draco would overcome his pureblood revulsion at what Draco had become.

            Draco was not quite ready to chance it.

            He checked his appearance once more and then scowled at the mirror.  He did look good, though.  He had decided to wear a shirt this time rather than risk another moment of contact with Potter, although the Auror had little reason to touch him.  The black cashmere turtleneck was sleeveless and Draco had split it up the back to accommodate the wings.  A bit of contortion allowed him to repair the slits.

            He admired himself once more—ignoring the idiotic feathers as best he could—and headed for the solar.  It was bright enough to satisfy Potter’s need to gawk at him and yet provide Draco some comfort.  The solar had always been one of his favourite rooms, especially in the winter.  The beautiful green trees and flowers inside the solar contrasted with the barren trees and snow-covered garden just beyond the frost-edged windows.  Clumps of white narcissus perfumed the air in tribute to Draco’s mother.

            Potter the Pleb had the sense to be impressed.  He walked straight to the huge windows and gazed out at the cold November morning.  The sky was dull grey, promising later snow.

            “Great room,” Potter said.  He had foregone his Auror uniform today and instead wore semi-formal robes of forest green.  Draco had glimpsed a black shirt beneath the robes during Potter’s cursory greeting.  Potter in green.  Would wonders never cease?

            “Good news,” Potter said without turning from the window.  “Kingsley assigned a case number and allowed me to assist you on my own.  I did not divulge the nature of your… affliction, only that you were kidnapped and forced to choose between death and, well… I gave him the notes.  They were sent for analysis, though I doubt anything useful will come of it.”

            Draco let Potter babble with a half-smile.  It was nice to hear something besides silence or the forced cheer of his mother’s voice.  Potter turned to look at him and Draco appreciated how the green robes caused Potter’s eyes to look like spring leaves.  The Auror ruined the effect by raising a hand to shove the spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose.  Potter’s fingers were surprisingly long and slender.  Draco wondered if all of Potter was long and slender and shut down that line of thinking immediately.  Where the hell had that thought come from?

            The Auror removed an item from his robes and looked at Draco quizzically.

            “I brought the Pensieve.  Where should we—?”

            Draco gestured to the circular marble bench in the centre of the room.  It surrounded a huge statue of a Nereid that normally spewed a fountain of water from the urn clasped beneath her arm, but Draco found the pleasant bubble of water quite annoying; he had shut it off.

            “This should be fine, unless you require some special accommodation?”

            A tinge of irritation crossed Potter’s features, but he only shook his head.  A quick spell enlarged the Pensieve and Potter set the bowl-like object on the seat.  He conjured Pensieve-liquid next, which poured from the Auror’s wand tip until the stuff licked at the edges of the bowl.  Draco was impressed, despite himself.  Pensieve-liquid was not water.  It was not easy to conjure.

            Potter looked expectantly at Draco, who sighed.  He was not looking forward to allowing Potter to romp through his memories, even though he understood the necessity.

            “Don’t worry,” Potter said reassuringly.  Draco gave him a glare.  He was no damned Hufflepuff to require handholding.  Draco tapped his wand to his forehead and spoke the spell to remove the memory.  He practically hurled the silvery strand into the Pensieve.

            “Are you, um… coming along?” Potter asked.

            Draco shook his head.  “I went through it once, Potter.  I have no wish to relive it.”  He crossed his arms and went to take Potter’s former place at the window, leaving the Auror to his voyeurism.

 

~~ O ~~

 

            Harry watched Malfoy stalk toward the cold vista.  His eyes slid over the white wings, which looked even more magnificent against the black of Malfoy’s outfit.  The sleeveless turtleneck was almost worse than the bare skin Malfoy had displayed the previous day.  It made Harry feel somewhat warm and oddly prickly.

            It’s the damned wings, he thought.  That’s all.

            Harry turned his attention back to the Pensieve and tried to put himself into Auror mode.  He had to stop thinking of Draco Malfoy as attractive.  Harry sat down and put his face into the liquid.  He recognized Diagon Alley immediately and stepped back as Draco strolled down the street, looking straight ahead and holding a box labelled with Fortescue’s distinctive logo.  He walked as though he owned the street and absently sneered at an older witch that brushed by him with an offended sniff.

            Harry did not see Malfoy’s assailants until they grabbed him—they seemed to appear from thin air, which was a limitation of a Pensive memory, it could only provide what the person remembered and since Malfoy did not know from which direction they had come, to him it was as though they had popped up suddenly, which was possible with Apparition, of course, but there had been no sound.

            “Petrificus Totalis!” the smaller figure said, jamming her wand into Malfoy’s ribs.  Definitely a woman, Harry noted, even though only her hands were visible outside the voluminous dark cloak.  Malfoy went rigid and the scope of the memory narrowed as his panic blocked out everything other than his immediate surroundings.  The man picked him up by the arms and half-dragged, half-carried him into a darkened alley.  The woman—who remained completely covered by her dark robes, trailed behind, the movement of her hood suggesting she watched for onlookers.

            “Stupefy!” she hissed when they reached the shadows and the memory instantly went black.  Harry thought he would pull out of the Pensieve, but instead he fell into a well, which was a bit disorienting.  He suppressed an involuntary shiver when the light brightened and he watched the memory-Malfoy explore his icy surroundings.

            Malfoy railed at his captors, searched for escape, and finally succumbed to the lure of the potion rather than give in to the encroaching threat of slow death by freezing.  Harry’s throat felt tight when Malfoy swallowed the liquid.  He watched the wings erupt and then the memory went dark.

            Harry came out of the Pensieve and carefully schooled his features.  The last thing he needed Malfoy to see was pity.  Harry looked at the Nereid statue, not seeing the marble carving.  He needed a moment to sort out his feelings.  What Malfoy saw as weakness Harry counted as strength.  The blond had seen the depths of despair and emerged unbroken.  It was difficult for Harry to admit to admiration when it came to Draco Malfoy.  Except physically, apparently.  He made a face.

            He turned finally and met the silver gaze.  Malfoy watched him expressionlessly.

            “You never answered me when I asked if the potion had any effects besides the obvious,” Harry said.  “I take it your magic was not affected?”

            “I have not noticed a change in my spell casting abilities,” Draco admitted.  “And I seem to be immune to cold.”

            “You’re immune to cold?” Harry repeated.

            “An interesting side effect, considering where I was imprisoned.  I often wonder if my assailants knew it would happen.”

            “Anything else?”

            Malfoy seemed to hesitate and then shrugged.  “I’m quite a lot stronger now.  Physically, I mean.  I think it has to do with the wings.  They seem to generate some sort of field that allows me to fly.  These things—”  Malfoy lifted the edge of a wing with one hand, splaying the feathers like a beautiful fan “—could not hold my weight without magical enhancement.”

            Harry nodded and looked away from the expanse of white highlighted by the black of Malfoy’s clothing.  “Probably some sort of Weightlessness Field.”  He turned and busied himself with the Pensieve, extracting the sliver of memory.  Malfoy stepped up and allowed Harry to return the memory with a touch of wand to temple.

            Malfoy’s proximity was disturbing and Harry quickly turned his attention back to the Pensieve.  Not attractive, not attractive, not attractive, he chanted to himself.  He Vanished the liquid and shrank the Pensieve while wondering when he had ever found a bloke to be so lust-worthy, anyway.  Not that he lusted after Malfoy!  The git was just… very pretty.  It’s the fucking wings, Harry reminded himself.

            “Malfoy, there is one person I would like to tell about this,” he said.

            “Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet?” Malfoy asked dryly.

            Harry looked at him with relief and nearly smiled.  When Malfoy was being a fuckwad it was easier to think of him in a less positive light.  Definitely not attractive.

            “Hermione, actually,” Harry said.

            Malfoy snorted.  “I should have guessed.  I suppose you’ll need to let Weasley know as well, eh?”

            Harry blanched at the mention of Ron.

            “No,” he said quietly.  “No, I don’t think so.”  Thankfully, Malfoy said nothing.  Apparently he did not know about Ron’s condition.  “I need Hermione to research for me.  I’m shite at it.”

            “What do you need researched?” Malfoy asked.  “We have quite an extensive library here at the Manor.”

            I want to know what the hell you are, Harry thought but did not relish a punch in the mouth for the comment.  “She has access to historical files since she works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  I want her to search for any similar potions used in the past and anyone that might have had access to them.  Besides, she lives for that sort of thing.  She will probably consider it an early Christmas gift.  She might also think of things you and I would not.”

            Malfoy’s expression clearly defined what he thought of Hermione’s ability to outthink him, but he did not immediately reject the idea, which Harry found hopeful.

            “Can you trust her to say nothing?” Malfoy asked.

            Harry grinned at him.  “Of course.”

            “No one else will know?”

            “I promise,” Harry said.

            Malfoy sighed and nodded.  He looked suddenly very dejected and Harry impulsively put a hand on his arm.

            “Hey,” he said.  “It will be fine.  You’ll see.”

 

~~ O ~~

 

            Draco felt Potter’s hand touch his bare arm and the world went white.  It lasted only an instant and then Draco saw Potter in a dimly lit room, holding a wad of papers and grinning sardonically.  The scene shifted and Potter was running at top speed, yelling something soundless.  His Auror-robes billowed and snagged on bushes as he ploughed through them.  Another shift and Potter’s head was tipped back to expose his throat.  His glasses were gone and his hair clung to his forehead in dark tendrils, damp with sweat.  His lips were slightly parted and his pale cheeks were flushed.

            Draco leaped away from the Auror and the dreamlike quality faded.  Potter’s face scrunched up with concern.

            “Are you all right?”

            “Fine,” Draco said sharply, although a headache had bloomed behind his eyes.

            “You went completely blank there for a minute.  I thought you were having a seizure.”

            “Malfoys don’t have seizures,” Draco sneered absently.  He fought the urge to rub his temples and watched as Potter almost visibly bit his tongue.  The Auror’s jaw twitched.

            “I’ll just be going then,” he said finally.  He turned back to the Pensieve and tucked it into his pocket.  “I’ll have Hermione start pulling records while I check out the area where you were taken.  I’ll also try to locate the well and see if the surroundings wield any clues.  I will keep you posted by owl, if that’s all right.”

            “Of course.  I’m sure you normally charge a fee for the honour of receiving a personal visit from the Vanquisher of All Evil.”

            “Fuck you, Malfoy,” Potter snapped.

            Draco nearly laughed.  He had forgotten how much of a thrill it was to torment Potter.

            “Can you remember the way out?” Draco asked mildly.

            “I’ll manage,” the Auror said and left.

            Draco flicked his wand to restart the fountain and watched the water flow as he pondered what he had seen.  It had happened once before.  The first time had been after Draco’s return to the Manor.  His mother—after her initial attack of near-hysteria—had gingerly hugged him.  A trancelike vision had assaulted Draco.  He had seen his mother hunched over a desk piled high with dusty books, rubbing her eyes as if exhausted.  A second image had shown his mother in the garden tending yellow roses with her hair pulled back in an elaborate braid.

            Draco fingered his wand and tried to find a common element.  Bare skin contact, apparently.  He had been shirtless when his mother had hugged him.  Potter’s hand had touched his bare arm.  Apparently a casual brush would not trigger the… what?  Visions?  Memories?  Were they pictures of the past, or the future?

            He thought about Potter with his head tipped back and eyes glazed with passion.  Draco drew a shaky breath.  He decided he must be hard up for sex to find that particular image erotic.  Still, he wondered who Potter had been with—or would be with?—to induce such an expression.  The ginger Weaslette?  Draco had not kept up with the news surrounding Potter in the past five years, except for a cursory snarl at the Daily Prophet whenever the Auror’s face appeared.  For all Draco knew, Potter might have married the bint by now.  The idea filled him with horror and he shrugged it off.  I just don’t like Weasleys, he rationalized.  That’s all.

            He decided to go and comb through back issues of the Daily Prophet and brush up on his Potter lore.  Just for something to do, of course.

CHAPTER FOUR