Temerity

Disclaimer: Now, now, if I owned the series, d\'you really think Harry and Draco would be even nominally straight? ^_~

Subject Log: 20153554: Malfoy, Draco/Year 3 A.V., 3 January

My name is Draco Malfoy. I am twenty-three years old, and six feet, two inches tall. My eyes are bluish-grey or greyish-blue, depending on who you ask, and my hair--which, for the record, I have not ever, do not now, and never will dye--is a rather attractive color that I like to think of as platinum blonde. Seven years ago, I was the senior prefect of Slytherin house, and captain of its Quidditch team. I was also a Death Eater.

Stop looking so offended--it’s why I’m here, is it not?. I am a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoys are not precisely renowned for their scruples; the Council is hardly going to be interested in my personal history. They want to know what everyone else does–When? Where? And How? As if I know. Sorry to break it to you, mate, but I was the Malfoy heir. If you want any real answers, you’ll have to ask dear old Dad–-and that won’t be very easy, will it?

Oh, come off it, I wasn’t serious! It’s not like he was much of a father. I hardly know the fellow…seeing as he’s been under Imperius for more than a few years, it’s not exactly a surprise. Mum and Bellatrix were cousins, might as well have been twins for all the difference between them. You don\'t really think one of them would have gone over to Voldemort without the other hot on her heels, do you? They were the best wizarding team of their generation. Half the might of the Death Eaters was thanks to their work--between them, they did for as many Muggles and mudbloods as all the rest combined.

Of course I care, you ignorant prat. How could I not? I’ve babysat for Herm and her little redheaded, bucktoothed progeny one too many times. But it happened, and it’s over, and it’s never going to happen again; or at least, it won’t until I’m dead and exorcised by a competent wizard. Gods, what a mess that was! Of all the stupid, thoughtless, pathetically inept…what the bloody hell kind of idiot would expect a wizard like the Dark Lord to leave himself five bloody minutes without a physical focus?! But no, Voldy’s dead, the great Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Bloody-Off-It-Already killed him, he’s gone for good this time…disgusting. And so guess who gets to go haring off all over the bloody United States chasing after a spectre that Dumbledore himself couldn’t find for thirteen bloody years? Draco bloody Dorian bloody Malfoy.

It was probably for the best, though. There aren’t many wizards, even among those of use who turned, who could stomach that particular mission--or would want to. Defeating the Dark Lord…that’s one thing. It’s quite another to seek out and destroy a creature that even the great Harry Potter couldn’t defeat entirely.

------>~

Rain in New York City is nothing like rain in London. It’s colder and sharper, and leaves muddy tracks on the windows. People run to and fro, trench coats hiked high around their faces, newspapers covering their heads. Not that it does much good–New York rain gets into everything, sliding a cold finger into the gap between shirt and shoulder and soaking quickly into skin. At least, Draco reasoned, that explained the shiver that wormed its way down his spine and into his gut as he reached for the buzzer of the grey apartment building.

“Rick’s Plumbing,” he said, as his contact had instructed him, “Here to see about the leak in A-14…” The door swung open with a surly creak, and he stepped through into the dirty foyer. A desultory coat rack leaned against the wall, as if daring him to try and hang something on it. Draco simply shook his head and closed his eyes, cautiously extending his magical awareness throughout the building. He drew back after a scant moment, mouth tight with worry. There was nothing here. Not even a simple locking spell on the door. Either the mark did not yet realize how imminent his danger was–or he simply considered Draco too small a threat to concern himself with. Climbing the stairs to the mark’s apartment, the young wizard encountered no sign of hidden defenses magical or physical. The second option was seeming more and more likely…Then he saw something to give even old Dumbledor a shock; a young girl, no more than five or six years old, crouched outside the door of A-14. Honey-blonde hair fell around an innocent face dominated by a pair of blue, tear-filled eyes.

Oh, no, thought Draco, Oh, no, Granger said the building was unoccupied…\"Emptier than Lupin’s grave” my arse! And then, hard on its heels, I’ve got to get her out of here…

“Hey, little one,” he murmured, kneeling beside her, “What’s a sweet girl like you doing in a place like this?” The girl sniffled quietly, shrinking back and shaking her head vehemently when Draco reached toward her.

“Unca Tommy says don’t talk to strangers!” she cried, and then clapped her hands over her mouth as she realized she had done exactly that.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Draco smiled and extended his hand. “My name’s Drake. Pleased to meet you, miss…?”

“Sofie.”

“You have a very nice name, Miss Sofie. Shake on it, then?” Cautiously, a hand emerged from the trembling bundle. Gently, he bobbed it up and down.

“There!” he proclaimed, “Now we’re not strangers anymore.” That earned him a watery smile.

“So how about you tell me why you were crying, Sofie…” the child took one look at him and started bawling, great, heart-wrenching wails fit to wake the dead.

“Hush, hush!” Draco whispered, waving his hands frantically. If the mark heard anything–! “It’s okay, you don’t need to cry anymore, you can tell your friend Drake what’s wrong…” Sofie looked at him through the veil of her hair.

“It’s Mr. Snuffles,” she said, “Unca Tommy’s friend breaked ’im…” For the first time, Draco noticed a stuffed pink rabbit dangling by its ears from her tiny fist. There was a large rip in its stomach spilling clumps of white stuffing, and one leg was nearly torn off. “It was ouchie.”

“Ouchie, indeed,” Draco said with a wince, wondering who would do that to a poor child’s toy. “May I see Mr. Snuffles?” Sofie’s look turned wary.

“Are you gonna fix \'im, Drake? “ she asked, “Can you fix \'im right now?”

“Sure thing,” Draco smiled. Now, what to do, what to do? Spelling it’s out for certain, that’d be bloody stupid…oh, forget it! By now, he’s got to know I’m here anyway. He raised his wand, reaching for the rabbit.

“No!” Sofie shrieked, “Nononononono!”

“Shh! Shh!” Oh, crap, I don’t need this right now! “What’s wrong, Sofie?”

“You’re gonna break ’im again!” insisted the girl, “You’re gonna break ’im, Drake! Just like Unca Tommy’s friend did!” Draco frowned. Had the ministry sent their people here before him? Harry would toast them for sure when he got wind of it…but for the moment…

“Don’t worry, Miss Sofie,” he soothed, “This is different from what…Uncle Tommy’s…friend did.”

“Promise?”

“Yep.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye?”

“Yep.”

“Do it!” Draco solemnly made an X over his chest and touched his right eye.

“So will you let me fix Mr. Snuffles now?”

“It’s okay with me, but Mr. Snuffles is still scared,” she informed him, “He wants to sit in my lap ’cuz it always makes \'im feel better.”

“Then Mr. Snuffles can sit in your lap all he wants.” Draco leaned forward slightly and brushed his wand against the rabbit’s forehead.

“Priori Afectatum,” he murmured, invoking a spell that revealed the last magic cast on an object. A ghostly mushroom cloud rose over the rabbit, and Draco’s eyes widened in shock. Relegating his panicked thoughts to a small corner where they could scurry in peace, Draco slipped behind the cool mask of the interrogator the war had taught him to be.

“Sofie,” he said, slowly and carefully, “I want you to tell me exactly what happened to Uncle Tommy’s friend. Can you do that for me?” A slow nod.

“Unca Tommy has lotsa friends who come over sometimes,” she explained, “And they play games together. He’ll ask \'em questions, and if they’re wrong then they roll around on the floor and yell a lot. It’s funny!” The girl giggled softly, not noticing how the blood drained from Draco’s face. She just described the Cruciatus curse! He thought, shaking his head to clear it, And she thinks it’s funny?! What kind of child is this? But now she was looking at him worriedly.

“Drake? Are you okay? I bet Unca Tommy could fix you!” she made as if to get up.

“No, no!” he caught at the hem of her dress, “I’m fine, Sofie–” She slipped through his fingers, though, and scurried inside the apartment, calling for her ‘Unca Tommy.’

Oh, shit…

“Hello, Master Malfoy.”

* * *

Draco reclined on a moth-eaten divan, a carafe of chilled holly wine at his elbow. Across from him sat Lord Voldemort, looking for all the world like any other wizard–albeit a slightly sinister, more-than-half mad wizard. Gods, thought Draco, He looks positively normal…shouldn’t he seem more…I dunno, more evil or something? Unthinkingly, he reached for the wine and poured a good-sized goblet. It was more than halfway to his lips, the sharp alcohol just beginning to tease his tongue, when reality reasserted itself. With a gasp, Draco wrenched the goblet away from himself, causing the wine inside to slosh over the edge. A droplet landed on the arm of the divan and kept on going, burning a hole through in ancient cloth. Voldemort chuckled.

\"Well done, Master Malfoy,\" he smiled, paternal warmth infusing his voice, \"Well done, indeed. I thought for a moment I had you…or did it really take you that long to break free–?” His forehead twitched, quirking absent eyebrows, and Draco shuddered in revulsion. His fist clenched convulsively around the goblet, perfectly manicured nails leaving rents in the soft metal. The Dark Lord smiled.

\"Now, now,\" he murmured, \"Let\'s not be testy, Master Malfoy. It\'s rather beginning to bore me...Crucio!\"

The goblet flew through the air, leaving an arc of wine like blood in its wake. Draco tumbled to the floor, a shrill scream ripping itself from his throat as he writhed in abject agony. His vision clouded over red as the capillaries in his eyes burst, then black as the ruptures became too many to see through. He screamed until his throat was raw and gore welled up to choke his cries, spilling from his lips as it did from those of a dying man. A voice, slick and serpentine, penetrated the haze enveloping his mind.

\"Who sent you?\"

The small part of Draco still unconsumed by pain would have had him laugh--if his lungs hadn\'t burned quite so much. I\'m being tortured by Voldemort himself, he observed, And he sounds like a villain in one of Harry\'s cheap Muggle fi--AAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Coherent thought flew out the window as fresh spasms of pain wracked his already-abused body. Well, he thought wryly, At least I go with a clear conscience...my debt is paid. You hear that, Isabelle? Paid in full... Just as Draco consigned himself to the Aurors\' dustbin, however, the agony in his body eased--not much, but enough to open his eyes and ears to the Dark Lord\'s latest twist.

\"Sophie,\" Voldemort called, his voice floating out in to the hallway, \"Oh, Sophie...Uncle Tommy needs your help with something...\"

Beneath the layers of sweat and grime from the floor where he lay, Draco blanched.

\"Gods,\" he rasped, \"You\'re...not going to...bring...a child...into this...are you?\"

\"Oh, Draco, Draco, Draco,\" smiled Voldemort, \"Don\'t tell me that after all these years, you\'re still so naïve! By now, my little Sophie is a child in body only... and perhaps in spirit as well, though even I can\'t vouch for how much of that is simple habit.\"

\"What\'s simple habit, Unca Tommy?\" A high voice piped from the doorway, drawing Draco\'s gaze.

\"Nothing, Sofie,\" smiled Voldemort, \"Don\'t worry your pretty little head about it--right now, Uncle Tommy needs your help with something.\"

\"Okay!\" the girl chirped, hurrying to his side, \"Can Mr. Snuffles help, too?\"

\"Of course, dear. Now come stand in front of Uncle Tommy like we practiced...\" Sofie obeyed, positioning herself with her back to Voldemort, small, pencil-thin arms stretched in front of her, \"Mr. Snuffles\" dangling by his pink ears.

\"Isn\'t she gorgeous?\" Voldemort smiled, gently brushing his fingers through her hair. Suddenly, his hands tightened, wringing a soft whimper from the girl. Smoke curled upward from the points where his flesh touched hers, making Draco\'s blurry eyes widen. Slowly, the smoke resolved itself into a shape all too familiar to the young wizard.

\"No,\" he breathed, \"Not the Dark Mark...it can\'t be!\"

\"Oh, but it is,\" hissed Voldemort, \"It surely is; Invocatum Incatatum!\" Sofie screamed as light like tarnished silver jumped from the Dark Lord to her, and then--

--to her rabbit.

What in the--oh SHIT!

Draco wrenched his aching body aside as the light suddenly rocketed toward him, leaving a smoking hole where it impacted the fraying carpet. Voldemort giggled eerily, delighted at the young wizard\'s antics. Beam after beam of light flashed from his hands, until the room was covered in the debris of broken furniture and rank with the stanch of Draco\'s singed robes. Draco ducked and dodged frantically, every motion wringing a cry of protest from his aching muscles, tumbling about the chamber as if in a mad dance with Death himself. It occured to him that it was only a matter of time--and not much time at that--until his body collapsed from exhaustion as his muscles gave out from the strain. Perhaps, if he had waited a day, trusting in Harry\'s informers that Voldemort wasn\'t leaving any time soon...if he had attacked outright, instead of thinking to trick the Dark Lord into revealing his focus...if he had been less proud of his skills as an assassin-Auror...if, if, if. If my grandmother had wheels, she\'d be a car, he thought, remembering Harry\'s favorite Muggle saying--not that either of his grandmothers would have had the least notion of what a car was. \"If\" doesn\'t get you anywhere...but what else am I supposed to do? I can hardly take him head on, not in this condition... The tail end of a particularly vicious blast sent him flying through the air to land on his knees at Sofie\'s feet. Her small body sagged as Voldemort poured more and more magical energy through her, using her as a conduit to increase his power tenfold and more.
A conduit...Draco, you bloody wanker! Do what you came here to do!\" The blonde wizard laughed in delight at his sudden revelation, bringing a sudden halt to Voldemort\'s rain of fire.

\"Why, I do believe you\'ve finally gone mad, Master Malfoy!\" he exclaimed in mock astonishment, \"You were fun enough while you lasted, I suppose...\" He heaved a dramatic sigh, gathering his power around him. Draco bit clean through his lip to bring himself to his feet.

\"Wait!\" he rasped, \"You can\'t kill me yet!\" To his everlasting surprise, Voldemort actually obeyed, the energy crackling through the air easing just the tiniest bit.

\"And why not?\" the Dark Lord hissed, \"I am intrigued, Master Malfoy--what reason do you think would prevent me from ending your...rather miserable life?\"

\"Because...because...\" Draco\'s mind raced. \"Because I haven\'t cast any spells yet!\" he crowed triumphantly, \"You\'ve never killed another wizard without letting him cast at least one spell--because then it wouldn\'t be death by duel, would it? It would be murder.\" Voldemort\'s eyes narrowed, and the power in the air diminished even further.

\"Not bad, Master Malfoy,\" he breathed, \"Not badly done at all...very well, then. One spell.\" The Dark Lord smiled toothily. \"What are you going to now?\"

He\'s calling my bluff, Draco realized, He doesn\'t think I\'ll have the nerve to cast an Unforgivable, even on him...but I don\'t have to! He reached for his wand--which had, by some miracle, remained in the pocket of his robes--and leveled it at Voldemort\'s chest, just above Sofie\'s head. \"My one spell,\" he rasped, \"Is this: FINITE INCANTATUM!\"
Voldemort shrieked as the spell ripped out of Draco\'s wand, shredding the air as the young wizard\'s will bore down on the small girl between him and his target. Though the spell touched her--or perhaps because it touched her--a shining globe enveloped Sofie\'s writhing form, lifting her up into the air. Darkness seemed to pour from every orifice, filling the globe with twisting black shadows wherein Draco thought he saw faces and sights never meant for mortal eyes. A sudden cry made him look toward his opponent, but Voldemort knelt on the ground quivering and gasping as his body twisted through a hundred different forms. Then Draco had his own problems, as a tendril of energy snaked out of the globe, questing like a blinded snake until, lightning fast, it struck and buried itself in his chest. Magic surged out of him along the link, giving the globe a greenish tinge. Draco tried to pull away from it, and felt it was too late; tried to shield the last of his magic, and felt it penetrate his shields. Sofie screamed again, a shrill, piercing wail that recalled to Draco the child within her-- and his first thoughts upon meeting her:

\"I\'ve got to get her out of here...\"

Bruised and bloodied, losing magic far too swiftly, the young wizard gritted his teeth and did the one thing he could: he stepped forward. The magic flowed faster, the nimbus about Sofie flashing intermittantly, like a warning light. Still Draco continued, his feet leaden weights driving into the floorboards with each step. His more Slytherin instincts wailed at him in distress, and he grinned ruefully at just how easy it was to push them aside.

You\'ll be the death of me yet, Harry, he thought, Bloody Gryffindors...

Three steps away, now...two...one...Draco closed his eyes and strode straight into the midst of the swirling light. Brightness surrounded him, so hot it seared even through his eyelids; he reached out, catching the girl about her thin waist and pulling with both body and magic. The sheer power bound within her small frame burned his psychic \"hands\" to the bone, eating away at them like dark fire. He growled a curse and pulled harder, ignoring the pain that was now gnawing its way up his arms and into his chest.

When the light finally erupted, Sofie was long gone.

------>~

I woke up, as usual, in the not-so-Confidential Ward of St. Mungo\'s, with Harry staring at me fit to drill a hole in my skull--and given the magnitude of my reaction-headache, he might as well have been doing so. I ws six months recovering from that particular bit of nastiness.

Of course I know what Voldemort\'s corpse looked like. Two of the mediwitches in St. Mungo\'s were talking about it when they thought I was asleep. Can\'t say it bothers me that much; it\'s not at all definite that it was his original form. A powerful enough transfiguration spell can remain for years after the death of the subject, especially if it is the work of multiple wizards--and especially if those wizard\'s share a physical focus.

Oh, do shut up! That girl was layered with more protective spells than any one wizard could every hope to cast, even one as powerful as Voldemort--not to mention that most of them had to have required a full coven to cast. Voldemort probably persuaded several other wizards to make the girl their joint focus, and then murdered them so that she would absorb their power.

I beg to differ, sir. As long as they were not, in fact, a coven, but only worked together as one, Voldemort would have been able to seize the focus without any backlash at all. He may have been mad, but if so, he was a mad genius.

Now, if you\'ll excuse me, I really must be going. One can hardly expect the world to stop turning simply so one can reminisce about the past--even if it is by Consular decree. Don\'t worry, I\'ll return.

Sorry, sir. I can\'t promise that.

TBC...^_^;;*ducks behind desk* Sorry to end it here, I\'ll update soon--promise!; so you don\'t really want to yell at me, do you? *radiating innocence* My first stab at HP, so pleasepleaseplease review, or I won\'t know if it\'s worth continuing!!!!!! *sniffle*