Elurot Det Alsmai

Draco sat on the sofa, glaring at the clock on the mantelpiece. Over an hour had passed since Harry had left for the supermarket. Something just didn’t feel right about this. He had a pretty good idea Harry wouldn’t just go off and leave everything behind because they’d literally slept together twice. Not only that, but there was a picture of what Draco assumed were Harry’s parents next to the clock and because Harry went on and on about his parents while they were at school, he was certain he wouldn’t disappear without at least taking that picture along.

He rubbed his sweaty hands along his trousers, looking down as he remembered the silver ring Harry had given him. Harry was only a little late, but the ominous feeling wouldn’t leave no matter how much he tried telling himself there was probably nothing to worry about. He didn’t know if he should contact Potter or not. He wasn’t checking up on the man; he was just worried. Of course Harry could take care of himself, but no one was invincible. Draco sighed, and looked down at the ring once more. Biting his lower lip in decision, he decided a try wouldn’t hurt. Potter? He thought, feeling a vague sense of displacement surround him.

D-Draco? Draco felt the connection instantly click into place before he heard, loud and clear, “Aah!”

Draco leapt from the sofa, eyes wide and wild. He’d not only heard the anguish in Harry’s voice, but he’d felt it too. “Harry!”

***

Harry woke up with a groan, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his bottom lip. He blinked bleary eyes, feeling his head explode with pain from the lump formed on the back. He tried to lift his hand to rub at the bump only to realise they were tied to the armrests of the chair he sat in. He raised his head to study his surroundings, which looked all too familiar to him. He scrunched his eyebrows in thought, trying to think where he was.

After a few moments, he gasped, eyes going wide as he came to a startling realisation. “What am I doing back at the club?” he muttered to himself as he moved his hands, testing the strength of the bindings. He didn’t like this. The last thing he had remembered was Jameson asking to speak to him, then punching him—ow—wait … Jameson had hit him! What the fuck? Did he know he’d slept with Draco—but why would he care? Didn’t they finish, and how’d he find out?

He struggled for a few minutes, but with no luck. The ties were tightly wrapped around his wrists, almost cutting off the blood flow. Harry took a calming breath, closing his eyes as he willed himself to change into his Animagus form. Long moments passed, but Harry didn’t feel the familiar effects of the transformation. He opened his eyes, looking down at his still human body with trepidation. Damn; there must be a shield or something blocking me, he thought worriedly.

The sudden noise of an opening door had Harry looking up swiftly. He squinted past the crack in his glasses, trying to see who was coming inside; he didn’t know if it would be help, or if it was Jameson again.

“I see you’re awake, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock, his eyes widening as he heard the very familiar—too familiar—voice. “Mr Tisdale? What—”

“Harry, my boy, it’s so good to see you again,” Tisdale greeted, grinning eerily at Harry as he walked further into the room.

“What are you doing here? And why am I here?”

“Oh, Harry, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Tisdale replied, stopping in front of him. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but if Tisdale was here, it probably wasn’t anything good. He didn’t know whether he should fear for his life or his arse at the moment.

“What are you talking about? I’m assuming I was brought here by Jameson, or am I wrong?” Harry enquired, scowling up at the man who’d been a pain in his arse since the day he opened his shop.

Tisdale snorted, sitting down in the chair across from his. “You’re correct. It was a stroke of genius having my own son infiltrate the Muggle law enforcement; taking the place of a man with the same surname, and those filthy Muggles didn’t even notice.”

Harry leaned back as Tisdale’s spittle went flying as he laughed. Harry had known he was a perverted fucker, but he hadn’t known he was insane too. “What are you saying?” he asked in confusion. Surely this man wasn’t—“You’re the one who murdered all those Muggles? Wait, how’d you purchase the items from my shop when you never bought anything?”

“Oh, yes,” Tisdale replied with glee. “Filthy creatures, they are. You see, Harry, back when You-Know-Who was still alive, I tried joining his ranks. But that idiot wouldn’t accept me, saying I wasn’t a true pure-blood as all of my children turned out to be Squibs.”

Harry watched in shock as Tisdale Summoned a table to him, filled with strange metal instruments. Tisdale’s a wizard? He just couldn’t believe it as he turned to get a better look at the items, he wasn’t sure what they were, but he recognised one of them: a pair of pliers.

“So, what did the Dark Lord do?” Tisdale continued, picking up the pliers from the table. “He killed my family because we had to live as Muggles and most assuredly would have killed Taylor as well if he had not been visiting distant family at the time,” he explained, gesturing to his son, who was standing near the exit.

“But what does any of this have to do with me?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes on the tool in Tisdale’s hand. “I never did anything to you or your family. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Why, dear Harry, you were the one who defeated the Dark Lord! And if I’m to take over: me, a lowly wizard who couldn’t even produce magical children, I have to be sure you’re out of the picture,” Tisdale aloofly replied. “Can’t have you trying to kill me also, now can we? As to how, my son purchased those items of course. Really, Harry, have you not figured out who Elurot Det Alsmai is?”

Harry shook his head in answer. He watched, memories of an earlier time coming back to him, as Tisdale used his wand to write his name. ‘Meloutar Tisdale’ floated into the air before one swish of his wand had the letters rearranging themselves to his name: Elurot Det Alsmai.

Harry frowned. Okay, so he rearranged his name, but it’s not a very scary name. At least Voldemort was more creative with his anagram, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. He stared at the name in the air, trying to see if he could find out any significant meaning to the name, when it hit him.

I am slated to rule.

Harry furrowed his brows. “You’re slated to rule, how original,” he said sardonically.

Harry watched, helpless, as the man scowled and placed the pliers around his left little finger before he bent it at an unnatural angle, snapping the bone. “Argh!” Harry screamed, tensing in his chair, twisting uselessly through the ropes around his wrists as sweat broke out on his forehead and his body trembled in pain. “Wh-what … do you … think this will accomplish?” he panted heavily.

“Probably nothing, but I want revenge, and since you’re here and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn’t, I’m afraid it falls on you,” Tisdale replied nonchalantly with a shrug, taking the next finger between the pliers and breaking that one also.

“Agh … fuck!” Harry cried out, his face flushing in pain. He didn’t know how much more he could take; he was on the verge of passing out from the pain already. He blinked the sweat from his eyes, trying to keep himself from losing consciousness when he heard a faint, Potter?

D-Draco? Harry thought, scrunching his eyebrows together, wondering if he’d imagined that or not, before Tisdale broke his middle finger. “Aah!” He startled when he heard, loud and clear, Draco shout his name. The rings. He’d forgotten all about the rings. He had to tell Draco where he was within the next five minutes or … well, he didn’t want to know how far Tisdale would go.

Harry panted roughly, feeling the blackness beyond pain slowly trying to pull him under; he knew he had to keep Tisdale distracted, but he had to speak out loud. He had to tell Draco where he was or he would die in here like all the others. “Club … Infinity … Draco …”

I’m coming, Harry, hang in there! He heard Draco say in his mind.

“What?” Tisdale asked, eyeing Harry strangely. “Who are you talking to?” Harry saw him turn towards his son. “Taylor, go outside; make sure no one disturbs us.”

“Yes, Father,” Jameson obeyed, walking out of the room and presumably into the main area of the club.

Disorientated, Harry watched Tisdale turn back towards him. “We mustn’t have anyone interrupt us, Harry; I’m not finished with you yet. I have to show the wizarding world that even I can be great.”

“God. Why don't you stop … your whining and get on with it? I've … heard all … this shit before,” Harry growled out, panting heavily, as he scowled furiously at Tisdale.

Tisdale snorted, placing the pliers around his index finger. “But I’ve only just begun, my dear,” he sweetly replied, breaking Harry’s finger.

“Agh! You fucking … bastard!” Harry screamed, the pain in his left hand shooting white hot sparks up his arm; he almost wet himself. “Do you … know why … people like you … kill others, Tisdale? Do you?” Harry panted out, feeling nauseous and praying Draco arrived soon.

Tisdale leaned forward to smirk in his face. “Why don’t you tell me, Harry?”

“Because,” he began, trying to calm his breathing, “they choose to. There’s no one else to blame.” Harry took that moment to spit in the man’s face and gasped sharply as Tisdale’s fist suddenly connected with his face, sending his glasses flying off to clatter onto the floor.

“Harry, Harry,” Tisdale said, shaking his head as he wiped the spittle from his face. “You’re right. I choose to kill. And you, my dear Harry, are going to suffer the same fate.”

***

Draco Apparated to Club Infinity as quickly as he could without Splinching himself in the process. He couldn’t see or sense the pain no doubt emanating from Harry, but he heard it in his ‘voice,’ so to speak. Draco reappeared a few feet away from the building, not giving a damn if any Muggles saw his sudden appearance or not. He looked around the building, but didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. He moved towards the entrance to the club when he heard someone calling for him.

“Draco?”

Draco whipped around towards the source of the voice, face scrunching in confusion upon seeing his ex-lover emerge from the side of the building. “Taylor? Did the Muggles send you here?”

“Not quite,” Jameson replied, leaning against the closed door of the club. “Tell me: why are you here?”

“Harry’s in trouble,” Draco replied distractedly as he looked around, wondering what Jameson was doing at the club; did he know that Harry was in danger as well? “Taylor, what’s going on?”

“So it’s Harry now, is it? What happened to Potter?” Draco kept quiet, feeling very apprehensive as Taylor continued. “You remember how I persisted after you?” Jameson said, his tone conversational. Draco nodded, frowning. What did this have to do with anything?

Jameson snorted, looking off to the side for a moment. “I was told to find someone who’d once been close to Harry Potter; preferably, someone who worked at the Ministry as an Auror. I thought it would be difficult, seeing as I enjoyed the company of men more than women. But I steeled my resolve, knowing it’d be a sacrifice for my father’s overall goals. Imagine my surprise when I find that not only was Potter your old school rival, but you were just as big a pouf as I was.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Taylor started, sighing in boredom. “That our affair was only meant to gather information. I only remained with you until I had all the information I needed for the plan.”

“What plan?” Draco couldn’t help but ask, crossing his arms. He was hurt and angry, knowing that Taylor had used him for personal gain. What that gain was, he didn’t know. This whole situation didn’t feel right. He was here to save Harry from whatever vile thing he was undergoing, he didn’t have time to sit here and play Twenty-bloody-Questions.

“Did you really think hiding those official Auror files under the illusion of old maths documents would deter me?” Jameson asked instead. Draco’s mouth hung open at this. He didn’t know how Taylor could have seen those files. Only wizards or Squibs would have been able to, and he knew Taylor wasn’t a wizard; he didn’t give off the same aura as other magical folk did.

“Hang on, you’re a Squib? You’re a fucking Squib?” Draco angrily accused, nostrils flaring in fury at being taken for a fool.

“Yup,” Taylor replied, smirking. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he began, as his hand disappeared into his pocket, “it’s time to do some cleaning up.”

Draco noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, unconsciously reaching for his wand, ready and waiting to pounce when he caught sight of the item. Draco backed away from Taylor; he may have been a born and bred pure-blood wizard, but even he knew about Muggle weapons. “A gun? How fucking Muggle of you. I knew you were no good for me the moment I met you, but no, I had to let my fucking hormones speak for me.”

“You always were easy to manipulate. I don’t know how you became an Auror, as slow on the uptake as you are,” Taylor said, cocking the gun.

Draco backed up further, concentrating as hard as he could, transforming as quickly as possible into his hawk Animagus. He launched himself at Taylor’s face, clawing and pecking at any flesh available from the flailing man. “Agh…ah! Get off me!” Taylor screamed, thrashing his hands about. Draco saw his arm go up trying to knock him back, but to no avail.

The gun went off suddenly, startling Draco as it clipped his wing. He let out a loud squawk, panting at the bullet hole in his shoulder, thankfully, missing anything vital from what he could tell. He lay on the ground, supine, staring up at the afternoon sky while wincing in pain. He heard Taylor cursing loudly, and tilted his head as much as he could to look at the man, as he panted in fear and pain.

“You bastard!” Taylor shouted, wiping at his blood-covered face with the sleeve of his jacket. “You’re going to pay for that!”

Draco pulled out his wand, pointing it at Taylor as the man sprinted at him. “Stupefy!” Draco shouted, watching his ex-lover crash to the ground, Stunned. Draco dropped his wand arm back to the ground, taking a breath as he waited for his heart to stop beating so fast. After a moment, he slowly sat up, gasping as his shoulder sent stabbing pains up his neck. A wave of nausea hit him suddenly, pulling a few dry heaves from him as well.

Finished with his bout of sickness, Draco took a deep breath as he hauled himself up onto his feet with some difficulty, blood seeping out of his wound. He couldn’t worry about that right now, Harry needed him. He turned to the stunned man, waving his wand until ropes shot out, binding Taylor tightly before he headed for the club’s entrance. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

***

Harry spluttered as cold water was thrown at him, waking him out of the stupor he’d fallen into at the latest pain filled break. This time, Tisdale had grabbed his hand, twisting it quickly and sharply, breaking his wrist. Harry had screamed out in pain before blacking out, waking only when he’d been doused.

“Now, now, Harry,” Tisdale said, rummaging through the tools on the tabletop. “We can’t have you passing out on us.”

Harry blinked bleary eyes at him, breathing heavily as he watched, dazed as Tisdale grabbed a large item from the table display. It looked like it might be a blowtorch, but Harry wasn’t sure, since his glasses were elsewhere.

He was right in his assumption when Tisdale turned it on and lit the end of the tool, staring at it with an evil grin on his face. Harry renewed his struggling, uncaring of how much pain the movement caused. What the fuck, where’s he going to use that?

Harry fearfully watched, sweat beading on his forehead and nausea bubbling up inside of him as Tisdale came closer and closer to his face with the blowtorch. This was it; he was going to die in the most painful way possible and Draco was nowhere to be seen.

“Get the fuck away from him!”

Harry heard the words, but didn’t turn away from the fire approaching him.

Tisdale turned in his seat, lowering his arm a fraction as he eyed Draco in annoyance. “Who the hell are you?”

Draco stood scowling, left arm covered in blood and hair matted in dirty clumps against his face, his wand aimed at Harry’s sour-faced kidnapper. “I said, let him go!”

“Or you’ll what?” he mocked, grabbing Harry’s hair in a steel fist and bending his head back. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in charge here, blondie. I think fire beats magic.”

Draco’s arm didn’t waver once as he stepped further into the room. “Don’t make me kill you. Let him go now!”

“You don’t have the guts to kill me,” Tisdale sneered, inching the blowtorch closer to Harry’s face. Harry could feel the heat blistering his skin as it got closer to him. He held his tongue, trying to stifle a shout of pain; he felt like his face was melting.

“This is your last warning. Let him go or you’re dead!”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, feeling the fire licking at his face. He knew he was going to die; Tisdale was ignoring Draco. It was too late. He startled violently when he heard Draco’s shout and the blowtorch hitting the ground.

“Avada Kedavra!” Draco shouted clearly and without hesitancy. A green light shot out of his wand, hitting Tisdale in the chest and sending the man flying on impact. The blowtorch dropped to the ground with a loud clang, blue fire still spewing threateningly from the tip. Draco quickly waved his wand at it, extinguishing the flame before staggering over to Harry and kneeling down in front of him. “Potter … Harry? Are you okay?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open a few times, before he rasped out, “Dray-co?”

“Yes, Harry, it’s me,” Draco laughed in relief, standing up and using his wand to remove the bindings around Harry’s wrists. Harry gasped in pain as his broken hand came loose. “Harry, look at me. Can you stand?”

Harry’s head lolled on his neck; he saw Draco past his sweat-sticky fringe, eyeing him carefully and concerned. “I-I think so,” he replied, using his right hand to brace himself, Draco helping him out of the chair. He wobbled slightly as he stood on shaky legs, keeping hold of Draco’s good arm. They stumbled shakily through the room before Harry froze, eyes going wide. “They actually worked.”

“What did?”

“The rings. I wasn’t sure they would.”

Draco snorted, as he and Harry shuffled out of the club’s secret room, making their way slowly but surely towards the exit. Once they were finally outside, Draco sat them down on the concrete footpath in front of the building, moving to check Jameson to be sure he was still securely bound before returning to Harry. “I’m going to have to call the Aurors to come take care of this mess. And have you looked at,” Draco added, looking over Harry’s body. “You look a right mess.”

Harry laughed aloud. “So do you.” Seconds passed in silence before Harry began, “Hmm, I’m thinking this would count as a reason to strengthen a rocky relationship.”

Draco laughed, pulling out his wand once more. “I think you could be right. But let’s hold that thought, eh?” With a wave, he muttered a spell, sending a purple mist into the air, and watched it float off.

Harry followed his gaze. “What was that?”

“It’s an Auror thing. I’m letting the Aurors know where we are and what happened here.”

“Oh.”

Together they sat in front of the building quietly, waiting for the Aurors to show. Harry smiled slightly despite everything that happened in the last week. As the Aurors began arriving, Harry closed his eyes as fatigue set in. He felt Draco move beside him, standing to greet his colleagues. Even though Harry didn’t know what the future with Draco held, he did know that he no longer felt lonely.

End