Trading Places

Title: Trading Spaces 22

Rating: M or “R”, for those of you who prefer the olden days.

Pairing: H/D, Hr/Sn. (slash, m/m – you’ve been fairly warned, if you’re offended, you wanted to be.

A/N’s: No gratuities this time, sorry. But you guys were right, they were getting lengthy, and I suppose not every review (no matter how grateful I am for them) necessitates a response. Anybody who would like a response, please feel free to email me, or indicate that in your review, and I promise one!

All together now, can we picture Voldemort sitting on the sofa I’m about to describe?

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“Severus, tea?’ Lucius asked politely. “No? Pity.”

Severus and Hermione sat side by side on Lucius Malfoy’s couch in the middle of the foyer in Malfoy Mansion. Their hands were bound in front of them; their feet were magically chained to the floor. Two cups of tea sat innocuously in front of them. Snape appeared to be staring in disgust at the upholstery. “Really, Lucius. Paisley?”

“Pardon me,” Hermione interrupted, at a complete and utter loss as to how to react to such a situation. They were caught, in every sense of the word. Yet, instead of being drug in chains to some frightful combination family room/dungeon/torture chamber, they were having tea on a paisley couch. She felt an urge to laugh and began to wonder if she was hysterical or possibly in shock. “Not that I don’t appreciate the tea – the finger sandwiches are lovely, really. But shouldn’t you be taking us to your boss? Or locking us up and threatening to torture us until we talk? Something like that?”

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” Lucius’s smile made Hermione distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll find the time to tie you up later all you like. However, I thought this a marvelous opportunity for us to talk.”

“Ew.” Hermione sighed resignedly. Then she considered the prospect of actually having to talk to Malfoy Sr. “Ew.”

Snape abruptly reached forward, grasping a bottle of brandy, pulled the stopper and dumped a liberal amount into his teacup, sighing heavily.

“No need to stand on ceremony,” Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. “Feel free to help yourself, Severus.”

“You usually do,” Snape commented dryly. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

“Great,” Hermione huffed. “Here we are, in grave danger, and your solution is to get intoxicated. Smashing.”

“Smash-ed, my dear,” he corrected, drinking down his spiked tea quickly and refilling the whole cup with brandy. “And I’m not the one who announced to the Death Eaters that we were spies, now am I?”

“Oh, so this all my fault?” She could hear her voice getting louder and higher pitched, but felt powerless to stop it. “Mr. ‘I’m going to lie to my girlfriend and walk right into the bloody trap by my bloody self because I’m a bad person and all dark and tortured.’”

“And how have you helped by coming along, hmm?” He asked, giving up on the cup completely and drinking straight from the bottle. Lucius watched the interchange with the look of a man watching a train wreck. “Were you afraid I’d die without a good nagging, then?”

“You don’t know! I could be working my restraints free even as we speak – letting my nagging be a clever distraction,” She pointed out, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue, sure now that she was either freaking out or in shock.

“Except of course, that once again, you have announced our SECRET PLAN to the Death Eaters!” He nearly shouted at her, gesticulating wildly with the bottle.

“I’m a GRYFFINDOR! We don’t do sneaky – that’s your department, remember?”

“Is that so? Didn’t you just tell me that you snuck into my potions cabinet, stole ingredients and once set me on FIRE?” He took another long swig from the bottle, eyeing her over the top of it.

“YES! I did that – and then I TOLD you about it. Are we picking up on a pattern here?” She grabbed the bottle out of his hand and took a long drink. After about five minutes of hacking and shivering, she gave him a watery glare. “I was sneaky and then I confessed!”

“You were sneaky Apparating here with me, weren’t you?” He pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep bringing up the past when we’re in dire straights.” She rolled her eyes.

“It was twenty minutes ago!”

“And if you really want to bring up the past – you said I had huge teeth!” She sniffed.

“When?”

“Third year.” Her eyes filled up with tears and her chin trembled as she whispered, “Do you know how that made me feel?”

“Children,” Lucius finally interrupted, feeling a little dizzy from the fast paced exchange. “Let’s focus, shall we?”

“That’s fine. Because I’m not speaking to him anymore.” Hermione 1decided. “Please, begin the torture.”

Lucius’s smile became decidedly more villainous. “Now then, since we’ve all had some refreshment, let’s talk.”

Snape felt a well of dread form in his stomach, though he couldn’t focus on it. He was feeling exceptionally light-headed and calm. He examined the taste in his mouth. “Lucius, did you happen to put veritaserum in your brandy?”
“In vino veritas.” He offered with a wolfish grin.

“Vino is wine, you twit.” Snape pointed out. “Your Latin always was rubbish.”

“Yeah, well, whatever’s lying around will usually do the trick,” the blond grinned.

“”That seems to be your philosophy for a lot of things,” Hermione commented. Lucius glared at her. “Just saying.”

“We need to talk.” Lucius sneered.

“Oh no – is there someone else?” Snape drawled.

“About my son.”

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“I’m afraid I’m going to have to forbid you from taking any action on your own until the Order has decided how to handle this situation, Harry.” The sun was up, but just barely. Dumbledore had just delivered the news of Hermione and Severus’s capture, explained that the order was working on it as they spoke, and then told Harry to wait.

“Excuse me, sir?” Harry stared at him in disbelief. “But Hermione – “

“The safety of a Hogwarts’s student is paramount to the survival of Hogwarts itself. I’m afraid I cannot risk the lives of you and young Mr. Malfoy here to attempt to – “

“Attempt?” Harry questioned softly.

“Rescue Ms. Granger.” Dumbledore finished insistently. “Please trust that the Order is – “

“Wasting precious time?” Harry cut him off. Draco watched the whole exchange with raised brows. Somehow he had always imagined these meetings between Harry and Dumbledore differently. Something where Harry always spoke respectfully and bravely, while Dumbledore encouraged him with fatherly pride. Not this barely masked contest of wills.

“Do you have a plan, Harry?” The older wizard asked reasonably.

“Yeah, I’m going to march in there and get her back.” Harry’s eyes were wild and fiery.

“Brilliant,” Draco commented under his breath. Harry shot him a look that told him explicitly where he could stick that comment.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I cannot allow it.” Dumbledore said with an air of finality.

“Cannot allow it?” Harry asked dangerously. He got to his feet. “Think you could stop me, old man?”

“Don’t do this, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “I’ve seen this go badly for other wizards.”

“Of course you’ve seen it. That’s all you and the Order ever do anymore is watch things happen.” Harry’s eyes flashed as he put his closed fists on Dumbledore’s desk, leaning over it. “Well – watch this.”

Harry turned and quit the office, slamming the door behind him. As he stalked through the hallway the lights on the wall shattered. Draco and Dumbledore sat silently for a moment, Draco shifting uncomfortably in his chair, listening to glass breaking outside the office. “Ah, well. Lovely office you have here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore’s lips twitched.

“Right then, guess I should be going.” Draco got to his feet. “Thanks for the cocoa, sir.” He paused for a second, then added, “And the little marshmallows.”

“You are most welcome,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. “I’ll see you and Mr. Potter at breakfast, shortly.”

“Yes, sir.” Draco quickly vacated the room, not quite running, but walking briskly to catch up to Harry. As he passed by, the shattered glass from the lights lifted into the air, reformed into bulbs, screwed themselves into their sockets and relit. “Oi, Potter! Hold up!”

Harry was fuming, and barely paused to look at Draco as he matched strides with him.

“Well, Hero, that was brilliant.”

“What?”

“Well, watch this,” Draco mocked.

“Do you have a point?” They had reached the doors of the Great Hall, and Harry paused outside of them.

“Yes. You have all the subtlety of a Whomping Willow tree.” Draco pointed out. “You see, it’s easier to be bad when you don’t announce to all and sundry what you’re planning.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “For instance, you say, ‘Yes, sir, I’ll stay put like a good golden boy’ and then do whatever you want.”

“Forgive me if I’m not as good at –“

“Being bad?” Draco purred, looking up at him through silvery lashes.

Harry glared at him impatiently and pushed through the doors into the Great Hall.

“The old man’s got a point, you know. You don’t have a plan.”

“I explained the plan already,” Harry said as if speaking to a small child. “Go rescue Hermione.”

“That’s a goal. Not a plan.”

“Will and intent is all you need to do magic.” Harry pointed out heading for the Slytherin table.

“So what? All that build up and now you’re just going to sit down and have some breakfast?” Draco asked incredulously following Harry to the Slytherin Table.

“I thought you wanted me to be more sneaky.” Harry dropped his bookbag unceremoniously on the ground and it fell open. Snippy and Snarky peeked out as they munched on Harry’s between class snacks.

“Maybe we should hop up on the table and get some breakfasssst.” Snippy yawned.

“That’s more energy than this little snake has, my friend.” Snarky yawned, too. “Besides, it’s oatmeal day.”

“Ugh.” Snippy stuck out his forked tongue in disgust. “I saw the owls regurgitate something that looked just like that once.”

“Hey, watch the imagery. I’m trying to keep these chocolate frogs down over here.”

At the Head table, the professors all seemed subdued and slightly harried, having been woken up before dawn to be informed of the capture of their colleague. Dr. Troy was dressed in an immaculate white hooded sweatshirt, the blue word Muggle printed on it, and a pair of dark blue jeans. His hair had that purposefully disheveled spiky look to it, and his face glowed with health despite the tiredness it emanated. He had one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee while he leaned his chin on the other.

“Troy?” Oliver asked as he sat beside him. “Are you ok?”

“I really liked little peach pie,” Troy commented. “And now the Odor Eaters have her.”

Oliver laid a warm hand on Troy’s shoulder. “The Order will get her back, I promise.”

“The Order?” Troy asked, his brows knitting. “Is that some kind of scary religious sect?”

“The Order of the Phoenix was formed by Dumbledore to defeat He Who Shall Not Be Named,” Oliver explained, thinking he could hear snake hissing somewhere in the background. He found Snippy and Snarky watching him from the Slytherin table. He shrugged and turned back toward Troy. “They’re the only ones strong enough to mount a proper rescue mission. I’d put my galleons on them any day.”

“Really? Because my gallons are on them,” Troy looked pointedly at where Harry and Draco stood beside the Slytherin Table now, arguing heatedly. They had started to glow.

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“Yes, he really is gay,” Hermione stated, nodding her head. “I would know. I’ve kissed him.”

Lucius looked confused for a second. “On the surface, that would seem like evidence to the contrary.”

“Who hasn’t?” Snape added, nastily. Hermione turned and raised a brow at him. He snapped, “Besides me!”

“My son was in the company of Harry Potter last night.”

“Well, sounds like you already knew what was going on with your son, then, huh?” Hermione responded.

“Why was Draco helping the Potter boy?” Lucius demanded, his face unamused.

“Because.” Snape pressed his lips tightly together, but ultimately couldn’t fight the influence of the potion he had taught Lucius to brew himself. “They’re Symmetrius.”

“What!” Lucius and Hermione exclaimed in shock.

“That’s not possible, Severus. Joined magic is a myth.” Hermione stated reasonably.

“No, it’s really not.” Snape sighed. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen them blow that door open.”

Hermione frowned.

“Symmetrius,” Lucius breathed, his eyes glazing over with the promise of such power. Then the azure orbs darkened with the realization that Draco would never cooperate willingly with his father’s ambitions.

“Yeah, bet you’re wishing you were a little nicer to him,” Hermione smirked. She was absolutely certain she was in some kind of shock now, and that combined with tea spiked with brandy spiked with veritaserum had her feeling very calm. And honest. “You know, a little more accepting of the whole gay thing.”

Lucius’s eyes were almost black as he smiled. “I think it’s time for the torture now.”

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Oliver Wood, mouth hanging open, stood staring at Draco and Harry. Troy glanced up at him, still chewing on a piece of toast.

“That’s not natural, right?” Troy pondered the two students surrounded by an ice blue mist. “Not wizarding natural – I mean, they’re not calling on the awe-inspiring power of Papa Smurf, are they?”

“Who?” Oliver shook himself. “No, it’s not natural.”

By now, all of the Great Hall was focused on the two boys who continued to argue, oblivious of the commotion they were causing. Hush and Sheldon were crouched under the Slytherin Table close to Harry and Draco’s feet.

“Now?” Sheldon asked.

“Shhhhh. NO.” Hush sniffed, his eyes narrowed on the glowing feet of the two seventh years.

“Now what?” Snippy mumbled around a mouth of candy.

“Shut up, Snakes!” Hush hissed back.

“Hey mate, could you hop up on the table and toss us down some toast? All this sugar is starting to make me nauseous,” Snarky called.

“Be quiet!”

“Well, that was rude.” Snippy glared at the baby eagle. “Want I should bite him for you, Snarky?”

“Now, hold on –“

“Now?” Sheldon asked hopefully.

“No, not now!”

“Alright, if it’s not in your itinerary, I can pencil you in for a bite around noonish . . . “ Snippy suggested helpfully.

Oblivious to the mascot drama taking place by their feet, or their shiny blue glow, Draco and Harry continued to argue.

“I always thought you were Mr. Team Player, Hero – the way you drag Ron and Hermione everywhere.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you suddenly the lone gunman on the grassy knoll?”

Harry started to retort, than shot Draco a puzzled look. “How do you – “

“Oh, c’mon. You really think Lee Harvey Oswald was a muggle? Hello, magic bullet theory.” Draco gave Harry a pointed look. “Which still doesn’t explain your need to go off half-cocked.”

“My best friend is in the clutch’s of an evil fiend! I do not feel like waiting around to form a committee and have a meeting. I just want to go get her!”

“Again, that’s a goal. Not a plan.”

“Now?” Sheldon asked impatiently.

“Not yet,” Hush whispered. He hopped up on the table. “Will . . .”

“Oi! How about that toast?” Snarky called.

“All this arguing, and yet here you sit, waiting for the go ahead. Do you even know where she is?” Draco asked.

“No, but your father is the evil fiend in question. I imagine she’s at your house.”

“So, you want me to take you there.” Draco stated. “When?”

“And intent.” Hush whispered to himself.

“Now.” Harry said, his voice determined.

“Now?” Sheldon called up to Hush.

“Now!” Hush flew full-throttle into Harry. Harry fell forward against Draco, who tripped over Harry’s bookbag, just as Sheldon threw himself inside it, squashing the snakes who hissed in outrage. There was a loud pop that shook the Great Hall, and then they were gone, boys, book, bag of snakes, bird and all.

Dumbledore entered the Great Hall surprised to find it in complete silence. Everyone was staring at an unoccupied spot next to the Slytherin Table, mouths agape. “Will someone please tell me what is going on here?”

All turned to look at the Headmaster, and started to speak at once.

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore, exasperated turned to the professors’ table. “Where are Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy?”

“Uh, sir?” Oliver stepped forward, shaking. “They’re gone.”

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Draco cracked open one aristocratic grey eye. “Hi there, Hero.”

“What in the name’s of Merlin’s beard!” Harry scrambled off of Draco to his feet. “Where are we?”

“Malfoy Manor. West gate.” Draco sighed as he took Harry’s hand and stood up.

“Let me guess. Hogwart’s no-Apparation policy doesn’t –“

“Apply to Symmetrius,” Draco finished for him.

“Perfect, we’re right on schedule.” Hush closed the pocket watch that he had pulled out of Harry’s bookbag and tucked it back into the front pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping you.” Hush’s voice implied that this fact was beyond obvious.

“That was fun. Let’s go again!” Sheldon exclaimed, crawling out of the back pack.

Snippy and Snarky promptly slithered out of the bag to smack Sheldon’s back cover.

“What was that for?” Sheldon glared at them.

“Oh, the many, many reasons . . . “ Snarky sighed. “Stupidity, unauthorized snake squashing . . .”

“General existence and quasi-evilness . . .” Snippy added.

“So, here we are, Hero, weaponless and planless. Brilliant,” Draco grouched.

“What’s a matter, your hair get all mussed?” Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re not weaponless.” Hush sighed exasperatedly. “Honestly, why you two ended up Symmetrius . . . your magic is weapon enough. And if it wasn’t, I brought you this.” Hush tugged the Sword of Gryffindor out of the bag and onto Draco’s shoe.

The blond picked up the sword, whistling low under his breath. Harry looked at him, unspoken emotion rolling from his verdant eyes as the blond held the blade before him.

“How does it feel?” Harry asked.

“Feels like mine.” Draco breathed deeply and held the sword out to Harry. “Must be yours.”

Harry took the sword and turned toward the mansion. The snakes, for once, appeared to have nothing to say. Sheldon practiced his battle stance and Hush landed on Draco’s shoulder with an expectant air. Harry sighed. “Think Voldemort’s in there?”

“Yeah. He’s probably having morning tea on my couch.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Hero?”

“I never pictured this as how the final battle would start.” Harry said softly.

“What did you think, Hero? That there would be crowds of cheering fans accompanied by some hard rock anthem playing in the background?” Draco snorted.

“Something like that.” Harry shot s look at Draco. “And stop calling me ‘Hero’. You don’t even know what that word means.”

Draco looked slightly hurt and affronted. Hush stepped forward helpfully. “Traditionally, at least realistically speaking and considering the fact that History is generally written but the victors in any given situation dealing with heroics, a Hero is defined as the last one standing.”

Harry nodded slowly, feeling the truth of the statement to his bones. Draco’s face took on a eerie focus for a moment.
“If you’re wanting music, we could come up with something appropriate. I’m thinking Queen-genre – what about you, Snippy?”

“I had something more modern in mind. New Bon Jovi, or maybe something in the Three Doors Down or Nickleback arena.”

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” Harry had never quite gotten over their little Britney Spears serenade his first night in Slytherin House. He looked around. “How do we get in?”

“Uh, up the walk way and through the front door,” Draco drawled.

“That’s it? No booby traps? No doors with one guard who always lies and one that always tells the truth? No mazes with attacking hedge animals? No bottomless pits?”

“What stories have you been reading, Hero?” Draco gave him a disgusted look. “No real point in a bottomless pit, anyway, is there? I mean, your enemy falls and just keeps falling? More like an amusement park ride, isn’t it? Like any self-respecting Malfoy would devise something that didn’t involve intense suffering for a trespasser.” Draco stopped to think for a minute. “I suppose they would eventually starve to death.”

“Alright then. Let’s go.” Harry started forward.

“You really intend on taking them with you?” Draco gestured to Hush, Sheldon and the snakes.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We few, Snippy,” Snarky sighed as he slithered forward. “We happy few.”

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Hermione squished herself closer to Professor Snape on the loveseat they had been moved to. Chained, hand and foot, they sat silently regarding the newcomer to their impromptu tea party. Hermione’s eyes took in the scaly red-eyed form of Voldemort sitting on the sofa she had previously occupied and shuddered.

“Something bothering you, Mudblood:” Voldemort hisses, glaring at her out of his slitted eyelids.

“You’re hideous.”

“Hermione!” Snape nearly gasped in a tone danergously close to affront.

“What? Hello – truth serum! He asked me a direct question.” Hermione tried to cross her arms over her chest and failed due to the chains. “If you wanted me to lie to you, you need to instruct your minions better.”

Voldemort snorted. “You are bold, aren’t you?” Voldemort considered her for a moment, breathing out of the slits that were what was left of his nose. “And brilliant, were you a Ravenclaw?”

“Gryffindor.” She stated firmly.

“How unusual,” Voldemort sneered. “I guess you wouldn’t be interested in a job, then.”

“A job doing what? Being a Death Eater?”
Voldemort nodded with a self-satisfied smirk.

“No, thanks. I’m already one of those. And honestly, I thought there would be better dental.” She stared pointedly at his fang-like remains of his teeth.

“You impudent little – “

“My Lord, I have just been informed that there are intruders on the premises.” A shaking butler appeared in the room, his eyes fixed on Voldemort with something akin to terror, though he apparently was used to shackled people on the sofa.

“Well, then, I suppose that would be your prodigal son, Lucius?”

Lucius continued to stand silently by the window where he had posted himself since Lord Voldemort’s arrival.

“Aren’t you going to go welcome him home?” Voldemort sneered. “I suppose not. Didn’t quite turn out how you promised me he would, did he?”

Lucius nodded his head in a slight acquiescence. His son was more powerful than Voldemort could have ever dreamed he would be, but Draco was no longer under his father’s thumb.

“So, is your face stuck like that?” Hermione turned her head to one side.

Snape fought the urge to laugh. This was a desperate situation, but his little Hermione didn’t seem to care. She was either in shock or had simply given up hope.

“Is that the ‘price’ of being evil, they’re always talking about? You wind up looking like some sort of walking snake?” Hermione turned to Snape. “You’re not going to wind up with a big old snake face, are you? All slitty nostrils, red eyes and bad teeth?”

“Silence, little Mudblood!” Voldemort hissed, rising to his feet. “I have heard enough of your useless chatter.”

“Mudblood am I? So you can sense your own kind, then.” For a moment the slightly light headed flippant façade was gone, and Hermione stared up threw her thick chocolate colored lashes at what had become of Tom Riddle, son of a witch and a muggle. He glowered at her with raw fury.

Hermione’s eyes grew big as she took in the full height of the Dark Lord. Trembling, she took hold of Snape’s hand and whispered. “You know, I always thought he’d be taller.”

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“Alright, so who’s got a plan? Anybody? Freakishly smart little bird? Anybody?” Draco asked as they trudged across the West grounds.

“It’s your house, why don’t you come up with a plan?” Harry snapped. He continued doggedly walking forward, the Sword of Gryffindor steadily bumping his leg as he walked.

“That was precisely my intention. To come up with a plan over toast and coffee while safe and sound in the Great Hall at Hogwarts,” Draco gritted out.

“How’s this? I kill Voldemort and rescue Hermione. You can handle your father, and if there is any time left, we might save Snape.”

“Yes, but how?” Draco cried.

“He’s going to use my spell.” Sheldon was calmly confident.

“Perfect.” Draco came to a stop at the front door to Malfoy Mansion. “We’re marching off to face the Dark Lord armed with a genius bird with no plan, a pissed of Gryffindor with one sword, and our secret weapon is semi-evil here.”

“Um, hello? What are we, merely decorative?” Snippy demanded, tapping his tail impatiently on Draco’s shoe.

“And what do you two bring to the table? Talent to annoy?”

“We bring much needed sarcasm.” Snarky sniffed.

“Yes, never underestimate the power of a witty retort.” Snippy added.

“Well, that would be lovely if anybody could understand you besides us.”

“Tom’s understands us,” Snippy pointed out, adding, “Not in a touchy-feely counselor sort of way or anything. He’s a parse mouth.”

Harry reached for the door. Draco’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Only someone of Malfoy blood can open the door.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any booby traps.” Harry gritted his teeth, full of rage straining for release.

“I said there weren’t any weird hedge animals or bottomless pits. We do lock up.”

“Then open the frigging door.”

“No, I think we should consider a plan for a moment. Novel idea, I grant you, but my father is far from stupid. And, oh yeah, the Dark Lord of all Evil, He Who Shall Not be Named, Mr. Ask Me How to Be Bad is in there with him.” Draco cocked his head to one side. “So, Hero, what do you think? Go in stealthy, and see what’s what?”

Harry started to glow. Draco moved to jump back, but Harry grabbed the blond’s wrist, holding him tightly. It was like completing a circuit. Harry threw out a hand and shouted, “Open!”

The doors flew open with a mighty boom that echoed through the mansion. “Right then,” Draco nodded. “Screw subtle. We’ll take the straightforward route.”

Grimly they entered into the Mansion. Harry gripped the handle of his sword in full fighting stance. He shot a challenging glance at Malfoy, grinning as he said, “In for a knut. . . “

“In for a galleon.” Draco seemed to brace himself.

A large muscular man appeared in the foyer. In one hand, he held a wand. In the other he held a gun.

“Well, that’s something that doesn’t usually come up in your story, huh, Hero?” Draco asked.

“What the hell is that thing?” Sheldon asked, his eyes fixed on the gleaming metal object pointed at Harry.

“That is called a gun. A small controlled explosion compels a tiny metal object through the air that when properly aimed will pierce the skin of the intended victim.” Hush informed the book. “It’s more effective than it sounds.”

“Oh.”

“Watch out, Harry! He’s about to bust a cap in your ass!” Snippy called.

“Who the hell is that?” Harry questioned, his voice betraying no fear, though having spent more time in the Muggle world than any other member of his small rescue party, he understood the best what a gun could do.

“That’s our butler,” Draco pointed out, casually moving to stand in front of Harry. “Hallo, George! How’s the missus?”

“Quite well, young Master Malfoy. Please step away from the Potter boy. I do not wish to harm Lucius’s son.”

“Do not wish to or won’t?” Draco raised a brow. George merely smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

“On a scale of one to ten, how deadly is this guy?” Harry asked Draco under his breath.

“About a hundred. He’s been my dad’s bodyguard since he graduated Hogwarts, so he’s had a lot of experience.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What can I say? My dad pisses a lot of people off.”

“Must run in the family,” Harry commented grimly. “Pardon me, but would you happen to know if Lucius is entertaining the Dark Lord today?”

“Yes, he is. But I’m afraid he won’t be able to see you, because of your imminent death,“ the butler smirked. “My apologies for being unable to accommodate your request.”

“You should step out of my way now,” Harry said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“You had better do what he says,” Draco stepped up beside Harry. “He’s kinda cranky today.”

“I believe I’ll be making the decisions today, as I am the one holding the gun.” The butler glared fiercely at the two boys. “Please move away, young Master Malfoy. I have no wish to explain your death to your father.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be real broken up about that.” Draco snorted. “Just so you’re aware, Hero, George here as killed over a thousand people.”

“Most of them never got the chance to fight back,” the butler gloated.

“You’re not going to get a chance to use that gun.” Harry looked George dead in the eye.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and called to the butler. “Oh, I wasn’t on your side, George. I just wanted him to feel right with what he’s about to do. You know Gryffindors and their love of the moral high ground.” Draco shrugged. “What are you going to do, right?”

George cocked the gun, the click resounding off the marble floors.

Harry stepped forward, walking calmly into the gun, until the cold steel pressed a circle in his chest. George’s eyes held the barest hint of hesitation. “Who in the bleeding hell do you think you are?”

“Who am I?” Harry smiled coldly, sending shivers down the spines of the room’s occupants.

“Whoever you are, you won’t survive a bullet at this range,” George warned.

“I am the son of James Potter, and the godson of Sirius Black. I have explored the depths of the Forbidden Forest, and survived the killing curse. I have looked Voldemort himself in the face.” Harry waved his hand and the gun turned red hot, burning a small hole in his shirt. A bright red ring appeared on Harry’s skin where the hot metal had singed his flesh. George dropped the gun, but to the butler’s credit, he never winced at the pain.

“I am Harry Potter,” Harry looked deep into George’s eyes as he moved his hair away from the famous scar with one hand. “And I am not afraid of a lackey with a toy.”

George did not waste time gaping. He lifted his wand, shouting, “Expelliarmous!”

Harry watched his wand hit the floor and roll with mild amusement. Harry’s eyes flashed with pleasure. “You’re going to regret that.”

As George scrambled for the knife tucked into the back of his belt, Harry sliced his hand through the air as if trying to chop through the other man’s chest using his hand as an axe. “Sectumsempra!”

Deep wounds formed across George’s chest and face, blood dripping into the butler’s eyes. “What in the -- “

George used his time effectively. As the words left his lips, he reflexively threw a punch at Harry, landing it with all the force of his rage and surprise. Harry’s head whipped back, but he stood his ground. The pain shot through him, followed closely by dangerously high levels of adrenaline.

“Impedimenta!” Harry shouted, watching with extreme satisfaction as the larger man hit the wall, reverberating across the large open room and up the double staircase. George slid down the wall, his head slumped forward, his gaping wounds still bleeding.

“Thee, thee, thee . . . lackey.” Snippy looked up sheepishly as Draco turned an aristocratic eye on him. “Ssssorry. Been holding that in a while.”

“Wow . . . That was really violent.” Snarky shivered. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Harry whispered softly. “But he can’t follow us if he’s sleeping.”

“Dude. Can we tone down the psycho vibe just a little?” Snippy hissed. Lucius appeared at the top of the staircase, staring down at his son, his downed bodyguard, two snakes, the evil book that had danced on his head. And Harry Potter.

Snarky sighed. “That’d be a no-go on the no-psycho bit, B. Damn. A bad snake can’t catch a break anymore.”

“Quite the entourage you’ve brought with you, son.” Lucius posed at the top of the stairs. “You know your mother expects you to warn us when you bring guests over.” Casually he strolled down the staircase, pausing at the bottom to fold his arms across his chest and glaring at his blond prodigy. “You’ve been a very bad boy.”

“My apologies.” Draco bowed deeply.

“Welcome home, Son.”

“Father, you’ve met Harry.” Draco watched Lucius’s eyes focus on the famous Harry Potter. “He was my – er – guest for the ball.”

“Yes, I am familiar with Mr. Potter.” Lucius drew a breath but was abruptly cut off.

“Sorry to interrupt, I know you’re trying to lead up to an undeniably dramatic and evil quip, but I’m kind of in a hurry.” Harry’s cheek sported a dark purple bruise, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat defeating Malfoy Manor’s first defense. Impatiently, Harry strode past the elder Malfoy, moving instinctively towards the drawing room where Voldemort, Hermione and Snape sat in an awkward kind of silence.

Lucius moved as if to stop him, but Harry waved a hand at him. “You wait here.”

Lucius stood motionless and watched as Harry walked out of the foyer, Sheldon, Hush, Snippy and Snarky following wordlessly behind him.

Draco paused to walk a slow circle around his father. “So, you’re just going to do what he says?”

Lucius nodded.

“Damn. Bet you wish you’d learned that trick before I realized I was Symmetrius.” Draco smirked. “Wouldn’t have worked anyways. I’m much stronger willed than you.” Draco glanced down the hallway towards Harry. “And Potter’s a lot more talented than you.”

“Hey, Hero!” Draco mockingly saluted his father before dashing up the hallway after Harry. “Wait up.”

“Not so fast, Draco,” Lucius drawled. The younger Malfoy paused and turned back to look at his father.

“Oh, that little spell didn’t make you mute? Pity. Maybe Potter’s not as talented as I thought.”

“It won’t work, you know. I know you Draco.” Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Whatever else you may be, you are my son. Whatever your plan is, it won’t work.”

“Really?” Draco’s eyes iced over.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree son. I see why you chose Potter. A magic powder keg about to explode has a superbly unpredictable element that is exactly your style. But you overestimate yourself. Not even you, son, can control Potter.”

“You’re wrong, Father.” Draco smiled as he began to back away. Lazily, he drawled, “I can. Because I’m the only one who doesn’t want to.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snippy and Snarky slithered forward in front of the group, slipping under the double doors quietly. They found themselves staring at Voldemort seated on a horrendous paisley couch.

“Gyuhh! What the hell is that?” Snarky shrieked. “And what the hell is sitting on top of it?”

“Yo! Tom -- S’up? Wow. You got yourself a big old snake face now,” Snippy commented. Voldemort glared at them.

“Looks good on you!” Snarky added quickly. With feigned casualness, the snakes hid behind Snape’s knee.

The doors boomed open and Harry stalked through them, unsheathing the sword of Gryffindor in one fluid movement as he walked. His verdant green eyes fixed on Voldemort’s face and he came to a stop, sword clasped tightly in his hand.

“Tom, good to see you,” Harry said softly.

“Mr. Potter.“ Voldemort inclined his head slightly and settled comfortably back into the couch cushions, a self-assured smirk on his grotesque face. Draco, Sheldon, and Hush filed in behind Harry. The Dark Lord showed no surprise when Lucius did not follow them in. Voldemort’s wand was aimed at Hermione and Snape huddled on the loveseat opposite him. “I suppose you want these back?”

‘No.”

“What?” Hermione demanded. “Yes, you do! You damn well want us back, Harry!”

Snape shushed her. “Control yourself, Ms. Granger. It appears your Mr. Potter has arrived to rescue us, as you insisted so vehemently that he would.”

“Oh.” Hermioned turned towards Harry. “Sorry I ruined your element of surprise, Harry.” A look of concern crossed her features. “That doesn’t change your mind about wanting us back, does it?”

Draco stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Harry. Power flowed between them, charging the air.

“So, young Harry. If you didn’t come for your friends, what did you come for?”

Harry smiled deeply. “Why,Tom -- I came for you.”