[Fic] Lorelei in the Menagerie: Chapter IV
For hd_fan_fair.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (5/5)
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 IV: Melancholic Tea Party
The rain returned with the breaking of day, its murmur creeping through the window and into the guestroom. Sitting on the bed, Harry lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and looked out the window. Leaden clouds hovered low over the Witching Woods, signalling the approach of a storm. However early the hour was, he could not sit still anymore. After putting the book aside, he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
Several minutes later, Harry stood in front of Draco's room and knocked on the door. When he heard an answer, he went inside, yet as soon as he saw the figure standing beside the cupboard, he stopped dead in his tracks. With his back to the door, Draco was wearing a pair of black trousers and nothing else. Harry could not look away from the curves that were shaped like a pair of folded wings on Draco's back.
"Good morning." Draco took a shirt from the cupboard and put it on. "I've slept too much."
The moment was lost, and Harry, woken from his reverie, recovered his voice and fragments of his composure. "You should've slept longer. How are you feeling?"
Draco turned around to look at Harry, his lips twisting into a crooked smile. "You've been asking that a lot for the past two days. Do I look so frail to you?" His expression grew serious. "There are several things I have to tell you about the boy."
Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand, Harry sat at the edge of the table. "All right. You said last night that he made you look into his mind. Did he make you use Legilimency on him?"
"I don't know how to describe it in detail, but that's the basic idea." After buttoning up his shirt, Draco sat down on the bed and crossed his legs. "To him, it's like praying very hard for his wish to come true. In most cases, he got his wish. He wanted me to hear his voice, so I heard him. He wanted Damian Renfield to be his friend, so Damian became his friend."
The name pricked Harry's conscience; he had been too focused on Draco's plight that he had forgotten about the Muggle boy who was lost in the woods. "What happened to him? Is he still alive?"
There was a moment of hesitation before Draco shook his head. "The boy broke Damian's mind, though not intentionally. He was so eager to learn everything that he charged into Damian's mind like a wild bull. He learnt to be more subtle later on, but the damage was done. The shock of having his mind invaded, the Imperius Curse that was placed on him, the physical toll of living outdoors for months-a Muggle child like Damian couldn't survive for long."
Distressed over the news, Harry bit the inside of his cheek. In spite of the atrocity he had seen during the war and in his line of work, he could never get used to the notion of a child becoming a victim. "Is there anything else?"
"Remember the man who ate his own arms? When the boy looked into that man's mind, he saw something. Since everything he knew about the world came from a Muggle child, he interpreted what he saw literally: the man was going to eat him. In a way, he was right. My guess is that the man was going to molest him or sell him to a child prostitution ring."
Harry could not conceal his disgust, yet Draco continued in the dispassionate voice of a narrator telling someone else's story.
"Rather than being eaten, he made the man eat himself. After that point, he believes most humans are enemies who want to eat him. At the same time, they have something he wants: memories, experience, knowledge. He craves for those things he doesn't have, and in the boy's own word, he eats them."
"I didn't know a wizard could do that using Legilimency. Voldemort made me see visions that weren't real, but that's all he did."
Draco leant back on his hands and gazed at Harry. "I have a theory. Have you seen a wizard extract a copy of a memory from his own mind and pour it into the pensieve? The boy probably operates under a similar principle. He can take other people's thoughts and memories and keep them within himself. Unlike a trained witch or wizard, however, he doesn't just make a copy. He pulls out everything from the root.
"Our memory doesn't just contain episodes in our lives. Our knowledge, the dreams we had, the skills we've acquired, our likes and dislikes, the thought that occurred to us a second ago-these are also stored in our memory. If we were to take away every single memory a person possesses, it's the same as turning his mind into a blank slate-the mind of a newborn child. That's what the boy did.
"He's like a vampire, but he doesn't drink blood; he feeds on people's thoughts and memories instead. Perhaps he's lonely and wants to fill himself with things. Perhaps he's like a child who tastes sweets for the first time and wants more.
"Anyway, those other missing persons you mentioned were probably his victims. He lured them into the forest and ate their minds, so to speak. Mind you, this is just my interpretation, so I could be wrong. Legilimency can get you inside someone's head, but you can never fully understand a person's mind."
Crossing his arms, Harry digested everything he had heard so far. "I have two questions. One, what happened to his victims after he was through with them? Two, if the boy was so good with magic, why didn't Voldemort use him during the war?"
Heaving a sigh, Draco conjured a glass of water and gulped down half of it. "I didn't look that far into his mind, but he probably left them in the forest. They are most likely dead by now.
"As for your second question, I can't answer that. The boy doesn't seem to have any memory of his creator. Since the Dark Lord didn't leave any records that we know of, we'll never know why the boy was created. Humans are like that too, aren't they? They don't know why they were born, so they keep searching for a purpose in their lives."
As Harry contemplated the pensive look on Draco's face, various scenes from last night played out once more in his head: words, actions, expressions. Everything he had observed of the boy led to a singular and most unsettling conclusion.
"The boy has found a purpose in life, hasn't he? To make you happy. He said your son is inside him." Harry paused, unable to rid his mind of the gruesome image. "Was that his way of trying to make you happy?"
Draco's lips curled into a rueful smile, his composure crumbling as though washed away by the rain. "He thought doing that would bring my son back to life. He really thinks like a child." There was a pause as he stared into the glass of water. "He never met his real master. When he heard me sing, he assumed I'm his master. When I left the manor a year ago, he got out of the trunk to find me. Well, you know the rest of the story."
The implication of those words was not lost on Harry, who sucked in a deep breath. Draco could not have known about the boy; what happened were merely countless coincidences piling on top of one another. "It's not your fault, Draco."
"I know. I'm not so conceited as to blame myself for everything," Draco murmured as though talking to himself, and his gaze fell on a spot beyond Harry's shoulder. "Since a homunculus is supposed to be loyal to his master, I did a little experiment. I told him to go to sleep, and he fell asleep. If I don't tell him to wake up, will he sleep on forever?"
"If your theory turns out to be correct, then what? Are you going to let him sleep on like this for the rest of his life?" Silence. "Are you going to keep him here by your side?" Silence. "Are you under the Imperius Curse?" More silence. "Are you mad?"
"Perhaps." Draco got up and went to the door. "Come on. Let's go see the little Sleeping Prince."
The boy remained where Harry left him last night: a huddling, motionless figure on the floor. To Harry's alarm, Draco picked up the child and carried him to the stairs. "There's no need to keep him in here anymore. He won't run away." Draco explained.
"That's not the only thing I'm worried about. He's dangerous, and he has no scruples about using the Imperius Curse on you or on anyone else. You'll only get hurt if you get too close to him."
After shifting the child in his arms to a more secure position, Draco climbed the narrow flight of stairs. "Don't worry. Even though I can't shake off the Imperius Curse while I'm sleeping, I can do that when I'm awake. Besides, there's no need for him to use the curse on me anymore."
"Because he has no reason to deceive you anymore." Harry finished the sentence for Draco and followed him upstairs to the drawing room. "Even so, I can't let you keep him here. We agreed that once you're done talking to him, I'll take him away."
Leaving the drawing room behind him, Draco strolled down the dreary hallway; the boy barely stirred in his arms. "Yes, I remember. Are you going to take him to the Ministry? You do know what they'll do once they know about the boy, don't you?"
The scene in the cellar played out once more in Harry's mind. Feeling a pressure in his chest, he caught up with Draco and looked at the boy, who slept on with a smile on his face, oblivious to the predetermined fate that was thrust upon him by his creator. Was the boy a hapless victim or an irredeemable monster? Harry could not tell anymore.
"Is that what your experiment is about? To give him another kind of ending?"
"No," came the quiet reply. "Making him sleep till the end of his life is the same as keeping him in a prison. The same goes for confining him in the manor. From the moment he was born, he's not allowed to have a happy ending." Draco contemplated the boy as though gazing upon a relic from another lifetime. "Still, if he likes it here, why not grant him his wish before the end?"
In spite of his growing agitation, Harry could not bring himself to counter Draco's words, for he knew what the boy's wishes were: wishes so heartbreakingly pure that the boy could not be anything but human. "He's not your son, Draco."
Draco halted in front of the grand staircase and looked up at his ancestor's portrait. "I know," he whispered. "I don't pity him, and I don't think of him as a substitute for my son. It's just that my son is in his stomach, that's all."
Harry winced; a mixture of resignation and apprehension crept into his heart like poison. "Let me talk to Kingsley first. He's not someone who would make rash decisions, so I'm sure we can come up with some kind of an arrangement. Besides, we need to find those missing people and return them to their families, and to do that we need the Ministry's help."
A shadow passed across Draco's face. "Yes, that's good enough. Thank you." There was a pause. "Sorry for dragging you into this mess. I've been asking too much from you. When this is over, let me give you something in return. What would you like?"
"You don't have to do that. I wasn't looking for something in return when I decided to help you." Words left Harry's mouth before it occurred to him that he had lied. Smothering the voice in his head, he put on a smile. "I volunteered, remember?"
Draco shot Harry a glance. "It'll make me feel better. Think about it anyway, all right?" In the face of Draco's obstinacy, there was very little Harry could do but nod.
After taking another look at the boy, Harry pocketed his wand and held out his arms. "I'll carry him. You look like you'll fall over at any moment. It wouldn't look good for the head of the Malfoy family to fall down the stairs and break his nose."
Although Draco did not smile, his expression softened. "I could lie about how I duelled with the famous Harry Potter and got hurt. A scar one receives in a battle is a badge of honour or some silly nonsense. It's okay. He's not that heavy."
While Harry was not convinced, he held his tongue and accompanied Draco upstairs. The boy was carried into the bedroom opposite Draco's. White sheets shrouded most of the furniture in the room; dust particles danced in the morning light when the curtains were pulled apart. Since Draco had his arms full, Harry cast a few cleaning charms around the room and conjured a new bedspread for the bed.
After putting the boy to bed, Draco held out his hand, hesitated, and patted the boy's head once. The boy smiled in happiness and drifted into a deeper slumber. Like an outsider intruding upon a private conversation between two fragile souls, Harry held his breath and watched on in silence, for fear of destroying the tranquil moment that was as transient as a sand castle.
* * * * * * *
Raindrops drummed on the umbrella as Draco stood behind the front gates and watched Harry Disapparate. The pitter-patter of rain resembled the buzz of thousands of insects, a sound so grating it threatened to drown out every last coherent thought in his head. After letting out a sigh, he retreated into the sanctuary that was his family home.
When the doors slid shut behind him, Draco found himself alone in the manor, with that abomination of a child locked away in the bedroom upstairs, out of sight but not out of mind. Sparing the staircase a glance, he strolled down the hallway beneath the watchful gazes of his predecessors' portraits, their silence as telling as the secrets they kept.
"I know everything," Draco said to no one in particular as he entered the drawing room. "There is no need for all of you to keep up your conspiracy anymore." He stopped in front of his father's portrait and gazed at it. "Isn't that right, Father?"
The portrait of Lucius Malfoy contemplated Draco with cool grey eyes; at length, he opened his mouth. "You surprise me, Draco."
"I know you, Father, better than I did when I was a child." Draco looked away for a moment before fixing his gaze upon his father's painting. "You asked the other portraits not to tell me anything. You wanted me to believe the boy was my son. What do you want me to do with him? Do you want me to use him as a pawn for the sake of restoring our family honour?"
"It crossed my mind at first, yes," Lucius Malfoy said in a soft purr that stirred up a nostalgic feeling in Draco. "When I first saw him, I realised he could be the greatest weapon our family would ever possess. Besides, you have already tamed him. Think of all the possibilities and all the doors he could open for you."
There was a vicious glint in Draco's eyes, though he refrained from snapping at his father's portrait. "But you've changed your mind."
Lucius bowed his head, his true feelings hidden beneath a facade of indifference. "Even though you were under his influence, you looked happy. If, even for a while, you can find solace in a dream, I would grant you this much." He peered into Draco's eyes. "Think of it as a father's selfishness."
An indescribable emotion welled up inside Draco and knocked the breath out of him. Clutching his fist, he took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. "Yes, you are selfish. You never ask me what I want." His voice softened to a whisper. "I don't want a substitute for a son I've never met."
"I see." Lucius closed his eyes for some time as though meditating on a problem that could not be solved. "And yet, you desire to keep him in the manor, a prisoner in the house where he was created." He opened his eyes. "Are you not trying to weave your own make-believe?"
"I have no illusion whatsoever," was Draco's reply to his father's portrait. "Beyond that, I don't need to justify myself to you or to my father in real life."
Lucius seemed satisfied with the answer, his lips curling into the same wry smile that appeared at times on Draco's face. "Very well. You are the current head of the family, and you are my son. I, along with our predecessors, shall stand by your decision."
* * * * * * *
The quill screeched to a decisive halt at the end of the sentence, and after the final dot cemented the conclusion, Harry dropped the quill and sat back. Putting the report aside to dry, he got up and checked the time. The hour was later than he had expected; nevertheless, the Minister for Magic should still be in his office. After saying good night to his fellow Aurors, Harry gathered his things and went up to the Minister's office.
Furnished in dark wood and deep coloured fabrics, the office was elegant and modest in design. At the far end of the room stood a sturdy mahogany desk half-buried in a mountain of scrolls; behind the desk hung a Foe-Glass adorned with a tarnished wooden frame. In the Foe-Glass, shadowy figures glided about in the mist, indifferent to the world beyond the glass.
As Harry entered the office, Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from the scroll he was reading and smiled. "Hello, Harry. It's not often that you come here to visit me. What can I do for you?"
Returning the smile, Harry sat down on the chair offered to him. "Sorry for bothering you when you are busy, Kingsley. There's something I want to talk to you about."
Kingsley must have detected something in Harry's voice, for a frown had appeared between his brows. "It's off the record, isn't it?"
Harry nodded once and divulged everything to Kingsley: rumours surrounding the Witching Woods, mysterious disappearances, a case of self-cannibalism, the discoveries made at Malfoy Manor, the homunculus created by Voldemort, and Draco's role in the messy business. He also showed Kingsley the reports that Marcus Shelley-Witch Watcher for the Ministry of Magic-had submitted to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
When Harry finished his narrative, Kingsley let out a long breath. "No one followed up on the reports, huh? Perhaps there have been too many false alarms in the area. Anyway, we'd have to send people into the forest to recover the bodies."
Harry felt a sting in his chest; other than returning the victims to their families, there was nothing more he could do for them. "I heard that it's easy to become lost in the forest, and it seems the Malfoys have placed enchantments in there to keep people away."
"I'm not surprised," Kingsley muttered, though he did not seem bothered by the information. "Does the boy look a lot like Voldemort?"
"Although the age is different, he looks exactly the same as the eleven-year-old Tom Riddle in Dumbledore's memory. The resemblance doesn't stop there. Mind manipulation, wandless magic and a possible Parselmouth-it's too much of a coincidence."
For a moment, Kingsley was lost in thought. When he surfaced from his musing, there was a sober look on his face. "I know you and Draco Malfoy have a history, and you feel guilty over what happened to Astoria and her baby. Still," he rubbed his bald head, "do you trust him?"
"Yes, I do," Harry replied as he looked into Kingsley's eyes. "I don't think he's lying about the boy. He has nothing to gain by lying. Besides, someone like him wouldn't come up with such a ridiculous lie."
"All right. I'll take your word for it." Kingsley cleared away the rolls of parchment on his desk and got up. "Let's go and meet the mystery boy."
By the time Harry and Kingsley arrived outside the manor, the sky had darkened to a hazy blend of cerulean and grey. After giving Kingsley a moment to survey the surroundings-the dark forest behind them and the manor up ahead-Harry walked with him to the gates. Light shone out from several windows of the manor-house: the only sign of habitation in this secluded land. Before Harry announced their arrival, Draco came out to open the gates for them.
When Draco and Kingsley faced each other, there was no overt display of hostility between them. Kingsley smiled and held out his hand; a beat later, Draco shook hands with him.
"Good evening, Minister," Draco said, his wariness towards the ex-Auror disguised beneath a facade of placidity. "Thank you for coming in person. I assume you have heard the story from Harry?"
Kingsley cast Harry a sidelong glance before turning to Draco once more. "I've heard a story, yes, and I trust that Harry has told me all he knows. But I'm also interested in your story, Mr Malfoy."
"Whatever Harry might have told you, I have nothing more to add." With an elegant gesture befitting of his status as the lord of the manor, Draco motioned for Harry and Kingsley to follow him. "Shall we?"
Darkness had taken reign over the stately prison where the boy was kept, but a sliver of moonlight had crept through the window and left its trail across the floor. Draco conjured two orbs of candlelight on either side of the bed and entered the room; Harry and Kingsley followed close behind him. When Kingsley saw the boy, he could not contain his surprise; nevertheless, he kept his wand in hand and approached the bed as though the boy were a sleeping dragon.
Acting as the Minister's bodyguard, Harry stood beside Kingsley and gazed at Draco, who was observing Kingsley. In the midst of writhing shadows and flickering candlelight, Draco's face had taken on a mask-like quality that disturbed Harry. He had a suspicion that if Kingsley were to raise his wand at the boy, Draco would not hesitate to draw his own wand.
The discussion commenced in the drawing room. At the round walnut table with white marble inlay, Draco offered a seat to Kingsley and sat down opposite him; Harry took the remaining chair between the two men and completed the semicircle. After declining the offer of tea, the Minister dove headlong into the discussion.
"Let me sum up your proposal," Kingsley said while folding his hands together. "You believe you can keep the boy in line, and you intend to let him stay in Malfoy Manor. By default, you will become his guardian." He raised his eyes at Draco. "You do realise that you will be subject to restrictions?"
"I am well aware of that, Minister."
"All right." Kingsley nodded. "Mr Malfoy, I need to ask you one thing. Why are you willing to go through all the trouble for a boy who is unrelated to you and had in fact caused you much trouble?"
"I am waiting for him to die so that I can bury him myself." Draco's voice was mellow, yet his gaze was cold and unyielding. "I won't allow anyone else touch him. If you have decided to execute him, I want to be the one to kill him."
Raising his eyebrows, Kingsley studied Draco for some time as though searching for the soul beneath the expressionless mask. "Because your son is inside him? If we were able to retrieve your son from his body, do you still wish to become the boy's guardian?"
The corner of Draco's lips twisted in wry humour. "Even the dead would be annoyed if you move their bodies from resting place to resting place. My son's body has suffered through enough sacrilege as it is." There was a pause. "The boy is my son's coffin, and he will remain so for the rest of his life. When he dies, I will bury them both."
"I can't say I empathise with your standpoint, and truth be told, I do not trust you." Kingsley bored his eyes into Draco. "However, I will use whatever method necessary to ensure the safety of the wizarding community, and to ensure that innocent Muggles do not fall victims to the dark forces from our world."
"How commendable of you," Draco muttered. "What you meant to say was since I offer to take the load off your shoulder, you will take advantage of it and use me to keep him in line. At the same time, he will become my leash, which means you don't have to worry about the Malfoys causing trouble anymore. That's fine. You are using me as much as I'm using you."
Kingsley smiled. "I'm glad we have reached an understanding. Of course, the Ministry will be responsible for locating the victims and devising a cover story for their families. If there are any survivors, they will be taken to St Mungo's and receive treatment accordingly. As for the boy himself, in order for you to gain custody over him, there are three conditions you must follow.
"One, you must never, under any circumstances, allow him to leave Malfoy Manor. Two, you must, at all cost, prevent him from harming another human being. Three, you must not use him as a weapon against another human being. You will be asked to make an Unbreakable Vow under the aforementioned terms. Will you accept?"
With a solemnity that Harry had rarely seen in him, Draco nodded. "I will."
Those two words pounded on Harry's mind like a knell, for the premonition he had dreaded for the past two days had become reality right before his eyes. With his reply Draco had entwined his fate with the boy's: a bond that will not shatter till death do them part. The very notion of what will befall Draco in the end stole away Harry's breath and what little composure he tried to maintain.
"Draco," Harry spoke up, prompting Draco to look at him, "will this make you happy?"
Draco blinked, and for one heart-rending moment, wistfulness clouded his grey eyes. His lips parted for several beats before his voice came out in a low murmur. "No, it won't. But it will make me feel satisfied."
With a sense of inevitability Harry gazed at Draco and came to his conclusion. If Draco was determined to sink into the swamp, there was only one thing he needed to do. "Kingsley, please let me be the one to make the Unbreakable Vow with Draco."
Although Harry could feel the sting of Draco's gaze, he continued to beseech Kingsley's consent. "I know what the boy is capable of, and I know how to subdue him. If anything happens, I will take full responsibility and stop him at all cost."
"You are more foolish than I thought, Harry," Draco chided in dismay.
"I know." Harry smiled a sheepish smile and turned to Kingsley, who squinted at him as though he had at last discovered the final piece of the puzzle. "Would that be all right?"
"You are serious, huh?" Kingsley rubbed his temple and sighed. "I was going to wait a while, but it seems you two have already decided. You want to do this now?"
Harry nodded; a beat later, Draco did the same. "Okay. I don't see why we should delay this any further." Kingsley took out his wand and got up. "You'd have to kneel and face each other."
Beneath the glittering chandelier, Harry and Draco knelt on the carpet. With ceremony they reached out for each other and clasped their right hands together. Acting as their Bonder and their witness, Kingsley stood over them and touched his wand to their joined hands. Draco's hand was colder than Harry had expected, but his grip was firm and his expression calm.
As Harry watched himself drown in the grey depths of Draco's eyes, his heart was filled with strange satisfaction. The Unbreakable Vow was more binding than a marriage vow, shackles that could not be violated or severed; and the boy would become the chain that bound him to Draco and vice versa.
After taking a moment to think about what he should say, Harry took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
* * * * * * *
With a snap Draco pulled the curtains apart. Grey morning light poured into the bedroom and illuminated the figure on the bed. With his raven hair, alabaster skin and delicate features, the boy resembled the protagonist in a fairy tale: a waif who was lost in a giant's house or a little prince who was caught in a curse. Fast asleep, he seemed unaware of Draco's presence.
His face as expressionless as a volto mask, Draco sat down on the bed, stared at the boy for some time, and shook the boy's shoulder. "It's time to wake up."
The boy's eyelids quivered for several beats and slid open, revealing a pair of dark eyes as unfathomable as the bottom of the sea. As soon as the boy met Draco's gaze, a radiant smile spread across his face. "Good morning, Draco."
"Good morning," Draco said in a quiet voice as the boy sat up and stretched his back. "From now on, you'll be living in the manor with me. You don't need to leave the manor anymore. I'll be staying here with you. I might go out sometimes, but I won't be away for too long."
With wide eyes the boy stared at Draco for several beats. His face was about to break into a smile when anxiety made a furrow between his brows. "But I need to feed my friend. He hasn't eaten anything for a long time. If I don't feed him everyday, he can't move."
A vision flashed across Draco's mind. In the shabby hut built by a child who only had a vague notion of what a house looked like, two pitiful creatures huddled together and watched winter rain fall from the sky. In the end, one boy survived and the other boy fell into an eternal sleep.
Melancholy lingered in Draco's heart like a ghost, but he did not let his emotion spill onto his face. "He's going home to his parents, and they will take care of him. You won't be able to see him again, but he'll be fine. Don't worry about him."
The boy searched for the truth in Draco's eyes, and Draco let him. In the next moment, the boy slumped his shoulders in despondence. "I'll miss him."
Draco did not comfort the boy; instead, he dropped a pile of neatly folded clothes in the boy's lap. "These clothes belonged to me when I was a child. They should fit you." He paused as the boy shook off his sadness and examined the clothes in curiosity. "Can you get dressed by yourself?"
The boy nodded and got out of bed. While the boy got dressed, Draco took out his wand and made the bed: the wrinkles on the bedspread smoothed themselves out; the pillow puffed up and reverted to its original shape; the blanket hovered in the air for several seconds and spread itself out across the bed. When the boy was done, Draco knelt down and took a critical look at him.
"There's one more thing," Draco said as he fixed the hem of the jumper. "Harry is my friend. He's not going to eat you, and he promised me that he won't try to take me away from you again. Be nice to him, all right? Don't look into his mind. He doesn't like that."
A dark look passed across the boy's face; in the next beat, his sullenness vanished. "If you say so, Draco." He beamed at Draco as though the previous conversation did not happen. "What are we going to do today?"
Draco stood up and charmed the boy's shirt to fold itself. "What do you want to do?"
In nimble steps the boy glided around Draco like a butterfly in play. "Let's have a tea party in the fairy ring, where it is always time for tea. Sandwiches and scones and tea pastries; clotted cream and rose petal jelly; Assam and Earl Grey and Darjeeling." With a glitter in his eye he looked up at Draco and crooked his head to one side. "Which one will be to your liking?"
Bemused by the improvised nursery rhyme, Draco cast the boy a curious glance. "The manor doesn't have a fairy ring, but we can have a tea party."
The boy blinked as though unable to believe that his whimsical request would be granted. As a childlike smile appeared on his face, he grabbed Draco's hand. "Draco, are you happy?"
Taken aback, Draco squinted at the boy, whose hand emitted no human warmth. If the boy had wanted to, he could have looked into Draco's mind and found the answer, and yet he did not do so.
Clutching the boy's hand, Draco replied, "I'm not unhappy."
Standing outside the half-closed door, Harry overheard everything. As his mood grew pensive, his eyes roamed from the dark wood wainscot panelling to the luxurious carpet extending to the other end of the hallway. Works of art adorned the walls and display tables, yet the hallway could not look more empty and cold.
Leaning his shoulder against the door frame, Harry hugged his arms and let out a long breath. Although Draco claimed that the boy regarded him as his master, Harry suspected he was only telling part of the truth. In the boy's mind, Draco was not someone whose orders he must obey: Draco was someone he loved.
The lost boy would no longer return to the Witching Woods. From the moment Draco caught him in his arms, the tale of the lost boy had reached the end. Neither Harry nor Draco knew how long the boy would last: weeks, months or years. Would he succumb completely to his hunger first, or would his body break down first? Whichever the case might be, the ending had already been decided for him.
The boy would dwell in this gilded cage of a manor with his aloof keeper; his favourite song would be their common language; and his little games would be the precious moments they shared-until the day this sugar-coated dream of his came to its inevitable end.
* * * * * * *
When Harry stepped out of the house with Draco, a world of hazy white awaited him. Heavy mist enveloped the desolate garden like a shroud preserving the dignity of the dead. He could see nothing ahead of him but vaporous white; he could hear nothing other than the sound of shoes crunching on dry leaves and gravel.
As they strolled down the driveway towards the direction of the gates, Harry gazed at Draco's profile. The calmness upon Draco's wan face reminded him of the moment the Unbreakable Vow was made: fiery ribbons coiling around their joined hands like chains.
Harry felt a tingling in his right hand, but he ignored the sensation and turned his mind towards the final riddle he had yet to solve. "There's something I want to ask you."
The footsteps stopped, and the garden was plunged into stifling silence. Lost in thought, Draco stared into the mist. "What is it?"
"You said you could hear a voice in your head. I don't know how the boy did it, but he probably used a combination of Legilimency and the Imperius Curse? You know Occlumency, and you said you can shake off an Imperius Curse while you are awake. Although you didn't know what was going on, you knew someone or something was playing with your mind.
"If you wanted to, you might have been able to shut him out. Was it because you couldn't do it? Or was it because you didn't want to do it?"
Harry waited for Draco to tell his story, but there was no response. "Back then in the book shop, were you really looking for a way to get rid of the thing that was haunting the manor? Or were you looking for a way to capture it so that you can keep it with you in the manor?"
Once the last of Harry's words was swallowed by the mist, silence returned. At length, Draco tilted his head and met Harry's gaze, his lips curling into a bitter smile. In the garden where decay was hidden behind a satin veil, his smile seemed strangely unreal.
"Even though I wanted to, I couldn't shut him out," Draco said in a low voice. "But you weren't entirely wrong. Perhaps a part of me wanted to believe my son was talking to me. I just wanted to take a look at the being that was haunting the manor, so that I could stop dreaming about my son. But the truth turned out to be more complicated than I thought. That's how it is."
Turning away from Harry, Draco strode on ahead and vanished into the embrace of the mist. As a trickle of fear crept into the cracks of Harry's heart, he clenched his right hand and caught up with Draco. "Sorry. I've been asking you too many personal questions."
"It doesn't matter anymore. It's over-for the most part. I'm finally awake." There was a pensive look on Draco's face. "Besides, you have the right to know. You are my partner in crime."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Everything that had happened for the past few days flashed across his mind in a chaotic vision. He had become the keeper of Draco's many secrets; and together with Draco he would safeguard another secret-the boy whose existence must not be made known to the wizarding world. In the truest sense Harry had become Draco's partner in crime.
In the menagerie that was Malfoy Manor, there was only one thing Harry needed to say. "I know."
The gates came into view in their impressive glory. Beyond the wrought-iron bars, a silhouette of yew hedges led the way into the void, the end of which lay the forest that was devoured by the fog. Harry imagined he could see the faint outline of a shadow, neither looming nor languishing, an ancient presence that had kept the secrets of the living and the dead.
Without a sound the gates swung open of their own accord, but Harry did not cross the threshold. "Say, Draco, will I be invited to the tea party?"
"You were eavesdropping again," Draco murmured, though he did not seem annoyed. "I suppose we'll have a late night tea party instead." In the next beat, the facade of nonchalance fell away. "I said I'll give you something when this is over. Have you given it any thought?"
Taken aback, Harry felt a flutter in his stomach, for he had forgotten about Draco's promise. "It's all right. I already have what I wanted."
His eyes narrowed, Draco took a deep breath and rubbed his right hand, as though he could sense the tug of the invisible chain. "I'm not as oblivious as you think I am, Harry. Or are you going to tell me that you helped me out of pity? Guilt? Duty? Compassion?"
Draco's words pierced into Harry like a scalpel and sliced apart the cocoon protecting his heart. The secret he had kept in the message bottle was spilling out before his eye. However easy it would be to deny Draco's claim, to lie would be akin to condemning the precious feelings he had for Draco. Conceding defeat, he gave himself over to the bittersweet drug named yearning.
With his right hand Harry reached out and touched Draco's face, his finger brushing over Draco's eyelid. Yielding to his silent request, Draco relaxed and closed his eyes. His touch light and gentle as though handling fragile glass, Harry ran his thumb over the shadow beneath Draco's eye, hoping beyond forlorn hope that he could somehow erase the stain on the translucent skin.
Exploring further, his fingers trailed down Draco's cheek and lingered over the blemished skin. Harry could not help but marvel at how warm Draco was in spite of the cold exterior he projected. As his eyes fell upon Draco's mouth, his fingers slid downwards and reached the final destination. Draco's lips quivered against his fingers, feathery kisses that took away the last of Harry's trepidation.
Harry moved closer to Draco, who tensed up but remained where he was. Ever so slowly he held Draco's face between his palms and showered him with light kisses: on the brow, on the eyelids, on both cheeks and on the mouth. His chest aching for reasons he could not discern, Harry lingered on Draco's lips for several heartbeats and pulled away.
It was enough, Harry told himself as Draco opened his eyes to look at him. Everything that had happened in this garden on this day would be their little secret; and the mist around them-the sole witness to their secret-would fade away into the light.
"Other than this, I only have one other request," Harry whispered as he fought the urge to brush away the blond hair on Draco's brow. "Let me love you."
Draco stared at Harry as though beholding a mad man, yet there was a self-depreciating smile on his lips. "I'm not a good man, Harry. Don't you think that I might make use of your feelings and take advantage of you?"
An inexplicable feeling washed over Harry and sent a thrill down his spine; nevertheless, out of uncertainty came a moment of clarity. The brat who once tormented Harry over trifling rivalry was no longer here; in his place was a man who was at once delicate and strong, crafty yet gentle in his own sardonic way.
A contradiction coated in cynicism, a bleeding heart encrusted in ice, madness wrapped in a cloak of rationality, and darkness stemmed from anger and sadness-he would accept everything that made up this man named Draco Malfoy.
"If that happens, I'll think of something," Harry said quietly before he smiled at Draco, who was peering at him with a strange look on his face. "See you tonight. I'm looking forward to the mad tea party."
His grey eyes clouded by mist and emotions, Draco nodded. There was nothing more left to say; Harry smiled one more time, passed the gates and left the manor behind him.
The mist had begun to thin; Harry could see the leaden sky above him and the giant dark blot that was the Witching Woods in the distance. After taking a deep breath to quiet down the storm raging inside him, he took out his wand and prepared himself for Apparition.
He heard a voice. Straining his ear, he thought at first that the boy was singing again; in the next beat, he realised someone was calling his name. With a start he turned around; nevertheless, the mist had fallen over Malfoy Manor, and Draco's figure could not be seen anymore.
* * * * * * *
Finis.
A/N: Most of the characters in this story are lost in some way, and not all of them manage to find their way back. Several characters in the story want Draco to be happy (Harry, the boy, Astoria, Lucius' portrait), but he doesn't know how anymore.
As for the boy, he could be what Tom Riddle might have been if he could feel love, but as Harry had figured out in the previous chapter, the boy is the boy. He is not Tom Riddle.
Thank you very much for reading.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (5/5)
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 IV: Melancholic Tea Party
The rain returned with the breaking of day, its murmur creeping through the window and into the guestroom. Sitting on the bed, Harry lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and looked out the window. Leaden clouds hovered low over the Witching Woods, signalling the approach of a storm. However early the hour was, he could not sit still anymore. After putting the book aside, he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
Several minutes later, Harry stood in front of Draco's room and knocked on the door. When he heard an answer, he went inside, yet as soon as he saw the figure standing beside the cupboard, he stopped dead in his tracks. With his back to the door, Draco was wearing a pair of black trousers and nothing else. Harry could not look away from the curves that were shaped like a pair of folded wings on Draco's back.
"Good morning." Draco took a shirt from the cupboard and put it on. "I've slept too much."
The moment was lost, and Harry, woken from his reverie, recovered his voice and fragments of his composure. "You should've slept longer. How are you feeling?"
Draco turned around to look at Harry, his lips twisting into a crooked smile. "You've been asking that a lot for the past two days. Do I look so frail to you?" His expression grew serious. "There are several things I have to tell you about the boy."
Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand, Harry sat at the edge of the table. "All right. You said last night that he made you look into his mind. Did he make you use Legilimency on him?"
"I don't know how to describe it in detail, but that's the basic idea." After buttoning up his shirt, Draco sat down on the bed and crossed his legs. "To him, it's like praying very hard for his wish to come true. In most cases, he got his wish. He wanted me to hear his voice, so I heard him. He wanted Damian Renfield to be his friend, so Damian became his friend."
The name pricked Harry's conscience; he had been too focused on Draco's plight that he had forgotten about the Muggle boy who was lost in the woods. "What happened to him? Is he still alive?"
There was a moment of hesitation before Draco shook his head. "The boy broke Damian's mind, though not intentionally. He was so eager to learn everything that he charged into Damian's mind like a wild bull. He learnt to be more subtle later on, but the damage was done. The shock of having his mind invaded, the Imperius Curse that was placed on him, the physical toll of living outdoors for months-a Muggle child like Damian couldn't survive for long."
Distressed over the news, Harry bit the inside of his cheek. In spite of the atrocity he had seen during the war and in his line of work, he could never get used to the notion of a child becoming a victim. "Is there anything else?"
"Remember the man who ate his own arms? When the boy looked into that man's mind, he saw something. Since everything he knew about the world came from a Muggle child, he interpreted what he saw literally: the man was going to eat him. In a way, he was right. My guess is that the man was going to molest him or sell him to a child prostitution ring."
Harry could not conceal his disgust, yet Draco continued in the dispassionate voice of a narrator telling someone else's story.
"Rather than being eaten, he made the man eat himself. After that point, he believes most humans are enemies who want to eat him. At the same time, they have something he wants: memories, experience, knowledge. He craves for those things he doesn't have, and in the boy's own word, he eats them."
"I didn't know a wizard could do that using Legilimency. Voldemort made me see visions that weren't real, but that's all he did."
Draco leant back on his hands and gazed at Harry. "I have a theory. Have you seen a wizard extract a copy of a memory from his own mind and pour it into the pensieve? The boy probably operates under a similar principle. He can take other people's thoughts and memories and keep them within himself. Unlike a trained witch or wizard, however, he doesn't just make a copy. He pulls out everything from the root.
"Our memory doesn't just contain episodes in our lives. Our knowledge, the dreams we had, the skills we've acquired, our likes and dislikes, the thought that occurred to us a second ago-these are also stored in our memory. If we were to take away every single memory a person possesses, it's the same as turning his mind into a blank slate-the mind of a newborn child. That's what the boy did.
"He's like a vampire, but he doesn't drink blood; he feeds on people's thoughts and memories instead. Perhaps he's lonely and wants to fill himself with things. Perhaps he's like a child who tastes sweets for the first time and wants more.
"Anyway, those other missing persons you mentioned were probably his victims. He lured them into the forest and ate their minds, so to speak. Mind you, this is just my interpretation, so I could be wrong. Legilimency can get you inside someone's head, but you can never fully understand a person's mind."
Crossing his arms, Harry digested everything he had heard so far. "I have two questions. One, what happened to his victims after he was through with them? Two, if the boy was so good with magic, why didn't Voldemort use him during the war?"
Heaving a sigh, Draco conjured a glass of water and gulped down half of it. "I didn't look that far into his mind, but he probably left them in the forest. They are most likely dead by now.
"As for your second question, I can't answer that. The boy doesn't seem to have any memory of his creator. Since the Dark Lord didn't leave any records that we know of, we'll never know why the boy was created. Humans are like that too, aren't they? They don't know why they were born, so they keep searching for a purpose in their lives."
As Harry contemplated the pensive look on Draco's face, various scenes from last night played out once more in his head: words, actions, expressions. Everything he had observed of the boy led to a singular and most unsettling conclusion.
"The boy has found a purpose in life, hasn't he? To make you happy. He said your son is inside him." Harry paused, unable to rid his mind of the gruesome image. "Was that his way of trying to make you happy?"
Draco's lips curled into a rueful smile, his composure crumbling as though washed away by the rain. "He thought doing that would bring my son back to life. He really thinks like a child." There was a pause as he stared into the glass of water. "He never met his real master. When he heard me sing, he assumed I'm his master. When I left the manor a year ago, he got out of the trunk to find me. Well, you know the rest of the story."
The implication of those words was not lost on Harry, who sucked in a deep breath. Draco could not have known about the boy; what happened were merely countless coincidences piling on top of one another. "It's not your fault, Draco."
"I know. I'm not so conceited as to blame myself for everything," Draco murmured as though talking to himself, and his gaze fell on a spot beyond Harry's shoulder. "Since a homunculus is supposed to be loyal to his master, I did a little experiment. I told him to go to sleep, and he fell asleep. If I don't tell him to wake up, will he sleep on forever?"
"If your theory turns out to be correct, then what? Are you going to let him sleep on like this for the rest of his life?" Silence. "Are you going to keep him here by your side?" Silence. "Are you under the Imperius Curse?" More silence. "Are you mad?"
"Perhaps." Draco got up and went to the door. "Come on. Let's go see the little Sleeping Prince."
The boy remained where Harry left him last night: a huddling, motionless figure on the floor. To Harry's alarm, Draco picked up the child and carried him to the stairs. "There's no need to keep him in here anymore. He won't run away." Draco explained.
"That's not the only thing I'm worried about. He's dangerous, and he has no scruples about using the Imperius Curse on you or on anyone else. You'll only get hurt if you get too close to him."
After shifting the child in his arms to a more secure position, Draco climbed the narrow flight of stairs. "Don't worry. Even though I can't shake off the Imperius Curse while I'm sleeping, I can do that when I'm awake. Besides, there's no need for him to use the curse on me anymore."
"Because he has no reason to deceive you anymore." Harry finished the sentence for Draco and followed him upstairs to the drawing room. "Even so, I can't let you keep him here. We agreed that once you're done talking to him, I'll take him away."
Leaving the drawing room behind him, Draco strolled down the dreary hallway; the boy barely stirred in his arms. "Yes, I remember. Are you going to take him to the Ministry? You do know what they'll do once they know about the boy, don't you?"
The scene in the cellar played out once more in Harry's mind. Feeling a pressure in his chest, he caught up with Draco and looked at the boy, who slept on with a smile on his face, oblivious to the predetermined fate that was thrust upon him by his creator. Was the boy a hapless victim or an irredeemable monster? Harry could not tell anymore.
"Is that what your experiment is about? To give him another kind of ending?"
"No," came the quiet reply. "Making him sleep till the end of his life is the same as keeping him in a prison. The same goes for confining him in the manor. From the moment he was born, he's not allowed to have a happy ending." Draco contemplated the boy as though gazing upon a relic from another lifetime. "Still, if he likes it here, why not grant him his wish before the end?"
In spite of his growing agitation, Harry could not bring himself to counter Draco's words, for he knew what the boy's wishes were: wishes so heartbreakingly pure that the boy could not be anything but human. "He's not your son, Draco."
Draco halted in front of the grand staircase and looked up at his ancestor's portrait. "I know," he whispered. "I don't pity him, and I don't think of him as a substitute for my son. It's just that my son is in his stomach, that's all."
Harry winced; a mixture of resignation and apprehension crept into his heart like poison. "Let me talk to Kingsley first. He's not someone who would make rash decisions, so I'm sure we can come up with some kind of an arrangement. Besides, we need to find those missing people and return them to their families, and to do that we need the Ministry's help."
A shadow passed across Draco's face. "Yes, that's good enough. Thank you." There was a pause. "Sorry for dragging you into this mess. I've been asking too much from you. When this is over, let me give you something in return. What would you like?"
"You don't have to do that. I wasn't looking for something in return when I decided to help you." Words left Harry's mouth before it occurred to him that he had lied. Smothering the voice in his head, he put on a smile. "I volunteered, remember?"
Draco shot Harry a glance. "It'll make me feel better. Think about it anyway, all right?" In the face of Draco's obstinacy, there was very little Harry could do but nod.
After taking another look at the boy, Harry pocketed his wand and held out his arms. "I'll carry him. You look like you'll fall over at any moment. It wouldn't look good for the head of the Malfoy family to fall down the stairs and break his nose."
Although Draco did not smile, his expression softened. "I could lie about how I duelled with the famous Harry Potter and got hurt. A scar one receives in a battle is a badge of honour or some silly nonsense. It's okay. He's not that heavy."
While Harry was not convinced, he held his tongue and accompanied Draco upstairs. The boy was carried into the bedroom opposite Draco's. White sheets shrouded most of the furniture in the room; dust particles danced in the morning light when the curtains were pulled apart. Since Draco had his arms full, Harry cast a few cleaning charms around the room and conjured a new bedspread for the bed.
After putting the boy to bed, Draco held out his hand, hesitated, and patted the boy's head once. The boy smiled in happiness and drifted into a deeper slumber. Like an outsider intruding upon a private conversation between two fragile souls, Harry held his breath and watched on in silence, for fear of destroying the tranquil moment that was as transient as a sand castle.
* * * * * * *
Raindrops drummed on the umbrella as Draco stood behind the front gates and watched Harry Disapparate. The pitter-patter of rain resembled the buzz of thousands of insects, a sound so grating it threatened to drown out every last coherent thought in his head. After letting out a sigh, he retreated into the sanctuary that was his family home.
When the doors slid shut behind him, Draco found himself alone in the manor, with that abomination of a child locked away in the bedroom upstairs, out of sight but not out of mind. Sparing the staircase a glance, he strolled down the hallway beneath the watchful gazes of his predecessors' portraits, their silence as telling as the secrets they kept.
"I know everything," Draco said to no one in particular as he entered the drawing room. "There is no need for all of you to keep up your conspiracy anymore." He stopped in front of his father's portrait and gazed at it. "Isn't that right, Father?"
The portrait of Lucius Malfoy contemplated Draco with cool grey eyes; at length, he opened his mouth. "You surprise me, Draco."
"I know you, Father, better than I did when I was a child." Draco looked away for a moment before fixing his gaze upon his father's painting. "You asked the other portraits not to tell me anything. You wanted me to believe the boy was my son. What do you want me to do with him? Do you want me to use him as a pawn for the sake of restoring our family honour?"
"It crossed my mind at first, yes," Lucius Malfoy said in a soft purr that stirred up a nostalgic feeling in Draco. "When I first saw him, I realised he could be the greatest weapon our family would ever possess. Besides, you have already tamed him. Think of all the possibilities and all the doors he could open for you."
There was a vicious glint in Draco's eyes, though he refrained from snapping at his father's portrait. "But you've changed your mind."
Lucius bowed his head, his true feelings hidden beneath a facade of indifference. "Even though you were under his influence, you looked happy. If, even for a while, you can find solace in a dream, I would grant you this much." He peered into Draco's eyes. "Think of it as a father's selfishness."
An indescribable emotion welled up inside Draco and knocked the breath out of him. Clutching his fist, he took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. "Yes, you are selfish. You never ask me what I want." His voice softened to a whisper. "I don't want a substitute for a son I've never met."
"I see." Lucius closed his eyes for some time as though meditating on a problem that could not be solved. "And yet, you desire to keep him in the manor, a prisoner in the house where he was created." He opened his eyes. "Are you not trying to weave your own make-believe?"
"I have no illusion whatsoever," was Draco's reply to his father's portrait. "Beyond that, I don't need to justify myself to you or to my father in real life."
Lucius seemed satisfied with the answer, his lips curling into the same wry smile that appeared at times on Draco's face. "Very well. You are the current head of the family, and you are my son. I, along with our predecessors, shall stand by your decision."
* * * * * * *
The quill screeched to a decisive halt at the end of the sentence, and after the final dot cemented the conclusion, Harry dropped the quill and sat back. Putting the report aside to dry, he got up and checked the time. The hour was later than he had expected; nevertheless, the Minister for Magic should still be in his office. After saying good night to his fellow Aurors, Harry gathered his things and went up to the Minister's office.
Furnished in dark wood and deep coloured fabrics, the office was elegant and modest in design. At the far end of the room stood a sturdy mahogany desk half-buried in a mountain of scrolls; behind the desk hung a Foe-Glass adorned with a tarnished wooden frame. In the Foe-Glass, shadowy figures glided about in the mist, indifferent to the world beyond the glass.
As Harry entered the office, Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from the scroll he was reading and smiled. "Hello, Harry. It's not often that you come here to visit me. What can I do for you?"
Returning the smile, Harry sat down on the chair offered to him. "Sorry for bothering you when you are busy, Kingsley. There's something I want to talk to you about."
Kingsley must have detected something in Harry's voice, for a frown had appeared between his brows. "It's off the record, isn't it?"
Harry nodded once and divulged everything to Kingsley: rumours surrounding the Witching Woods, mysterious disappearances, a case of self-cannibalism, the discoveries made at Malfoy Manor, the homunculus created by Voldemort, and Draco's role in the messy business. He also showed Kingsley the reports that Marcus Shelley-Witch Watcher for the Ministry of Magic-had submitted to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
When Harry finished his narrative, Kingsley let out a long breath. "No one followed up on the reports, huh? Perhaps there have been too many false alarms in the area. Anyway, we'd have to send people into the forest to recover the bodies."
Harry felt a sting in his chest; other than returning the victims to their families, there was nothing more he could do for them. "I heard that it's easy to become lost in the forest, and it seems the Malfoys have placed enchantments in there to keep people away."
"I'm not surprised," Kingsley muttered, though he did not seem bothered by the information. "Does the boy look a lot like Voldemort?"
"Although the age is different, he looks exactly the same as the eleven-year-old Tom Riddle in Dumbledore's memory. The resemblance doesn't stop there. Mind manipulation, wandless magic and a possible Parselmouth-it's too much of a coincidence."
For a moment, Kingsley was lost in thought. When he surfaced from his musing, there was a sober look on his face. "I know you and Draco Malfoy have a history, and you feel guilty over what happened to Astoria and her baby. Still," he rubbed his bald head, "do you trust him?"
"Yes, I do," Harry replied as he looked into Kingsley's eyes. "I don't think he's lying about the boy. He has nothing to gain by lying. Besides, someone like him wouldn't come up with such a ridiculous lie."
"All right. I'll take your word for it." Kingsley cleared away the rolls of parchment on his desk and got up. "Let's go and meet the mystery boy."
By the time Harry and Kingsley arrived outside the manor, the sky had darkened to a hazy blend of cerulean and grey. After giving Kingsley a moment to survey the surroundings-the dark forest behind them and the manor up ahead-Harry walked with him to the gates. Light shone out from several windows of the manor-house: the only sign of habitation in this secluded land. Before Harry announced their arrival, Draco came out to open the gates for them.
When Draco and Kingsley faced each other, there was no overt display of hostility between them. Kingsley smiled and held out his hand; a beat later, Draco shook hands with him.
"Good evening, Minister," Draco said, his wariness towards the ex-Auror disguised beneath a facade of placidity. "Thank you for coming in person. I assume you have heard the story from Harry?"
Kingsley cast Harry a sidelong glance before turning to Draco once more. "I've heard a story, yes, and I trust that Harry has told me all he knows. But I'm also interested in your story, Mr Malfoy."
"Whatever Harry might have told you, I have nothing more to add." With an elegant gesture befitting of his status as the lord of the manor, Draco motioned for Harry and Kingsley to follow him. "Shall we?"
Darkness had taken reign over the stately prison where the boy was kept, but a sliver of moonlight had crept through the window and left its trail across the floor. Draco conjured two orbs of candlelight on either side of the bed and entered the room; Harry and Kingsley followed close behind him. When Kingsley saw the boy, he could not contain his surprise; nevertheless, he kept his wand in hand and approached the bed as though the boy were a sleeping dragon.
Acting as the Minister's bodyguard, Harry stood beside Kingsley and gazed at Draco, who was observing Kingsley. In the midst of writhing shadows and flickering candlelight, Draco's face had taken on a mask-like quality that disturbed Harry. He had a suspicion that if Kingsley were to raise his wand at the boy, Draco would not hesitate to draw his own wand.
The discussion commenced in the drawing room. At the round walnut table with white marble inlay, Draco offered a seat to Kingsley and sat down opposite him; Harry took the remaining chair between the two men and completed the semicircle. After declining the offer of tea, the Minister dove headlong into the discussion.
"Let me sum up your proposal," Kingsley said while folding his hands together. "You believe you can keep the boy in line, and you intend to let him stay in Malfoy Manor. By default, you will become his guardian." He raised his eyes at Draco. "You do realise that you will be subject to restrictions?"
"I am well aware of that, Minister."
"All right." Kingsley nodded. "Mr Malfoy, I need to ask you one thing. Why are you willing to go through all the trouble for a boy who is unrelated to you and had in fact caused you much trouble?"
"I am waiting for him to die so that I can bury him myself." Draco's voice was mellow, yet his gaze was cold and unyielding. "I won't allow anyone else touch him. If you have decided to execute him, I want to be the one to kill him."
Raising his eyebrows, Kingsley studied Draco for some time as though searching for the soul beneath the expressionless mask. "Because your son is inside him? If we were able to retrieve your son from his body, do you still wish to become the boy's guardian?"
The corner of Draco's lips twisted in wry humour. "Even the dead would be annoyed if you move their bodies from resting place to resting place. My son's body has suffered through enough sacrilege as it is." There was a pause. "The boy is my son's coffin, and he will remain so for the rest of his life. When he dies, I will bury them both."
"I can't say I empathise with your standpoint, and truth be told, I do not trust you." Kingsley bored his eyes into Draco. "However, I will use whatever method necessary to ensure the safety of the wizarding community, and to ensure that innocent Muggles do not fall victims to the dark forces from our world."
"How commendable of you," Draco muttered. "What you meant to say was since I offer to take the load off your shoulder, you will take advantage of it and use me to keep him in line. At the same time, he will become my leash, which means you don't have to worry about the Malfoys causing trouble anymore. That's fine. You are using me as much as I'm using you."
Kingsley smiled. "I'm glad we have reached an understanding. Of course, the Ministry will be responsible for locating the victims and devising a cover story for their families. If there are any survivors, they will be taken to St Mungo's and receive treatment accordingly. As for the boy himself, in order for you to gain custody over him, there are three conditions you must follow.
"One, you must never, under any circumstances, allow him to leave Malfoy Manor. Two, you must, at all cost, prevent him from harming another human being. Three, you must not use him as a weapon against another human being. You will be asked to make an Unbreakable Vow under the aforementioned terms. Will you accept?"
With a solemnity that Harry had rarely seen in him, Draco nodded. "I will."
Those two words pounded on Harry's mind like a knell, for the premonition he had dreaded for the past two days had become reality right before his eyes. With his reply Draco had entwined his fate with the boy's: a bond that will not shatter till death do them part. The very notion of what will befall Draco in the end stole away Harry's breath and what little composure he tried to maintain.
"Draco," Harry spoke up, prompting Draco to look at him, "will this make you happy?"
Draco blinked, and for one heart-rending moment, wistfulness clouded his grey eyes. His lips parted for several beats before his voice came out in a low murmur. "No, it won't. But it will make me feel satisfied."
With a sense of inevitability Harry gazed at Draco and came to his conclusion. If Draco was determined to sink into the swamp, there was only one thing he needed to do. "Kingsley, please let me be the one to make the Unbreakable Vow with Draco."
Although Harry could feel the sting of Draco's gaze, he continued to beseech Kingsley's consent. "I know what the boy is capable of, and I know how to subdue him. If anything happens, I will take full responsibility and stop him at all cost."
"You are more foolish than I thought, Harry," Draco chided in dismay.
"I know." Harry smiled a sheepish smile and turned to Kingsley, who squinted at him as though he had at last discovered the final piece of the puzzle. "Would that be all right?"
"You are serious, huh?" Kingsley rubbed his temple and sighed. "I was going to wait a while, but it seems you two have already decided. You want to do this now?"
Harry nodded; a beat later, Draco did the same. "Okay. I don't see why we should delay this any further." Kingsley took out his wand and got up. "You'd have to kneel and face each other."
Beneath the glittering chandelier, Harry and Draco knelt on the carpet. With ceremony they reached out for each other and clasped their right hands together. Acting as their Bonder and their witness, Kingsley stood over them and touched his wand to their joined hands. Draco's hand was colder than Harry had expected, but his grip was firm and his expression calm.
As Harry watched himself drown in the grey depths of Draco's eyes, his heart was filled with strange satisfaction. The Unbreakable Vow was more binding than a marriage vow, shackles that could not be violated or severed; and the boy would become the chain that bound him to Draco and vice versa.
After taking a moment to think about what he should say, Harry took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
* * * * * * *
With a snap Draco pulled the curtains apart. Grey morning light poured into the bedroom and illuminated the figure on the bed. With his raven hair, alabaster skin and delicate features, the boy resembled the protagonist in a fairy tale: a waif who was lost in a giant's house or a little prince who was caught in a curse. Fast asleep, he seemed unaware of Draco's presence.
His face as expressionless as a volto mask, Draco sat down on the bed, stared at the boy for some time, and shook the boy's shoulder. "It's time to wake up."
The boy's eyelids quivered for several beats and slid open, revealing a pair of dark eyes as unfathomable as the bottom of the sea. As soon as the boy met Draco's gaze, a radiant smile spread across his face. "Good morning, Draco."
"Good morning," Draco said in a quiet voice as the boy sat up and stretched his back. "From now on, you'll be living in the manor with me. You don't need to leave the manor anymore. I'll be staying here with you. I might go out sometimes, but I won't be away for too long."
With wide eyes the boy stared at Draco for several beats. His face was about to break into a smile when anxiety made a furrow between his brows. "But I need to feed my friend. He hasn't eaten anything for a long time. If I don't feed him everyday, he can't move."
A vision flashed across Draco's mind. In the shabby hut built by a child who only had a vague notion of what a house looked like, two pitiful creatures huddled together and watched winter rain fall from the sky. In the end, one boy survived and the other boy fell into an eternal sleep.
Melancholy lingered in Draco's heart like a ghost, but he did not let his emotion spill onto his face. "He's going home to his parents, and they will take care of him. You won't be able to see him again, but he'll be fine. Don't worry about him."
The boy searched for the truth in Draco's eyes, and Draco let him. In the next moment, the boy slumped his shoulders in despondence. "I'll miss him."
Draco did not comfort the boy; instead, he dropped a pile of neatly folded clothes in the boy's lap. "These clothes belonged to me when I was a child. They should fit you." He paused as the boy shook off his sadness and examined the clothes in curiosity. "Can you get dressed by yourself?"
The boy nodded and got out of bed. While the boy got dressed, Draco took out his wand and made the bed: the wrinkles on the bedspread smoothed themselves out; the pillow puffed up and reverted to its original shape; the blanket hovered in the air for several seconds and spread itself out across the bed. When the boy was done, Draco knelt down and took a critical look at him.
"There's one more thing," Draco said as he fixed the hem of the jumper. "Harry is my friend. He's not going to eat you, and he promised me that he won't try to take me away from you again. Be nice to him, all right? Don't look into his mind. He doesn't like that."
A dark look passed across the boy's face; in the next beat, his sullenness vanished. "If you say so, Draco." He beamed at Draco as though the previous conversation did not happen. "What are we going to do today?"
Draco stood up and charmed the boy's shirt to fold itself. "What do you want to do?"
In nimble steps the boy glided around Draco like a butterfly in play. "Let's have a tea party in the fairy ring, where it is always time for tea. Sandwiches and scones and tea pastries; clotted cream and rose petal jelly; Assam and Earl Grey and Darjeeling." With a glitter in his eye he looked up at Draco and crooked his head to one side. "Which one will be to your liking?"
Bemused by the improvised nursery rhyme, Draco cast the boy a curious glance. "The manor doesn't have a fairy ring, but we can have a tea party."
The boy blinked as though unable to believe that his whimsical request would be granted. As a childlike smile appeared on his face, he grabbed Draco's hand. "Draco, are you happy?"
Taken aback, Draco squinted at the boy, whose hand emitted no human warmth. If the boy had wanted to, he could have looked into Draco's mind and found the answer, and yet he did not do so.
Clutching the boy's hand, Draco replied, "I'm not unhappy."
Standing outside the half-closed door, Harry overheard everything. As his mood grew pensive, his eyes roamed from the dark wood wainscot panelling to the luxurious carpet extending to the other end of the hallway. Works of art adorned the walls and display tables, yet the hallway could not look more empty and cold.
Leaning his shoulder against the door frame, Harry hugged his arms and let out a long breath. Although Draco claimed that the boy regarded him as his master, Harry suspected he was only telling part of the truth. In the boy's mind, Draco was not someone whose orders he must obey: Draco was someone he loved.
The lost boy would no longer return to the Witching Woods. From the moment Draco caught him in his arms, the tale of the lost boy had reached the end. Neither Harry nor Draco knew how long the boy would last: weeks, months or years. Would he succumb completely to his hunger first, or would his body break down first? Whichever the case might be, the ending had already been decided for him.
The boy would dwell in this gilded cage of a manor with his aloof keeper; his favourite song would be their common language; and his little games would be the precious moments they shared-until the day this sugar-coated dream of his came to its inevitable end.
* * * * * * *
When Harry stepped out of the house with Draco, a world of hazy white awaited him. Heavy mist enveloped the desolate garden like a shroud preserving the dignity of the dead. He could see nothing ahead of him but vaporous white; he could hear nothing other than the sound of shoes crunching on dry leaves and gravel.
As they strolled down the driveway towards the direction of the gates, Harry gazed at Draco's profile. The calmness upon Draco's wan face reminded him of the moment the Unbreakable Vow was made: fiery ribbons coiling around their joined hands like chains.
Harry felt a tingling in his right hand, but he ignored the sensation and turned his mind towards the final riddle he had yet to solve. "There's something I want to ask you."
The footsteps stopped, and the garden was plunged into stifling silence. Lost in thought, Draco stared into the mist. "What is it?"
"You said you could hear a voice in your head. I don't know how the boy did it, but he probably used a combination of Legilimency and the Imperius Curse? You know Occlumency, and you said you can shake off an Imperius Curse while you are awake. Although you didn't know what was going on, you knew someone or something was playing with your mind.
"If you wanted to, you might have been able to shut him out. Was it because you couldn't do it? Or was it because you didn't want to do it?"
Harry waited for Draco to tell his story, but there was no response. "Back then in the book shop, were you really looking for a way to get rid of the thing that was haunting the manor? Or were you looking for a way to capture it so that you can keep it with you in the manor?"
Once the last of Harry's words was swallowed by the mist, silence returned. At length, Draco tilted his head and met Harry's gaze, his lips curling into a bitter smile. In the garden where decay was hidden behind a satin veil, his smile seemed strangely unreal.
"Even though I wanted to, I couldn't shut him out," Draco said in a low voice. "But you weren't entirely wrong. Perhaps a part of me wanted to believe my son was talking to me. I just wanted to take a look at the being that was haunting the manor, so that I could stop dreaming about my son. But the truth turned out to be more complicated than I thought. That's how it is."
Turning away from Harry, Draco strode on ahead and vanished into the embrace of the mist. As a trickle of fear crept into the cracks of Harry's heart, he clenched his right hand and caught up with Draco. "Sorry. I've been asking you too many personal questions."
"It doesn't matter anymore. It's over-for the most part. I'm finally awake." There was a pensive look on Draco's face. "Besides, you have the right to know. You are my partner in crime."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Everything that had happened for the past few days flashed across his mind in a chaotic vision. He had become the keeper of Draco's many secrets; and together with Draco he would safeguard another secret-the boy whose existence must not be made known to the wizarding world. In the truest sense Harry had become Draco's partner in crime.
In the menagerie that was Malfoy Manor, there was only one thing Harry needed to say. "I know."
The gates came into view in their impressive glory. Beyond the wrought-iron bars, a silhouette of yew hedges led the way into the void, the end of which lay the forest that was devoured by the fog. Harry imagined he could see the faint outline of a shadow, neither looming nor languishing, an ancient presence that had kept the secrets of the living and the dead.
Without a sound the gates swung open of their own accord, but Harry did not cross the threshold. "Say, Draco, will I be invited to the tea party?"
"You were eavesdropping again," Draco murmured, though he did not seem annoyed. "I suppose we'll have a late night tea party instead." In the next beat, the facade of nonchalance fell away. "I said I'll give you something when this is over. Have you given it any thought?"
Taken aback, Harry felt a flutter in his stomach, for he had forgotten about Draco's promise. "It's all right. I already have what I wanted."
His eyes narrowed, Draco took a deep breath and rubbed his right hand, as though he could sense the tug of the invisible chain. "I'm not as oblivious as you think I am, Harry. Or are you going to tell me that you helped me out of pity? Guilt? Duty? Compassion?"
Draco's words pierced into Harry like a scalpel and sliced apart the cocoon protecting his heart. The secret he had kept in the message bottle was spilling out before his eye. However easy it would be to deny Draco's claim, to lie would be akin to condemning the precious feelings he had for Draco. Conceding defeat, he gave himself over to the bittersweet drug named yearning.
With his right hand Harry reached out and touched Draco's face, his finger brushing over Draco's eyelid. Yielding to his silent request, Draco relaxed and closed his eyes. His touch light and gentle as though handling fragile glass, Harry ran his thumb over the shadow beneath Draco's eye, hoping beyond forlorn hope that he could somehow erase the stain on the translucent skin.
Exploring further, his fingers trailed down Draco's cheek and lingered over the blemished skin. Harry could not help but marvel at how warm Draco was in spite of the cold exterior he projected. As his eyes fell upon Draco's mouth, his fingers slid downwards and reached the final destination. Draco's lips quivered against his fingers, feathery kisses that took away the last of Harry's trepidation.
Harry moved closer to Draco, who tensed up but remained where he was. Ever so slowly he held Draco's face between his palms and showered him with light kisses: on the brow, on the eyelids, on both cheeks and on the mouth. His chest aching for reasons he could not discern, Harry lingered on Draco's lips for several heartbeats and pulled away.
It was enough, Harry told himself as Draco opened his eyes to look at him. Everything that had happened in this garden on this day would be their little secret; and the mist around them-the sole witness to their secret-would fade away into the light.
"Other than this, I only have one other request," Harry whispered as he fought the urge to brush away the blond hair on Draco's brow. "Let me love you."
Draco stared at Harry as though beholding a mad man, yet there was a self-depreciating smile on his lips. "I'm not a good man, Harry. Don't you think that I might make use of your feelings and take advantage of you?"
An inexplicable feeling washed over Harry and sent a thrill down his spine; nevertheless, out of uncertainty came a moment of clarity. The brat who once tormented Harry over trifling rivalry was no longer here; in his place was a man who was at once delicate and strong, crafty yet gentle in his own sardonic way.
A contradiction coated in cynicism, a bleeding heart encrusted in ice, madness wrapped in a cloak of rationality, and darkness stemmed from anger and sadness-he would accept everything that made up this man named Draco Malfoy.
"If that happens, I'll think of something," Harry said quietly before he smiled at Draco, who was peering at him with a strange look on his face. "See you tonight. I'm looking forward to the mad tea party."
His grey eyes clouded by mist and emotions, Draco nodded. There was nothing more left to say; Harry smiled one more time, passed the gates and left the manor behind him.
The mist had begun to thin; Harry could see the leaden sky above him and the giant dark blot that was the Witching Woods in the distance. After taking a deep breath to quiet down the storm raging inside him, he took out his wand and prepared himself for Apparition.
He heard a voice. Straining his ear, he thought at first that the boy was singing again; in the next beat, he realised someone was calling his name. With a start he turned around; nevertheless, the mist had fallen over Malfoy Manor, and Draco's figure could not be seen anymore.
* * * * * * *
Finis.
A/N: Most of the characters in this story are lost in some way, and not all of them manage to find their way back. Several characters in the story want Draco to be happy (Harry, the boy, Astoria, Lucius' portrait), but he doesn't know how anymore.
As for the boy, he could be what Tom Riddle might have been if he could feel love, but as Harry had figured out in the previous chapter, the boy is the boy. He is not Tom Riddle.
Thank you very much for reading.