CHAINS OF EARTH - CHAPTER FOUR (PT 2)

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Chapter Four continued...

            Draco decided to confess to Gregory Goyle.  After hearing from Potter only through owl post for three days, he was nearly mad for human conversation.  His mother had closeted herself away in his father’s study.  On one hand, Draco was grateful, but the silence was getting to him.  He contacted Greg through the Floo Network.

            “Draco.  I thought you were avoiding me,” Greg said guardedly through the flames.

            “Well, yes.  I was, but I had a good reason,” Draco admitted.  “Something has happened.”  Greg waited patiently and Draco finally sighed.  “Perhaps it will be better if I just show you.  Come on through.”

            Draco stepped away from the fireplace and a moment later Greg walked out of the flames, batting at the Floo residue.  “Bloody hell, I should have just—”  His words trailed off as his jaw gaped away at the sight of Draco, who shrugged self-deprecatingly.  “Bloody hell!”  The words were a whisper.  After a moment, his lips split into a grin.  “I get it!  A masquerade!  Who’s havin’ a party?  Is it Zabini?  Damn him for not invitin’ me again.”

            “Greg, this is not a costume.  This is real.  Some fucking bastards kidnapped me and turned me into…” Draco grabbed a wing and lifted it slightly,  “…whatever this is.  Apparently it’s permanent.”

            Greg walked forward and gaped at him in horror.  The reaction was not unexpected, but Draco mentally winced when he compared it to Potter’s.

            “You’re jokin’?”

            “I am not joking,” Draco snapped.  “I am not even a bloody human being any longer, which is why I have hidden myself away like some sort of freak.”

            “Do your parents know?” he whispered.

            “No.  Well, Mother does, of course, but no, not Father.  This would probably kill him on top of Azkaban.”

            Greg nodded solemnly.  Draco sighed.

            “Look, Greg, I’m not exactly acceptable company in Slytherin circles any longer.  Hell, I’m not acceptable company in any circles, unless you count a bloody nonhuman convention, so if you choose to have nothing more to do with me, I will understand.”

            Greg said nothing as his eyes tracked over Draco’s wings.  His gaze had never quite moved away from the feathers, yet another contrast to Potter, who had seemed to spend far more time sizing up Draco as a whole.

            “You said someone did this to you?  Can’t the Ministry track them down and make them pay?  Who was it?”

            “I don’t know.  Mother convinced the Ministry to assign Potter to the case…”

            “Potter?”  Greg’s voice was scoffing derision.  “Can’t they get someone else?  Wouldn’t surprise me if he was the one that did this to you.”

            Draco drew a shocked breath.  Oddly, the thought had never occurred to him.  Why hadn’t it?  When Draco had listed his enemies, Potter should have been at the top of the list.  He had plenty of reasons to hate Draco, after all.  He remembered Potter’s touch on his arm and the look of concern in his green eyes.  No, like most Gryffindors, Potter was incapable of dissembling.  Draco had to trust him.  He had little choice, after all.  Who else would help him?

            And to be brutally honest, Draco didn’t think Potter had ever cared enough about him to consider him worthy of such extreme revenge.  He shrugged.  “I have to count on his need to maintain his perfect Auror record.”

            “Who do you think did it, then?” Greg asked.  “If not Potter and his lot?”

            “I don’t know.  I made a list.  A long list.  I was not the most popular person, you know.”

            Greg scoffed.  “’Course you were.  Are,” he amended and flicked a look at Draco’s wings before fixing his gaze on the sideboard.  Draco took it to mean Greg wanted a drink and quickly prepared one for his friend.  It was useless to concoct one for himself.  He seemed to be immune to cold and the effects of alcohol.

            “No, Greg, I think I was envied.  That is a far different thing from being admired and nearly the opposite of being liked.”

            “I didn’t know you cared about being liked.”

            “Neither did I.  Actually, I don’t think I did until it no longer became an option.”  He smiled wryly and handed the glass of Firewhiskey to Greg.  His friend gulped the drink.  An owl swooped in through the door and landed on the perch in the corner.  Draco did not recognize it.  The creature was sooty-coloured with a darker head.  It hooted softly as Draco went over to detach the message.  The owl raised a feathered leg helpfully.

            “Potter.  He is always the proper Auror now.  Requesting an audience,” Draco said with a glance at the clock.  It was 12:30 and Potter wanted an appointment at 1:00.  The note induced a minor burst of panic—not only had Potter asked for a meeting, but he wanted to bring Hermione Granger.  We have information that might be useful.  He kept the alarm from showing on his face; there was no need to agitate Greg.

            “Want me to stay?” Greg offered.  Draco shook his head.

            “No.  This is difficult enough without you and Potter coming to blows,” Draco said and then chuckled at the idea.  Greg joined him in a laugh.  Where Potter had grown taller and filled into an attractive, slender package, Greg’s bulk had shifted from fat into intimidating muscle.  He worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Granger’s colleague, Draco supposed, and gave a snort of amusement.  Except that Greg worked in Internal Security, keeping the visiting riffraff at bay and escorting out undesirables.  Draco would have bet Greg used his muscles more than his wand on a daily basis.

            “All right, then.  I suppose I’ll go,” Greg said and set his empty glass on the table.  He met Draco’s eyes for a moment.  “And don’t worry, Draco.  I’ll be here for you even with your…”  He jerked a thumb at Draco’s wings.  Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  He was grateful to have Greg.  Pansy and Blaise were his friends, but he doubted they would be as steadfast in the face of Draco’s deformity.

            Greg Flooed out and Draco scrawled a quick note to Potter before sending it off with the waiting owl.  He was not looking forward to seeing Granger, but if that was the price of seeing Potter again…  He scowled at the thought and tried to think of some rational reason for looking forward to the git’s visit.  It had nothing to due with Potter’s fitness.  Nothing.  Draco was merely hoping for some news about the case.  He sighed with relief at locating a valid reason and went to change.

 

~~ O ~~

 

            Harry took a deep breath and smiled at Hermione.

            “Ready?” he asked.

            She nodded and handed him the box of Floo Powder.  He took a handful and sent himself to Malfoy Manor.  Hermione stepped into the Malfoy library behind him.  There was no sign of the blond, but a house-elf dressed in what looked like a scrap of tasselled curtain stepped forward to meet them.

            Hermione glared at Harry.  “He did that on purpose!  He knows how I feel about house-elves!”

            “Just try not to provoke him,” Harry said.

            “Provoke him?  This is practically a declaration of war!” she hissed.

            “Please to be coming this way,” the house-elf said while eyeing them distastefully.  “Master Draco is being in the Viridian Drawing Room.  Master Draco’s guests is expected not to be touching anything.”

            Harry nudged Hermione with an elbow as the house-elf sniffed at them and turned away, imperiously leading them toward the door.

            “We’re not to be touching anything,” Harry whispered.  “I wonder if that includes Master Draco?”

            “Harry!”  She gasped in surprise and then giggled.  The house-elf stopped and fixed them both with a steely glare until they assumed appropriately sober expressions.  After that, they said nothing as they wound their way through several long hallways and up a flight of stairs.  Harry grinned at the excessively long route—he knew Malfoy meant to impress Hermione with the size and wealth of the Manor.  The intention backfired.

            “It’s obscene to have this much space for one family,” she muttered.  “It’s like a bloody palace.”

            Harry nodded, but it made him curiously sad to think of only Malfoy and his mother living in the huge, empty house.  It seemed dreadfully lonely.

            The house-elf stopped before a large wooden door and opened it to admit them.  Malfoy stood in the centre of the room.  He looked perfectly calm and almost regal.  Harry was surprised to find him fully dressed.  The Slytherin wore a long-sleeved shirt of purest white, possibly hoping to diminish the shocking effect of the wings.  His trousers were black, as were his shoes.  Harry sort of missed the barefoot effect.  For some reason, it had made Malfoy seem softer, more… human.

            Then again, it was probably not the best idea to think of Malfoy as anything other than an unapproachable ice-prince.

            Malfoy and Hermione faced off.

            “Granger,” he said.

            “Malfoy,” she returned with a polite nod.

            “Potter says you insisted on coming to gawk at me,” Malfoy continued.  Hermione flushed.

            “Actually, I think what has been done to you is perfectly dreadful.  I plan to do whatever I can to help Harry track down the culprits and bring them to justice.”  Malfoy seemed nonplussed for a moment, so Hermione went on.  “In fact, I think I might have some information for you.”

            “About the perpetrators?”

            She sighed and shook her head.  “I’m sorry, not yet.  But I think we’ve determined what you… have become.”

            “Not a Veela.”

            “No.  Actually, I think you are Anakim.”

            Malfoy’s expression did not change.  “I’ve never heard of it.”

            Hermione pulled a sheaf of papers from her robes and handed them to Malfoy.  “I hadn’t, either, which is why I wanted to see you for verification.  Harry says you’re immune to cold?”

            Malfoy studied the parchment and nodded curtly.

            “You have increased strength?”  Another nod.  “What about visions?  Any strange dreams or premonitions?”

            Malfoy looked at her sharply and shook his head.  “No visions,” he said curtly.  The silver gaze flitted to Harry and away.  Hermione shrugged.

            “Perhaps the potion was unable to convey the full abilities.  And there is no telling how accurate the reports are, anyway.  They’re ancient.  I’m actually shocked the potion worked at all.  The changes to your DNA alone had to be astounding, and they would have needed access to cells from an actual Anakim, most likely gathered from a tomb or something.  No one has seen a real Anakim in centuries…”

            Harry stopped paying attention when she slipped into technospeak, although Malfoy seemed to hang on her every word.  She moved closer to the blond and showed him the papers, pointing out charts, drawings, and incomprehensible data that made little sense to Harry.  He walked to a window seat and parked himself to look through the glass.  It was snowing again, but the flakes were tiny and sporadic.  He hoped the sun would show itself soon.  The perpetual clouds were depressing.

            Harry turned his attention from the cold landscape back to Malfoy.  Hermione had spread the parchment across a nearby table.  She and Malfoy were immersed in complex potions theory.  Harry smiled, thinking that bringing Hermione to Malfoy may have been the best thing for him.  The despair that seemed to hover over the blond like a pall had faded.

            Harry allowed his eyes to travel over the wings and then the rest of Malfoy.  It really wasn’t fair that his nemesis had grown into someone so incredibly gorgeous.  Bloody hell, but Malfoy had nice legs.  And that arse…  Harry envisioned himself cupping Malfoy’s arse in his hands and leaning into the muscular back to breathe in the scent of his hair… followed by nuzzling his face into those soft wings—

            “…don’t you think so, Harry?”

            Harry’s eyes flew to Hermione’s with a start and his cheeks burned.

            “Sorry, I was… distracted.”

            Hermione smirked and glanced at Malfoy.  “So I see.  As I was saying, we might find more information at Hogwarts.  You are still planning to go, correct?”

            Harry nodded and refused to look at Malfoy.  He hoped the damned blush was fading.  Thank goodness Hermione already knew about his “thing for blonds”.  “I’m going tomorrow.  I wanted to wait until the weekend, since classes are still in session.”  He also hoped his presence would cause less of a disruption on a Saturday.  Though it had been five years since the war, Harry still had a tendency to draw a crowd whenever he appeared in public.

            “I would let you search the library here, but I’m afraid my mother has taken it over,” Malfoy said dryly.  “She’s determined to find an antidote or a way of reversing the process.”

            Hermione bit her lip.  “I’m not certain that’s possible,” she said bluntly.  Harry winced.  “The changes were far too drastic.  Attempting to alter you back could very well kill you; and that is only if we manage to find, or reproduce, the potion itself.  The sample in the vial you gave to Harry was too small an amount for accurate analysis.”

            “Hermione,” Harry said warningly with his eyes on Malfoy.  He knew how close the blond had come to choosing death over his current state.  It had been written in his every gesture at their first meeting.  If Malfoy thought there was no hope of ever returning to normal…

            Malfoy’s grey eyes held his.  “You prefer she sugar coat the truth, Potter?  Give me some false hope?”

            Harry glared.  “How do you know it’s false?  Everything we’re doing is just speculation at this point!  To suggest we might never be able to…  Well, we simply don’t know, do we?”

            Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.  “I’m only trying to prepare him for the worst, Harry.  The odds are stacked against us, after all.”

            He suddenly changed his mind about Hermione being a good influence on Malfoy.  What if she drove Malfoy into despondency and he tried to kill himself or something?  Harry had no way of preventing that unless he monitored the Slytherin at all times—something he knew Malfoy would never allow.

            “Why did I even bring you here?” Harry snapped in frustration.

            “To provide a contrast to your blind idealism?” Malfoy drawled.

            Harry turned his glare on the blond.  “Fine, you two can wallow in the pointlessness of it all.  I’m going to find the fucking responsible party no matter what it takes.”  Harry threw himself from the seat started for the door.  “Owl me if you find anything remotely important.”  Harry went out and slammed the door behind him, ignoring Hermione’s plea to wait.  He was glad Malfoy Manor was solidly built—the portal banged with a satisfying sound that reverberated through the empty hallway, trailing echoes.  It also drew the attention of three agitated house-elves who popped up next to Harry.

            “Never mind,” he snarled before they could chastise him.  “Just show me the nearest way out.”

            Within minutes, Harry lay on his bed at number 12, Grimmauld Place, stewing.  He wondered if leaving Hermione with Malfoy had been the smartest thing to do, but then decided she deserved it.

 

~~ O ~~

 

            Granger looked at Malfoy guilelessly when the echoes from the slamming door faded away.

            “I think I’ve upset him,” she said blandly.

            Draco tracked back over their conversation, mystified.  What had provoked Potter’s outburst?  Was he really that determined to find a cure?  Why?  He looked at Granger speculatively and wondered if she would tell him.  She was already back on track.

            “As I was saying, Anakim were thought to be mythological, even in wizarding lore.  Some scholars believe they were the ancestors of the Veela, which I find quite plausible, actually.  Muggle holy books refer to them as a race of giants, descended from the Nephilim—do you recognize that name?”

            “Fallen angels,” Draco replied, suddenly feeling he was back in school, even though Granger was not acting like an overweening know-it-all.  She was actually treating Draco like a human being, probably because he no longer was.  Granger had likely placed him in the same category as house-elves and centaurs.

            “Exactly.  The Nephilim mated with humans to produce the Anakim.  Some accounts claim the Anakim were winged, others state they were a race of giants, or perhaps both.  Either way, they disappeared from most history books and no one really knows what became of them.  It’s likely they retreated when the Muggle races became more prevalent and eventually evolved into different species, such as the Veela.”

            “So you believe I am some sort of throwback to an ancient, extinct race?”

            She nodded.  “How it was done is the question.  I’ve been looking for anyone with the skill to produce such an intricate and powerful potion.  Frankly, there aren’t many people with that kind of ability.  I gave a list to Harry, but he drew blanks on them all.  Do you know of anyone who might fit that profile?  A colleague of Snape’s perhaps?”

            Draco shook his head.  “I was never taken into Snape’s confidence.  He saved my life after the incident with Dumbledore on the tower, but we were not exactly chums.  He delivered me back to my parents and went about his own business.  I gave Potter a list of people with possible motives and it included those with potential skill.  Even more likely, I added those with the means to purchase such ability.”

            She gasped.  “I never thought of that!  Damn, that opens the field, doesn’t it?  They could have purchased the potion from anywhere in the world.”  Granger looked crestfallen.  “Bloody hell, now I’ll have to widen the search to include global parameters.”

            “Why are you helping me?” he asked suddenly.

            She gave him a curious look and shrugged.  “You know us Gryffindors.  We live to right wrongs and all that,” she said lightly.

            “That sounds like something Potter would say.  What is the real reason?”

            “Well, I do work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you know.  It’s sort of my job.”

            “Then you are here only in an official capacity?”

            She shook her head and smiled.  “No.  I’m here because Harry asked for my help.  His reasons for taking up your cause are his own.”

            “What about the Weasel?  Are you two going to bring him along?  I thought you three did everything together.”

            Astonishingly, Granger’s face closed up tighter than a clam in fresh water.  She clutched her robes together in tense fists.  “I should go.  The sooner I get started researching this, the better.  I’ll check the International Archives first.”  Draco blinked at the sudden change and wondered what he had said.  Granger hurried to the door and then paused.  “By the way, Malfoy, if it’s any consolation, the Anakim were revered as gods.  And you know what else?  Harry was right.”  She chuckled before shutting the door with a soft click.

            Right about what?

CHAPTER FIVE