The Beginning, Part 1
Lucius Malfoy led the way down the tower steps. Instead of opening up into the Gryffindor common room or some warped version of it, the thick wooden door swung out into a long hallway which was lit by a series of torches all ablaze in a row of brilliant gold flames with a pinkish spark at the mouth.
Much to Harry’s surprise, he did not come face to face with the cool damp musk of a dungeon corridor, nor was the hallway itself made of stone at all, but wood, and the air was warm, the scent of rich bergamot, saffron and cedarwood at its core, stately, if not exactly welcoming.
At the same time, the mysteriousness of the place was pervasive, and Harry was overwhelmed with a curiosity which bordered on suspicion, his attention pulled every which way. The walls were covered in a velvet so dark he couldn’t tell if it was purple or green, red or black, and everywhere were stern-looking portraits, interspersed with the occasional door or archway leading down another corridor. Everything from the gilded picture frames to the centuries-old doorknobs seemed to possess distinct, intricate designs, evidence of immense wealth, which upon fleeting glance looked exactly the same but were far from it in reality. Each curve and swirl spoke of a different architect, a different price tag, a different time.
Certainly, he was being held captive in Malfoy Manor or some other residence connected to the Malfoys—Harry was quite sure that the pureblood family would have loads of them.
Then again, how could Harry even begin to figure out where precisely that was? He didn’t even know which part of the country Draco lived in, and it wasn’t as if he had ever really wondered about it. They had never truly had what one might call a normal conversation, unless you counted that time where Malfoy asked him to pass something in potions or the odd handful of times each year that the Slytherin, for some reason or other, tried to strike up a conversation with him about Dragon Pox.
Lucius Malfoy was leading them along too quickly for Harry to truly get a close look at his surroundings to even try to confirm his suspicions; when he did manage to spot a crest or placard on the wall, he couldn’t get close enough to it to read the details before he felt himself ushered along. Odd too, The Boy Who Lived got the distinct impression that the other wizard—or was it the manor itself—had cast some kind of charm on him to make sure he followed without tarrying, for Harry found himself unable to stray further than arm’s length from his captor at any time, even when all he had wanted was to do a double take down the hallway they had just passed, thinking, for a moment, that he had seen a gleam of silver and a dark figure at the very end, stooped over and shuffling about in a familiar, rat-like way which almost—almost—reminded him of Peter Pettigrew.
Harry shook his head, stopping the thought right in its tracks.
As if such a thing were even possible.
He was just being paranoid.
Perhaps the tethering sensation he was experiencing had something to do with Malfoy’s having somehow triggered the Caretaker Clause, since if this were. Harry didn’t know whether Malfoy knew about the Caretaker Clause or not, nor did he know the extent of Malfoy’s understanding of his condition. The man hadn’t mentioned much about H3; clearly, he knew about the memory tonic and how to follow the instructions in his Medipotions Kit. Actually, Harry realised, the blond-haired wizard must have possessed a profound aptitude for potion making, since the only other non-mediwizard to ever go through the procedure when he had been Enervate non-responsive had been Snape in second year, after Fawkes had pulled them all from the Chamber of Secrets.
But regardless of status, caretaker or otherwise, the man had evidently captured him, had he not?
Captured by Lucius Malfoy, cared for by him—diligently even, Harry remembered Nefeli had told him that at least—and now being led by him to some dinner which the older wizard had said was to be a celebration of sorts. And what was it that it called for both wizards to be wearing dress robes? And here of all places! Nothing made any sense to him, and Harry could not even begin to imagine what chain of events had taken place in the gap in his memory.
Luckily, Malfoy didn’t force conversation on him as they made their way to wherever it was they were headed, and that gave Harry time to think and try to get the facts straight. If only he and Nefeli had been able to make it through all the usual questions in their memory game, then Harry would have had a much more solid foundation to start from.
The last thing he could remember before a few loose, foggy memories from the potion haze between his treatment cycles was making his way through one of the Herbology greenhouses. He couldn’t remember which one it was or what he had been doing in there, only that a tall, wild hedge grew inside it, and an overgrown hibiscus plant which looked fuzzy around the edges. The memory itself was rather fleeting, and only reminded Harry of how like it or not he had to do what he could to get his Forget-Me-Not Tonic.
Had he gone to the greenhouse to collect something that would help him in the Task and had Malfoy followed him there and attacked him? Or had Harry already been injured by the time Malfoy had made his appearance known? After all, both his leg and his arm had been cut, but in different ways. Had Malfoy cast some sort of hex on him that caused his skin to split open, and then panicked instead of leaving him once he realised the blood wouldn’t stop?
Had it all been planned, or had Malfoy simply taken an opportunity when it was presented to him?
By all means, Harry understood—despite the limited number of times that they had met in person—how much Lucius Malfoy hated him. The feeling was mutual, and Harry could also imagine—rather easily—what reasons the older wizard might have for trying to enact some sort of revenge against him. There was the time he and Hermione had freed Buckbeak from execution, although there were only rumours, rather than actual proof that he had been behind it; and he had also destroyed the Riddle diary that Malfoy had intentionally slipped into Ginny Weasley’s possessions, and tricked the man into giving Dobby, his own house-elf, a sock. To name a few….
But kidnapping? It seemed far too extreme given the fact that Malfoy could have just as easily swayed the Hogwarts governors to have Harry expelled and his wand snapped in two for any of a number of slights against Draco or uses of underaged magic or, most recently, allegedly using illegal, if not merely forbidden magic to enter his name into the Goblet of Fire.
Not to mention it was unnecessarily risky and mad to even think about attempting, even if Malfoy had been in the right place at the right time to do such a thing. To smuggle a student—let alone a Triwizard Champion, and Harry Potter at that—from Hogwarts when the castle was already teeming with Ministry officials and the public who had come to see the Third Task… There was no way such a breach in security, not to mention abduction of an unwilling, underaged wizard would go unpunished…
And then there was the obvious impracticality of it all. How would Malfoy have been able to corner him, get close enough to disarm him, and whisk him away from Hogwarts without anyone noticing? Without Harry himself fighting back or running for help?
If Lucius Malfoy’s mind was racing like Harry’s own, the older wizard didn’t let on. His face remained relatively fixed as they walked, although his lips curled into a subtle smirk when he caught Harry staring. In fact, Malfoy didn’t even particularly seem to pay Harry much mind as they wove through the halls, as though he was completely unconcerned that Harry might do something to get the upper hand.
Although Malfoy still had his wand out, raised to chest height, he wasn’t pointing it directly at Harry, threateningly or otherwise. Ron would have insisted Harry use the advantage to tackle him to the floor, steal the wand, hex the living daylights out of him and make his escape. Hermione would have told him to learn more before he rushed into action, especially considering that he wasn’t his usual self, nor did he have his memories or even the faintest idea of what Lucius Malfoy was capable of.
The longer they walked, the more questions came to Harry’s mind, the more confused he became. What was worse, at some point Harry had started to get the creeping feeling that Malfoy was walking them in circles, so to speak, to keep him from knowing right from left and front from back, which only made him focus on taking in all the details around him with an even greater intensity.
After some time, the older wizard seemed to notice.
‘By all means, don’t strain yourself trying to memorise the layout of the manor. You’ll give yourself a nosebleed.’
‘I think I can manage,’ Harry replied sharply. After passing the same blond-haired wizard in a silver cloak with what appeared to be mermaid scales on the neckline for what he was sure was the third time, Harry asked, ‘Why have the walls all got the same handful of wizards on them?’
‘The illustrious wizards whose portraits hang on these walls are hardly all the same,’ humpfed Lucius Malfoy, ‘and what have I told you about asking questions?’
‘If you gave me my tonic, perhaps I would remember,’ Harry grumbled sarcastically.
‘Ask after it again…’ said Lucius warningly, but trailed off before he could finish the threat. ‘Ah yes, here we are.’
They had come to a set of double doors. The thick red mahogany looked firm and possibly impenetrable; little hand-painted golden apples were centred in each of the eight panels, and it had the appearance of being recently polished. All it took was a lazy wave of the wand on Malfoy’s part for the ornate golden handles to push down at the same time and the doors to swing open dramatically.
It was then that Harry felt Lucius Malfoy’s wand press firmly against his back.
‘Gryffindors first,’ he said, urging Harry into the room before him, and Harry had no choice but to enter.
It was a rather intimate dining room, illuminated by three somewhat large and ancient-looking ringed chandeliers with black candles which hung at staggering heights from the ceiling. The light seemed to naturally gravitate towards the centre of the room, leaving the space around the walls left to the shadows. It must have been well past sunset, for no external light was to be seen through the gap in the long golden curtains which flanked the wall to the left, despite the fact that they were made of a fine lace.
Were it not for the royal purple upholstery and the sumptuous array of silver-platters, white tulips and holly which decorated the small oval-shaped table at the heart of the room, it would have seemed almost modest, suitable for only a small number of guests without the use of magic. Malfoy had said something about a celebration, but Harry noticed only two place settings at the table…
‘Well, what are you standing around for, Potter? Sit down.’
Harry glanced at the man, feeling his wand dig into the centre of his back as Malfoy prodded him to move in further, and Harry took the seat at the table which was closest to the door. It was not that he planned to run—he would need his Medipotions Kit and hardly doubted he would be able to find his way back to the room he had woken up in; the potions were still running their course, but that didn’t make him any less aware of his surroundings.
‘It will do you no good,’ Malfoy said quietly, evidently sensing that Harry was considering whether he might be able to flee the room. The blond-haired wizard did not appear concerned about that possibility in the least, however, and made for the opposite side of the table. Harry watched him carefully as he pulled out the chair, but instead of sitting down Malfoy took a step back, his eyes shifting their focus to something behind Harry’s back.
His own chair must have been charmed, because Harry found he could not turn his head to see what had taken the other man’s attention, nor could he turn his body at all.
‘All is as you requested, my Lord,’ Malfoy said, bowing his head slightly.
‘So it is,’ came a cold high voice, and suddenly Harry felt a chill run through him, his entire body screaming at hi. Leave. Now. Run. Danger. Just behind his back, too close, too dangerous.
‘Thank you, Lucius, you have done well.’