CHAINS OF EARTH - CHAPTER FOUR (PT 1)
Mar. 18th, 2010 09:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrules
Chapter Four
Oh, that I had wings like a dove,
for then I would fly away,
and be at rest.
-Psalms 55:6
Harry’s search of Diagon Alley turned up nothing, as expected. The place where Draco had been abducted had obviously been carefully chosen in advance. There was a curve in the street at that point and tall tree-filled stone planters shadowed the alley from view of most of the street. Two people escorting a lone wizard into the opening would hardly be noticed. The businesses abutting the alley were hardly suspicious. One was a clothing boutique that catered to wizarding babies and children. The other belonged to an ancient wizard carpenter who specialized in wand cases and holders.
No one had any recollection at all of seeing anything unusual, nor did the nearby shopkeepers and clerks recall noticing Malfoy. They remembered him at Foretescue’s, however, where he had purchased a two-pound block of almond fudge and drank two cups of strong tea.
“Some don’t like ‘im on account o’ ‘is da’ was one o’ them Death Eaters,” the young clerk told him conspiratorially. She winked at him and snapped her gum loudly. “I don’t care if ‘is da’s in Azkaban, that Draco is gorgeous! Didja see ‘im? Them eyes… Cor, to die for!”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to disguise his annoyance. He was suddenly glad Malfoy was in self-imposed exile, if only to prevent barely literate ice cream peddlers from ogling him.
“Yeah, ‘e come in fer the usual. Ate sittin’ over there in that chair and drank two cups o’ tea. Earl Grey, black wi’ triple sugar. In the summer ‘e gets star fruit ices ta go wi’ the fudge. Ain’t that fancy?”
Harry managed not to snort, but the girl paid no attention, staring dreamily at the chair Malfoy had previously occupied, lost in her fantasy world. Harry purchased a block of fudge and left. This part of the investigation was almost guaranteed to be a waste of time. If anyone had noticed Malfoy’s kidnapping, an alarm would have been sounded at the time. It was possible that someone had noticed and said nothing, due to Malfoy’s infamy as the son of a Death Eater.
Harry gladly left Diagon Alley behind. It had not taken long before a small crowd had appeared and dogged his footsteps, begging for autographs and photos. Sometimes being famous made his job as an Auror almost impossible. He Apparated to the Ministry and locked himself in his office, ostensibly to catch up on paperwork, but in reality to wait for Hermione’s lunch break. Boredom drove him to actually do some of his paperwork and he was somewhat surprised when Hermione stuck her head in the door.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “You ready? I’ll have to cut it a bit short today—do you have any food at home?”
Harry nodded, although he knew his idea of food and hers were probably kilometres apart. He did want to talk to her privately, though, which left out just about everywhere in
She wrinkled her nose when they appeared in the gloomy kitchen. “How can you stand to live in this revolting place, Harry?”
“Harry Potter is liking his home just fine!” Kreacher snapped from the pantry.
Hermione flushed. “I’m sorry, Kreacher. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The house-elf glared at her and deliberately turned his back, muttering under his breath. Harry suspected his quiet diatribe involved the words Mudblood and not-fit-to-lick-Master’s-shoes, but Kreacher had finally learned not to speak such things aloud in Harry’s hearing. “Master Harry is wanting lunch?”
“Yes, Kreacher. And Hermione is wanting lunch, as well.”
Kreacher stared balefully at her and shuffled off to the pantry. She watched him distastefully.
“I think I’ll wait to eat until I get back to work. I always expect him to poison me,” she said.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Harry assured her and pulled out a chair for her.
“Well, perhaps not. But he probably wouldn’t restrain himself from spitting on my food.”
Hermione had finally stopped hinting that Harry free Kreacher. It was more than likely the slightly unhinged elf would see it as betrayal of the worst sort. He had been almost tolerable since deciding that Harry was an acceptable master, but his courtesy seldom extended itself to Harry’s friends and guests.
Kreacher brought a plate piled high with a variety of Harry’s favourite sandwiches and slammed a pot of tea on the table near the plate before disappearing with a huff directed at Hermione. She examined the sandwich contents carefully, but appeared to deem them safe since they were on the same plate with Harry’s lunch.
Harry explained Malfoy’s malady to Hermione as they ate.
“Wings?” she repeated. “He has wings? Like a bird?”
Harry nodded and wished he could convey the sheer brilliance of them, but words would not do them justice. He explained everything he could remember, except the part about Harry’s overwhelming need to touch Malfoy’s feathers, of course.
She insisted they eat quickly and made a detour to her flat. The instant they Apparated inside, she dragged him to her “library” which was actually her small guest room. Every visible bit of wall space was covered by bookshelves. Those had overflowed with books, so she had stacked the excess on the floor. Now only a small path led through the book forest to the bed.
Harry lurked in the doorway rather than get lost or, even more frightening, knock over a stack. He feared it would start a chain reaction that would demolish the entire flat. Hermione bravely forged ahead and disappeared from sight. Her voice carried back to him.
“So, you don’t think he’s a Veela?” she asked.
“No. From what I recall, the primary Veela trait is their somewhat… aggressive mating instinct. Also, their wings disappear completely whenever they choose. Malfoy’s are permanent.” Harry tried not to think too hard about Malfoy in association with the words mating instinct, except for a brief fantasy that Malfoy really was a Veela and would pounce on him in an amorous frenzy… Harry wrestled that thought down, clapped it in irons and threw it into a bottomless pit.
“…not very many winged creatures, even in mythology,” Hermione was saying. “I can hardly fathom a potion that could induce such a transformation.”
“Exactly,” Harry said, snatching on a topic that would hopefully stop him thinking about winged Malfoys. “No way something like that could be developed overnight. It would take years, don’t you think?”
“Decades, more likely. I wonder if Draco was the primary target? Perhaps someone has a vendetta against the Malfoys in general? Maybe the potion was meant for Lucius, who actually lucked out by being locked away in Azkaban?”
“I’m sort of hoping the Malfoys were the intended victims,” Harry admitted. “Rather than a plot against purebloods. If any other pureblood wizards turn up with wings, Kingsley will have my arse. Most wizarding families would already have sent Howlers to the Ministry demanding action, so I don’t think that has happened yet.”
Hermione appeared again with an armload of huge books. Harry took several to lighten her load.
“Does Lucius know?” she asked.
Harry sucked in a breath. He had not thought to ask.
“I’ll wager not,” Harry replied quietly. “Malfoy—Draco—is most likely hoping to be rid of his affliction long before his father is released.”
“Lucius has less than two years left to serve.”
“Don’t remind me,” Harry said with a shudder. He knew there was some good in the man, judging by his behaviour during the Battle of Hogwarts, but not enough to tip the scales to Harry’s favour any time soon.
Hermione plopped herself in her favourite spot, cross-legged on a thick rug in front of the fire, and eagerly opened a book. Harry set the others within her reach.
“I think I’ll… um…”
She waved him away. “Yes, yes, you’re wretched at research. Run along and avoid it.”
Harry flushed guiltily. “Look, can you also check at the Ministry for anyone that might have been under suspicion for brewing potions like the one used on Malfoy?”
“Hmmm, yes. In fact, I’ll check for anyone at all capable of such a feat. Their skill would have to be considerable. It’s too bad Snape is gone. He probably could have given us a list off the top of his head.”
“Dumbledore, also. In fact, it might be worth a trip to Hogwarts to ask Dumbledore’s portrait. Questioning Professor McGonagall might be helpful, as well.” A portrait of Snape would have been advantageous, but as far as Harry knew such a thing did not exist. Even photos of Snape were hard to locate.
Hermione nodded absently and Harry grinned. She was already immersed in print.
“How about if I take you to dinner tonight? As thanks for always being there for me?”
That dragged her eyes away from the book. She blushed slightly, but giggled when she replied, “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were asking me on a date.”
Harry scowled. “What do you mean if you didn’t know me better? Maybe I am asking you on a date.”
“Harry James Potter, try to remember who you are talking to. Remember when we went to that Muggle café in
Harry gaped at her. She had been the one to drag him sightseeing around
“Noticed? I thought I might have to take out my wand and Levitate your tongue back into your head. Mind you, he was gorgeous.”
Harry remembered the man with a flash of embarrassment. He had walked through the café like a blond dream, turning nearly every head in the place. Harry had thought his heart might crack when the bloke had seated himself across from a stunning brunette woman, ignoring the heartbroken debris around him. Now that Harry thought about it, the man in
“To be honest, I sort of suspected before that,” Hermione said. “You spent quite a lot of time admiring Bill Weasley during Order meetings.”
“I was admiring his earring!”
“And his cheekbones and his dreamy eyes, and that long ginger hair that begged to be freed from his ponytail…”
Harry laughed. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one! Surely we don’t have the same taste…?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not quite. Blonds are not my thing and I don’t think you were ever attracted to Ron…?”
“Thank Merlin, no! He would have had kittens if he knew I was sizing up his brothers, let alone him! I never thought of Ron that way and he was always interested in you.”
She ignored that. Her relationship with Ron was not up for discussion these days. Instead she asked archly, “Brothers, plural?”
Harry flushed. “Don’t tell me you never fantasized about the Weasley twins.”
“Only if they were bound and gagged,” she said.
“Hermione!”
She laughed. “Not for that! Only to shut them up and keep them from pulling pranks! Can you imagine?” She sobered. “I mean, before Fred…”
Harry’s amusement fled. It seemed any mention of the Weasleys these days led to pain. Between Fred, Ron, and Harry’s break-up with Ginny, there were simply no safe subjects.
“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tonight, Harry.”
He smiled at her gratefully. She was the only thing in his life that ever remained steadfast and constant. He counted on that more than she would ever know.
~~ O ~~
Draco sat back and flexed his wings as he stretched. He had been perusing old issues of the Daily Prophet for hours. Some of the articles had been enlightening, to say the least. Potter had been a busy boy in the past five years. Highly decorated. Well on his way to becoming Head Auror. Champion of Justice and Defender of the Weak, and all of that tripe. Draco barely glanced at those stories. Front Page Potter was seldom interesting. The smaller articles, those were the real gems. Such as the one detailing an accident that had led to Ron Weasley’s permanent disability. A fall during his first month as an Auror, and Potter unable to save him. Incurable.
Draco would bet Potter carried around a cauldron or two of guilt over that one. He filed the knowledge away for future torment and absently wondered what had become of Potter’s best mate. Likely the Auror had taken in the ginger prat and spent all of his free time waiting on the Weasel hand and foot. That image made Draco wonder where Potter lived. An undisclosed
A house-elf popped in to warn Draco that his mother was wandering in his section of the Manor. Draco took the cue to escape. Breakfast tested the limits of his patience with her; she only had one topic of conversation—how to find a way to reverse the potion before Lucius found out.
Draco fled the library and went to his new favourite haunt—the roof. An attic window opened onto the snow-capped slope and Draco stepped through it. His bare feet sank into the white powder and he used his wings for balance as he walked along the peak.
When he reached the edge, he crouched and looked over the Malfoy Estate, even though the visibility was limited in the thick snowfall. The silence was immense and the grounds looked pristine and somewhat surreal. The afternoon light was muted to the point of near-darkness. Draco’s breath made clouds with each exhalation.
He lifted a handful of snow and watched it melt in his hand. It was strange to feel no cold—he might have held a handful of sand. Shaking off the droplets of water, he overbalanced and nearly topped off the roof. His wings caught him, of course, and as they swirled the snow he gave in to a sudden impulse. With a quick motion, Draco shot skyward.
He had almost forgotten how much fun it was to fly. Cutting through the air on a broom was wonderful, but this… well, it was something special. Draco’s wings pulled at the air and carried him upward until the Manor was lost in snow and mist. He was blind when he entered the clouds, but did not pause until he erupted through the haze and emerged into the sun.
He stopped, wings flapping lazily and shaking off jewels of water with each stroke. The sun edged the white tufts of cloud with gold and the vista stretched as far as he could see, like a gossamer ocean. Draco was sure it was even more frigid at this altitude, but it looked warmer. Even though he could no longer feel it, he was suddenly tired of winter.
When the view palled, he sank back down through the clouds and wondered what would happen if he kept his wings drawn close. He would drop like a stone, of course, and make Ron Weasley’s fall seem like a playground stumble. It was tempting for a moment. He would no longer have to deal with his mother’s weeping; he would no longer be trapped in the Manor; he would no longer fret about his father’s reaction. He would be free from worry. And everything else.
Strangely, it was the thought of Potter that stopped him. Potter had agreed to help him. Potter had not looked at him with pity. Draco spread his wings and slowed his descent with the wry acknowledgement that everything in his life came back to Potter, eventually.
~~ O ~~
Harry could not think of a decent excuse to see Malfoy for the next three days. Diagon Alley had been a dead end. Harry searched diligently for the well where Malfoy had been incarcerated and managed to locate it with the directions the blond had provided. It lay in the midst of an overgrown field, nearly invisible among the brambles. Snowfall had apparently been nonexistent in this area, although it was still bitterly cold.
Harry was wary of entering the well, fearing some sort of trap, but a variety of Detection Spells revealed no danger. He mounted his broom and dropped carefully into the darkness.
The place was frightening, even with Harry’s brightly lit wand dispelling the gloom. He could only imagine how terrifying it would have been with no light and no protection from the elements. Harry felt an unwelcome flare of pity for Malfoy and realized his feelings for the git were shifting into dangerous territory. It was bad enough to feel attraction—he could ignore that, at least—but to start thinking of Malfoy as someone important… It was a sobering thought. People important to Harry had a tendency to end up either dead, maimed, or hurting Harry very badly. Malfoy had more reason than most to want to hurt him. He would gladly take whatever kindness Harry handed him and tap dance on it with steel-shod boots until it was dust. To think of Malfoy as anything other than a case victim was taboo. Harry nodded emphatically to himself and departed the well. He wondered where the second potion vial had gone. Malfoy had said he had left it behind. Perhaps the kidnappers had returned to check on their prey and removed it.
A ramshackle hut stood nearby, although “stood” was not quite accurate. The place leaned almost to the ground and the roof had caved in from the weight of the moss thereon. It had apparently been abandoned around the time of Charlemagne, if looks were anything to go by. The door was long gone and Harry’s quick glance through the entryway revealed nothing but shade-loving weeds. Any clue to prior ownership had long been swallowed by the elements.
Harry took to his broom again. He made a note of the location on an aerial map while keeping his eyes peeled for Muggle aeroplanes. Hopefully he and Hermione could determine who owned the land. Malfoy’s kidnappers had been smart so far, but sooner or later they would make a mistake. The criminal-minded always did.
Harry flew directly to Hermione’s flat to give her the map, although he would send a second copy through regular Auror channels. She typically found things faster than the Ministry bureaucracy. The fact that it was nearing lunchtime and he was starving had little to do with his decision to visit her. Well, maybe something to do with it. When he walked in, her eyes were bright with the glow of research gone right. “I think I know what Malfoy is!” she said. “But I would like to see him before I confirm my theory. Do you think he will allow it?”
CONTINUED