Fic: Clearly an Idiot - Chapter 4
Title: Clearly an Idiot - Part IV
Other chapters: Clearly an Idiot chapter listing
Author: dacro
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R - blood play, implied violent death of minor characters, swearing
Disclaimer: HP world is not mine. I just dress them up and turn them into vampires.
Betas: saladbats and djin7 *loves* You're awesome!
Summary: I say a quick prayer to the gods of professionalism, and hope that our luck doesn't follow the weekend's pattern. If the night goes by without an exchange of blood, and very little lust, I would consider my prayers fully answered-although the glint in Malfoy's eyes as he shifts his gaze back to Harry, tells me that I might as well be wishing for a gilded invitation to join the Wizengamot.
Note: This is the second-last chapter. I’ve decided the story needs five chapters to be properly told. Chapter five is in the works now. This chapter is a gift for everyone who encouraged me to keep writing this universe, and didn’t give up during the substantial wait. *so much love for you all*
Feedback and comments are always welcome. *biggest hugs*
Clearly an Idiot - Part IV
The first weeks of working with Harry were not what I expected.
I remember, with more than a small amount of embarrassment, writing him up for as many violations as there were minutes in the day, reminding him constantly of the regulations and ethical guidelines and berating him for his untidy desk and un-professional forwardness when addressing his superiors. He occasionally responded with logic and reason. More often than not, he would tilt his chin down, then look up with a smile, whispering 'Trust me' while refusing my umpteenth request for a transfer.
I’m slowly but surely learning to pick my battles.
~*~
We spent the afternoon at opposite ends of the same table: Harry massaging our meagre findings into a miserable excuse for a daily report, while I spent fruitless hours researching the Floo address Malfoy had given us.
The location doesn't exist, or at least there's no mention of it on any official Ministry records; reason enough to immediately suspect a trap. Well, it would be reason enough for anyone other than Potter, the walking poster child for intuition, and me, the idiot who's finally cottoned on that Harry's instincts are nearly as solid as an investment in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Recently however, he’s been showing as much caution as Hagrid with his Skrewts, and yet I continue to agree to almost any plan-from walking into a dangerous situation wandless to taking the Floo to an unknown address.
My sanity is truly staggering forward on shaky ground.
However, if Harry becomes distracted again tonight, and we return to the Ministry empty handed-with our recent luck, that will most certainly be the case-a transfer to the bowels of the Ministry will be the least of our worries. I'll get the worst of the dung heap, of course, cushioning Harry's fall. His name holds significantly more weight than someone who once made some very questionable choices in the name of arrogance and ambition.
I've made my peace as far as that's concerned.
Perhaps if we do manage to capture Lucius and come out largely uninjured, the Ministry may consider my application to teach Advanced Magical Theory to the new Auror recruits - but I'm not holding my breath just yet.
Harry reads over my shoulder, as I study the tiny card again.
Floo address - Incunabulum Reading Room, London.
Nine o'clock.
"How do you say that again?" he asks me for the third time in as many minutes.
"In-kyuh-NAB-yuh-lum."
He practices a few more times, getting used to the word while glaring intensely at the clock on the mantle and spilling Floo Powder over my shoe and onto the hearth rug.
One minute left.
Harry fusses with his favourite jumper, smoothing out invisible wrinkles with his non-sooty hand. He waits for my nod before dropping the Floo Powder and uttering the address.
We step out from under an ancient-looking arched fireplace into a large cathedral-type room. I take in the new surroundings, secretly thankful for the change of venue from the sexually charged nightclubs of the past week. The lack of half-naked strangers, deafening music and stinging smoke of the last three nights is a welcome break, but this musty stillness is nearly as unsettling. Moonlight shines down in soft rays from the high, small windows, slowly revealing rounded walls lined with thousands of dusty books-likely enough to exhaust even Granger.
Harry raises his lit wand as I draw mine.
"Good evening," Malfoy drawls, startling us both by stepping out from behind a large round table in the middle of the room.
Wearing a high-necked jumper, tweed trousers, reading glasses, and his hair pulled neatly back, he looks more like a University student than the gothic stereotype we've witnessed so far. On second thought, with the pale moonlight giving his hair an unearthly glow, one might even mistake him for Veela-if that person had an appalling grasp of magical lineage.
No bodyguards or Shimmertwins this time-not that I can see, at any rate. At least he's kept his promise. He smiles at Harry, but it fades as his gaze falls on me a second later.
"I thought we were meeting alone," he says, tipping his head in my direction.
Harry chuckles shakily under his breath. "Business first, then-pleasure. Isn't that the way it goes?" Malfoy's answer is a half-hearted shrug, and a moment's look of irritation.
Harry doesn’t make a move, but he's breathing heavier than usual. I give up hope that Draco’s more conservative appearance will be less of a distraction than his ‘club persona’. Harry is well and truly gone, although I give him some credit for at least trying to follow the agenda.
The room smells stale, but judging from the lack of desire for pudding and the absence of that warm 'Sunday morning in bed' feeling, Draco hasn't yet turned on the charm, and for that, I'm thankful. I say a quick prayer to the gods of professionalism, and hope that our luck doesn't follow the weekend's pattern. If the night goes by without an exchange of blood, and very little lust, I would consider my prayers fully answered-although the glint in Malfoy's eyes as he shifts his gaze back to Harry, tells me that I might as well be wishing for a gilded invitation to join the Wizengamot.
The wall behind us gives a pitiful moan as it makes quick work of hiding the fireplace from sight again. I stare at the solid brick for a moment until I realise that we are now trapped in a room with a vampire. True, one who hasn’t actually harmed us, and who I’ve stupidly encouraged Harry to pursue once the case is wrapped up, but still it’s a bad equation-enough to make me uneasy.
"Welcome to the London Library," Draco says warmly, spreading his arms wide - all trace of frustration gone. "Home to over one million books and periodicals - from the most ancient of texts to the trashiest of romances."
Harry moves away from me, lifting his wand-light higher, the Auror in him taking over for the moment.
"I've been there-here-I mean, with Hermione, but…" he tails off as he studies the countless shelves, and squints up toward the towering stacks. "I've never seen this room before." He moves closer to read a few titles, trailing his hand over the spines. "Advanced Book of Spells: Construction and Demolition. Meditative Casting: Understanding Your Limits, Modern wand crafting: 1600 - 1800…" His head snaps around, and we both look to Malfoy for an answer. "Magic books?"
I resist the nudge of curiosity to see if there are any unfamiliar titles.
"Yes, and quite a collection." He fixes Harry with an innocent-looking smile, peering over the top of his sliver frames. "Until 1878, this building was a public library for all. This room, as well as the Floo connection was frequently used-hidden from the Muggles, of course-however, it was permanently closed off after somebody, I'm assuming an unregistered Squib, somehow got past the wards. The Muggle/Wizard segregation accord passed shortly after that in December of 1878 re-enforcing the Statute of Secrecy and ordering that something as important as this collection of Wizard literature be moved to a more secure location."
Harry states the obvious, as his eyes wander up the moonlit walls again. "But the books are all still here."
"Indeed."
I can't help but ask, "And why is that?"
"Good story, actually. Man in charge of the re-location, Joseph Swan, was dabbling in Muggle science at the time, and happened to stumble upon a non-magical system of creating light. He left for America to track down someone named Edison to form a business partnership of sorts.”
He lifts his glasses and rubs his eyes. The action matching nothing we’ve seen from him in the past three days. If I didn’t know what he was, I might have thought he was still human.
"There was also some Muggle ball sport that was all the rage in London at the time,” he says with a wave of his hand. “and I found one personal note in an old file that said the game was surprisingly similar to Quidditch, except played on the ground. They kicked the Quaffle, the Keepers only had one goal to protect, and there were no bats."
Harry’s smiling when I look at him for a reaction.
"The library was lost because London was distracted by football and electricity?" He asks, clearly amused.
"Cheeky lad. Not really lost, no. Hogwarts has a copy of everything in here, but this room was forgotten for quite some time. As for football, look at this, Harry." Draco flicks his wand out to the side, and a ledger flies out of one of the lower shelves to his waiting fingertips. He turns the first few pages and points at a hand-written entry. "September the twenty-eighth, 1878. Albus Dumbledore wages one Galleon on Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Newton Heath."
"Dumbledore made a wager-Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway…” Harry rubs at his forehead and then looks up, suddenly. “That's the old name for Manchester United! Justin goes on about them all the time."
I snort in disbelief. "Clearly false documents. Dumbledore wasn't old enough to…" Another book leaves the shelf, this time flying to me. I catch it with some difficulty, and read the page it's opened itself to. "Lineage of the House of Dumbledore." My eyes scroll down to the bottom of the page. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian, born…1840." Harry has that child-like hopeful smile behind his eyes again when I look up. "He would have been forty-seven at the time of the wager."
Harry takes the book from me, and stares at the page for a few silent moments. “Wow.”
"Told you, Weasley," Malfoy says smugly. "Moving on, I discovered this Floo entrance last year when I was casting cobweb repelling charms on the other side of the wall. It was a pleasant surprise to find such a treasure." He leans against the edge of the table and smiles dangerously. "You know, it's traditional to tip your guide on conclusion of a tour."
I ignore his bait, but Harry sets down the book, applauds, and then tosses him some conjured roses, which Malfoy accepts with a dramatic flourish and sweeping bow. "Thank-you, kind sir."
"Now, about your father…" I begin, but Draco waves a finger at me, turning his intense gaze on Harry again.
"I brought your little serpent here with me one evening, she never told you?" he asks. Harry shakes his head. "Ah. That brings a few things to light."
Harry extinguishes his wand and pushes it into his back pocket. "She was too busy going on about all the crickets and eggs you fed her." His eyes take in the room and then return to Malfoy. "You come here at night-alone?"
Draco moves quickly, and is holding Harry's hand before either one of us has time to react. He inspects Harry's sooty knuckles, then looks up. "Yes, the only place you've never seen fit to follow me," he finishes with a mock-pout.
Harry meets the gaze. "Would have," he says with a smile, "If I'd known about that hidden Floo. I just assumed you stayed home during the week."
Somewhere in the library a high-pitched beep echoes and then fades.
Draco waves his free hand in dismissal. "Muggle security sensors. Nothing to worry about. They self-test every two hours or so."
I take a deep breath, straightening to my full height. "If we're trespassing here, Malfoy, I suggest we continue this meeting in another location. Exploitation of a forgotten Floo connection does not warrant…"
Malfoy mutters something under his breath and the sconces flicker and come to life. He takes a few steps back and releases Harry's hand. "So tense, Weasley. I should have talked that Muggle girl from last night into coming along to keep you distracted-but then there's all the 'Obliviate' business-far more effort than…"
I try to ignore Harry's curious smile as I cut across Malfoy before he can avoid my question completely. "Are we trespassing, or not?"
"You are, Weasley. I, however, am an official employee of the Library, night shift, Monday through Thursday. I'm employed under a Muggle-ish name, naturally, and Harry here is my very special guest."
I can't help the disbelieving grunt that escapes. "You expect us to believe you're working for Muggles, as well as posing as a one?"
Now, there's an exhibit I would gladly pay to view.
He leans a hip against the table once more, crossing his arms gracefully. "Sad, I know, but one does what one must. I can't exactly work in our world and keep banker’s hours, can I? Bad for the skin. Besides, I have a family of sorts to support for the time being, but I hope that arrangement is a temporary one," he finishes, smiling rakishly at Harry. "If Harry accepts my offer, I'll have no need for my donors-or bodyguards for that matter, and with my father safely in the hands of the Ministry, the Malfoy estate will once again be rightfully back where it belongs-with me."
Harry closes the distance between them again, his fingertips lifting slowly, as if Draco is a Malfoy-shaped magnet. "I didn't know Lucius cut you off." He says softly. "Everything was normal when Percy checked the bank statements. With Lucius missing, we just assumed you'd been making the withdrawals for you and your mother. Why did…"
Draco silences Harry by pulling him gently forward and brushing his lips across the bridge of Harry's nose.
"So many questions,” he whispers. “First, do you have an answer for me?"
I try not to stare or become too irritated.
The pace of Harry's breathing changes again. Never a good sign.
"We told the Muggle authorities which of the names on the list are among the confirmed dead, so the families can start to deal with that, but I didn't say anything yet about the ones who are vampires now." He pulls back slightly and meets Draco's eyes. "They're still considered 'missing', and I wasn’t sure how their loved ones would take the news. We also told the police that we know the name of the offender. We're supposed to contact them again in a few days-when he's been apprehended."
Draco exhales and pulls his face in close to Harry's neck. It almost looks as if he's inhaling. "Mmm, very sure of yourself."
I silently wonder how much lust constitutes as 'minimal', and if the goals I’ve set for the evening are anything close to realistic.
Harry's fingers are suddenly fisted in the fabric of Malfoy's jumper. He tilts back to draw Draco closer, his eyes closing as he answers. "We have to be sure. Muggles are dying, and we've promised, I’ve promised it would stop."
"You're stalling, Potter." He finishes with a heavy swipe of his tongue over the base of Harry's neck, and pulls back enough to regain eye contact.
Harry's hand follows the damp trail on his own neck to the tiny scars, the same ones that refused to fade, regardless of how much Dittany we applied, or how many times I cast the scar-diminishing spell.
Malfoy takes Harry's hand and pierces a finger, sucking on it for a moment as Harry makes a soft, breathy sound and closes his eyes once more.
"I think that’s quite enough business for now,” he says softly, lips hovering over Harry’s fingertip.
“Draco…” Harry breathes, eyes riveted to the sight of his finger glistening in the candle light, the small puncture already healing.
Draco waits until Harry’s eyes meet his own. “You’ve thought about my proposal?"
I cough. Scratching 'no blood' off my mental wish list. "We need to keep this meeting professional," I remind them, trying to not to grind my teeth in frustration.
Harry reclaims his finger and has the good sense to look half-ashamed for forgetting himself, yet again. Malfoy licks his lips smugly.
"What's the matter, Weasley, been a while since you had a little suck?"
The way he both hisses over the S, and bites the K off of the last word makes my stomach churn and my skin crawl, but I can't exactly confirm or deny without looking the fool, so I compromise with my own practised sneer. Draco raises his eyebrows and an image leaps into my mind of Sherry's beautiful mouth and the inappropriate things I wanted to do with it last night. That vision is quickly replaced by one of my wife's face, wearing a secret smile that only I know the meaning of, from the last time I asked her-begged her to… But that was longer ago than I care to remember. When had I forgotten how much I used to crave her? Was it too late to feel that again?
Harry’s voice pulls me away from my melancholy thoughts.
"Percy's right.”
Am I? Merlin be praised.
“Let's sit down and get business out of the way first," He shoots me an unspoken apology while somehow ignoring Draco's grunt of disapproval and less than graceful flop into his chair.
We sit in plain view of each other, making an invisible triangle across the round table. The tension fades when Draco releases a weary sigh.
"My apologies, Weasley. Potter seems to bring out my domin-vampiric nature."
I try to keep the surprise hidden while accepting his apology graciously with a nod.
Harry shuffles his chair closer to the table, and stares with concern at Malfoy. "You're different tonight."
Draco's shoulders fall slightly. "It’s been a while since I fed. And I'm tired, to be perfectly honest. Dual lives and paternal revenge is exhausting."
"He's your father. Why turn him in now?" I ask, keeping a neutral tone and an eye out for any sudden mood changes.
His hands press against the table top, while his face remains blank. There’s no mistaking the resentment in his glare, however. I’ve upset him, seconds after his apology. The thought bothers me less than the reproachful look I feel from Harry.
"Why? Well, Weasley, because he took away my inheritance, my plans for the future, my mother, and, oh yes, my right to grow old and die. Reason enough?"
He snarls at me, fangs slightly visible, and I reluctantly realize that my interrogation methods might not yield the results we require. I sit back and nod to Harry. He picks up on my intentions without missing a step, offering a hand and an innocent smile to Malfoy.
"Let's talk on the sofa over there, just the two of us," Harry says, leading a suddenly interested and much more awake Draco to a black, leather reading sofa in a shadowed area behind the table.
Not what I would have suggested, but I bite my tongue and grab a yellowed magazine from one of the nearby racks, trying not to watch them as I take a look at my selection:
Niffler Husbandry.
Brilliant.
“As much as I like our guessing games, Perce won’t be the only one asking once we bring your father in. Do you mind if we talk about this now?”
Draco turns serious eyes on Harry. “My response affects how you answer my proposal, doesn’t it?”
“We can both keep some of our secrets, but, yes, honesty is high on my short list of demands, but you knew that already.”
“I did. Very well, no games tonight. However, I want to hold you while I endure interrogation.”
Harry’s warm laugh fills the room. “Done.”
I glance up to see Malfoy stretching out along the seat, as Harry fills the remaining space, and settles back into Malfoy’s waiting arms. I turn a page and stare at a mother Niffler giving birth to a shocking number of wet silver-gray balls.
“Much better,” Malfoy purrs, inhaling deeply as he pulls Harry into a tighter embrace that he doesn’t seem to mind in the least. “Begin.”
Harry takes a few deep breaths before starting. "Did Lucius choose to become a vampire?" He uses his professional voice, but my peripheral vision catches his fingers tracing along the ribbing of Malfoy's cuffs.
"Yes. Just after Christmas, he started obsessing about how the Dark Lord hadn't used the vampires under his command to their full potential, and how he believed the tables would have turned if they hadn't been used as mere foot soldiers.”
Draco adjusts his position, pulling Harry even closer, his shadowed expression contrasting with Harry’s contented grin.
“In the New Year he began weighing the pros and cons of transformation Sometime during his research he fell in love with the endless possibilities that being eternally ‘undead’ promised."
I flip another page blindly as Harry nods and continues his questioning.
"How did you become…” He pauses, as if knowing he might be overstepping legal boundaries. However, since it’s never stopped him before… “It doesn’t have anything to do with the case, but is it all right to ask? I’ve been wondering for a while now."
"It was the only way to save my mother-my life for hers," Draco answers, the leather cushions creaking as he leans forward, resting his chin on the top of Harry’s head. It was obvious he was trying to leave off there, but Harry, tactlessly brilliant to the end, presses on.
"What? He made you choose?"
Draco sighs and rescues Harry from himself. "You know I prefer… Well, let's just say I wasn't continuing the Malfoy line fast enough for his liking. He considered it a fair trade to simply extend our heritage when it became obvious I wasn’t going to produce an heir."
Harry twists around and stares in shock at Malfoy. "So, it was have a child, or become a vampire just to make sure the Malfoy name stayed in the history books?"
"Partially. In his arrogance, he assumed that I would want to rule by his side for the next thousand years or so. And like the Dark Lord, he knew immortality equals…” Grey eyes are suddenly fixed on mine over the mess of Harry’s hair. “You know the answer, don’t you, Weasley?”
“Power,” I say instantly, giving up the farce of pretending not to listen.
“Exactly. He found it distasteful that I didn't share his vision, so he decided to give me some-incentive to assist in my decision making process."
The last word pulls the sentence into silence. A few seconds pass before Harry settles back and puts the pieces together-cursing under his breath.
"How could anyone do that to their wife and son?"
“Oh, he outdid himself,” Malfoy whispers. "My father ordered Greyback to 'entertain' her until I came to my senses."
"God! You had no choice, then. How is she?"
"Dead."
"What?" Harry shoots up from the sofa, startling me and I nearly rip the thin page in my hand. "We would have-there've been sightings at the Manor, and the Book of Deaths would have notified the Ministry if…"
Malfoy guides him back down to the seat with surprisingly gentle hands at Harry's elbow and lower back. It hurts to see the sympathetic pain in Harry's eyes. I wish, not for the first time, that I was somewhere else at the moment.
"All staged," Draco says without emotion. Harry swears under his breath again. "And yes, amazing what a small amount of suggestion and a large amount of gold will purchase." His voice is so quiet that Harry nearly buries the words with the brush of fabric on fabric as he shifts his position.
"She wasn't to be harmed, but Greyback became-impatient. After my father had slashed him into a thousand strips, he was left to deal with my mother's body.” Malfoy stayed silent for a moment, and I could feel the sudden chill sweep through the room.
My brother wore the permanent marks of being attacked by Greyback in human form. I didn’t want to even imagine what he was capable of during the full moon. My heart gave me a sudden kick for all the years I wasted looking down my nose at Lupin, when I should have seen from the start what an honourable man he had been. Drawing me away from my memories, Malfoy continued:
“He couldn't bear to inter her, so she became the first Inferi."
I close the magazine and notice that Harry's skin has taken on a greyish sheen in the dim light. His head falls forward. Draco gives him a moment, then runs a hand gently over his shoulder.
"I was still going through the change, so I don't remember much, but I'll never forget how he looked when he told me. He hadn’t even bothered to clean himself up. He just stood there covered in Greyback's blood. He's lucky I didn't have the strength to attack him."
I grab another magazine, flip it open randomly, and keep my eyes fixed on the page, watching the meaningless text blur into a mess of grey nonsense. The silence drags on, and still I can't stand to look. I feel like an intruder listening in like this, sharing this moment with them, and yet my brain tries to remind me that the tale is almost too far-fetched to be true. In my opinion, we still really have no solid reason to trust Draco, regardless of the 'information' he's feeding us, and how sad of a story he’s telling. But if Greyback truly is dead, then I’m grateful he won’t be claiming anymore victims.
Out of the corner of my vision I see Harry’s fingers entwine with Malfoy’s and I know I’m the only sceptic in the room. "I'm so sorry about your mother, Draco," Harry whispers, his sadness a solid weight hanging between them.
"Thank you."
“No reward justifies what he did. How does being Minister for a term or two…”
"He's thinking of the gradual incline of power at his fingertips, my love. The best and worst part is that he is willing to be patient. Can you imagine what he would be able to accomplish as Minister in ten years, fifty, a hundred?"
Harry’s head shoots up and we’re suddenly sharing the same chilling thought. Dear Merlin.
"But that would mean…"
"Oh yes, he slowly plans to advertise his condition once he's either intimidated or purchased those who hold the scales, and seduces them into believing that supporting a permanent Minister has its advantages.” He pauses, the unsettling image making the silence excruciating.
When I chance a look at them, Harry’s feet are already planted back on the floor, his eyes hard, yet unfocused in private concentration. Before he can rise, Draco places a hand lightly on his shoulder.
“He needs to be stopped now, Harry, before he gets even one foot in the door."
Harry turns to him. "Are you sure you want us to do this publicly? His name, the Malfoy name will be everywhere. Muggle law will hold him responsible for the all the Muggle deaths, the Prophet will exaggerate everything, and who knows what new laws the Wizengamot will come up with to protect the Ministry against future vampire plots. This could ruin you just as much as him." Harry stares blankly forward, lost in his dark thoughts until Malfoy makes that gesture again, the tired, defeated shrug that betrays the confident Vampire image we’ve been bombarded with over the past few days.
"I know. I thought briefly about killing him myself, but it seemed pointless, considering he's already died once for his vision. To dishonour him publicly would injure him far more than a quick curse through the heart, or a forced stroll in the sunlight. Besides, I doubt I could do it, even after everything he’s done.” His sudden cold laugher fills the room as Harry and I both startle at the noise. “Ironic, isn’t it-that I have everything needed to be an efficient killer now, but no heart for it." His laughter dies away, and Harry turns serious eyes on me.
"Percy?"
"Yes?" I stand so quickly my chair clatters to the floor behind me. I fight the blush as Malfoy chuckles under his breath.
"What other tricks does he do?"
Harry fails to hide his half-grin. "Hush," he says to Malfoy before turning back to me. "I just had a thought. What would the Kiss do to a vampire?"
I clear my throat and gather my composure. "To my knowledge it's never been tried."
There's movement from the couch. I look up in time to see Draco sitting up and stretching his fingers out to me, palm up. I try not to move or show weakness, but I’m positive my confusion is written on my face. I exhale quietly as another book slides off the shelf behind me, flies over my head and lands without a sound in Malfoy's waiting palm.
Wandless magic. Interesting.
"There was a trial once," Draco mutters, as the pages begin flipping themselves. "Yes, here, in Thirteen-sixty-eight, Roman Dilante. Found guilty of the charges of destruction of his dear, departed wife's final resting place, attacking Muggle folk in his animagus form-a wolf, and..." he looks up at me. "consuming the blood of his livestock in a manner unbefitting a wizard."
"What was his punishment?" I ask.
His finger trails down the page, but Harry's already spotted it.
"Sentenced to have his own wand thrust through his heart, his body burned on the East Hill at sunrise, and his ashes divided amongst the Muggles he offended. Wow.”
"Indeed. It was the only reference I could find in regards to justice being carried out against someone who may have been a vampire. It would seem that in the past, most vampires were killed without their crimes being reported. Either that, or we’re masters of evasion and working within the system-which after observing my father for years-is where I’m willing to place my Galleons.”
“And you think your father has some sort of vampire advantage?”
“Without a doubt. He had Fudge and most of the Ministry under his thumb once, and that was while he was still human. Can you imagine how quickly he’ll gain support once he knows how to enthrall an entire assembly?”
Harry stares at him with disbelief, and a sickening thought leaps into my mind. I speak before Harry has a chance to piece it together.
“The pheromones.”
Draco nods. “Most of us can influence anyone within ten feet or so, but he’s been able to extend his reach using the Inferi. Since each one carries a trace of his magical signature, every human within five feet of one of his corpses will be affected if he sets them into action.”
I swear under my breath.
The high-pitched alarm from earlier makes itself known again, but this time the tone is constant. Annoying. Malfoy, fangs suddenly exposed, abruptly stands and hisses toward the hidden Floo entrance.
“Hide! NOW!”
A low growling rumble of brick from behind me brings any intended protest to a shocking halt. I spin away from the table and dive for one of the magazine racks. I scramble behind a nearby half-shelf, hoping my heart will stop banging so loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see-to my relief-Harry, wand-drawn, leaping over the back of the sofa and out of sight.
Draco banishes the books we had been reading back to their proper places and conceals his fangs once again. The wall gives one more scraping groan before rearranging itself into the same ancient fireplace as before.
I draw my wand and focus on controlling my breathing as the spinning flames give the walls an eerie green glow for a moment, and then fade to flickering shadows once again.
Solid footsteps clack rhythmically against the old oak floor.
I silently curse my awkward vantage point, but take small comfort in the fact that Harry might be able to see more from his position, and at least will have some cover if he attempts a few stunning spells. Still, I wish we could coordinate our efforts.
"Father," Draco says casually. "Welcome."
I hold my breath, say a prayer to the gods of good fortune, and wait for our opportunity to strike.
~*~
Other chapters: Clearly an Idiot chapter listing
Author: dacro
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R - blood play, implied violent death of minor characters, swearing
Disclaimer: HP world is not mine. I just dress them up and turn them into vampires.
Betas: saladbats and djin7 *loves* You're awesome!
Summary: I say a quick prayer to the gods of professionalism, and hope that our luck doesn't follow the weekend's pattern. If the night goes by without an exchange of blood, and very little lust, I would consider my prayers fully answered-although the glint in Malfoy's eyes as he shifts his gaze back to Harry, tells me that I might as well be wishing for a gilded invitation to join the Wizengamot.
Note: This is the second-last chapter. I’ve decided the story needs five chapters to be properly told. Chapter five is in the works now. This chapter is a gift for everyone who encouraged me to keep writing this universe, and didn’t give up during the substantial wait. *so much love for you all*
Feedback and comments are always welcome. *biggest hugs*
Clearly an Idiot - Part IV
The first weeks of working with Harry were not what I expected.
I remember, with more than a small amount of embarrassment, writing him up for as many violations as there were minutes in the day, reminding him constantly of the regulations and ethical guidelines and berating him for his untidy desk and un-professional forwardness when addressing his superiors. He occasionally responded with logic and reason. More often than not, he would tilt his chin down, then look up with a smile, whispering 'Trust me' while refusing my umpteenth request for a transfer.
I’m slowly but surely learning to pick my battles.
~*~
We spent the afternoon at opposite ends of the same table: Harry massaging our meagre findings into a miserable excuse for a daily report, while I spent fruitless hours researching the Floo address Malfoy had given us.
The location doesn't exist, or at least there's no mention of it on any official Ministry records; reason enough to immediately suspect a trap. Well, it would be reason enough for anyone other than Potter, the walking poster child for intuition, and me, the idiot who's finally cottoned on that Harry's instincts are nearly as solid as an investment in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Recently however, he’s been showing as much caution as Hagrid with his Skrewts, and yet I continue to agree to almost any plan-from walking into a dangerous situation wandless to taking the Floo to an unknown address.
My sanity is truly staggering forward on shaky ground.
However, if Harry becomes distracted again tonight, and we return to the Ministry empty handed-with our recent luck, that will most certainly be the case-a transfer to the bowels of the Ministry will be the least of our worries. I'll get the worst of the dung heap, of course, cushioning Harry's fall. His name holds significantly more weight than someone who once made some very questionable choices in the name of arrogance and ambition.
I've made my peace as far as that's concerned.
Perhaps if we do manage to capture Lucius and come out largely uninjured, the Ministry may consider my application to teach Advanced Magical Theory to the new Auror recruits - but I'm not holding my breath just yet.
Harry reads over my shoulder, as I study the tiny card again.
Floo address - Incunabulum Reading Room, London.
Nine o'clock.
"How do you say that again?" he asks me for the third time in as many minutes.
"In-kyuh-NAB-yuh-lum."
He practices a few more times, getting used to the word while glaring intensely at the clock on the mantle and spilling Floo Powder over my shoe and onto the hearth rug.
One minute left.
Harry fusses with his favourite jumper, smoothing out invisible wrinkles with his non-sooty hand. He waits for my nod before dropping the Floo Powder and uttering the address.
We step out from under an ancient-looking arched fireplace into a large cathedral-type room. I take in the new surroundings, secretly thankful for the change of venue from the sexually charged nightclubs of the past week. The lack of half-naked strangers, deafening music and stinging smoke of the last three nights is a welcome break, but this musty stillness is nearly as unsettling. Moonlight shines down in soft rays from the high, small windows, slowly revealing rounded walls lined with thousands of dusty books-likely enough to exhaust even Granger.
Harry raises his lit wand as I draw mine.
"Good evening," Malfoy drawls, startling us both by stepping out from behind a large round table in the middle of the room.
Wearing a high-necked jumper, tweed trousers, reading glasses, and his hair pulled neatly back, he looks more like a University student than the gothic stereotype we've witnessed so far. On second thought, with the pale moonlight giving his hair an unearthly glow, one might even mistake him for Veela-if that person had an appalling grasp of magical lineage.
No bodyguards or Shimmertwins this time-not that I can see, at any rate. At least he's kept his promise. He smiles at Harry, but it fades as his gaze falls on me a second later.
"I thought we were meeting alone," he says, tipping his head in my direction.
Harry chuckles shakily under his breath. "Business first, then-pleasure. Isn't that the way it goes?" Malfoy's answer is a half-hearted shrug, and a moment's look of irritation.
Harry doesn’t make a move, but he's breathing heavier than usual. I give up hope that Draco’s more conservative appearance will be less of a distraction than his ‘club persona’. Harry is well and truly gone, although I give him some credit for at least trying to follow the agenda.
The room smells stale, but judging from the lack of desire for pudding and the absence of that warm 'Sunday morning in bed' feeling, Draco hasn't yet turned on the charm, and for that, I'm thankful. I say a quick prayer to the gods of professionalism, and hope that our luck doesn't follow the weekend's pattern. If the night goes by without an exchange of blood, and very little lust, I would consider my prayers fully answered-although the glint in Malfoy's eyes as he shifts his gaze back to Harry, tells me that I might as well be wishing for a gilded invitation to join the Wizengamot.
The wall behind us gives a pitiful moan as it makes quick work of hiding the fireplace from sight again. I stare at the solid brick for a moment until I realise that we are now trapped in a room with a vampire. True, one who hasn’t actually harmed us, and who I’ve stupidly encouraged Harry to pursue once the case is wrapped up, but still it’s a bad equation-enough to make me uneasy.
"Welcome to the London Library," Draco says warmly, spreading his arms wide - all trace of frustration gone. "Home to over one million books and periodicals - from the most ancient of texts to the trashiest of romances."
Harry moves away from me, lifting his wand-light higher, the Auror in him taking over for the moment.
"I've been there-here-I mean, with Hermione, but…" he tails off as he studies the countless shelves, and squints up toward the towering stacks. "I've never seen this room before." He moves closer to read a few titles, trailing his hand over the spines. "Advanced Book of Spells: Construction and Demolition. Meditative Casting: Understanding Your Limits, Modern wand crafting: 1600 - 1800…" His head snaps around, and we both look to Malfoy for an answer. "Magic books?"
I resist the nudge of curiosity to see if there are any unfamiliar titles.
"Yes, and quite a collection." He fixes Harry with an innocent-looking smile, peering over the top of his sliver frames. "Until 1878, this building was a public library for all. This room, as well as the Floo connection was frequently used-hidden from the Muggles, of course-however, it was permanently closed off after somebody, I'm assuming an unregistered Squib, somehow got past the wards. The Muggle/Wizard segregation accord passed shortly after that in December of 1878 re-enforcing the Statute of Secrecy and ordering that something as important as this collection of Wizard literature be moved to a more secure location."
Harry states the obvious, as his eyes wander up the moonlit walls again. "But the books are all still here."
"Indeed."
I can't help but ask, "And why is that?"
"Good story, actually. Man in charge of the re-location, Joseph Swan, was dabbling in Muggle science at the time, and happened to stumble upon a non-magical system of creating light. He left for America to track down someone named Edison to form a business partnership of sorts.”
He lifts his glasses and rubs his eyes. The action matching nothing we’ve seen from him in the past three days. If I didn’t know what he was, I might have thought he was still human.
"There was also some Muggle ball sport that was all the rage in London at the time,” he says with a wave of his hand. “and I found one personal note in an old file that said the game was surprisingly similar to Quidditch, except played on the ground. They kicked the Quaffle, the Keepers only had one goal to protect, and there were no bats."
Harry’s smiling when I look at him for a reaction.
"The library was lost because London was distracted by football and electricity?" He asks, clearly amused.
"Cheeky lad. Not really lost, no. Hogwarts has a copy of everything in here, but this room was forgotten for quite some time. As for football, look at this, Harry." Draco flicks his wand out to the side, and a ledger flies out of one of the lower shelves to his waiting fingertips. He turns the first few pages and points at a hand-written entry. "September the twenty-eighth, 1878. Albus Dumbledore wages one Galleon on Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Newton Heath."
"Dumbledore made a wager-Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway…” Harry rubs at his forehead and then looks up, suddenly. “That's the old name for Manchester United! Justin goes on about them all the time."
I snort in disbelief. "Clearly false documents. Dumbledore wasn't old enough to…" Another book leaves the shelf, this time flying to me. I catch it with some difficulty, and read the page it's opened itself to. "Lineage of the House of Dumbledore." My eyes scroll down to the bottom of the page. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian, born…1840." Harry has that child-like hopeful smile behind his eyes again when I look up. "He would have been forty-seven at the time of the wager."
Harry takes the book from me, and stares at the page for a few silent moments. “Wow.”
"Told you, Weasley," Malfoy says smugly. "Moving on, I discovered this Floo entrance last year when I was casting cobweb repelling charms on the other side of the wall. It was a pleasant surprise to find such a treasure." He leans against the edge of the table and smiles dangerously. "You know, it's traditional to tip your guide on conclusion of a tour."
I ignore his bait, but Harry sets down the book, applauds, and then tosses him some conjured roses, which Malfoy accepts with a dramatic flourish and sweeping bow. "Thank-you, kind sir."
"Now, about your father…" I begin, but Draco waves a finger at me, turning his intense gaze on Harry again.
"I brought your little serpent here with me one evening, she never told you?" he asks. Harry shakes his head. "Ah. That brings a few things to light."
Harry extinguishes his wand and pushes it into his back pocket. "She was too busy going on about all the crickets and eggs you fed her." His eyes take in the room and then return to Malfoy. "You come here at night-alone?"
Draco moves quickly, and is holding Harry's hand before either one of us has time to react. He inspects Harry's sooty knuckles, then looks up. "Yes, the only place you've never seen fit to follow me," he finishes with a mock-pout.
Harry meets the gaze. "Would have," he says with a smile, "If I'd known about that hidden Floo. I just assumed you stayed home during the week."
Somewhere in the library a high-pitched beep echoes and then fades.
Draco waves his free hand in dismissal. "Muggle security sensors. Nothing to worry about. They self-test every two hours or so."
I take a deep breath, straightening to my full height. "If we're trespassing here, Malfoy, I suggest we continue this meeting in another location. Exploitation of a forgotten Floo connection does not warrant…"
Malfoy mutters something under his breath and the sconces flicker and come to life. He takes a few steps back and releases Harry's hand. "So tense, Weasley. I should have talked that Muggle girl from last night into coming along to keep you distracted-but then there's all the 'Obliviate' business-far more effort than…"
I try to ignore Harry's curious smile as I cut across Malfoy before he can avoid my question completely. "Are we trespassing, or not?"
"You are, Weasley. I, however, am an official employee of the Library, night shift, Monday through Thursday. I'm employed under a Muggle-ish name, naturally, and Harry here is my very special guest."
I can't help the disbelieving grunt that escapes. "You expect us to believe you're working for Muggles, as well as posing as a one?"
Now, there's an exhibit I would gladly pay to view.
He leans a hip against the table once more, crossing his arms gracefully. "Sad, I know, but one does what one must. I can't exactly work in our world and keep banker’s hours, can I? Bad for the skin. Besides, I have a family of sorts to support for the time being, but I hope that arrangement is a temporary one," he finishes, smiling rakishly at Harry. "If Harry accepts my offer, I'll have no need for my donors-or bodyguards for that matter, and with my father safely in the hands of the Ministry, the Malfoy estate will once again be rightfully back where it belongs-with me."
Harry closes the distance between them again, his fingertips lifting slowly, as if Draco is a Malfoy-shaped magnet. "I didn't know Lucius cut you off." He says softly. "Everything was normal when Percy checked the bank statements. With Lucius missing, we just assumed you'd been making the withdrawals for you and your mother. Why did…"
Draco silences Harry by pulling him gently forward and brushing his lips across the bridge of Harry's nose.
"So many questions,” he whispers. “First, do you have an answer for me?"
I try not to stare or become too irritated.
The pace of Harry's breathing changes again. Never a good sign.
"We told the Muggle authorities which of the names on the list are among the confirmed dead, so the families can start to deal with that, but I didn't say anything yet about the ones who are vampires now." He pulls back slightly and meets Draco's eyes. "They're still considered 'missing', and I wasn’t sure how their loved ones would take the news. We also told the police that we know the name of the offender. We're supposed to contact them again in a few days-when he's been apprehended."
Draco exhales and pulls his face in close to Harry's neck. It almost looks as if he's inhaling. "Mmm, very sure of yourself."
I silently wonder how much lust constitutes as 'minimal', and if the goals I’ve set for the evening are anything close to realistic.
Harry's fingers are suddenly fisted in the fabric of Malfoy's jumper. He tilts back to draw Draco closer, his eyes closing as he answers. "We have to be sure. Muggles are dying, and we've promised, I’ve promised it would stop."
"You're stalling, Potter." He finishes with a heavy swipe of his tongue over the base of Harry's neck, and pulls back enough to regain eye contact.
Harry's hand follows the damp trail on his own neck to the tiny scars, the same ones that refused to fade, regardless of how much Dittany we applied, or how many times I cast the scar-diminishing spell.
Malfoy takes Harry's hand and pierces a finger, sucking on it for a moment as Harry makes a soft, breathy sound and closes his eyes once more.
"I think that’s quite enough business for now,” he says softly, lips hovering over Harry’s fingertip.
“Draco…” Harry breathes, eyes riveted to the sight of his finger glistening in the candle light, the small puncture already healing.
Draco waits until Harry’s eyes meet his own. “You’ve thought about my proposal?"
I cough. Scratching 'no blood' off my mental wish list. "We need to keep this meeting professional," I remind them, trying to not to grind my teeth in frustration.
Harry reclaims his finger and has the good sense to look half-ashamed for forgetting himself, yet again. Malfoy licks his lips smugly.
"What's the matter, Weasley, been a while since you had a little suck?"
The way he both hisses over the S, and bites the K off of the last word makes my stomach churn and my skin crawl, but I can't exactly confirm or deny without looking the fool, so I compromise with my own practised sneer. Draco raises his eyebrows and an image leaps into my mind of Sherry's beautiful mouth and the inappropriate things I wanted to do with it last night. That vision is quickly replaced by one of my wife's face, wearing a secret smile that only I know the meaning of, from the last time I asked her-begged her to… But that was longer ago than I care to remember. When had I forgotten how much I used to crave her? Was it too late to feel that again?
Harry’s voice pulls me away from my melancholy thoughts.
"Percy's right.”
Am I? Merlin be praised.
“Let's sit down and get business out of the way first," He shoots me an unspoken apology while somehow ignoring Draco's grunt of disapproval and less than graceful flop into his chair.
We sit in plain view of each other, making an invisible triangle across the round table. The tension fades when Draco releases a weary sigh.
"My apologies, Weasley. Potter seems to bring out my domin-vampiric nature."
I try to keep the surprise hidden while accepting his apology graciously with a nod.
Harry shuffles his chair closer to the table, and stares with concern at Malfoy. "You're different tonight."
Draco's shoulders fall slightly. "It’s been a while since I fed. And I'm tired, to be perfectly honest. Dual lives and paternal revenge is exhausting."
"He's your father. Why turn him in now?" I ask, keeping a neutral tone and an eye out for any sudden mood changes.
His hands press against the table top, while his face remains blank. There’s no mistaking the resentment in his glare, however. I’ve upset him, seconds after his apology. The thought bothers me less than the reproachful look I feel from Harry.
"Why? Well, Weasley, because he took away my inheritance, my plans for the future, my mother, and, oh yes, my right to grow old and die. Reason enough?"
He snarls at me, fangs slightly visible, and I reluctantly realize that my interrogation methods might not yield the results we require. I sit back and nod to Harry. He picks up on my intentions without missing a step, offering a hand and an innocent smile to Malfoy.
"Let's talk on the sofa over there, just the two of us," Harry says, leading a suddenly interested and much more awake Draco to a black, leather reading sofa in a shadowed area behind the table.
Not what I would have suggested, but I bite my tongue and grab a yellowed magazine from one of the nearby racks, trying not to watch them as I take a look at my selection:
Niffler Husbandry.
Brilliant.
“As much as I like our guessing games, Perce won’t be the only one asking once we bring your father in. Do you mind if we talk about this now?”
Draco turns serious eyes on Harry. “My response affects how you answer my proposal, doesn’t it?”
“We can both keep some of our secrets, but, yes, honesty is high on my short list of demands, but you knew that already.”
“I did. Very well, no games tonight. However, I want to hold you while I endure interrogation.”
Harry’s warm laugh fills the room. “Done.”
I glance up to see Malfoy stretching out along the seat, as Harry fills the remaining space, and settles back into Malfoy’s waiting arms. I turn a page and stare at a mother Niffler giving birth to a shocking number of wet silver-gray balls.
“Much better,” Malfoy purrs, inhaling deeply as he pulls Harry into a tighter embrace that he doesn’t seem to mind in the least. “Begin.”
Harry takes a few deep breaths before starting. "Did Lucius choose to become a vampire?" He uses his professional voice, but my peripheral vision catches his fingers tracing along the ribbing of Malfoy's cuffs.
"Yes. Just after Christmas, he started obsessing about how the Dark Lord hadn't used the vampires under his command to their full potential, and how he believed the tables would have turned if they hadn't been used as mere foot soldiers.”
Draco adjusts his position, pulling Harry even closer, his shadowed expression contrasting with Harry’s contented grin.
“In the New Year he began weighing the pros and cons of transformation Sometime during his research he fell in love with the endless possibilities that being eternally ‘undead’ promised."
I flip another page blindly as Harry nods and continues his questioning.
"How did you become…” He pauses, as if knowing he might be overstepping legal boundaries. However, since it’s never stopped him before… “It doesn’t have anything to do with the case, but is it all right to ask? I’ve been wondering for a while now."
"It was the only way to save my mother-my life for hers," Draco answers, the leather cushions creaking as he leans forward, resting his chin on the top of Harry’s head. It was obvious he was trying to leave off there, but Harry, tactlessly brilliant to the end, presses on.
"What? He made you choose?"
Draco sighs and rescues Harry from himself. "You know I prefer… Well, let's just say I wasn't continuing the Malfoy line fast enough for his liking. He considered it a fair trade to simply extend our heritage when it became obvious I wasn’t going to produce an heir."
Harry twists around and stares in shock at Malfoy. "So, it was have a child, or become a vampire just to make sure the Malfoy name stayed in the history books?"
"Partially. In his arrogance, he assumed that I would want to rule by his side for the next thousand years or so. And like the Dark Lord, he knew immortality equals…” Grey eyes are suddenly fixed on mine over the mess of Harry’s hair. “You know the answer, don’t you, Weasley?”
“Power,” I say instantly, giving up the farce of pretending not to listen.
“Exactly. He found it distasteful that I didn't share his vision, so he decided to give me some-incentive to assist in my decision making process."
The last word pulls the sentence into silence. A few seconds pass before Harry settles back and puts the pieces together-cursing under his breath.
"How could anyone do that to their wife and son?"
“Oh, he outdid himself,” Malfoy whispers. "My father ordered Greyback to 'entertain' her until I came to my senses."
"God! You had no choice, then. How is she?"
"Dead."
"What?" Harry shoots up from the sofa, startling me and I nearly rip the thin page in my hand. "We would have-there've been sightings at the Manor, and the Book of Deaths would have notified the Ministry if…"
Malfoy guides him back down to the seat with surprisingly gentle hands at Harry's elbow and lower back. It hurts to see the sympathetic pain in Harry's eyes. I wish, not for the first time, that I was somewhere else at the moment.
"All staged," Draco says without emotion. Harry swears under his breath again. "And yes, amazing what a small amount of suggestion and a large amount of gold will purchase." His voice is so quiet that Harry nearly buries the words with the brush of fabric on fabric as he shifts his position.
"She wasn't to be harmed, but Greyback became-impatient. After my father had slashed him into a thousand strips, he was left to deal with my mother's body.” Malfoy stayed silent for a moment, and I could feel the sudden chill sweep through the room.
My brother wore the permanent marks of being attacked by Greyback in human form. I didn’t want to even imagine what he was capable of during the full moon. My heart gave me a sudden kick for all the years I wasted looking down my nose at Lupin, when I should have seen from the start what an honourable man he had been. Drawing me away from my memories, Malfoy continued:
“He couldn't bear to inter her, so she became the first Inferi."
I close the magazine and notice that Harry's skin has taken on a greyish sheen in the dim light. His head falls forward. Draco gives him a moment, then runs a hand gently over his shoulder.
"I was still going through the change, so I don't remember much, but I'll never forget how he looked when he told me. He hadn’t even bothered to clean himself up. He just stood there covered in Greyback's blood. He's lucky I didn't have the strength to attack him."
I grab another magazine, flip it open randomly, and keep my eyes fixed on the page, watching the meaningless text blur into a mess of grey nonsense. The silence drags on, and still I can't stand to look. I feel like an intruder listening in like this, sharing this moment with them, and yet my brain tries to remind me that the tale is almost too far-fetched to be true. In my opinion, we still really have no solid reason to trust Draco, regardless of the 'information' he's feeding us, and how sad of a story he’s telling. But if Greyback truly is dead, then I’m grateful he won’t be claiming anymore victims.
Out of the corner of my vision I see Harry’s fingers entwine with Malfoy’s and I know I’m the only sceptic in the room. "I'm so sorry about your mother, Draco," Harry whispers, his sadness a solid weight hanging between them.
"Thank you."
“No reward justifies what he did. How does being Minister for a term or two…”
"He's thinking of the gradual incline of power at his fingertips, my love. The best and worst part is that he is willing to be patient. Can you imagine what he would be able to accomplish as Minister in ten years, fifty, a hundred?"
Harry’s head shoots up and we’re suddenly sharing the same chilling thought. Dear Merlin.
"But that would mean…"
"Oh yes, he slowly plans to advertise his condition once he's either intimidated or purchased those who hold the scales, and seduces them into believing that supporting a permanent Minister has its advantages.” He pauses, the unsettling image making the silence excruciating.
When I chance a look at them, Harry’s feet are already planted back on the floor, his eyes hard, yet unfocused in private concentration. Before he can rise, Draco places a hand lightly on his shoulder.
“He needs to be stopped now, Harry, before he gets even one foot in the door."
Harry turns to him. "Are you sure you want us to do this publicly? His name, the Malfoy name will be everywhere. Muggle law will hold him responsible for the all the Muggle deaths, the Prophet will exaggerate everything, and who knows what new laws the Wizengamot will come up with to protect the Ministry against future vampire plots. This could ruin you just as much as him." Harry stares blankly forward, lost in his dark thoughts until Malfoy makes that gesture again, the tired, defeated shrug that betrays the confident Vampire image we’ve been bombarded with over the past few days.
"I know. I thought briefly about killing him myself, but it seemed pointless, considering he's already died once for his vision. To dishonour him publicly would injure him far more than a quick curse through the heart, or a forced stroll in the sunlight. Besides, I doubt I could do it, even after everything he’s done.” His sudden cold laugher fills the room as Harry and I both startle at the noise. “Ironic, isn’t it-that I have everything needed to be an efficient killer now, but no heart for it." His laughter dies away, and Harry turns serious eyes on me.
"Percy?"
"Yes?" I stand so quickly my chair clatters to the floor behind me. I fight the blush as Malfoy chuckles under his breath.
"What other tricks does he do?"
Harry fails to hide his half-grin. "Hush," he says to Malfoy before turning back to me. "I just had a thought. What would the Kiss do to a vampire?"
I clear my throat and gather my composure. "To my knowledge it's never been tried."
There's movement from the couch. I look up in time to see Draco sitting up and stretching his fingers out to me, palm up. I try not to move or show weakness, but I’m positive my confusion is written on my face. I exhale quietly as another book slides off the shelf behind me, flies over my head and lands without a sound in Malfoy's waiting palm.
Wandless magic. Interesting.
"There was a trial once," Draco mutters, as the pages begin flipping themselves. "Yes, here, in Thirteen-sixty-eight, Roman Dilante. Found guilty of the charges of destruction of his dear, departed wife's final resting place, attacking Muggle folk in his animagus form-a wolf, and..." he looks up at me. "consuming the blood of his livestock in a manner unbefitting a wizard."
"What was his punishment?" I ask.
His finger trails down the page, but Harry's already spotted it.
"Sentenced to have his own wand thrust through his heart, his body burned on the East Hill at sunrise, and his ashes divided amongst the Muggles he offended. Wow.”
"Indeed. It was the only reference I could find in regards to justice being carried out against someone who may have been a vampire. It would seem that in the past, most vampires were killed without their crimes being reported. Either that, or we’re masters of evasion and working within the system-which after observing my father for years-is where I’m willing to place my Galleons.”
“And you think your father has some sort of vampire advantage?”
“Without a doubt. He had Fudge and most of the Ministry under his thumb once, and that was while he was still human. Can you imagine how quickly he’ll gain support once he knows how to enthrall an entire assembly?”
Harry stares at him with disbelief, and a sickening thought leaps into my mind. I speak before Harry has a chance to piece it together.
“The pheromones.”
Draco nods. “Most of us can influence anyone within ten feet or so, but he’s been able to extend his reach using the Inferi. Since each one carries a trace of his magical signature, every human within five feet of one of his corpses will be affected if he sets them into action.”
I swear under my breath.
The high-pitched alarm from earlier makes itself known again, but this time the tone is constant. Annoying. Malfoy, fangs suddenly exposed, abruptly stands and hisses toward the hidden Floo entrance.
“Hide! NOW!”
A low growling rumble of brick from behind me brings any intended protest to a shocking halt. I spin away from the table and dive for one of the magazine racks. I scramble behind a nearby half-shelf, hoping my heart will stop banging so loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see-to my relief-Harry, wand-drawn, leaping over the back of the sofa and out of sight.
Draco banishes the books we had been reading back to their proper places and conceals his fangs once again. The wall gives one more scraping groan before rearranging itself into the same ancient fireplace as before.
I draw my wand and focus on controlling my breathing as the spinning flames give the walls an eerie green glow for a moment, and then fade to flickering shadows once again.
Solid footsteps clack rhythmically against the old oak floor.
I silently curse my awkward vantage point, but take small comfort in the fact that Harry might be able to see more from his position, and at least will have some cover if he attempts a few stunning spells. Still, I wish we could coordinate our efforts.
"Father," Draco says casually. "Welcome."
I hold my breath, say a prayer to the gods of good fortune, and wait for our opportunity to strike.
~*~