[Fic] Lorelei in the Menagerie: Chapter III
For hd_fan_fair.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (4/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mention of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Chapter III: Perinatal Fairy Tale
The cellar, with its low, vaulted ceiling, was imposing in its vastness and its solitude. A single lantern was too feeble to penetrate the darkness, but it provided enough light for what Draco was about to do. After charming the lamp to hover in the air, Draco pointed his wand at the boy and revived him.
Dark eyes snapped open, blinked for several beats, and darted from left to right. Woken from his induced sleep, the boy sat up and looked around him in confusion; yet as soon as he caught sight of the tall figure standing several paces away from him, he smiled a brilliant smile that clashed with the sombre air in the cellar.
"I lost. You caught me, Draco," the boy said in delight while gazing at Draco with those hungry eyes of his. "I wanted to meet you for a long time, but you wouldn't stop thinking about him. It's only when you are dreaming that you would let me in."
Keeping his temper in check, Draco observed the boy, whose childlike candidness puzzled him. It was as though the boy felt no need to hide anything from him. "Why would you want to meet me? We don't even know each other."
"I know you." The boy stood up, wobbled a little and found his footing. "When I was inside the box, I heard you sing. Your voice was so soothing and gentle. When I listened to your voice, I didn't feel so terrible anymore. But one day, you stopped singing. Why wouldn't you sing anymore?"
Although Draco did not want to reply, the boy was peering at him in the same blunt way that a child would stare straight into an adult's eye. "You were inside my head. You know why."
"Because your son was buried and didn't come back to life?" The boy tilted his head to one side and beamed. "Don't be sad. He's here with me right now. He's alive."
The voice sounded muffled as though the cellar was submerged. His mouth gone dry, Draco stared at the boy, a terrible premonition rising from the depth of his mind. "What are you talking about?"
With a satisfied gleam in his eye, the boy pressed a hand to his abdomen. "He's right here. Babies live inside their mothers, right? He's inside me, so he's all right now. He's listening. He's looking at you through me. You see?" A smile of pure happiness flitted onto his face. "From now on, we'll always be with you."
When comprehension struck Draco, he thought someone had hollowed out his body and turned him into an empty shell devoid of internal organs or memories. The world had gone silent; he could hear nothing but the rushing of blood in his head. There was no air for him to breathe in, no water for him to drown in. The cellar was shaking, but a moment later he realised it was him that was shaking. His legs gave out beneath him, and he sank to the floor.
As soon as Harry saw Draco collapse, he leapt off the stairs and rushed to Draco's side. Beneath the golden lamplight, the blond was as white as a ghost, his eyes reflecting nothing in their depths. "Draco?"
At the cue, Draco snapped out of his daze and retched all over the floor. Startled out of his wits, Harry rubbed Draco's back and trained the holly wand at the boy, who stood stunned in the distance. "What did you do?" Harry gritted through his teeth.
"I just said his son is inside me and everything will be all right." The boy, unable to understand what was happening, blinked, his gaze gliding from Harry's wand to Draco, then to the pungent filth on the floor. "What's wrong, Draco? You aren't happy? Why are you crying? Are you hurt? You aren't feeling well?"
"Stay back! Don't move!" Harry barked, but the boy did not appear to hear him.
"Draco?"
"Stop calling my name!" Draco's hoarse voice made the boy stop dead. Breathing hard, Draco wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glared at the pitiful creature in the oversized shirt. "I don't know you."
The boy's face crumpled as though he was about to cry. In the next beat, Harry's wand flew out of his grasp, sailed across the room, and landed on the boy's outstretched hand. Cursing himself for the lapse, Harry grabbed Draco's wand and threw a hex at the boy, who waved aside the spell in a stance not unlike that of his creator. The air crackled with magic, flashes of white light splitting and merging in the space between Harry and the boy.
"I'll show you everything," a voice whispered in Draco's head, the same childish voice he had been hearing for the past few days-the voice he had mistaken for his son's. "I'll tell you my story."
His heart and his mind in tatters, Draco was too exhausted to block out the boy. In the end, he yielded to a will that was not his own, closed his eyes and plunged headlong into the dark.
* * * * * * *
In the beginning, there was darkness. Soon after, voices of individuals he had never met pierced through the indolent darkness of the womb, filling his dreams with sound he had not dreamt of before. For the first time, he was aware of the self and the other, of his own existence and of the existence of a world beyond the dark. Hoping for someone to notice him, he cried out, but his prayer went unanswered. For the first time, he tasted despair.
Voices came and went like dreams, and he, curled up inside his prison, paid no more heed to the sirens that were false hope in disguise. He slept, for how long he did not know, until one day along came a miracle. Outside his cage, the young lord and lady of the manor were expecting a child. The man sang often to his unborn child, and his voice, soft and gentle, trickled into another child's ear.
Although the child remained inside his prison, his dreams became less troubled, his melancholy less crippling. The man's voice was like a beacon in the all-encompassing darkness, a balm that soothed his restless mind. But one day, the lady of the manor lost her baby, and the man sang no more.
As the child in the box wondered why he could not hear the man sing anymore, he felt a throbbing pain inside him-a sensation he had never experienced before. Without a voice that could reach the man, he would never find out the reason. Realization came to him like a prick from a needle: as long as he stayed inside the box, he would not be able to see the man. He wanted to see the person who sang in such a tender voice.
This time, he did not cry out for the man to come find him; instead, he forced his way out of the womb and became born into the world of light.
The stone chamber, bare and dimly lit, could have been the prison tower that held Rapunzel captive; but at the time, he knew of no fairy tales, no stories, nothing other than the song in his head. In the middle of the room was a door with a tarnished frame, and some distance away was the box the child had escaped from. Two brass snakes, locked forever in an embrace, guarded over the door. When the child expressed his wish to the snakes, the twins moved apart and opened the door for him.
The door did not lead to mad Wonderland, but to another bare room inside a large, magnificent manor-house. The interior of the manor was lavish, albeit coated in dust and cobwebs. It made no difference to the boy if the house was extravagant or in ruins, for it was the first time he had seen anything aside from darkness.
He searched everywhere, but there was no sign of the man who sang to him. He looked for clues of the man's whereabouts, flipping through books he could not read, trying to communicate with talking paintings even though he did not know any human language. When he had exhausted every possible clue, he came to the sad conclusion that the man had gone away. He couldn't find him...
* * * * * * *
In the library that represented the boy's mind, all was silent. Golden flame flickered in the fireplace, throwing shadows across book stacks and the tiny figure kneeling beside the chesterfield sofa. Endless night waited outside the window, but the boy paid no attention to it; instead, he kept his eyes on Draco, who was lying on the sofa, seeing dreams that were not his. After smoothing out the frown between Draco's brows, the boy pressed his ear against Draco's chest and listened to the steady heartbeat.
* * * * * * *
The expanse behind the manor was where the boy searched first. He did not know how long he had walked. One night, he came upon several houses scattered across the land. He roamed from household to household, barn to barn, looking for a man with blond hair, pale skin and grey eyes. Those few people who saw him screamed and threw things at him, but all the animals in the area, being more perceptive than humans, dared not breathe a sound.
Someone sounded the alarm. With glaring torches the villagers scoured the area, but they could not find the ghostly child, for the boy ran back the way he came, back to the manor that was his home. Nevertheless, the gates refused to open for him. He shook the gates and tried to get them open, but the gates were as sturdy as a wall. The door was closed; he could not go home anymore. There was no other way for him but to continue looking for the blond man.
The forest outside the manor was where the boy searched next, where things were lost and other things were found. He did not find the blond man. One rainy afternoon he found a human boy, who had stumbled into the forest to get away from his parents. His inside filled with nothing but sadness and a gnawing pain called loneliness, the boy made the human child his companion.
His friend taught him many things: stories, songs, games, the English language, the way of the world. Hungry for what he did not have, he devoured everything his friend possessed: thoughts, feelings, memories, knowledge, experience, dreams, secrets. One day, his friend collapsed and would not wake up; the boy realised his human friend needed food, water and shelter.
There was a village on the other side of the forest. After his previous experience with human villages, he was more cautious this time. When the sky darkened, he slunk into the village, taking only a few things from each house before slipping away into the forest. His desire to go unnoticed was overpowering. As though someone had heard his prayer, no one noticed his presence. No one sent out bloodhounds to chase him. He was safe.
Using branches, leaves and tablecloths, the boy built a hut between two trees and moved his friend inside. Food and water sustained his friend; the extra clothes kept his friend warm at night; and a house sheltered his friend from the never-ending rain. Some time later, his friend got better, though he could not go far without the boy's assistance.
The boy wanted to find the blond man soon, but he could not abandon his friend. Even if he were to carry his friend, they would not get far. Gambling on the chance that the man might come back to the manor someday, the boy decided to remain in the forest and wait for the man to return.
Weeks passed by in relative peace. One day, the boy came across a huntsman, who, unlike other villagers, showed no fear towards him. Taking the opportunity, the boy asked the huntsman if he had seen a blond man. Confident of his own status at the top of the food chain, the huntsman lied and led the boy to a shed near the woods, with the promise that he would take the boy to the blond man.
When the boy peeked into the huntsman's mind, a single image persisted. In a Great Hall composed of black granite and white marble, men in tuxedo were sitting at the long banquet table. Two servants carried a large dish into the room, set it on the table and removed the silver lid. There was a collective murmur of approval. Curled up like a foetus upon the silver platter was the boy himself, who was dressed in elaborate clothes and fast asleep. One of the men, a silver-haired gentleman, picked up a carving knife and a carving fork in glee...
His friend was wrong about one thing: the wolf did not eat Little Red Riding Hood, but the Woodsman did. This huntsman did not hunt the traditional meaning of game. If the boy did not want to be eaten, he would have to do something. The door is closing... Something... The man is coming towards me... Something...
* * * * * * *
"That's enough. You don't have to show me any more." Draco's voice rang out beneath the lofty ceiling.
The boy lifted his head and gazed at Draco with a vacuous look on his face, his eyes as soulless as black pearls. "I want you to know everything about me, since I know everything about you." The non-expression fell away like a veil, and the boy's face became animated. "Are you angry that I made the man eat himself?"
"No." Draco sat up on the sofa, still trying to digest what he had seen. When the boy flopped down beside him, he cast the boy a glance. "Have you done the same thing to other people?"
"No. It wasn't much fun." The boy swung his legs. "I ate them instead. What they know, what they did, what they saw, what they heard, what they think, what they remember. Everything. Dreams and secrets always taste the best." The boy tilted his head as though he could hear a voice in the midst of silence. "But that's not what you want to know."
Unable to shut the boy out of his mind, Draco clung onto the only lifeline he had. "You fooled me into thinking you were my son. You ate my son's body. I want to know why."
The boy looked crestfallen. "I want to be with you. I want to make you happy, but you aren't happy. Didn't you want your son come back to life?"
His eyes flashing in anger, Draco raised his hand as though about to strike this devil of a child, yet in the end, he gritted his teeth and lowered his hand. "That's not what I want. Not like this."
"What do you want then? The world? I'll tie a ribbon around it and give it to you. Love? I'll make everyone love you so much they'll die for you. Revenge? I'll kill all your enemies." The boy looked into Draco's eyes. "I love you, Draco. I'll do anything for you. All you have to do is tell me what you want."
Squinting at the boy, Draco came to a certain realisation; he had discovered the answer to a riddle that had been bothering him ever since he came back to England. The world has gone mad; we are all mad, he thought. "There's one thing I want you to do."
His face breaking into a brilliant smile, the boy leant on Draco and hummed the tune they both knew by heart. However skinny the child appeared to be, the weight pressing against Draco was too light to be that of a normal six-year-old. After gazing at the boy's raven hair for a moment, Draco began to sing. For the first time, the song did not remind him of the Malfoy bloodline or Astoria or the child whose name he did not wish to recall.
As the fire grew dim, the boy became silent and his head drooped against Draco's arm. Finding no reason to continue anymore, Draco stopped singing, though he stayed where he was, neither pushing the boy away nor holding him close. When he took a deep breath, the flame flickered for some seconds and died.
Like clouds parting to reveal the moon, darkness parted to reveal the crystal chandelier hanging from the coffered ceiling. Feeling soft surface on his back, Draco was dimly aware that he was lying on a sofa in the drawing room. Looking to the side, he saw Harry kneeling beside the sofa, his visage dominated by an emotion akin to fear. The expression stirred something in Draco's memory: water and blood and pain and his disastrous sixth year at Hogwarts.
Those green eyes of Harry's lit up as soon as they met Draco's gaze. The fear on Harry's face was replaced by a mixture of relief and anxiety, his lips curling into an unconvincing smile. "Are you all right? Did he do anything to you?"
An inexplicable sensation swelled up inside Draco, but he was too tired to dwell on its meaning. "He showed me, no, made me look into his mind." Weariness ate into his bones and forced his eyelids shut. "What happened to him?"
"He fell asleep for some reason. I carried you out and left him in the cellar." Harry's voice drifted into Draco's consciousness through a haze. "Draco? Are you sure you are all right?"
"Sorry," Draco mumbled, though he was not sure if that was what he said. "I just need to sleep for a while. Wake me up in an hour." The only reply he received was a gentle hand touching his brow before darkness claimed him once more.
* * * * * * *
After lowering Draco onto the bed, Harry tucked him in and sat down beside him. His hand reached out of its own accord and brushed a blond strand away from Draco's face. Once upon a time, he had watched over this former rival of his by the bedside, though Draco knew nothing about it. How long had it been since the day he realised his animosity towards the Slytherin had evolved into another beast altogether?
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out two wands: a holly wand and a hawthorn wand. The familiar texture of the hawthorn wand in his hand lured him into the mood for reminiscence; however, there was something he must do right now. Leaving Draco's wand on the nightstand, he ran his thumb over Draco's lips and hardened his resolve.
Quiet as a cat, Harry slipped out of Draco's room, jogged down the ebony staircase, and entered the cheerless drawing room. When he tapped on the door to the cellar, the door gave way to him without resistance. Swallowing his trepidation, he conjured a ball of orange light and squinted at the creature curled up on the floor. There was neither sound nor movement in the cellar; the boy was as still as the dead.
With his wand trained at the boy, Harry stepped into the room; his eyes never once left the thing that took on the deceptive form of an innocent child. Incantations for various curses flitted across his mind until he settled on the very curse that the boy's master favoured. When he was three steps away from the boy, he stopped. Fixing a hard gaze upon the pathetic figure, he took a deep breath, forced his will upon his wand and muttered, "Avada Kedavra!"
Nothing happened. As conflicting emotions surged inside him, Harry heaved a sigh and lowered his wand. The attempted murder and the intent to kill had left him chilled to the core; he could not stop the tremor in his hands. Even though the boy was created by Voldemort, Harry did not possess the will to kill something that resembled a human child.
Tightening his grip on his wand, Harry aimed for the boy once more. "Obliviate!" Instead of blotting out the boy's memory like spilled ink, the spell fell into the void as though the boy had no memory to begin with.
Unsettled by the discovery, Harry clenched his teeth, wove together a plausible life story, and introduced the elements little by little into the boy's mind. The spell smashed against a mental wall and disintegrated. Unwilling to concede defeat, he cast a succession of mental spells on the boy, but his spells either hit the mental wall or fell into the vacuum. His arsenal of spells had been exhausted; there was only one more spell he could use to sever the boy's hold on Draco.
"Imperio!"
A tingling sensation travelled from Harry's mind down to his arm; the invisible thread linking him to the boy held fast for several seconds and snapped.
"Mr Wizard is terrible," the boy murmured in his sleep, startling Harry out of his wits. "I don't want to forget... I am me... I'm here... I'm alive... And I've finally met Draco... I want to hear him sing again... I want to be with him... I want to see him smile..." His voice faded into a mumble before he became silent once more.
As Harry stared at the boy whose wishes could not be simpler, he lost his resolve. However alike in appearance and in magical talent they were, the boy was not Tom Riddle. Biting his lower lip, Harry was poised to cast the Stunning Spell on the boy and lock him in a trunk for transport. Nevertheless, he did not will his magic into action. Before he took the boy away, he wanted to talk to Draco.
His heart heavy with resentment towards himself and pity towards the boy, Harry shuffled out of the room and shut the door behind him.
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: I tried to make the boy's narrative sound like something from a fairy tale, albeit a cruel fairy tale. The boy is an innocent, but at the same time, he can be cruel in his innocence like any other children. Thank you very much for reading.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (4/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mention of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Chapter III: Perinatal Fairy Tale
The cellar, with its low, vaulted ceiling, was imposing in its vastness and its solitude. A single lantern was too feeble to penetrate the darkness, but it provided enough light for what Draco was about to do. After charming the lamp to hover in the air, Draco pointed his wand at the boy and revived him.
Dark eyes snapped open, blinked for several beats, and darted from left to right. Woken from his induced sleep, the boy sat up and looked around him in confusion; yet as soon as he caught sight of the tall figure standing several paces away from him, he smiled a brilliant smile that clashed with the sombre air in the cellar.
"I lost. You caught me, Draco," the boy said in delight while gazing at Draco with those hungry eyes of his. "I wanted to meet you for a long time, but you wouldn't stop thinking about him. It's only when you are dreaming that you would let me in."
Keeping his temper in check, Draco observed the boy, whose childlike candidness puzzled him. It was as though the boy felt no need to hide anything from him. "Why would you want to meet me? We don't even know each other."
"I know you." The boy stood up, wobbled a little and found his footing. "When I was inside the box, I heard you sing. Your voice was so soothing and gentle. When I listened to your voice, I didn't feel so terrible anymore. But one day, you stopped singing. Why wouldn't you sing anymore?"
Although Draco did not want to reply, the boy was peering at him in the same blunt way that a child would stare straight into an adult's eye. "You were inside my head. You know why."
"Because your son was buried and didn't come back to life?" The boy tilted his head to one side and beamed. "Don't be sad. He's here with me right now. He's alive."
The voice sounded muffled as though the cellar was submerged. His mouth gone dry, Draco stared at the boy, a terrible premonition rising from the depth of his mind. "What are you talking about?"
With a satisfied gleam in his eye, the boy pressed a hand to his abdomen. "He's right here. Babies live inside their mothers, right? He's inside me, so he's all right now. He's listening. He's looking at you through me. You see?" A smile of pure happiness flitted onto his face. "From now on, we'll always be with you."
When comprehension struck Draco, he thought someone had hollowed out his body and turned him into an empty shell devoid of internal organs or memories. The world had gone silent; he could hear nothing but the rushing of blood in his head. There was no air for him to breathe in, no water for him to drown in. The cellar was shaking, but a moment later he realised it was him that was shaking. His legs gave out beneath him, and he sank to the floor.
As soon as Harry saw Draco collapse, he leapt off the stairs and rushed to Draco's side. Beneath the golden lamplight, the blond was as white as a ghost, his eyes reflecting nothing in their depths. "Draco?"
At the cue, Draco snapped out of his daze and retched all over the floor. Startled out of his wits, Harry rubbed Draco's back and trained the holly wand at the boy, who stood stunned in the distance. "What did you do?" Harry gritted through his teeth.
"I just said his son is inside me and everything will be all right." The boy, unable to understand what was happening, blinked, his gaze gliding from Harry's wand to Draco, then to the pungent filth on the floor. "What's wrong, Draco? You aren't happy? Why are you crying? Are you hurt? You aren't feeling well?"
"Stay back! Don't move!" Harry barked, but the boy did not appear to hear him.
"Draco?"
"Stop calling my name!" Draco's hoarse voice made the boy stop dead. Breathing hard, Draco wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glared at the pitiful creature in the oversized shirt. "I don't know you."
The boy's face crumpled as though he was about to cry. In the next beat, Harry's wand flew out of his grasp, sailed across the room, and landed on the boy's outstretched hand. Cursing himself for the lapse, Harry grabbed Draco's wand and threw a hex at the boy, who waved aside the spell in a stance not unlike that of his creator. The air crackled with magic, flashes of white light splitting and merging in the space between Harry and the boy.
"I'll show you everything," a voice whispered in Draco's head, the same childish voice he had been hearing for the past few days-the voice he had mistaken for his son's. "I'll tell you my story."
His heart and his mind in tatters, Draco was too exhausted to block out the boy. In the end, he yielded to a will that was not his own, closed his eyes and plunged headlong into the dark.
* * * * * * *
In the beginning, there was darkness. Soon after, voices of individuals he had never met pierced through the indolent darkness of the womb, filling his dreams with sound he had not dreamt of before. For the first time, he was aware of the self and the other, of his own existence and of the existence of a world beyond the dark. Hoping for someone to notice him, he cried out, but his prayer went unanswered. For the first time, he tasted despair.
Voices came and went like dreams, and he, curled up inside his prison, paid no more heed to the sirens that were false hope in disguise. He slept, for how long he did not know, until one day along came a miracle. Outside his cage, the young lord and lady of the manor were expecting a child. The man sang often to his unborn child, and his voice, soft and gentle, trickled into another child's ear.
Although the child remained inside his prison, his dreams became less troubled, his melancholy less crippling. The man's voice was like a beacon in the all-encompassing darkness, a balm that soothed his restless mind. But one day, the lady of the manor lost her baby, and the man sang no more.
As the child in the box wondered why he could not hear the man sing anymore, he felt a throbbing pain inside him-a sensation he had never experienced before. Without a voice that could reach the man, he would never find out the reason. Realization came to him like a prick from a needle: as long as he stayed inside the box, he would not be able to see the man. He wanted to see the person who sang in such a tender voice.
This time, he did not cry out for the man to come find him; instead, he forced his way out of the womb and became born into the world of light.
The stone chamber, bare and dimly lit, could have been the prison tower that held Rapunzel captive; but at the time, he knew of no fairy tales, no stories, nothing other than the song in his head. In the middle of the room was a door with a tarnished frame, and some distance away was the box the child had escaped from. Two brass snakes, locked forever in an embrace, guarded over the door. When the child expressed his wish to the snakes, the twins moved apart and opened the door for him.
The door did not lead to mad Wonderland, but to another bare room inside a large, magnificent manor-house. The interior of the manor was lavish, albeit coated in dust and cobwebs. It made no difference to the boy if the house was extravagant or in ruins, for it was the first time he had seen anything aside from darkness.
He searched everywhere, but there was no sign of the man who sang to him. He looked for clues of the man's whereabouts, flipping through books he could not read, trying to communicate with talking paintings even though he did not know any human language. When he had exhausted every possible clue, he came to the sad conclusion that the man had gone away. He couldn't find him...
* * * * * * *
In the library that represented the boy's mind, all was silent. Golden flame flickered in the fireplace, throwing shadows across book stacks and the tiny figure kneeling beside the chesterfield sofa. Endless night waited outside the window, but the boy paid no attention to it; instead, he kept his eyes on Draco, who was lying on the sofa, seeing dreams that were not his. After smoothing out the frown between Draco's brows, the boy pressed his ear against Draco's chest and listened to the steady heartbeat.
* * * * * * *
The expanse behind the manor was where the boy searched first. He did not know how long he had walked. One night, he came upon several houses scattered across the land. He roamed from household to household, barn to barn, looking for a man with blond hair, pale skin and grey eyes. Those few people who saw him screamed and threw things at him, but all the animals in the area, being more perceptive than humans, dared not breathe a sound.
Someone sounded the alarm. With glaring torches the villagers scoured the area, but they could not find the ghostly child, for the boy ran back the way he came, back to the manor that was his home. Nevertheless, the gates refused to open for him. He shook the gates and tried to get them open, but the gates were as sturdy as a wall. The door was closed; he could not go home anymore. There was no other way for him but to continue looking for the blond man.
The forest outside the manor was where the boy searched next, where things were lost and other things were found. He did not find the blond man. One rainy afternoon he found a human boy, who had stumbled into the forest to get away from his parents. His inside filled with nothing but sadness and a gnawing pain called loneliness, the boy made the human child his companion.
His friend taught him many things: stories, songs, games, the English language, the way of the world. Hungry for what he did not have, he devoured everything his friend possessed: thoughts, feelings, memories, knowledge, experience, dreams, secrets. One day, his friend collapsed and would not wake up; the boy realised his human friend needed food, water and shelter.
There was a village on the other side of the forest. After his previous experience with human villages, he was more cautious this time. When the sky darkened, he slunk into the village, taking only a few things from each house before slipping away into the forest. His desire to go unnoticed was overpowering. As though someone had heard his prayer, no one noticed his presence. No one sent out bloodhounds to chase him. He was safe.
Using branches, leaves and tablecloths, the boy built a hut between two trees and moved his friend inside. Food and water sustained his friend; the extra clothes kept his friend warm at night; and a house sheltered his friend from the never-ending rain. Some time later, his friend got better, though he could not go far without the boy's assistance.
The boy wanted to find the blond man soon, but he could not abandon his friend. Even if he were to carry his friend, they would not get far. Gambling on the chance that the man might come back to the manor someday, the boy decided to remain in the forest and wait for the man to return.
Weeks passed by in relative peace. One day, the boy came across a huntsman, who, unlike other villagers, showed no fear towards him. Taking the opportunity, the boy asked the huntsman if he had seen a blond man. Confident of his own status at the top of the food chain, the huntsman lied and led the boy to a shed near the woods, with the promise that he would take the boy to the blond man.
When the boy peeked into the huntsman's mind, a single image persisted. In a Great Hall composed of black granite and white marble, men in tuxedo were sitting at the long banquet table. Two servants carried a large dish into the room, set it on the table and removed the silver lid. There was a collective murmur of approval. Curled up like a foetus upon the silver platter was the boy himself, who was dressed in elaborate clothes and fast asleep. One of the men, a silver-haired gentleman, picked up a carving knife and a carving fork in glee...
His friend was wrong about one thing: the wolf did not eat Little Red Riding Hood, but the Woodsman did. This huntsman did not hunt the traditional meaning of game. If the boy did not want to be eaten, he would have to do something. The door is closing... Something... The man is coming towards me... Something...
* * * * * * *
"That's enough. You don't have to show me any more." Draco's voice rang out beneath the lofty ceiling.
The boy lifted his head and gazed at Draco with a vacuous look on his face, his eyes as soulless as black pearls. "I want you to know everything about me, since I know everything about you." The non-expression fell away like a veil, and the boy's face became animated. "Are you angry that I made the man eat himself?"
"No." Draco sat up on the sofa, still trying to digest what he had seen. When the boy flopped down beside him, he cast the boy a glance. "Have you done the same thing to other people?"
"No. It wasn't much fun." The boy swung his legs. "I ate them instead. What they know, what they did, what they saw, what they heard, what they think, what they remember. Everything. Dreams and secrets always taste the best." The boy tilted his head as though he could hear a voice in the midst of silence. "But that's not what you want to know."
Unable to shut the boy out of his mind, Draco clung onto the only lifeline he had. "You fooled me into thinking you were my son. You ate my son's body. I want to know why."
The boy looked crestfallen. "I want to be with you. I want to make you happy, but you aren't happy. Didn't you want your son come back to life?"
His eyes flashing in anger, Draco raised his hand as though about to strike this devil of a child, yet in the end, he gritted his teeth and lowered his hand. "That's not what I want. Not like this."
"What do you want then? The world? I'll tie a ribbon around it and give it to you. Love? I'll make everyone love you so much they'll die for you. Revenge? I'll kill all your enemies." The boy looked into Draco's eyes. "I love you, Draco. I'll do anything for you. All you have to do is tell me what you want."
Squinting at the boy, Draco came to a certain realisation; he had discovered the answer to a riddle that had been bothering him ever since he came back to England. The world has gone mad; we are all mad, he thought. "There's one thing I want you to do."
His face breaking into a brilliant smile, the boy leant on Draco and hummed the tune they both knew by heart. However skinny the child appeared to be, the weight pressing against Draco was too light to be that of a normal six-year-old. After gazing at the boy's raven hair for a moment, Draco began to sing. For the first time, the song did not remind him of the Malfoy bloodline or Astoria or the child whose name he did not wish to recall.
As the fire grew dim, the boy became silent and his head drooped against Draco's arm. Finding no reason to continue anymore, Draco stopped singing, though he stayed where he was, neither pushing the boy away nor holding him close. When he took a deep breath, the flame flickered for some seconds and died.
Like clouds parting to reveal the moon, darkness parted to reveal the crystal chandelier hanging from the coffered ceiling. Feeling soft surface on his back, Draco was dimly aware that he was lying on a sofa in the drawing room. Looking to the side, he saw Harry kneeling beside the sofa, his visage dominated by an emotion akin to fear. The expression stirred something in Draco's memory: water and blood and pain and his disastrous sixth year at Hogwarts.
Those green eyes of Harry's lit up as soon as they met Draco's gaze. The fear on Harry's face was replaced by a mixture of relief and anxiety, his lips curling into an unconvincing smile. "Are you all right? Did he do anything to you?"
An inexplicable sensation swelled up inside Draco, but he was too tired to dwell on its meaning. "He showed me, no, made me look into his mind." Weariness ate into his bones and forced his eyelids shut. "What happened to him?"
"He fell asleep for some reason. I carried you out and left him in the cellar." Harry's voice drifted into Draco's consciousness through a haze. "Draco? Are you sure you are all right?"
"Sorry," Draco mumbled, though he was not sure if that was what he said. "I just need to sleep for a while. Wake me up in an hour." The only reply he received was a gentle hand touching his brow before darkness claimed him once more.
* * * * * * *
After lowering Draco onto the bed, Harry tucked him in and sat down beside him. His hand reached out of its own accord and brushed a blond strand away from Draco's face. Once upon a time, he had watched over this former rival of his by the bedside, though Draco knew nothing about it. How long had it been since the day he realised his animosity towards the Slytherin had evolved into another beast altogether?
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out two wands: a holly wand and a hawthorn wand. The familiar texture of the hawthorn wand in his hand lured him into the mood for reminiscence; however, there was something he must do right now. Leaving Draco's wand on the nightstand, he ran his thumb over Draco's lips and hardened his resolve.
Quiet as a cat, Harry slipped out of Draco's room, jogged down the ebony staircase, and entered the cheerless drawing room. When he tapped on the door to the cellar, the door gave way to him without resistance. Swallowing his trepidation, he conjured a ball of orange light and squinted at the creature curled up on the floor. There was neither sound nor movement in the cellar; the boy was as still as the dead.
With his wand trained at the boy, Harry stepped into the room; his eyes never once left the thing that took on the deceptive form of an innocent child. Incantations for various curses flitted across his mind until he settled on the very curse that the boy's master favoured. When he was three steps away from the boy, he stopped. Fixing a hard gaze upon the pathetic figure, he took a deep breath, forced his will upon his wand and muttered, "Avada Kedavra!"
Nothing happened. As conflicting emotions surged inside him, Harry heaved a sigh and lowered his wand. The attempted murder and the intent to kill had left him chilled to the core; he could not stop the tremor in his hands. Even though the boy was created by Voldemort, Harry did not possess the will to kill something that resembled a human child.
Tightening his grip on his wand, Harry aimed for the boy once more. "Obliviate!" Instead of blotting out the boy's memory like spilled ink, the spell fell into the void as though the boy had no memory to begin with.
Unsettled by the discovery, Harry clenched his teeth, wove together a plausible life story, and introduced the elements little by little into the boy's mind. The spell smashed against a mental wall and disintegrated. Unwilling to concede defeat, he cast a succession of mental spells on the boy, but his spells either hit the mental wall or fell into the vacuum. His arsenal of spells had been exhausted; there was only one more spell he could use to sever the boy's hold on Draco.
"Imperio!"
A tingling sensation travelled from Harry's mind down to his arm; the invisible thread linking him to the boy held fast for several seconds and snapped.
"Mr Wizard is terrible," the boy murmured in his sleep, startling Harry out of his wits. "I don't want to forget... I am me... I'm here... I'm alive... And I've finally met Draco... I want to hear him sing again... I want to be with him... I want to see him smile..." His voice faded into a mumble before he became silent once more.
As Harry stared at the boy whose wishes could not be simpler, he lost his resolve. However alike in appearance and in magical talent they were, the boy was not Tom Riddle. Biting his lower lip, Harry was poised to cast the Stunning Spell on the boy and lock him in a trunk for transport. Nevertheless, he did not will his magic into action. Before he took the boy away, he wanted to talk to Draco.
His heart heavy with resentment towards himself and pity towards the boy, Harry shuffled out of the room and shut the door behind him.
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: I tried to make the boy's narrative sound like something from a fairy tale, albeit a cruel fairy tale. The boy is an innocent, but at the same time, he can be cruel in his innocence like any other children. Thank you very much for reading.