Angel on the cover

Draco woke up in darkness.



The chill in the air exacerbated the ache in his bones. His body ached and he felt disoriented in the faint light of the torch that shone on the opposite wall. He could make out bars in front of him.



He could hear a door opening and a draft to followed the person as they entered. He felt his face, tracing the dried tear tracks. He couldn’t remember what had happened or how he had ended up there.



A shadow darkened the doorway, and he could just make out a figure in the faint light afforded to him.



“Here, Malfoy, Malfoy.”



He didn’t answer the taunt from the newly identified Nott.



“Wait until the Dark Lord gets a hold of you. It’s too bad he won’t let us play with you first-- you’ve grown so pretty.”



Draco did not flinch as a beefy hand slithered by the bars, making grasps at him. He felt his lip curl in disgust as he dismissed Nott with the turn of his head.



“Still feeling so damn high and mighty are you, Malfoy?”



“It’s not so hard. Everything is higher than your kind of filth,” Draco’s raspy voice answered him in defiance.



He damned himself immediately after uttering the words. That fool Gryffindor really was rubbing off on him.



“I think the Dark Lord will understand that I had to smack you around a little to get you to cooperate.”



He could hear the metal rustle of what had to be the keys and hurried to dissuade the man from entering his cell.



“Yes, I’m sure your Dark Lord is so foolish he’d believe that you needed to subdue a prisoner that was securely behind an entrapment.”



It made him pause for a moment. “I’ll tell him you were escaping.”



“How?” Draco fought to keep his tone belittling, not willing to let on the fear that rushed through him. “I have no wand and I can’t fit through those bars. How could I possibly escape? He’ll see you for the moron you are.”



At the ominous sound of the unlocking latch, Draco inched back against the wall.



“I’m going to teach you a lesson, Malfoy, one your dear daddy should have taught you and your mother.”



Draco clenched his fists, preparing to kick the miscreant in the bollocks as soon as he got close enough. If anything, he would tear out the man’s jugular with his own teeth.



He heard him get closer, preparing himself for the attack, when suddenly the looming figure fell forward, forcing Draco to abandon his corner as he maneuvered to the left.



There was someone else in the cell with them! They had stopped Nott from attacking, but it didn’t mean he was any safer; they might want the ‘pleasure’ of hurting him themselves.



“Hurry, we don’t have an-an-anny… any time!” The stuttering voice was unfamiliar to him and was accompanied by a shaking hand. “Come on,” the person urged. “Please! We need to get out of here!”



* * * *

Draco sprung forward, leaving the restless sleep to collide with reality. He curled into himself, sweeping his hair back off his sweaty forehead. He was wrapped in soft pink covers with lace trim. The room was small, barely furnished, with plain white walls and a small night table.

He could see hints of sunlight held back by curtains on the large windows. The place was dark, but nowhere near as dark as that dungeon had been.



He wondered what had triggered the memory of his capture and subsequent escape. It was the feeling of confinement, that horrible realization of waking up in a cage with no hope of escaping that haunted him.



He remembered seeing Granger in the lobby of his hotel, arguing about the unwanted key, his final words to her, and then nothing but darkness. Someone had hexed him!



It couldn’t have been Granger-- she wasn’t one to attack from behind. That meant her large buffoon of a husband had to have been in cahoots with her.



He threw back the sheets, noticing he was still in the same clothing from before. His stocking feet met the cold floor as he slowly got out of the bed.

He realized that they must have taken him to their home, when he spotted the Griffindor couple waving from inside the picture frame that hung from the wall. Grabbing the lamp on the night table, he unplugged it quickly and approached the door silently. He reached for the knob just as he had at the hotel, only this time he was prepared, holding his makeshift weapon over his head.



“Wait.”



His hand obeyed the request even as it was directed to someone on the other side of the door.



“I have to check on him. He’s been unconscious for an entire day. We need to ask him how he feels and make sure the baby’s ok.”



Draco splayed his fingers across his belly in fright as he tightened his grip on the lamp, his murderous gaze pointed at the closed door.



“Poppy said they were fine. He’s just a little run down and his body is making him get the rest he needs. I told you-- I did exactly as she said: swish then flick and avoid the stomach. I asked before we left for the United States.”



If the answer had not been so relieving, Draco would have rolled his eyes at the boasting manner with which the man assured the woman on the other side of the door of his foresight.



He lowered the lamp it as he continued to listen to their conversation.



“I-- ” he stepped back.



The door opened, and the couple gasped in unison.



Ron fell to the ground, the remnants of the broken lamp littering the floor by his head.



* * * *

Martin knew he shouldn’t have gone to work today.



“Why didn’t you check sooner, Martin!”



“I don’t know. I didn’t notice how the time passed. Next thing I knew it was night and I hadn’t seen him check out.”



“So help me, if something happens to that pretty boy, our hotel will be ruined!”



Martin only stared at the blotchy red face of his superior, comparing it to that of the crab on that SpongeBob show his little brother sometimes watched. His wild gestures were full of rage as he imagined all the guests that would check out in horror when they learned of the missing male model.



Martin had last seen Draco Malfoy that morning. The blond had been in the process of checking out when he’d been interrupted by a young woman. He knew for certain they had gotten into the elevator and gone to his room, but the security tapes showed no activity after that.



“No, no everything is fine. Please stay a little longer. Consider it complimentary,” Martin’s supervisor assured a flustered guest. From the look his boss gave him, Martin just knew that was coming out of his check.



Yup, he definitely should have not come to work.



* * * *

“Ron, get away from the set. You might have a concussion.”



Ron held the icepack to his head with one hand as his finger pushed the channel button frantically.



“No, Heroes is coming on. We pay a lot to get this channel, and I’ll be damned if Malfoy makes me miss it,” he agued stubbornly from his seat on the couch.



Hermione sighed in frustration.



“I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be chivalrous and all that rot. Imprisoning a helpless man and keeping him hostage? I don’t think I agree.”



“Be quiet, Malfoy. I can’t think,” Hermione pleaded quietly.



“Helpless?! you nearly took my head off!” Ron roared, turning to look at the captive Draco.



“You could have hurt my child!” Draco lost his temper and yelled back.



“Oh, Draco, I promise your baby is alright. Ron can be an idiot, but he wouldn’t harm you or your baby,” Hermione reassured him with a hand on his shoulder.



Draco shrugged off her hand and looked forward toward the telly.

He was tied to a chair. The restraints were made of silk so they didn’t hurt, but he was magically persuaded to stay put.



“Police are on site investigating the mysterious disappearance of an up-and-coming male supermodel tonight. He was last seen in his room at New York City’s Plaza Hotel yesterday morning moments before checking out. Authorities have reason to believe he may have been taken against his will by an unknown young woman. More on this and other stories at 11,” a newscaster said. The announcement was accompanied with the picture of Draco that Rob had sent to Dean the week before.



The bag Ron held fell to the floor. He watched the ice spill out across the floor, icy puddles slowly forming.



“Maybe if you let me go now, they wont throw you in muggle prison”

Draco’s comment accompanied the falling ice, mocking the shocked expressions on the Weasleys’ faces.