Promethean Fire

Part V: Child of Echidna







The Death Eaters finally tired of their game around eleven thirty. McNair took Harry back to the torture room, presumably to chain him back to the ceiling, and the Death Eaters dispersed to find their beds.



Draco was finally free to leave, but he sat there for a while after everyone was gone. The room was thick with the cloying odor of burned flesh and every time he closed his eyes, on the back of his eyelids, he saw Harry’s lovely back spotted with burns. Burns shaped like dragons, like rampant manticores, like serpents twisted into any number of patterns, like wands crossed over each other to form a star, like the Dark Mark…like a winged serpent eating its own tail.



Draco looked down at the sigil iron in his hand. It was cold now, but all he had to do was blow on it and it would kindle. He studied the serpent tip with a calm, almost meditative expression.



A serpent eating itself. How very fucking appropriate.



Draco breathed on it and watched the iron flare brightly. He put his left hand down flat on the table, then, very deliberately, pressed the iron down.



The pain was immediate and agonizing. His fingers curled into the wood of the table in protest and his first instinct was to jerk the brand away, but he held it there. He held it there until his body responded and went into shock. The pain was too much, and then suddenly, it receded. It was still there, it still hurt like nothing he had ever felt in his life this side of a Cruciatus Curse, but it no longer threatened to steal his consciousness.



He smelled his own skin burning, tasted bile in the back of his throat, and at last took the iron away and set it on the table to look at his hand. There it was; a dark, elaborately detailed rendering of his family seal. A self-cannibalizing monster.



The symbolism of this, as related to his current situation, did not escape him. He had a healthy appreciation for irony. It was his sense of humor that had taken a beating recently.



A small puff of smoke curled up from the mark, and Draco watched it dissipate before he stood up and made his way up the stairs to his rooms.



Midnight. It would be midnight soon. Perhaps it was midnight already.



********



Draco was sitting with his hands between his knees on the edge of his bed in front of the fire, staring down at the serpent on the back of his hand, when he heard a crackle and looked up to see Granger’s head floating in his fireplace.



“Draco?” Hermione said.



“Hello,” he said hollowly.



Hermione blinked at him, then stepped through the fire into his room. “Draco, we need to know where Harry is. Where are they keeping him?”



Draco stared at her. “We?”



“Me and Lupin,” she clarified. “He will be here in a few minutes. Are the Death Eaters all asleep?”



Draco nibbled his bottom lip and returned his gaze to the snake on the back of his hand. It had eaten some of its tail, he thought. How interesting. Wonder why it’s doing that?



“Draco, what the hell is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded, staring down at his bent head. “Snap out of it.”



“Why do you suppose it wants to eat itself like that?” Draco asked her, and the soft, ‘my, isn’t that interesting’ tone of his voice sent a chill up her spine.



Hermione knelt on the floor in front of him and took his hands in hers. He hissed in pain and jerked them away from her. “Draco, please,” she whispered. “I know it’s hard. I know. But we have to get Harry out of here. We need your help to—Oh, my God. What happened to your hand?”



Draco looked down at his hand, saw the winged serpent, and tried to concentrate. There was a frantic, urgent, white noise feeling when he did that, so he stopped. “Burned,” he managed, before the memory withdrew.



“They burned you?” Hermione said, casting a quick glance at the door of his room, half expecting Death Eaters to come rushing in to grab her. Nothing happened, except that Draco flexed the fingers of his hand experimentally and watched the serpent writhe. “Who burned you?”



“Me,” Draco said simply.



Hermione stared at him, at the same time not sure that she had heard him right, and almost positive that she had. “You did that to yourself?” she said. “Why?”



“Harry,” Draco said, his grey eyes going bleak and a little distant. “A burn for a burn.”



“You did that to punish yourself for something Voldemort did to Harry?” Hermione said softly, her pulse racing.



“Me,” Draco said again.



“What?”



“Me,” Draco repeated, his eyes searching out hers and locking for a moment, then shifting away. “Me.”



Hermione swallowed and felt the salt of tears in the back of her throat. “You did that to punish yourself for something you did to Harry, didn’t you?” she whispered.



“Please…I’m sorry,” Draco whispered. “Forgive me.”



Hermione had a feeling that he was not speaking to her. “Draco,” she said. She tried to hold him, give him comfort, but he tore himself away from her and sprang to his feet with an angry hiss.



“No,” he snarled. “No, no, no, NO!”



Hermione slowly stood, holding her hands up to show that she would not touch him. He did not relax in the slightest. He backed away from her like a cornered animal.



“Draco, for God’s sake, please keep it together for just a little while longer,” Hermione said desperately. “Please.”



The fire crackled and turned green, drawing Draco’s attention away from her. Lupin’s head did not appear in the fireplace first, he just stepped out of it, shaking ashes off of his tattered robes.



He looked up, assessed the situation, then looked at Hermione and said, “What’s going on?”



She sighed. “Draco’s …cracked,” she said, searching for the right word to describe it.



Lupin looked at Draco, noted his tense, defensive posture, the way his pale eyes darted between the two of them cautiously, and the brand on his left hand. “Has he? Well, it’s about time for it, I suppose.”



“Remus, this is not funny.”



“And I’m not laughing, am I?”



No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t even smiling.



Draco looked at him and remembered a wink. Lupin. Lupin had winked at him on the beach. The beach in Cartagena. Lupin was always doing that. Lupin was the only person Draco knew who had laughed—honestly laughed—since this damned war began. Maybe there was something about being a werewolf that made a person a sociopath. Or maybe it was just the war.



“Lu—Lupin?” Draco said haltingly.



Lupin walked over to him, caught his chin between thumb and forefinger, and forced Draco to meet his eyes. “Draco?”



Draco tried to jerk away from him, but Lupin wouldn’t let him. Draco shifted his eyes away, and Lupin dug his fingers in. “Look at me, Draco.”



Draco whimpered and reluctantly met his piercing gaze.



“I know you’re tired,” Lupin murmured. “I know you’re beaten. I know that you’ve been through a lot the last couple of days, and it’s damn unfair that I have to ask you for more, but I have to ask it anyway. Stay with me. One more hour, that’s all I ask. Long enough to find Harry and get him out of here. Then we’ll take you away from this. Forever. And you can rest. I promise.”



Draco took a deep breath and forced the white noise and the urgent humming that wanted to control him back, forced it deep, pushed it away. He wanted it. It was nice there where the nothing waited to take him over. It was quiet.



“Draco,” Lupin said, watching him battle silently with himself. He, more than anyone, knew the kind of thing Draco was fighting. He fought it with every rise of the full moon. “Draco, remember Harry. Remember how you loved him. We have to save him.”



Harry. Draco made a soft mewling sound and ran the fingers of his uninjured hand through his hair. Harry. Golden skin moving over muscles that twisted as Harry arched against him. Hair the dark black/blue shade of water smoothing the feathers on a raven’s back. Eyes so green and bright they were almost chatoyant like a cat’s. His name ‘Draco’, whispered, moaned, whimpered, hissed, or said with an underlying note of laughter. Or derision. Hatred. Once, long ago, but no more. Not for years. Not since the day by the tree. The tree they had named ‘Mandara,’ after something that Harry had read in a Muggle book about a tree that made worries disappear.



The tree.



Harry.



Harry was waiting for him by the tree.



He had promised Harry.



“Harry,” Draco said, and looked directly into Lupin’s eyes without being forced.



“Yes, that’s right,” Lupin said, using the tone of voice he reserved for frightened children and crazy people. “You remember. You loved Harry.”



“Love,” Draco said.



Lupin cocked his head to one side in a curiously dog-like gesture. “Pardon?”



“Love,” Draco repeated firmly. “Still love.”



“Oh, God,” Hermione whispered, tears springing to her eyes and threatening to spill over. “Oh, shit. Remus, I don’t think I can do this.”



Lupin turned and leveled a hard stare at her. “Yes, you can. If I can ask it of him, when he is holding on to his sanity by a frayed thread, then I can demand it of you, and you will do it.”



Draco stared indifferently down at the serpent on the back of his hand. He closed his hand into a fist, then opened it and splayed the fingers out, watching the little winged beast move on his skin, over the tendons and small delicate finger bones.



“Look at that,” Hermione said. “How is he going to be of any use to us like that?”



Lupin did look, and what he saw made his heart ache. Proud, defiant, sarcastic, often disdainful, always beautiful Draco Malfoy was reduced to childlike fascination with a self-inflicted wound on the back of his hand.



“We don’t have time for this,” Lupin said. “Draco?”



Draco glanced up at him and lifted a questioning brow. It was almost a normal reaction.



“Where is your wand?”



Draco reached into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled it out. He held it up, then gave it a curious wave.



“Fucking hell!” Hermione hissed, as hot green and silver sparks shot past her face.



Draco turned his wand and stared at the tip of it like it had surprised him, then gave it a rapid flicking wave, like a child trying to get more sparks out of it.



Lupin closed his hand over Draco’s and stilled it. “Draco. Stay with me. Just an hour, maybe less. For Harry.”



Draco lifted his wand hand and pressed it to his forehead. He nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”



“You going to be alright?” Lupin asked dubiously.



“Fine. Sure,” Draco said. “But Lupin…we have to hurry. I can’t…I’m not…”



“I know,” Lupin said. “Just tell us where he is, then follow us and try not to get killed.”



“Or kill us,” Hermione added. It seemed necessary.



“He’s downstairs,” Draco said. “McNair…has him in the…torture room.”



“‘Torture room’?” Hermione asked, feeling queasy.



“It’s…what it is,” Draco said. “A room…for torture.”



“I kind of gathered that,” Hermione said.



“We are wasting time here,” Lupin said. “Draco, can you show us where this torture room is?”



Draco nodded and went to the door. Lupin and Hermione were right behind him, their wands drawn and ready.



********



They passed through the halls and down corridors unchallenged, until they were standing outside of the door. As they reached the ‘torture room’, Draco slipped back and let Lupin and Granger go ahead of him.



After the night’s ‘entertainment’, it was not surprising that all of the elite Death Eaters, those of Voldemort’s inner circle, and the residents of Riddle House were sound asleep in their beds. They had left no one on guard.



Careless of them, really, and not a little arrogant.



“Stay here and keep a lookout,” Lupin said to Draco, indicating the spot just around the corner from the room where they were keeping Harry. “Keep your wand ready and just wait here. Can you do that?”



Even in his maddened state, Draco knew what Lupin was doing. He was trying to protect him. He didn’t want Draco to go in there and see Harry.



Draco almost told Lupin that he could handle it. Almost assured the man that whatever was on the other side of that door could not be half as bad as what he had already seen. Then he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and watched Lupin and Granger go inside.



Draco liked Lupin, he respected him, and he didn’t want to see the look on Lupin’s face when he said ‘I can handle it’ and Lupin saw that he was telling the truth.



Draco heard a strangled sound of distress from inside the room. Granger.



He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, resting it against the wall.



There weren’t any more sounds for a while, then he heard the door open and Lupin said, “Be careful.”



“I’m trying to…Oh, Remus, his back. Can’t I just—”



“No,” Lupin said. “We have to get them away from here first. Then you can try to heal him—”



“Well look at this,” said a smooth, familiar voice. “A Mudblood. You and your old friend here wouldn’t be trying to steal our little toy, would you?”



Draco tensed and his heart stuttered. What was his father doing here? Now, of all times?



“Where’s McNair?” Lucius snarled.



Draco peeked around the corner and saw Lupin pressed flat against the wall with Lucius’ wand aimed at his throat, glowing faintly. Hermione was trying to hold up the dead weight of an unconscious Harry Potter all by herself, so she wasn’t much help.



“Where’s McNair?” Lucius demanded again, digging the tip of his wand into Lupin’s skin.



“He’s dead,” Lupin growled, his wolf eyes flashing with barely contained rage



“Is he?” Lucius said, sounding almost interested. “Tell me, Lupin, did you curse him, hex him, or just tear his throat out with your teeth?”



“Do me a favor, Malfoy,” Lupin said coldly, “kill me quickly so I don’t have to listen to anymore of your bullshit.”



Hermione staggered a little, and Harry made a soft whimpering sound of distress. Lucius glanced down at him and his lip curled. Draco looked between the two men, his father and his lover, and felt nothing. It was nice, feeling nothing. Too bad it only lasted for a second.



Lucius looked back at Lupin and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I will, Lupin. We’ve all been having such fun with young Potter here. Think of the things we could do with three of you.”



Draco stepped around the corner and pointed his wand at his father. “No,” he said.



Lucius smiled at him. “Draco. You’re just in time to help me catch—”



“No,” Draco said again.



Lucius seemed to realize that Draco’s wand was pointed at him, not at Lupin or Granger, and he went very still. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.



“Get away from him,” Draco said. “Now.”



“Draco, put your wand down,” Lucius said. He looked furious. But he also didn’t look like he believed Draco could do it.



Draco almost killed him right then. The words, those fatal, unforgivable words, were on the tip of his tongue.



“Don’t,” Lupin said.



Draco flicked his eyes to him briefly, then back to Lucius, who still had not moved away from Lupin. “Why not?” he asked.



“Draco,” Lupin said patiently, “look at him, then look at me.”



Draco did what he said, and he immediately knew what Lupin was getting at. Lucius was standing too close to all of them. If he hit Lucius with a killing curse, that was all well and good, but what if he didn’t? What if he missed by even a breath? What if his hand should tremble or his fingers twitch? He would kill Lupin, or Granger…or Harry. And even if he managed to hit Lucius dead on, Lupin would still be dead. With Lucius’ wand poking him in the throat, it was unavoidable.



“Draco, stop this right now,” Lucius said.



Draco did not move. He kept his wand aimed at his father and did not waver.



“You’ve put him under an Imperius Curse,” Lucius accused Lupin in a hissing voice.



Lupin did not deign to refute it. He merely glared back at Lucius and wished fervently for his own wand, which had been dropped when Lucius surprised them.



Draco waited patiently for something to happen—or for someone to break and do something. If he remembered correctly, this was what Harry had once told him the Americans referred to as a Mexican Standoff. He didn’t know what Mexico had to do with anything, but they were certainly at a standoff.



“If you haven’t been cursed,” Lucius said without looking at his son, “what would make you turn against me? Could it be this frazzle-haired little Mudblood?”



Draco regarded him impassively.



Lucius shifted his gaze to him to gauge his reaction, saw none, and returned his attention to Lupin. “Or perhaps it’s this one?” he said, prodding Lupin with the tip of his wand. “Tell me, my son, do you have a…thing for wolves? I never would have suspected you to be interested in bestiality, but of course that would explain your reluctance to fuck the Potter brat, wouldn’t it?”



Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Lupin roll his eyes and he couldn’t help it, he grinned.



Granger made a strained sound of aggravation. “For fuck’s sake, somebody shoot him, please,” she said, sounding desperate. “Make him shut up.”



She probably didn’t like having her bedroom activities with Lupin classified as ‘bestiality,’ Draco thought, especially by a sadistic Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy.



Hermione cursed under her breath again and Harry stirred and moaned in pain. Draco had pointedly not been looking at Harry, but that helpless little pain sound was almost his undoing. He forced himself to close his eyes and silently count to ten, steadying himself before he opened them again. His gaze locked with his father’s, and just like that, Lucius knew.



“It’s impossible,” Lucius said. “Potter? You couldn’t have…How?”



Harry gasped and jerked in Hermione’s grasp, almost sending them both to the floor. He was obviously conscious again.



“You alright, Granger?” Draco asked, his eyes locked with his father’s.



Hermione laughed a little hysterically. “I’ve been better,” she said. “You think you could maybe hurry this along, Draco?”



“I’m doing my best, Granger. You got any brilliant ideas, I’d be more than happy to hear them.”



“Hold on a bloody second,” she grumbled, moving Harry over to the wall and easing him down on the floor.



“Hermione, what are you doing?” Lupin asked.



Hermione mumbled something about men always making things difficult, then swung around and punched Lucius Malfoy on the end of his chin so hard that his teeth clacked together and his head snapped back. It was damn surprising, and not something that anyone but a Muggle—or a Weasley—would have ever thought of. Lucius fell back a couple of steps, and that was all Draco needed.



“Avada Kedavra,” Draco said, and blazing green light burst from his wand and lanced through Lucius like a sword. He was dead before he hit the floor.



Draco stared down at his wand. He had killed his father. He had killed his father and he didn’t feel anything. He knew that he should and that eventually, he would, but at the moment, all he felt was numb.



“Well…that was easy,” Hermione said, walking over and looking down at Lucius, who just stared back at her with sightless eyes.



“Yeah,” Draco said.



Strange; he never would have thought his father would go like this. When he imagined Lucius’ death, he had envisioned a desperate fight, wands drawn, spells flying, Lucius surrounded by members of the Light, overpowered and outnumbered, not…not brought down by Granger’s mean right hook and Draco’s own wand.



Lupin went over and pulled Harry up. Harry had lost consciousness again, which was probably a blessing as his skin was still branded in a hundred different places and the pain had to be horrendous.



“Here, Draco,” Lupin said, “you’re younger than me, and in a hell of a lot better shape. Take him.”



Draco slowly reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder. It was the very lightest of brushing touches, but Harry whimpered and Draco jerked his hand back with an anguished look on his face. “No. You do it,” he said. “I …can’t.”



“Draco—”



“No,” Draco said, more forcefully. “I can’t. Please, Lupin, don’t make me.”



“Remus, let him be,” Hermione said softly. “I’ll help you.”



Lupin looked for a moment like he might try to force the issue, but then he sighed and nodded in a resigned way. “Fine. You’re right. I know you’re right,” he said to Hermione. “Take his other arm then and let’s get the hell out of here before someone comes down to check on the noise.”



“They won’t,” Draco said.



Hermione gave him an odd look. “Why not?”



Draco hitched one shoulder in a half shrug. “Because they think he’s down here torturing Harry,” he said, his pale eyes lingering on his father’s dead face. “They’ll just assume that’s where the noise came from.”



“Oh,” Hermione said.



“That’s great,” Lupin said irritably. “Come on.”



Lupin and Granger started to move Harry toward the stairs. It was a few minutes before they noticed that Draco was not with them. Lupin half turned to see what Draco was doing and found him standing in the exact same place, staring down at Lucius as though trying to divine some great mystery from his rapidly filming eyes.



“Draco, we have to get out of here,” Lupin said in a low growl. “I don’t think I have to tell you that it means all of our lives if we are caught here.”



“They took his wand,” Draco said.



“What?”



“And his glasses,” Draco continued as though Lupin had not said anything. “Where are his glasses?”



“Draco…fuck. Hermione, hold him for a minute, will you?” Lupin said, passing Harry’s full weight over to her once again without waiting for a reply.



When Lupin put his hand on Draco’s arm, he instantly flinched away.



“No, you don’t,” Lupin snapped, closing his hand around Draco’s arm and forcing him around to face him. “Stay with me, Draco. You have to stay with me just a little longer, alright?”



Draco shivered and tried to pull away again, but Lupin was a werewolf and strong as steel because of it. “Listen to me—” Draco put his other hand against Lupin’s shoulder and tried to push him away. Lupin shook him. “No. Listen.”



“Let go,” Draco said softly, urgently. “Let go. Please don’t. Let me go. I—”



Lupin grabbed Draco’s face in his other hand and forced it around. He dug his fingers into Draco’s chin when he tried to struggle and made him look at Harry. Harry who was burned and bruised and limp. Harry whose back was covered in more black spots than a leopard skin. Harry Potter, who was the one person Draco had ever felt any real emotion for; hate and love in equal measure, often at the same time.



“You don’t owe me anything,” Lupin murmured. “You don’t owe Albus anything, or your father, or Voldemort, but what do you owe Harry?”



Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Everything,” he whispered.



“Exactly,” Lupin said. He did not mention the brands set in Harry’s skin, or the comment Lucius had thrown out in the hallway about ‘fucking the Potter brat’, but he saw the marks and he had heard Lucius’ words, and knew what they meant. He knew Draco’s guilt and did not hesitate to use it to get him moving. “Let’s go, Draco,” he said. “If you want to crack up once we’re out of here, I won’t stop you. Frankly, you’ve more than earned the right. But our first concern has to be Harry. Look at him. He’s hurting. It’s Dark Magic, and deep. We can’t heal it properly here.”



“His wand,” Draco said.



“The world is full of wands,” Lupin said, releasing him and stepping back. “There is only one Harry Potter. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here so you can have your little mental breakdown in peace.”



“Remus, would you hurry the hell up, please?” Hermione said. “I need to get him somewhere so I can heal these burns. My God, look at them. They’re—”



“Everywhere. I know,” Lupin said grimly. He gestured for Draco to go ahead of him, then went to help Hermione with Harry.



Harry came to when they were on the third step up from the second landing and almost caused them to overbalance and fall back down the stairs. Draco caught Lupin’s shirtfront in one hand and hauled him back. His mind might have been severely off kilter, but he still had the battle-honed reflexes of a cat, and that was something for which they were all grateful. The Death Eaters might have mistaken their little scuffle in the corridor for sounds of torture, but the sound of two fully grown men and one woman tumbling down two flights of stairs was bound to bring someone running.



“Shit, that was close,” Lupin said. “Harry, are you alright?”



Draco looked at Lupin, telling him without words how stupid that question was under the circumstances.



“Right,” Lupin said. “Harry, try to hold still. We’re getting you out of here. We just have a few more steps.”



Harry shuddered by way of reply and promptly passed out again.



“Good, he’s out again,” Lupin said. “Let’s hurry.”