CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Apr. 4th, 2010 08:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesZOMG I have been so busy!!!!! I am posting and then I gotta run. I will try to answer your comments one day, but I figured you would prefer the chapter. :D
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE prologue
Chapter Fourteen
Feather by feather
the goose is plucked.
- Scottish proverb
Draco was still sitting in the dark when his mother came in. She immediately cast a Light Spell and then lit several of Draco’s candles and brightened his favourite Glow Lamp.
“Darling, it pains me to see you so maudlin. I have barely seen you for days. Will you come and have dinner with me tonight?”
Draco suppressed his annoyance at her intrusion. He had been toying with the poison vial, trying to work up the courage to just pop the cap and drink it. A plethora of fantasies had kept him from doing so, ranging from satisfying to just plain depressing. They all featured Harry Potter, coming back to the Manor to discover Draco’s lifeless body. In some scenarios, Potter had been heartbroken, flinging himself on Draco’s prostrate form and weeping hysterically. In others, he had shrugged in a bored manner and said, “At least we don’t have to worry about his wings, anymore.”
It bothered Draco that he didn’t know what Potter’s reaction would be. That, possibly more than anything, had kept him from downing the potion. He frowned at his mother with a flash of guilt. He hadn’t once thought about her discovering his body, although it was far more plausible than Potter finding him. He knew how she would react to the sight.
He tucked the vial into his trouser pocket as he stood up. “Of course, Mother. I am sorry to have neglected you.”
She smiled at him and came closer, but stopped before she was in range of an embrace, glancing at his wings as her smile faltered. “Not to worry, darling. It has been a trying time for both of us.”
A bit more trying for me than you, I’ll wager, Draco thought, but then he chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. She was merely upset and dealing with the situation as best she could. Draco decided he would be in much the same state should a child of his have a similar calamity befall him. He nearly snorted at the thought as soon as it occurred to him. There was no longer any sort of chance that he would father children. Even if the wings could be removed, Draco had been fundamentally altered. Merlin only knew what sort of changes had been wrought to his internal systems. Even despite his condition, the situation with Potter had been something of a revelation. The very idea of taking a wife and having a family seemed ludicrous.
“I am famished,” he said, moving deliberately closer in order to see her sidestep. She masked the motion by turning and striding briskly toward the door.
“Good. Then let us go and partake like civilized people.” She blanched as she said it—Draco could see it even though she was partially turned away from him. Draco scowled. It was going to be a long meal if she planned to make subtle innuendos every few moments. Still, it seemed unlikely that Potter would return. The man was probably wrapped in the embrace of the ginger Weaselette at the very moment. The thought made Draco’s jaw clench and he stalked past his mother and went out. He thought about taking to the air and winging his way to the dining room, but he supposed his mother would consider it rude as well as mortifying.
Even so, the idea cheered him slightly. The house-elves quickly served the crab bisque and his mother made small talk about the difficulty in procuring decent crab with the hateful weather causing delays. Draco looked out the window at the growing darkness and swirling snow. He thought he might go out and fly in it once the interminable meal ended.
“Have you spoken to Harry Potter, recently?” his mother asked when a house-elf removed her soup bowl and replaced it with a lime sorbet. She took a spoonful and lifted it to her mouth to cleanse her palate. Draco did the same and idly wondered what Potter would think of such an indulgence as a five-course meal. The man was obviously used to bolting down a sandwich on the run. For some reason, the image made Draco smile before he caught himself.
Damn it all, he was not supposed to find Potter’s ridiculous habits attractive. It was bad enough that he found the man, himself, attractive. Possibly more than attractive.
“Yes,” Draco answered readily enough. “Earlier today, actually.” He wondered why she had even asked. Between the wards and the house-elves, she surely knew every time Harry Potter entered the Manor.
“And is he having any luck?” she asked in a casual tone that immediately sent warning bells clanging through Draco’s mind.
“Some,” Draco replied.
“I wonder if he is really putting forth enough effort on this case. You two did not get along in school, after all. He might be holding something of a grudge.”
“He is putting forth all the effort he can, Mother,” Draco said dryly. “He is Harry Potter. He doesn’t know how to do anything but his best.”
“You seem quite confident, Draco.”
“The man saved us all, Mother. It seems somehow justified to have confidence in him.”
“I am worried that his emotions might be clouding his ability to do his job, in this instance. Perhaps it would be better to request someone else.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed at her ambiguous speech. She toyed with her wineglass, not meeting his eyes. A house-elf took away her sorbet and placed a salad in front of her.
“Really?” Draco asked dryly. “You think some underling Auror would do a better job than the Chosen One? Do you have any idea how that sounds?”
“I have seen no results thus far, Draco,” she said sharply. “What has Potter come up with? Besides, I have heard rumours about the man and I am concerned…”
Draco wrinkled his nose at the salad and picked at it with his fork. He was not a fan of leafy greens, even doused with sweet citrus dressing, although the sliced pears seemed edible enough. “What rumours, Mother?” he asked and suppressed a sigh. Merlin, if she had been off visiting with Pansy’s mum again, she would be unliveable for days. That woman was a veritable fount of catty gossip and usually kept his mother with her head in the fireplace for hours on end, spreading nasty rumours throughout the pureblood community.
“Well, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve heard that Harry Potter might be… inclined toward men.” She said it in a stage whisper, as though afraid the serving dishes might be listening devices. Draco nearly spat the pear he’d been crunching and he hastily chewed and swallowed before taking a gulp of water.
“What?” he demanded, wondering where she had picked up that titbit. Draco had only found out yesterday and he was quite a lot closer to Potter these days than the gossip mill. “Who told you that?”
“It’s not important,” she said quickly. Her cheeks were lightly tinted with pink.
“I think it is important,” Draco replied. “Is this some random rumour, or is there actual proof?”
His mother looked away and Draco nodded.
“As I thought. Something like that would be in the papers faster than you could cast a Lumos,” he said with a satisfied nod. He was thoughtful, however, as he turned back to his salad. What would Potter do if it came out that he favoured blokes? Had he chosen Draco only because he was safe? Potter knew Draco would never go to the papers—the press would be beside itself wondering which would be the bigger story, Draco with his bloody wings or the Savior as a shirtlifter.
“Still, Draco, it would behove you to take care. If the rumours are true, it might be best to distance yourself from the man in preparation for the day that we find the solution to your problem.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. His mother might be firmly in denial about Draco’s problem, but he was beginning to realize there was no simple solution—it was likely there was no solution at all. Distancing himself from Potter was a worthy goal, but galled him that by doing so he would obey his mother’s orders. Prudence warred with his need to rebel.
“And Potter is no closer to finding the culprits, is he?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
Draco pushed the green around on his plate and shot her a glance. He wondered at her sudden anti-Potter stance. Was it really the “rumour” that had set her against the Auror, or something else? She had hired him, after all.
After another palette cleanser, the house-elves brought a sausage polenta that had just the right amount of spice. Draco idly wondered how Potter would find the dish and then wished he would stop thinking about the Auror. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the clink of utensils and the sound of him and his mother eating. Having dinner with her suddenly seemed like a wretched idea and he wondered if his new physiology would provide him with heartburn as payment. He supposed he would find out.
~~ O ~~
Hermione pushed her chair back, feeling nauseous. She had tried to come up with alternative solutions for the past hour, but the evidence seemed to mock her attempts, pointing again and again to a single culprit.
Ginny Weasley.
Pokeby’s potion had been in the possession of the Department of Mysteries, tucked away in a cupboard, marked “Unknown substance, possible lethal effects. For later study” and forgotten. There were hundreds of items intended for later study, but not nearly enough Unspeakables to study them all. Once in a while, however, a current event would send a researcher back into the nearly-forgotten past to seek out some information. Such seemed to have happened in this case.
An Auror named Victoria Friedland had pulled the Pokeby file the previous month in order to ascertain if Pokeby had been connected to the remains of a young boy that had been located outside of Cardiff. The dead boy’s parents had recalled that he had been acquainted with Pokeby at the time and the circumstances surrounding his death had been suspicious. The Auror had noted the seized potion in the file and had sent a request to the Department of Mysteries asking if additional study had been done on the substance, seeking confirmation that it might have been used to poison the victim.
Pokeby’s file had been handed off to Gilbert Douglass, and Unspeakable working closely with Ginny Weasley. Gilbert had apparently dug up the potion and sent the preliminary analysis request to Auror Friedland, who had been satisfied that the potion contained nothing that would have caused the young man’s death. The Auror connection ended there.
The potion, however, had disappeared at that point. Hermione had immediately suspected Gilbert Douglass, but a quick memo sent to the Personnel Clerk had stopped that line of questioning. Unspeakable Douglass had gone to Norway on a case and had not returned, which would have seemed suspicious, except that Hermione knew exactly what case he was working, because Seamus Finnegan had gone along as the Auror Liaison and Seamus could not keep a secret if his life depended upon it. He had already Fire-called Hermione six times to ask her advice about the region.
According to Seamus, Gilbert Douglass spent most of his time underwater, trying to help recover a strange artefact in the water near Kristiansund. By evening, they were all exhausted. Gilbert would have had no time to kidnap Draco, toss him down the well, and wait for the potion to take effect. He also had no motive. As far as Hermione could tell, it was unlikely Gilbert had ever met Draco. He had grown up in Belfast and attended an exclusive Wizarding school in Athlone. Hermione had met him and several Ministry functions and he seemed entirely without guile.
Which left the only other person who had recently touched the file. Ginny Weasley. Hermione knew she had, because the return notice and date had been tacked onto the file, written in Ginny’s unmistakable loopy handwriting. And Ginny had reason to hate the Malfoys, although her hatred was mainly directed at Lucius. With Lucius in Azkaban, was it possible she had turned her malice toward Draco?
Hermione put the file together, locked it in a drawer, and went to find Harry.
~~ O ~~
Draco returned to his room and slammed the door with finality. After her third glass of wine, his mother had started to prattle on about the “duties and responsibilities of being a Malfoy” and Draco had nearly bitten his tongue in half to keep from snarling at her. She seemed utterly unwilling to believe that anything had changed, even with Draco’s wings in full view.
Salazar, for a day that had started with such promise, it had certainly turned into a pile of dung.
A banging on the glass drew his attention to the balcony doors. He caught his breath, hoping for Potter, and tried not to feel too disappointed when he saw it was Hermione Granger. She waved frantically.
Draco spelled the doors open and she hurried in out of the snow and tugged off her bulky scarf.
“Is Harry here?” she asked without preamble.
Draco shook his head. “I haven’t seen him for hours. The she-Weasel crooked a finger and he went running off to do her bidding.”
Granger froze. “He went to see Ginny?”
Draco nodded, surprised at her alarmed expression. “What is it?” he asked.
“We need to get over there. Right now,” she said.
The urgency in her voice was perplexing, but Draco had no intention of barging in on Potter and the ginger bint, especially in his condition. He shook his head.
“Harry could be in danger,” she said. “I might have a lead on the person responsible for your wings.”
“In danger?” Draco repeated, trying not to sound amused. The thought of Harry Potter in danger was a bit laughable, but his amusement was overridden by her latter words. “Who is it?”
“I’m not sure, yet,” she said and held up a hand when he glared. “I won’t have you rushing off flinging hexes without proof. At the moment, it’s imperative that we get over there. Hopefully, they are sitting on the sofa reminiscing about old times, but I don’t think so.”
Draco’s gut churned and he knew she was right. Suddenly the thought of Potter in danger did not seem quite so implausible, if only because of Granger’s concern. “I am not going anywhere looking like this,” Draco snapped. “What if she has a houseful of Weasleys? I would rather not become a laughingstock and butt of Weasley jokes before they rush off to the Prophet.” Even as he said it, he realized he had been making jokes at the Weasleys’ expense for years, but the idea of poetic justice rearing its ugly head was unpleasant, so he cast it aside.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go over myself, and if I need you I’ll come right back. Hopefully, she hasn’t changed the wards to keep me out. Ginny is not exactly my friend, these days.”
With that, Granger hurried back to the balcony and Disapparated. Draco paced while she was gone. It seemed to take forever and he realized he should have gotten the bloody address from her before she left. Just when he was convinced she would not return, she popped back into existence and hurried inside.
“No one was there. She changed the wards, so I couldn’t get in, at first. I knocked, but when there was no answer, I broke through the wards.”
Draco tried not to be impressed at her matter-of-fact tone. She made it sound so casual, as though she had unlocked a door with an Alohomora, instead of employing the gruelling process that few witches or wizards could manage without killing themselves.
“I found blood on the floor in the bedroom,” she continued.
Draco looked at her sharply. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
She shook her head. “Will you come back and search with me? It will be faster with both of us. I need to find out if Harry has been taken.”
“Don’t you mean if they have been taken?” Draco asked, wondering at her sudden lack of concern for the Weasley girl.
Granger nodded. “Will you come?”
Draco suddenly realized her tension denoted fear. He could not remember ever seeing Granger afraid, not even during the final battle with Voldemort. It was a sobering thought. It was clear she didn’t need his help; she wanted someone to hold on to, at least emotionally.
“I’ll come,” he said simply. He accompanied her to the balcony and she took them away.
Ginny Weasley’s flat was surprisingly tidy. Draco had expected an excess of pink and kitschy bric-a-brac or stuffed animals. He supposed it was possible she had grown up, like the rest of them. There was no sign of a struggle in the main living area. Granger checked the kitchen, moving like an Auror with her wand held out and ready.
Draco pulled out his own wand and walked down the hallway, pausing for only a moment to glance into the bathroom, which was empty. He continued into the bedroom and heard Granger hurry after him. The room looked perfectly normal to Draco, if a bit sombre for such a vibrant girl. He had never thought of her as the depressed, emotional sort, but perhaps Potter’s breakup had unhinged her.
The idea cheered him.
“The blood is there,” Granger said, peering into the wardrobe as if someone might be hiding inside. Two small spots were barely visible on the floor. They hardly looked incriminating—she might have cut herself and gone to St Mungo’s.
Draco touched one with a finger and found it tacky and nearly dried. Hours old, then.
He was about to rise when a sliver of white caught his attention, a pale object beneath the wardrobe next to Granger’s foot.
“Nothing in here,” she said with a sigh and closed the wardrobe door. “Where could they have gone?”
Draco leaned forward and snagged the bit of white. He felt the first jolt of fear when his fingers touched the soft object and he pulled it out. It was the feather he had given to Harry Potter.
Why was it beneath the wardrobe? Had Potter torn it off as a symbol that he no longer wanted Draco and was happy to return to his girlfriend?
“What is it?” Granger asked.
Draco stroked the feather and frowned. Potter did not seem the type to make romantic gestures such as tearing off a chain and flinging a token across the room. No, Potter was far more likely to come to Draco with pitying looks and mumbled explanations.
A thought occurred to him and he cast a spell on the feather. Letters immediately revealed themselves against the white, hitting Draco like a fist in the gut.
GOYLE.
“Harry is in danger,” Draco whispered.
Granger took the feather and the colour drained from her face.
Draco paced the room angrily. “How could he?” he shouted. “How could he do this to me? He was my friend! I trusted him! I trusted him with my bloody life!”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Granger said, still holding the feather. “Why Goyle? Ginny and Goyle? It’s completely mad.”
Draco paused in his ranting to glare at her. He sneered. “Maybe Greg has a ten-inch personality.”
“Don’t be crude.”
“You have another theory?” he countered.
Granger shrugged. “They work together at the Ministry. Maybe they became friends.”
“That does not explain why Greg would do this to me!” He flexed his wings outward with a snap. “To me!”
She frowned. “As I said, it doesn’t make sense.”
“We need to find him.”
“Goyle?”
“Potter! Honestly. Don’t you have some sort of spell that can track him?”
Granger shook her head. “That would be exceedingly invasive. Not to mention presumptuous.”
Draco growled and stalked the length of the room, tempted to break something.
“You people are not taking very good care of your Saviour.” He made a mental vow to put a leash on the man as soon as they located him. He froze and turned back to Granger, who was down on one knee, casting a spell over the blood stains. “You don’t think…?”
“What?” she asked absently.
“You don’t think they would give him wings, as well?” The thought of Harry Potter with wings was rather horrifying. Draco liked him just the way he was, thank you very much.
She shook her head. “I don’t think they can. There was only the single potion, as far as I can tell. It was a fluke. Ginny took it from the Department of Mysteries. It’s rather miraculous that it didn’t kill you.”
Draco digested that and then forced himself to stand still and not stalk through the room destroying everything he could reach. Despite her words, he was not reassured. If they were mad enough to give him wings, then what might they do to Potter? Goyle had reason enough to hate him and if the Weaselette was acting the scorned woman…
“What if I was a lure?” Draco asked quietly.
Granger stood up with a look of frustration. “What?” she asked absently.
“Whether I lived or died, they had to know Potter would be assigned to the case. My mother would have demanded it and the Ministry would not have refused, lest they lose face for behaving in a biased fashion. You know how Shacklebolt loves to preach equality and fairness.”
“You think they were after Harry the whole time?”
“Why would they care about me?” he asked derisively.
Granger frowned, but said nothing to counter the question. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that we find him. You know Goyle; can you think of anyplace he might have taken Harry?”
Draco shook his head. He had been puzzling it over since the discovery of the feather, and discarding every possibility. Greg’s mother was not wealthy, and his father had died in Azkaban, forcing them to sell nearly everything they owned just to keep their heads above water. Greg had refused help from Draco over and over, snarling that he would never accept charity. In hindsight, Draco wondered if the offers had offended Greg beyond his tolerance.
“All right,” Granger said. “Then start searching—look for anything that might be a clue. You check in here and I’ll start in the other room.” She headed for the door, but a nimbus of light suddenly burst into the room and circled her several times. As Draco stared, he realized it was a dog.
It finally sat at her feet and spoke with Ron Weasley’s voice. “Hermione, I need to see Harry. He hasn’t returned my messages and this is important. Can you please Firecall me when you get this?”
Granger looked stricken. The ethereal animal slowly evaporated and she looked at Draco. “I wonder if he knows something?”
Draco shrugged, rifling though the papers on the desk, looking for an address or an incriminating note, or anything at all of use… “Find out. But don’t put your wand down.”
She nodded and went out.
There was little of interest in the desk, so Draco walked down the hall and paused where he could hear Granger’s conversation.
“…just want to make sure he’s all right,” Weasley was saying. “I know I’ve been an arse and I want to… Well, I want to apologize.”
“I’m sure Harry will be happy to hear that, Ron,” Granger said mildly. “But Harry isn’t available and I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“Look, I know I don’t deserve to talk to him and I probably don’t deserve to be called his friend, any more, but I’m worried! Ginny sounded bollocking mad and I don’t know what she’ll do. We need to stop her going to the papers.”
Draco’s lips twisted in a sneer. Too little, too late Weasel, he thought derisively.
“She said she was going to the Prophet?” Granger asked.
“Well, no, but she ranted at me about Harry and how the world thought he was so special and wonderful, and then something about how the world deserved to know the truth. I guess I remembered how much Harry hated publicity and it sort of shocked me into knowing how he would feel. Dammit, Hermione, I know I’ve been a fucking prick, but I’m still Harry’s friend, even if he doesn’t count me as one!”
“All right, Ron,” she said. “Can you meet me at my flat?”
“Yeah,” Weasley said and his tone was edged with relief. “Yeah, I can.”
“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
She pulled away from the fire and turned to look at Draco. “You heard?”
Draco nodded.
“I want to ask him about Ginny, see if he can remember anything she might have said recently, or anyone she might have met with. I want you to come.”
Draco’s wings flexed in agitation.
“I can fix that,” she said and levelled her wand at him. Her Glamour Charm was quite a lot more effective than Potter’s. Draco could feel the force of it wrapping around him, charging the air around him with power before settling down to a vague itchy prickle that was more sensed than felt.
“Weasley won’t see them?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but mind you don’t knock something over with them, or it will look a bit suspicious. I think he’ll be agitated enough by your very presence that he wouldn’t notice your appendages if they weren’t concealed.”
“I’d rather not take that chance,” Draco said dryly. “Let’s go shock the weasel.”
The Weasel was definitely shocked when Draco stepped through the flames into Granger’s book-laden flat.
“What’s he doing here?”
“The same as you, Ron. Harry has been working on Draco’s case. If you are serious about helping him, there are a few things you need to know.”
Weasley’s face was pinched and his glare did not falter as he stared at Draco, but he nodded curtly. “I’m serious.”
“Harry has been taken,” Granger said.
Weasley’s gaze shifted to her. “Taken where?”
“We don’t know. This might be hard for you to accept, but we think Ginny might be involved.”
“We?” Weasley snapped. “As in you and Malfoy we?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?” Granger asked angrily. Weasley’s face flamed, but he sat back in his chair with an air of something that resembled satisfaction. Draco recalled that they had often argued at Hogwarts. Perhaps Weasley had missed it.
“Let’s hear it,” he said. Without preamble, Granger launched into the long tale, recounting Draco’s kidnapping and Harry’s subsequent involvement with the case. She did not mention Draco’s affliction, only that he had been forced to choose between poison and a more insidious potion. Weasley watched him carefully, as though hoping he had swallowed some slower-action poison and would conveniently drop dead at any moment.
Draco rolled his eyes and went to make a cup of tea. He wanted to look for Potter and the delay was maddening, although he admitted that Weasley might have a better chance of finding his sister than he and Granger had of finding Potter.
His hand shook as he pulled a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter. He remembered Potter’s face the last time Draco had seen him, just after he had shouted at Potter to leave. His hand clenched and the mug shattered, sending a ceramic shard into his thumb. He winced and pulled it free, watching as blood beaded from the wound.
Fuck. Hold on, Potter. Just hold on and I’ll find you. Somehow.
“I don’t believe it!” Weasley bellowed. Draco sighed. Granger should have known the obstinate arse wouldn’t accept a slur against his precious sister. It was an undeniable fact that the Weasleys stood together. When one was threatened, they all leaped to the defence. Like hyenas. Or… weasels. “You’re lying!”
“Why would I lie, Ronald?” Granger yelled.
“Because you hate Ginny! Because you’re jealous!”
Draco peered around the corner at that, wondering vaguely if Granger planned to hex or hit Weasley. Either way, Draco didn’t plan to miss it. Her fists were clenched and she looked as angry as Draco had ever seen her, but her wand was not in her hand and she wasn’t close enough to the Weasel to sock him one.
“You’re one to talk about jealousy, Ron! If you weren’t so jealous of Harry, maybe you could stop being so hateful and bitter and take a bloody look around!”
Weasley looked as though she had slapped him and Draco nodded in approval. Verbal bludgeoning it was, then. It would have to do. He turned his chair sharply and headed for the fireplace, obviously intent on leaving. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Accusing Ginny, of all people.”
“Weasley,” Draco said. The redhead swivelled to glare at him and Draco lifted his wand to cancel the Glamour. He spread his wings slightly. “This is what your precious sister did to me.”
Weasley gaped at him and disbelief warred with astonishment across his features. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what she has against me, personally,” Draco said, “Other than general hatred left over from our school days, but I seem to have earned the enmity of Greg Goyle. He and your sister have apparently joined forces.”
The name seemed to surprise Weasley, whose glare faded as his eyes widened. “Goyle?”
“I was just about to mention that,” Granger said.
“Shit,” Weasley murmured, staring at Draco’s wings. His freckles stood out in livid relief on his face and Draco wrinkled his nose, wondering what Granger had ever seen in him.
“What is it?” Granger asked, apparently picking up more from the single word than Draco had.
“Ginny knows Goyle. He’s even been over. To the Burrow, I mean,” Weasley said.
“Recently?”
Weasley nodded. “Yeah, I think. Last week, maybe? Two weeks ago?” His eyes kept darting to Draco’s wings and away and he finally burst out, “Are they really real, then?”
Draco made a sound of disgust. “No, Weasel, I put them on just for your entertainment.”
“You once dressed up as a dementor to scare Harry, so yeah, I wouldn’t put it past you!” Weasley retorted.
“Boys,” Granger cut in, “Can we focus on the problem? We have to find Harry, remember? Ron, can you think of anywhere that Ginny might have taken him?”
Weasley removed his glare from Draco to fix it on her. “I need… Merlin, they really took Harry?”
“There was blood on the floor in Ginny’s room,” Granger admitted quietly.
“Fuck. Let me think.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Draco said and bit back, While you attempt something you’ve never tried. Not insulting Weasley was going to be a difficult task.
To Draco’s surprise, it only took twenty minutes. Granger’s excited cry brought him out of contemplation of the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup and sent him into the living room.
“That has to be it!” she exclaimed.
Weasley nodded and looked at Draco. “It’s the house where my mum’s brothers lived until they died in the war—the first one, I mean. The house isn’t much, since it was half blown up. The plot of land it sits on has been in Mum’s family for generations. You ask me, it’s a crap bit of ground full of rocks. Nothing grows there but gorse bushes. My parents used to argue about selling it, but Mum would never hear of it. She goes there to… well, to remember, I guess, and to check no Muggles have got in and messed it up. Not that you could tell if they had. Like I said, it’s a wreck. She used to drag us along as kids.”
“Where is it?” Draco asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.
“Dungeness.”
“Can you take us there?” Granger asked.
Weasley looked uncertain, but he nodded. “I think… Yeah.” His face set with a determined look and Granger nodded.
“Take me through and I’ll come back for Draco.” She stepped forward and knelt next to his chair. She took his hand and they shared a silent glance that made Draco consider retching, but he refrained for Potter’s sake.
Weasley pulled out his wand and then they disappeared with a familiar pop. Draco surprised himself by hoping Granger lived. It was something of a shock to discover that he had actually, possibly, grown to like her a bit over the past few days. And she was a damned brave Gryffindor to let Weasley Apparate her anywhere. Merlin knew the last time the Weasel had even attempted it.
By the time he finished the thought, Granger returned, looking thankfully unSplinched. She hurried over and took his arm, ignoring his instinctive twitch away, although his reaction was caused by reluctance to experience any Granger-related visions rather than anything she might consider. To his relief, the cloth of his shirt protected him from her touch.
“Come on,” she said in an exasperated tone and Disapparated them.
The first thing Draco noticed was the lack of snow. The next was the wind. It howled over the bluff on which they stood, tearing at their hair and clothing and shaking the yellowed grass on which they stood. Draco’s feathers fluttered. He took in the small house that stood some distance away, perching on the edge of the cliff as though considering suicide. Draco thought it might be a good idea—fully half of the roof had caved in and one portion of the upper floor looked to be missing.
Granger released him and wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver. Weasley’s teeth chattered. “We need to get out of this cold, but we can’t just barge in there!” she said loudly. Her voice barely carried over the howl of the wind. “If they are in there, they will have set wards!”
Granger cast a Warming Charm on herself and Weasley and then turned as though to cast the same on Draco. He did not bother to remind her that he did not feel the cold—instead, he took to the air.
“Draco!” she yelled, although her voice was snatched away by the wind, leaving only the “aaaaaaay” sound.
Draco ignored her. He knew she would prefer to stand and debate the best approach, but he had his own idea about that. Obviously, the front entrance would be warded, but it was unlikely they would think to shield the place from above. He flew high and then dropped gently down toward the caved-in roof. A loose shingle flapped in the breeze, jutting from the edge of the tumbled section. Draco landed in what looked to be a former bedroom, now open to the elements. The roof had fallen because one wall had apparently been blown out with an explosive spell.
Draco vaguely wondered how the Prewett brothers had met their demise. Had one been standing here, in this same spot, unaware when the Death Eaters broke in and sent the spell that blasted him to his death?
He shook off his musing and focussed on his destination. He had to find Potter. The roof timbers blocked much of the access to the interior, but a small gap near the still-standing rear wall enabled Draco to squeeze through with only a momentary snag of his wings, forcing him to back out and fold them more tightly against his body.
The space left was barely large enough to traverse and reach the doorway. Luckily, the door was gone, probably blown off by the same sort of spell that had taken out the wall. Once beyond the doorframe, however, the rest of the house seemed intact, but for a large crack along the roofline. The wind howled through the opening behind Draco, suggesting broken windows or more damage somewhere else in the building.
He unfurled his wings and used the magic to lift himself into a silent glide rather than risk a creaking floorboard. There were only two other rooms on the second floor—a bath chamber and another bedroom. The bathroom was empty of personal effects, but the bedroom was eerily made up to suggest the owner was simply away and would return at any moment. A distinct lack of dust led Draco to believe the place was kept under a Preservation Charm and he wrinkled his nose. He wondered if Molly Weasley kept it up as a sort of shrine to her dead brother. He noticed a poster on the wall above the bed and the Quidditch player featured there waved jauntily. His red hair gleamed and the golden words on the poster sparkled: Fabian Prewett. Keeper.
He looked eerily like one of the Weasley Twins.
Disturbed without quite knowing why, Draco left the room and started toward the stairs. He was only partway down when something seemed to wrap around him, invisible and prickly. He pushed at it, only to feel it solidify and tighten, enveloping him in what felt like a thick gel. With a growing sense of panic, he struggled. His wand was still in his hand, but he realized he couldn’t move—and then he couldn’t breathe.
He tried to draw a breath and felt the slick wrongness ooze into his nose, so he exhaled sharply, not wanting the substance in his lungs. He tried to move, but only succeeded in shifting slightly. Even his wings were trapped and his superior strength seemed to make no difference at all.
His lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen and his brain raced to find a solution. He had never heard of anything like this—it was almost as if he were trapped in a giant bubble of gel like some sort of stasis. Movement caught his eye and he stared down at Ginny Weasley’s smug face. She grinned at him from the base of the stairs.
“Malfoy. Fancy meeting you here. Greg said I shouldn’t bother to ward the upper floors, but I know how tricky Hermione is. If anyone comes looking for Harry, it will be her. Honestly, I didn’t expect you.” The grin turned into a snarl. “I would love to stand here and watch that spell slowly kill you. It’s not pretty. But I need to know how you found us.”
Black spots began to swim before Draco’s eyes, blurring his vision and melting her into a twisted image. He barely saw her lift her wand and cancel the spell. With the magic released, Draco crashed down the steps, unable to maintain his flight magic as he struggled to remain conscious.
“Incarcerous!” she yelled as he came to rest at her feet, wincing at the harsh banging his shins and forearms had taken on the way down. Ropes bound tightly around him, binding both arms and wings to his sides. She snatched his wand and then cast a Levitation Charm to lift him to his feet. She sneered into his face. “Nice wings, Malfoy. You should have taken the poison, you worthless piece of shit.”
Draco debated spitting at her, but the effort of pulling air into his aching chest made anything else impossible.
She turned and gave him a shove, sending him down a short hallway to a darkened doorway. Once there, she cancelled the charm that kept him floating and pushed him once more. Draco tumbled down a second flight of stairs, unable to stop himself with his arms tightly bound to his sides. Luckily, he dredged up a quick burst of his own magic and kept his face from cracking open on one of the steps, although he still earned a painful scrape on the chin that drew blood and knocked his teeth together so hard he felt one loosen.
Fucking bitch!
He climbed awkwardly to his knees and heard her footsteps thumping down the stairs behind him. As expected, a blow from her sharp-toed boot caught him between the shoulder blades and sent him forward. He narrowly missed slamming his chin into the stone floor and hissed at her.
“It’s easy to see why Harry broke up with you,” he said, intentionally using Potter’s first name.
She snarled and kicked at him, but he was ready for her and twisted around to tangle his legs in hers, bringing her down on the stairs with a shriek and then a cry of pain. Draco levered himself upward, intent on grabbing her wand—with his teeth, if necessary.
“Petrificus Totalis!” The voice was not hers.
The spell hit Draco and he stiffened immediately before thumping forward and bumping his face on Weasley’s thigh. She shoved him away with a sound of disgust and Draco found himself rolling over, once again unable to move. He looked up into the face of Gregory Goyle.
“Draco,” he said calmly. “You should have stayed out of this.”
Draco glared and clenched his fists, only realizing at the last moment that he was not completely frozen. Normally, Petrificus Totalis prevented all movement except involuntary motions such as breathing. It wasn’t easy to move, but Draco could. He decided to keep the knowledge to himself.
His resolve was tested when Weasley delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. He tried not to wince, but Greg’s attention was on her.
“Guess you was right about the wards,” he said.
“Of course I was right about the wards. I just wasn’t expecting him. We need to know how he found us.”
“All right. We’ll give him the same treatment as Potter. Bring him in.”
Draco remained still and allowed himself to be magically lifted once more.
~~ CHAPTER FIFTEEN ~~
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE prologue
Chapter Fourteen
Feather by feather
the goose is plucked.
- Scottish proverb
Draco was still sitting in the dark when his mother came in. She immediately cast a Light Spell and then lit several of Draco’s candles and brightened his favourite Glow Lamp.
“Darling, it pains me to see you so maudlin. I have barely seen you for days. Will you come and have dinner with me tonight?”
Draco suppressed his annoyance at her intrusion. He had been toying with the poison vial, trying to work up the courage to just pop the cap and drink it. A plethora of fantasies had kept him from doing so, ranging from satisfying to just plain depressing. They all featured Harry Potter, coming back to the Manor to discover Draco’s lifeless body. In some scenarios, Potter had been heartbroken, flinging himself on Draco’s prostrate form and weeping hysterically. In others, he had shrugged in a bored manner and said, “At least we don’t have to worry about his wings, anymore.”
It bothered Draco that he didn’t know what Potter’s reaction would be. That, possibly more than anything, had kept him from downing the potion. He frowned at his mother with a flash of guilt. He hadn’t once thought about her discovering his body, although it was far more plausible than Potter finding him. He knew how she would react to the sight.
He tucked the vial into his trouser pocket as he stood up. “Of course, Mother. I am sorry to have neglected you.”
She smiled at him and came closer, but stopped before she was in range of an embrace, glancing at his wings as her smile faltered. “Not to worry, darling. It has been a trying time for both of us.”
A bit more trying for me than you, I’ll wager, Draco thought, but then he chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. She was merely upset and dealing with the situation as best she could. Draco decided he would be in much the same state should a child of his have a similar calamity befall him. He nearly snorted at the thought as soon as it occurred to him. There was no longer any sort of chance that he would father children. Even if the wings could be removed, Draco had been fundamentally altered. Merlin only knew what sort of changes had been wrought to his internal systems. Even despite his condition, the situation with Potter had been something of a revelation. The very idea of taking a wife and having a family seemed ludicrous.
“I am famished,” he said, moving deliberately closer in order to see her sidestep. She masked the motion by turning and striding briskly toward the door.
“Good. Then let us go and partake like civilized people.” She blanched as she said it—Draco could see it even though she was partially turned away from him. Draco scowled. It was going to be a long meal if she planned to make subtle innuendos every few moments. Still, it seemed unlikely that Potter would return. The man was probably wrapped in the embrace of the ginger Weaselette at the very moment. The thought made Draco’s jaw clench and he stalked past his mother and went out. He thought about taking to the air and winging his way to the dining room, but he supposed his mother would consider it rude as well as mortifying.
Even so, the idea cheered him slightly. The house-elves quickly served the crab bisque and his mother made small talk about the difficulty in procuring decent crab with the hateful weather causing delays. Draco looked out the window at the growing darkness and swirling snow. He thought he might go out and fly in it once the interminable meal ended.
“Have you spoken to Harry Potter, recently?” his mother asked when a house-elf removed her soup bowl and replaced it with a lime sorbet. She took a spoonful and lifted it to her mouth to cleanse her palate. Draco did the same and idly wondered what Potter would think of such an indulgence as a five-course meal. The man was obviously used to bolting down a sandwich on the run. For some reason, the image made Draco smile before he caught himself.
Damn it all, he was not supposed to find Potter’s ridiculous habits attractive. It was bad enough that he found the man, himself, attractive. Possibly more than attractive.
“Yes,” Draco answered readily enough. “Earlier today, actually.” He wondered why she had even asked. Between the wards and the house-elves, she surely knew every time Harry Potter entered the Manor.
“And is he having any luck?” she asked in a casual tone that immediately sent warning bells clanging through Draco’s mind.
“Some,” Draco replied.
“I wonder if he is really putting forth enough effort on this case. You two did not get along in school, after all. He might be holding something of a grudge.”
“He is putting forth all the effort he can, Mother,” Draco said dryly. “He is Harry Potter. He doesn’t know how to do anything but his best.”
“You seem quite confident, Draco.”
“The man saved us all, Mother. It seems somehow justified to have confidence in him.”
“I am worried that his emotions might be clouding his ability to do his job, in this instance. Perhaps it would be better to request someone else.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed at her ambiguous speech. She toyed with her wineglass, not meeting his eyes. A house-elf took away her sorbet and placed a salad in front of her.
“Really?” Draco asked dryly. “You think some underling Auror would do a better job than the Chosen One? Do you have any idea how that sounds?”
“I have seen no results thus far, Draco,” she said sharply. “What has Potter come up with? Besides, I have heard rumours about the man and I am concerned…”
Draco wrinkled his nose at the salad and picked at it with his fork. He was not a fan of leafy greens, even doused with sweet citrus dressing, although the sliced pears seemed edible enough. “What rumours, Mother?” he asked and suppressed a sigh. Merlin, if she had been off visiting with Pansy’s mum again, she would be unliveable for days. That woman was a veritable fount of catty gossip and usually kept his mother with her head in the fireplace for hours on end, spreading nasty rumours throughout the pureblood community.
“Well, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve heard that Harry Potter might be… inclined toward men.” She said it in a stage whisper, as though afraid the serving dishes might be listening devices. Draco nearly spat the pear he’d been crunching and he hastily chewed and swallowed before taking a gulp of water.
“What?” he demanded, wondering where she had picked up that titbit. Draco had only found out yesterday and he was quite a lot closer to Potter these days than the gossip mill. “Who told you that?”
“It’s not important,” she said quickly. Her cheeks were lightly tinted with pink.
“I think it is important,” Draco replied. “Is this some random rumour, or is there actual proof?”
His mother looked away and Draco nodded.
“As I thought. Something like that would be in the papers faster than you could cast a Lumos,” he said with a satisfied nod. He was thoughtful, however, as he turned back to his salad. What would Potter do if it came out that he favoured blokes? Had he chosen Draco only because he was safe? Potter knew Draco would never go to the papers—the press would be beside itself wondering which would be the bigger story, Draco with his bloody wings or the Savior as a shirtlifter.
“Still, Draco, it would behove you to take care. If the rumours are true, it might be best to distance yourself from the man in preparation for the day that we find the solution to your problem.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. His mother might be firmly in denial about Draco’s problem, but he was beginning to realize there was no simple solution—it was likely there was no solution at all. Distancing himself from Potter was a worthy goal, but galled him that by doing so he would obey his mother’s orders. Prudence warred with his need to rebel.
“And Potter is no closer to finding the culprits, is he?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
Draco pushed the green around on his plate and shot her a glance. He wondered at her sudden anti-Potter stance. Was it really the “rumour” that had set her against the Auror, or something else? She had hired him, after all.
After another palette cleanser, the house-elves brought a sausage polenta that had just the right amount of spice. Draco idly wondered how Potter would find the dish and then wished he would stop thinking about the Auror. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the clink of utensils and the sound of him and his mother eating. Having dinner with her suddenly seemed like a wretched idea and he wondered if his new physiology would provide him with heartburn as payment. He supposed he would find out.
Hermione pushed her chair back, feeling nauseous. She had tried to come up with alternative solutions for the past hour, but the evidence seemed to mock her attempts, pointing again and again to a single culprit.
Ginny Weasley.
Pokeby’s potion had been in the possession of the Department of Mysteries, tucked away in a cupboard, marked “Unknown substance, possible lethal effects. For later study” and forgotten. There were hundreds of items intended for later study, but not nearly enough Unspeakables to study them all. Once in a while, however, a current event would send a researcher back into the nearly-forgotten past to seek out some information. Such seemed to have happened in this case.
An Auror named Victoria Friedland had pulled the Pokeby file the previous month in order to ascertain if Pokeby had been connected to the remains of a young boy that had been located outside of Cardiff. The dead boy’s parents had recalled that he had been acquainted with Pokeby at the time and the circumstances surrounding his death had been suspicious. The Auror had noted the seized potion in the file and had sent a request to the Department of Mysteries asking if additional study had been done on the substance, seeking confirmation that it might have been used to poison the victim.
Pokeby’s file had been handed off to Gilbert Douglass, and Unspeakable working closely with Ginny Weasley. Gilbert had apparently dug up the potion and sent the preliminary analysis request to Auror Friedland, who had been satisfied that the potion contained nothing that would have caused the young man’s death. The Auror connection ended there.
The potion, however, had disappeared at that point. Hermione had immediately suspected Gilbert Douglass, but a quick memo sent to the Personnel Clerk had stopped that line of questioning. Unspeakable Douglass had gone to Norway on a case and had not returned, which would have seemed suspicious, except that Hermione knew exactly what case he was working, because Seamus Finnegan had gone along as the Auror Liaison and Seamus could not keep a secret if his life depended upon it. He had already Fire-called Hermione six times to ask her advice about the region.
According to Seamus, Gilbert Douglass spent most of his time underwater, trying to help recover a strange artefact in the water near Kristiansund. By evening, they were all exhausted. Gilbert would have had no time to kidnap Draco, toss him down the well, and wait for the potion to take effect. He also had no motive. As far as Hermione could tell, it was unlikely Gilbert had ever met Draco. He had grown up in Belfast and attended an exclusive Wizarding school in Athlone. Hermione had met him and several Ministry functions and he seemed entirely without guile.
Which left the only other person who had recently touched the file. Ginny Weasley. Hermione knew she had, because the return notice and date had been tacked onto the file, written in Ginny’s unmistakable loopy handwriting. And Ginny had reason to hate the Malfoys, although her hatred was mainly directed at Lucius. With Lucius in Azkaban, was it possible she had turned her malice toward Draco?
Hermione put the file together, locked it in a drawer, and went to find Harry.
Draco returned to his room and slammed the door with finality. After her third glass of wine, his mother had started to prattle on about the “duties and responsibilities of being a Malfoy” and Draco had nearly bitten his tongue in half to keep from snarling at her. She seemed utterly unwilling to believe that anything had changed, even with Draco’s wings in full view.
Salazar, for a day that had started with such promise, it had certainly turned into a pile of dung.
A banging on the glass drew his attention to the balcony doors. He caught his breath, hoping for Potter, and tried not to feel too disappointed when he saw it was Hermione Granger. She waved frantically.
Draco spelled the doors open and she hurried in out of the snow and tugged off her bulky scarf.
“Is Harry here?” she asked without preamble.
Draco shook his head. “I haven’t seen him for hours. The she-Weasel crooked a finger and he went running off to do her bidding.”
Granger froze. “He went to see Ginny?”
Draco nodded, surprised at her alarmed expression. “What is it?” he asked.
“We need to get over there. Right now,” she said.
The urgency in her voice was perplexing, but Draco had no intention of barging in on Potter and the ginger bint, especially in his condition. He shook his head.
“Harry could be in danger,” she said. “I might have a lead on the person responsible for your wings.”
“In danger?” Draco repeated, trying not to sound amused. The thought of Harry Potter in danger was a bit laughable, but his amusement was overridden by her latter words. “Who is it?”
“I’m not sure, yet,” she said and held up a hand when he glared. “I won’t have you rushing off flinging hexes without proof. At the moment, it’s imperative that we get over there. Hopefully, they are sitting on the sofa reminiscing about old times, but I don’t think so.”
Draco’s gut churned and he knew she was right. Suddenly the thought of Potter in danger did not seem quite so implausible, if only because of Granger’s concern. “I am not going anywhere looking like this,” Draco snapped. “What if she has a houseful of Weasleys? I would rather not become a laughingstock and butt of Weasley jokes before they rush off to the Prophet.” Even as he said it, he realized he had been making jokes at the Weasleys’ expense for years, but the idea of poetic justice rearing its ugly head was unpleasant, so he cast it aside.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go over myself, and if I need you I’ll come right back. Hopefully, she hasn’t changed the wards to keep me out. Ginny is not exactly my friend, these days.”
With that, Granger hurried back to the balcony and Disapparated. Draco paced while she was gone. It seemed to take forever and he realized he should have gotten the bloody address from her before she left. Just when he was convinced she would not return, she popped back into existence and hurried inside.
“No one was there. She changed the wards, so I couldn’t get in, at first. I knocked, but when there was no answer, I broke through the wards.”
Draco tried not to be impressed at her matter-of-fact tone. She made it sound so casual, as though she had unlocked a door with an Alohomora, instead of employing the gruelling process that few witches or wizards could manage without killing themselves.
“I found blood on the floor in the bedroom,” she continued.
Draco looked at her sharply. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
She shook her head. “Will you come back and search with me? It will be faster with both of us. I need to find out if Harry has been taken.”
“Don’t you mean if they have been taken?” Draco asked, wondering at her sudden lack of concern for the Weasley girl.
Granger nodded. “Will you come?”
Draco suddenly realized her tension denoted fear. He could not remember ever seeing Granger afraid, not even during the final battle with Voldemort. It was a sobering thought. It was clear she didn’t need his help; she wanted someone to hold on to, at least emotionally.
“I’ll come,” he said simply. He accompanied her to the balcony and she took them away.
Ginny Weasley’s flat was surprisingly tidy. Draco had expected an excess of pink and kitschy bric-a-brac or stuffed animals. He supposed it was possible she had grown up, like the rest of them. There was no sign of a struggle in the main living area. Granger checked the kitchen, moving like an Auror with her wand held out and ready.
Draco pulled out his own wand and walked down the hallway, pausing for only a moment to glance into the bathroom, which was empty. He continued into the bedroom and heard Granger hurry after him. The room looked perfectly normal to Draco, if a bit sombre for such a vibrant girl. He had never thought of her as the depressed, emotional sort, but perhaps Potter’s breakup had unhinged her.
The idea cheered him.
“The blood is there,” Granger said, peering into the wardrobe as if someone might be hiding inside. Two small spots were barely visible on the floor. They hardly looked incriminating—she might have cut herself and gone to St Mungo’s.
Draco touched one with a finger and found it tacky and nearly dried. Hours old, then.
He was about to rise when a sliver of white caught his attention, a pale object beneath the wardrobe next to Granger’s foot.
“Nothing in here,” she said with a sigh and closed the wardrobe door. “Where could they have gone?”
Draco leaned forward and snagged the bit of white. He felt the first jolt of fear when his fingers touched the soft object and he pulled it out. It was the feather he had given to Harry Potter.
Why was it beneath the wardrobe? Had Potter torn it off as a symbol that he no longer wanted Draco and was happy to return to his girlfriend?
“What is it?” Granger asked.
Draco stroked the feather and frowned. Potter did not seem the type to make romantic gestures such as tearing off a chain and flinging a token across the room. No, Potter was far more likely to come to Draco with pitying looks and mumbled explanations.
A thought occurred to him and he cast a spell on the feather. Letters immediately revealed themselves against the white, hitting Draco like a fist in the gut.
GOYLE.
“Harry is in danger,” Draco whispered.
Granger took the feather and the colour drained from her face.
Draco paced the room angrily. “How could he?” he shouted. “How could he do this to me? He was my friend! I trusted him! I trusted him with my bloody life!”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Granger said, still holding the feather. “Why Goyle? Ginny and Goyle? It’s completely mad.”
Draco paused in his ranting to glare at her. He sneered. “Maybe Greg has a ten-inch personality.”
“Don’t be crude.”
“You have another theory?” he countered.
Granger shrugged. “They work together at the Ministry. Maybe they became friends.”
“That does not explain why Greg would do this to me!” He flexed his wings outward with a snap. “To me!”
She frowned. “As I said, it doesn’t make sense.”
“We need to find him.”
“Goyle?”
“Potter! Honestly. Don’t you have some sort of spell that can track him?”
Granger shook her head. “That would be exceedingly invasive. Not to mention presumptuous.”
Draco growled and stalked the length of the room, tempted to break something.
“You people are not taking very good care of your Saviour.” He made a mental vow to put a leash on the man as soon as they located him. He froze and turned back to Granger, who was down on one knee, casting a spell over the blood stains. “You don’t think…?”
“What?” she asked absently.
“You don’t think they would give him wings, as well?” The thought of Harry Potter with wings was rather horrifying. Draco liked him just the way he was, thank you very much.
She shook her head. “I don’t think they can. There was only the single potion, as far as I can tell. It was a fluke. Ginny took it from the Department of Mysteries. It’s rather miraculous that it didn’t kill you.”
Draco digested that and then forced himself to stand still and not stalk through the room destroying everything he could reach. Despite her words, he was not reassured. If they were mad enough to give him wings, then what might they do to Potter? Goyle had reason enough to hate him and if the Weaselette was acting the scorned woman…
“What if I was a lure?” Draco asked quietly.
Granger stood up with a look of frustration. “What?” she asked absently.
“Whether I lived or died, they had to know Potter would be assigned to the case. My mother would have demanded it and the Ministry would not have refused, lest they lose face for behaving in a biased fashion. You know how Shacklebolt loves to preach equality and fairness.”
“You think they were after Harry the whole time?”
“Why would they care about me?” he asked derisively.
Granger frowned, but said nothing to counter the question. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that we find him. You know Goyle; can you think of anyplace he might have taken Harry?”
Draco shook his head. He had been puzzling it over since the discovery of the feather, and discarding every possibility. Greg’s mother was not wealthy, and his father had died in Azkaban, forcing them to sell nearly everything they owned just to keep their heads above water. Greg had refused help from Draco over and over, snarling that he would never accept charity. In hindsight, Draco wondered if the offers had offended Greg beyond his tolerance.
“All right,” Granger said. “Then start searching—look for anything that might be a clue. You check in here and I’ll start in the other room.” She headed for the door, but a nimbus of light suddenly burst into the room and circled her several times. As Draco stared, he realized it was a dog.
It finally sat at her feet and spoke with Ron Weasley’s voice. “Hermione, I need to see Harry. He hasn’t returned my messages and this is important. Can you please Firecall me when you get this?”
Granger looked stricken. The ethereal animal slowly evaporated and she looked at Draco. “I wonder if he knows something?”
Draco shrugged, rifling though the papers on the desk, looking for an address or an incriminating note, or anything at all of use… “Find out. But don’t put your wand down.”
She nodded and went out.
There was little of interest in the desk, so Draco walked down the hall and paused where he could hear Granger’s conversation.
“…just want to make sure he’s all right,” Weasley was saying. “I know I’ve been an arse and I want to… Well, I want to apologize.”
“I’m sure Harry will be happy to hear that, Ron,” Granger said mildly. “But Harry isn’t available and I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“Look, I know I don’t deserve to talk to him and I probably don’t deserve to be called his friend, any more, but I’m worried! Ginny sounded bollocking mad and I don’t know what she’ll do. We need to stop her going to the papers.”
Draco’s lips twisted in a sneer. Too little, too late Weasel, he thought derisively.
“She said she was going to the Prophet?” Granger asked.
“Well, no, but she ranted at me about Harry and how the world thought he was so special and wonderful, and then something about how the world deserved to know the truth. I guess I remembered how much Harry hated publicity and it sort of shocked me into knowing how he would feel. Dammit, Hermione, I know I’ve been a fucking prick, but I’m still Harry’s friend, even if he doesn’t count me as one!”
“All right, Ron,” she said. “Can you meet me at my flat?”
“Yeah,” Weasley said and his tone was edged with relief. “Yeah, I can.”
“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
She pulled away from the fire and turned to look at Draco. “You heard?”
Draco nodded.
“I want to ask him about Ginny, see if he can remember anything she might have said recently, or anyone she might have met with. I want you to come.”
Draco’s wings flexed in agitation.
“I can fix that,” she said and levelled her wand at him. Her Glamour Charm was quite a lot more effective than Potter’s. Draco could feel the force of it wrapping around him, charging the air around him with power before settling down to a vague itchy prickle that was more sensed than felt.
“Weasley won’t see them?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but mind you don’t knock something over with them, or it will look a bit suspicious. I think he’ll be agitated enough by your very presence that he wouldn’t notice your appendages if they weren’t concealed.”
“I’d rather not take that chance,” Draco said dryly. “Let’s go shock the weasel.”
The Weasel was definitely shocked when Draco stepped through the flames into Granger’s book-laden flat.
“What’s he doing here?”
“The same as you, Ron. Harry has been working on Draco’s case. If you are serious about helping him, there are a few things you need to know.”
Weasley’s face was pinched and his glare did not falter as he stared at Draco, but he nodded curtly. “I’m serious.”
“Harry has been taken,” Granger said.
Weasley’s gaze shifted to her. “Taken where?”
“We don’t know. This might be hard for you to accept, but we think Ginny might be involved.”
“We?” Weasley snapped. “As in you and Malfoy we?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?” Granger asked angrily. Weasley’s face flamed, but he sat back in his chair with an air of something that resembled satisfaction. Draco recalled that they had often argued at Hogwarts. Perhaps Weasley had missed it.
“Let’s hear it,” he said. Without preamble, Granger launched into the long tale, recounting Draco’s kidnapping and Harry’s subsequent involvement with the case. She did not mention Draco’s affliction, only that he had been forced to choose between poison and a more insidious potion. Weasley watched him carefully, as though hoping he had swallowed some slower-action poison and would conveniently drop dead at any moment.
Draco rolled his eyes and went to make a cup of tea. He wanted to look for Potter and the delay was maddening, although he admitted that Weasley might have a better chance of finding his sister than he and Granger had of finding Potter.
His hand shook as he pulled a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter. He remembered Potter’s face the last time Draco had seen him, just after he had shouted at Potter to leave. His hand clenched and the mug shattered, sending a ceramic shard into his thumb. He winced and pulled it free, watching as blood beaded from the wound.
Fuck. Hold on, Potter. Just hold on and I’ll find you. Somehow.
“I don’t believe it!” Weasley bellowed. Draco sighed. Granger should have known the obstinate arse wouldn’t accept a slur against his precious sister. It was an undeniable fact that the Weasleys stood together. When one was threatened, they all leaped to the defence. Like hyenas. Or… weasels. “You’re lying!”
“Why would I lie, Ronald?” Granger yelled.
“Because you hate Ginny! Because you’re jealous!”
Draco peered around the corner at that, wondering vaguely if Granger planned to hex or hit Weasley. Either way, Draco didn’t plan to miss it. Her fists were clenched and she looked as angry as Draco had ever seen her, but her wand was not in her hand and she wasn’t close enough to the Weasel to sock him one.
“You’re one to talk about jealousy, Ron! If you weren’t so jealous of Harry, maybe you could stop being so hateful and bitter and take a bloody look around!”
Weasley looked as though she had slapped him and Draco nodded in approval. Verbal bludgeoning it was, then. It would have to do. He turned his chair sharply and headed for the fireplace, obviously intent on leaving. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Accusing Ginny, of all people.”
“Weasley,” Draco said. The redhead swivelled to glare at him and Draco lifted his wand to cancel the Glamour. He spread his wings slightly. “This is what your precious sister did to me.”
Weasley gaped at him and disbelief warred with astonishment across his features. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what she has against me, personally,” Draco said, “Other than general hatred left over from our school days, but I seem to have earned the enmity of Greg Goyle. He and your sister have apparently joined forces.”
The name seemed to surprise Weasley, whose glare faded as his eyes widened. “Goyle?”
“I was just about to mention that,” Granger said.
“Shit,” Weasley murmured, staring at Draco’s wings. His freckles stood out in livid relief on his face and Draco wrinkled his nose, wondering what Granger had ever seen in him.
“What is it?” Granger asked, apparently picking up more from the single word than Draco had.
“Ginny knows Goyle. He’s even been over. To the Burrow, I mean,” Weasley said.
“Recently?”
Weasley nodded. “Yeah, I think. Last week, maybe? Two weeks ago?” His eyes kept darting to Draco’s wings and away and he finally burst out, “Are they really real, then?”
Draco made a sound of disgust. “No, Weasel, I put them on just for your entertainment.”
“You once dressed up as a dementor to scare Harry, so yeah, I wouldn’t put it past you!” Weasley retorted.
“Boys,” Granger cut in, “Can we focus on the problem? We have to find Harry, remember? Ron, can you think of anywhere that Ginny might have taken him?”
Weasley removed his glare from Draco to fix it on her. “I need… Merlin, they really took Harry?”
“There was blood on the floor in Ginny’s room,” Granger admitted quietly.
“Fuck. Let me think.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Draco said and bit back, While you attempt something you’ve never tried. Not insulting Weasley was going to be a difficult task.
To Draco’s surprise, it only took twenty minutes. Granger’s excited cry brought him out of contemplation of the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup and sent him into the living room.
“That has to be it!” she exclaimed.
Weasley nodded and looked at Draco. “It’s the house where my mum’s brothers lived until they died in the war—the first one, I mean. The house isn’t much, since it was half blown up. The plot of land it sits on has been in Mum’s family for generations. You ask me, it’s a crap bit of ground full of rocks. Nothing grows there but gorse bushes. My parents used to argue about selling it, but Mum would never hear of it. She goes there to… well, to remember, I guess, and to check no Muggles have got in and messed it up. Not that you could tell if they had. Like I said, it’s a wreck. She used to drag us along as kids.”
“Where is it?” Draco asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.
“Dungeness.”
“Can you take us there?” Granger asked.
Weasley looked uncertain, but he nodded. “I think… Yeah.” His face set with a determined look and Granger nodded.
“Take me through and I’ll come back for Draco.” She stepped forward and knelt next to his chair. She took his hand and they shared a silent glance that made Draco consider retching, but he refrained for Potter’s sake.
Weasley pulled out his wand and then they disappeared with a familiar pop. Draco surprised himself by hoping Granger lived. It was something of a shock to discover that he had actually, possibly, grown to like her a bit over the past few days. And she was a damned brave Gryffindor to let Weasley Apparate her anywhere. Merlin knew the last time the Weasel had even attempted it.
By the time he finished the thought, Granger returned, looking thankfully unSplinched. She hurried over and took his arm, ignoring his instinctive twitch away, although his reaction was caused by reluctance to experience any Granger-related visions rather than anything she might consider. To his relief, the cloth of his shirt protected him from her touch.
“Come on,” she said in an exasperated tone and Disapparated them.
The first thing Draco noticed was the lack of snow. The next was the wind. It howled over the bluff on which they stood, tearing at their hair and clothing and shaking the yellowed grass on which they stood. Draco’s feathers fluttered. He took in the small house that stood some distance away, perching on the edge of the cliff as though considering suicide. Draco thought it might be a good idea—fully half of the roof had caved in and one portion of the upper floor looked to be missing.
Granger released him and wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver. Weasley’s teeth chattered. “We need to get out of this cold, but we can’t just barge in there!” she said loudly. Her voice barely carried over the howl of the wind. “If they are in there, they will have set wards!”
Granger cast a Warming Charm on herself and Weasley and then turned as though to cast the same on Draco. He did not bother to remind her that he did not feel the cold—instead, he took to the air.
“Draco!” she yelled, although her voice was snatched away by the wind, leaving only the “aaaaaaay” sound.
Draco ignored her. He knew she would prefer to stand and debate the best approach, but he had his own idea about that. Obviously, the front entrance would be warded, but it was unlikely they would think to shield the place from above. He flew high and then dropped gently down toward the caved-in roof. A loose shingle flapped in the breeze, jutting from the edge of the tumbled section. Draco landed in what looked to be a former bedroom, now open to the elements. The roof had fallen because one wall had apparently been blown out with an explosive spell.
Draco vaguely wondered how the Prewett brothers had met their demise. Had one been standing here, in this same spot, unaware when the Death Eaters broke in and sent the spell that blasted him to his death?
He shook off his musing and focussed on his destination. He had to find Potter. The roof timbers blocked much of the access to the interior, but a small gap near the still-standing rear wall enabled Draco to squeeze through with only a momentary snag of his wings, forcing him to back out and fold them more tightly against his body.
The space left was barely large enough to traverse and reach the doorway. Luckily, the door was gone, probably blown off by the same sort of spell that had taken out the wall. Once beyond the doorframe, however, the rest of the house seemed intact, but for a large crack along the roofline. The wind howled through the opening behind Draco, suggesting broken windows or more damage somewhere else in the building.
He unfurled his wings and used the magic to lift himself into a silent glide rather than risk a creaking floorboard. There were only two other rooms on the second floor—a bath chamber and another bedroom. The bathroom was empty of personal effects, but the bedroom was eerily made up to suggest the owner was simply away and would return at any moment. A distinct lack of dust led Draco to believe the place was kept under a Preservation Charm and he wrinkled his nose. He wondered if Molly Weasley kept it up as a sort of shrine to her dead brother. He noticed a poster on the wall above the bed and the Quidditch player featured there waved jauntily. His red hair gleamed and the golden words on the poster sparkled: Fabian Prewett. Keeper.
He looked eerily like one of the Weasley Twins.
Disturbed without quite knowing why, Draco left the room and started toward the stairs. He was only partway down when something seemed to wrap around him, invisible and prickly. He pushed at it, only to feel it solidify and tighten, enveloping him in what felt like a thick gel. With a growing sense of panic, he struggled. His wand was still in his hand, but he realized he couldn’t move—and then he couldn’t breathe.
He tried to draw a breath and felt the slick wrongness ooze into his nose, so he exhaled sharply, not wanting the substance in his lungs. He tried to move, but only succeeded in shifting slightly. Even his wings were trapped and his superior strength seemed to make no difference at all.
His lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen and his brain raced to find a solution. He had never heard of anything like this—it was almost as if he were trapped in a giant bubble of gel like some sort of stasis. Movement caught his eye and he stared down at Ginny Weasley’s smug face. She grinned at him from the base of the stairs.
“Malfoy. Fancy meeting you here. Greg said I shouldn’t bother to ward the upper floors, but I know how tricky Hermione is. If anyone comes looking for Harry, it will be her. Honestly, I didn’t expect you.” The grin turned into a snarl. “I would love to stand here and watch that spell slowly kill you. It’s not pretty. But I need to know how you found us.”
Black spots began to swim before Draco’s eyes, blurring his vision and melting her into a twisted image. He barely saw her lift her wand and cancel the spell. With the magic released, Draco crashed down the steps, unable to maintain his flight magic as he struggled to remain conscious.
“Incarcerous!” she yelled as he came to rest at her feet, wincing at the harsh banging his shins and forearms had taken on the way down. Ropes bound tightly around him, binding both arms and wings to his sides. She snatched his wand and then cast a Levitation Charm to lift him to his feet. She sneered into his face. “Nice wings, Malfoy. You should have taken the poison, you worthless piece of shit.”
Draco debated spitting at her, but the effort of pulling air into his aching chest made anything else impossible.
She turned and gave him a shove, sending him down a short hallway to a darkened doorway. Once there, she cancelled the charm that kept him floating and pushed him once more. Draco tumbled down a second flight of stairs, unable to stop himself with his arms tightly bound to his sides. Luckily, he dredged up a quick burst of his own magic and kept his face from cracking open on one of the steps, although he still earned a painful scrape on the chin that drew blood and knocked his teeth together so hard he felt one loosen.
Fucking bitch!
He climbed awkwardly to his knees and heard her footsteps thumping down the stairs behind him. As expected, a blow from her sharp-toed boot caught him between the shoulder blades and sent him forward. He narrowly missed slamming his chin into the stone floor and hissed at her.
“It’s easy to see why Harry broke up with you,” he said, intentionally using Potter’s first name.
She snarled and kicked at him, but he was ready for her and twisted around to tangle his legs in hers, bringing her down on the stairs with a shriek and then a cry of pain. Draco levered himself upward, intent on grabbing her wand—with his teeth, if necessary.
“Petrificus Totalis!” The voice was not hers.
The spell hit Draco and he stiffened immediately before thumping forward and bumping his face on Weasley’s thigh. She shoved him away with a sound of disgust and Draco found himself rolling over, once again unable to move. He looked up into the face of Gregory Goyle.
“Draco,” he said calmly. “You should have stayed out of this.”
Draco glared and clenched his fists, only realizing at the last moment that he was not completely frozen. Normally, Petrificus Totalis prevented all movement except involuntary motions such as breathing. It wasn’t easy to move, but Draco could. He decided to keep the knowledge to himself.
His resolve was tested when Weasley delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. He tried not to wince, but Greg’s attention was on her.
“Guess you was right about the wards,” he said.
“Of course I was right about the wards. I just wasn’t expecting him. We need to know how he found us.”
“All right. We’ll give him the same treatment as Potter. Bring him in.”
Draco remained still and allowed himself to be magically lifted once more.