Protocol, Interrupted
‘Harry… The last of your treatment cycles is complete. You can wake up now.’
‘I’m awake,’ Harry said quietly, his face pressed into the soft pillow. He felt content, well-rested, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought someone had gently scrubbed his entire body clean in a warm bath.
‘Open your eyes, Harry. It is only the two of us, my dear, although I do not know how long we will have before the caretaker returns,’ Nefeli’s soft voice came from right beside him.
Harry Potter murmured a humming-like sound in response, opening his eyes at the same time he pulled the soft, quilted underblanket up against his chin. Nefeli’s pouch—his potions bag—was resting on the nightstand beside him, his glasses open and gently propped up on top of it, although, come to think of it, Harry could not recall taking them off.
Lucius Malfoy must have put them there himself, Harry realised. He was, after all, holding him captive here.
Yes, the Boy Who Lived was indeed well aware of the fact that he had been undeniably imprisoned in a warped twin of Gryffindor Tower by Lucius Malfoy.
Perhaps he should have jumped on his feet and sprung into some kind of action rather than nestling more comfortably on the bed; in any other situation his strong Gryffindor senses would have had him simultaneously plotting his escape and readying his defences. But the mellowing aftereffects of the potions he had taken were strong. Stronger than usual, given the severity of his injury and the prolonged nature of his treatment, and still coursing through him. It had been some time since he had last been seriously injured.
And Harry had been, he knew, quite seriously injured.
Harry did not know how long it would take for the effects of the potions to wear off, but when they did, the pain from his injuries would return and the calm which he had woken up feeling would fizzle out of his system. Sure, he would be required to take the first of Merlin knew how many follow-up treatments, yet none of them could truly sedate his instincts as much as the initial torrent of potions always did. And, when his full wits returned unhindered, he could see about freeing himself from his current and relatively alarming situation.
As for now, he was simply grateful to be clear-headed and awake, as he should be. Nefeli was waiting patiently for him to go through his protocols.
‘Tell me what you know of all that has happened,’ Nefeli told him, ‘but first you must take water.’
‘Right,’ Harry replied and sat up, slowly stretching his limbs. When he put on his glasses, he caught sight of a glass of water which stood along the far edge of the night table and took a careful sip before setting it back into place. Then, glancing down at his Medipotions Kit, Harry met Nefeli’s deep, mahogany-coloured eyes and said, ‘May I?’
‘Of course, you may, dear.’
At that Harry gently lifted a palm-sized, oval-shaped stone from his bag, cupping it firmly in his hands. To the casual observer, it would have appeared to be nothing more than a solid piece of onyx which could be used to crush most natural ingredients which might need to be added to a potion made on-the-go in powder form, a staple of the Portable Potioneer’s Pocket Pouch since 1887. It could be used as such as well, although that was not the intended purpose of the bespoke item currently clasped in the hands of Harry Potter.
Seeing as this one in particular had been designed by none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore himself. Not as a stone, but as a rather unique kind of locket portrait.
Which, rather than bewitched oil on canvas inside a metal clasp, housed an honest to Circe living, breathing adder.
The snake inside shifted so that only her head filled the visible surface. It had been lacquered with a sheen of scarab beetles to give it the appearance of a mere portrait if prying eyes caught a glimpse of Nefeli unawares.
‘Such a brave boy you have been,’ Nefeli whispered, and Harry’s grip tightened. The stone felt warm in his hand, strengthening his calm even more than the potions did on their own. He was ready. ‘How long has it been?’
It was a memory game they played after each and every incident no matter how small. Harry was to recall as much as he could about everything that had happened—whatever had happened—before Nefeli—who much like Dumbledore seemed to possess an amount of knowledge so vast Harry could scarcely begin to imagine it—would correct the most grievous misconceptions and hint at more of the most pressing details which may have just been shyly tucked behind the surface of Harry’s working memory. For although she may have been hidden away at the time of Harry’s injury, the bond she shared with him as his companion carer allowed her to know such things, to say nothing of the powerful and mysterious gifts she was otherwise endowed with.
Harry raked his eyes over the contents of his bag, trying to take stock of what was missing. Some empty bottles were on a tray on the bed beside him, others seemed to be gone entirely.
‘It was a serious bleed, wasn’t it?’
‘You did not respond to Enervate, darling,’ said Nefeli, and Harry could not help his sudden intake of breath.
He had nearly died then, but that was a thought best left to dwell on at a later time. At least for know, the knowledge made it easier to make his calculations for Nefeli.
‘Right…. Well, that’s a care cycle three treatment. Three empty bottles of blood replenishing potion are here, but another two are missing, which is… thirty hours, and that’s only the second phase. So at least one day has passed, maybe two.’
‘You have done well, clever boy. And the potions, you took them yourself?’
‘I can’t have done. I wouldn’t know how to and I... I couldn't... stay awake, couldn't move,’ said Harry quietly. ‘I remember Lucius Malfoy was here, talking to me and... and he supplied me with potions, but …’
Harry frowned, looking around the room much more calmly than he had done when he was last awake.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘But the dorm was different before. It was green, not red—the walking ivy must’ve crept in through the fireplace again, and... I know, I’m not at Hogwarts.’
‘It’s true, you are not,’ Nefeli said, but did not sound alarmed, as was her way. ‘How did you come to this place?’
‘I... I must’ve been... brought here.’
‘Good boy,’ Nefeli said, her eyes glowing with praise. ‘And were there any others besides this Lucius Malfoy?’
Harry furrowed his brow. ‘No one else that I remember,’ he said, but wait, that wasn’t right. Silver masks had glittered in the light from the… from the… ‘Actually—nevermind. There may have been others, but not in here.’
’Where then, if not here?’ Nefeli asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. It was like a dark cloud hovered over that spot in his memory, and even if he scrunched up his face and tried to think about it as hard as he could, he could not see through the darkness, apart from an unsettling green-ish sort of light.
Nefeli only nodded her head in understanding, and Harry was grateful for the gentle warmth of her pulsing against his palm.
‘How was I injured? I remember a sharp pain in my arm and—'
But the sound of footsteps on stone suddenly echoed in from outside the room, and Nefeli hissed in gentle warning, ‘—Hush now, Harry. The wizard is returning.’
Harry only just managed to slip the onyx portrait back into its holder when Lucius Malfoy strode into the room, wand raised.
The head of the Malfoy family looked particularly clean, although why that very descriptor popped into Harry’s mind was a mystery to him. The golden robes he wore dazzled as he came in, each of his movements causing the light to flash over the surface in just such a way that Harry could see it was not monochrome, for a lighter shade wove its way through the material, the design somewhat like the Wildoreen Moss Neville had told him about in the real Gryffindor dormitory some time ago. Fitting for a Malfoy—the magical plant only grew where there was gold, hardly seen outside the oldest of the ancient vaults in Gringotts or dragon’s den.
‘I see you are finally awake.’
‘Malfoy,’ Harry hissed, and Lucius grinned ever so slightly.
‘Relax, Potter. Unlike your dog, I don’t bite,’ Malfoy said mockingly.
‘Then lower your wand.’
Although he didn’t exactly lower his wand, the man did cross his arms in front of his chest, which made him appear more at ease. ‘See, Potter, I’m not here to hurt you.’
‘As if I can trust your word.’
‘Who said anything about trust?’ Malfoy returned smugly, straightening himself up so that he seemed to loom over Harry, even at a distance.
A tense moment of silence followed in which both wizards stared at each other, not trusting the other not to make a move. It was Harry who finally broke the contact, his eyes flickering towards the night table beside him. As expected, his wand was nowhere to be seen. He took the water glass and raised it to his lips again, downing the rest of its contents and bringing it to rest in his lap. He may have been overtaken, disarmed and brought here against his will, but he was still Harry Potter after all. Should the need arise, he was not beyond lobbing the glass directly at Lucius Malfoy’s pointed face.
‘You would be wise to forget whatever scheme you are concocting, Potter,’ Malfoy said.
‘I’m not the one concocting anything here, Malfoy,’ Harry replied cooly, his fingers clenching around the glass. ‘Who can say the same about you?’
Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. ‘Besides, I am hardly one to concoct schemes, rather I orchestrate results. Now either you can behave and let us get on with this or I will immobilise you. The choice is yours.’
Without warning, Malfoy flicked his wand subtly from where it was clutched in his crossed arms, and a tingling sensation passed through Harry.
Harry’s heart beat furiously in his chest, the glass shooting out of his hand on reflex, but the other man was quick to properly raise his wand and immobilise the glass. After a moment, Malfoy plucked it from mid-air with a sharp motion, holding it like one might a hairball or a wet sock, and set it to rest back on the night table.
‘And to think I had half expected even an ill-bred brat like yourself to have at least some modicum of manners, considering all that I have—’ Malfoy started to say, but Harry quickly cut him off, saying, ‘What was that?’
Lucius smirked.
‘An incentive for The Boy Who Lived to do as he’s told.’
But no, that wasn’t it, because whatever it was, it had felt familiar.
‘You’re... you’re lying,’ Harry said, his eyes wide in confusion, unable to comprehend the sight before him as the other man picked up the brown medical journal from his bag, flipping halfway through and beginning to jot something down.
It struck him as wrong, forbidden that the older wizard should be doing such a thing. There were potent magical protections in place, wards put there by Dumbledore, tinkered with by the head of the Blood Magic and Maladies ward at St. Mungo’s.
But then again...
Lucius Malfoy had used his Medipotions Kit to treat Harry during a bleed—that much was clear. He had likely also been the first person to read his emergency card when he was, well, injured within an inch of his life. But how Malfoy came to be in such a position, Harry hadn’t the slightest idea. The mysterious fact remained that in order for the man to have accessed his Medipotions Kit in the first place—to still have access to it now—meant that he had done something to... had somehow managed to.... trigger the temporary caretaker clause, which Harry had never experienced and only knew little about, until such a time as he … he … he would need to ask Nefeli later about the details.
And then it dawned on him.
‘That’s a diagnostic spell.’
‘It would appear so, wouldn’t it. Honestly, Potter, ready to lob the nearest thing he can use as a projectile? And to do it at the wizard who's showed him a more kindly bedside manner than he deserves,’ Malfoy said. ‘I wouldn’t have healed you just to come in here and try to maim you, so don’t test me. I do rather value my time more than to waste it undoing my efforts.’
‘But why would you—’
‘Why would I what, Potter? Heal you? That is the question of the hour, is it not.’
Harry nodded slowly, his heartbeat only just beginning to slow down to a normal pace again.
‘Responsibility, boy, that’s why, and you, it seems, are mine.’
‘Why would I be your responsibility?’ Harry asked before he could help himself. The elder wizard's blue eyes searched him, his expression more than amused.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ Malfoy said officiously as he set the journal back into its slot in Harry’s bag. Then, he raised a golden bottle of shining liquid which had evidently been in the inside pocket of his robes.
It was Harry’s Forget-Me-Not Tonic. Of course! He hadn’t even realised it was gone from the bag, he and Nefeli hadn’t had the chance….
‘Give me that,’ Harry demanded.
‘And why should I do that, Potter?’
‘You said I’m your responsibility, right? Fine then, be responsible. I need that potion.’
‘But do you really need it? If so, perhaps you ought to beg,’ Malfoy said, and Harry gave him a hard look. ‘You see, Potter, I’ve been up to a bit of reading about your condition—riveting stuff. Surprising to discover, really—Dumbledore has kept your situation quite the secret—and nowhere does it say that someone with Hadrian’s Hallow Heart needs to take memory enhancers. That they are, how shall we say, much sought after is well-emphasised, however. So, tell me, Potter, what will you do to get this?’
‘Give me my wand back and find out.’
Lucius Malfoy only smiled at that. ‘Even one as thick as you should know I won’t be returning your wand to you. Besides, it would hardly help you anyways given your current… situation.’
‘Which is?’
The other man let out a short laugh, and Harry gave him what he hoped was a challenging look.
‘Why did you bring me here? Why did you treat me?’
‘Were you not listening, boy?’ Lucius said. ‘You are my responsibility.’
‘Says who?’
‘Oh, Potter, you really don’t know, do you? Suffice it to say that question will be answered soon enough. Now, there is a fresh set of robes for you in the bath. Make yourself ready, wash if you would. It’s nearly time.’
‘Time for what?’
‘Dinner, if you must know, but you had best learn to not ask questions. Now be a good little Gryffindor and do as I say, and then maybe you will be rewarded with this,’ Malfoy said, and shook the bottle with the memory jogger inside.