Hunted
The day began as normal as any other. The opening of the curtains, the summoning of fresh clothes, the brushing of hair and the trek downstairs to the kitchen was performed with a natural ease. But this day there was an added lightness to the steps. Today was a field day and Draco was more than excited for the hunt to begin. Hot tea in hand, Draco wandered out into the garden to complete his routine checkups before heading out.
A bit of pruning here, a bit of watering there. Nothing too exciting. Nothing too special. Just normal and perfect, the way Draco liked it.
A cursory look at his preparations table in the back room revealed that he was ready to being his day. His bag was packed and ready, a map was laid out before him with his usual apparition sites noted, and his notebook opened to the most recent page containing information on how to find what he was looking for. His messy handwriting and cramped notes surrounded the picture he had drawn for better identification. He could hardly read what he had written.
Draco supposed he should stop writing in low lighting.
The journey to his usual apparition spot was short. Just to the edge of town near the train station. For longer trips he would make sure to be seen by his neighbors walking towards the stop, nodding his head or waving at the few who looked up at him. He was still an outsider to the town. A young man who kept to himself never seen leaving his home would raise questions he did not wish to answer. A wizarding neighborhood would not have looked twice, but a wizarding neighborhood would come with it’s own problems that Draco was never in the mood to deal with. At least now people would see him leave and assume he was taking the train to the city. People on the trains who saw him one moment and gone the next would assume he was just in another car from them. They would forget him in an instant. Just like he liked it.
His journey from there was quick. Two hops to his usual spot, right outside of a small farming town in the north.
One pub visit for lunch and another hop away later, Draco found himself next to a lone farmer’s road in search of a particular clump of trees.
Windswept hills, mossy rocks, the bubbling of a lone creek, and a book levitating in the air, its pages threatening to flip wildly on their own against the magic holding them in place. It hadn’t been this windy last time he had been in the area.
Draco squinted one again trying to read his own messy handwriting, opting instead to trust the quick sketch he had made of the plant.
There was only one fungus left for him to find to fill the last custom order he had gotten. The rest of it he had been able to supply from his own personal stores and previous trips out into the field but this last ingredient was one of the more rare. It only grew in perfect conditions of rot and decay. Earlier in the day Draco had overheard a local farmer in the pub talk about how a few of his sheep had been lost in the forest before the storm and had most likely perished in the weather. After subtly tracing where the farmer’s land was and wandering into the woods that surrounded it, Draco only had to follow the scent of death as the anticipation grew inside of him.
The trips out into the field fueled something inside the lone Malfoy. The thrill of the hunt was almost as addictive as it was meditative. He would not stop until he found what he was looking for, something staying out in the woods for days on end. Once there had been a time where he had spent a month wandering the Spanish country side in search of a root one of his repeat customers had ordered. Known to be one of the oldest and most prestigious families in Wizarding Spain, Draco had not been want to disappoint. Worth more galleons then he was, the root was all but known to be extinct to muggles and incredibly rare to wizards. The pay day had been handsome indeed, but the satisfaction upon stumbling across it was worth its weight in galleons.
It rivaled the feeling of catching the snitch to win the game.
After an hour of carefully avoiding the low hanging branches of the trees that towered over him a gruesome sight came into view. In a pile of flesh and wool, Draco could barely make out what had once been perhaps five sheep. The mangled mess left behind by more than just inclement weather and wandering livestock would make even the strongest stomachs heave upon sight. But there, in the middle of all the madness, was a small bright white dome waiting to be noticed. A few references to his shaky handwriting and reference pictures later and Draco allowed himself a smirk.
The hunt was over.
Draco unshouldered his bag and floated his reference book in before reaching his entire arm into the depth of his pack. Finding what he needed took a few minutes more than he would have preferred but the last time he had summoned his tools from the bag the spade had brought with it more than he anticipated. His extra set of clothes had of course landed in the mud at his feet and his lunch a few steps away in the river.
Practiced gloved hands carefully approached the fungus atop the marred sheep bodies. It was important to not touch the mushroom more than necessary as the delicate skin could turn to dust with too much pressure. Preferring a scalpel to cut it away as compared to the swiftness of a wand, Draco had his prized possession in his hands in mere seconds. A suspension charm in a glass box and a cushioning charm for good measure later and he was ready to start the trek back to his preparation room back home. As he stood to leave, setting his bag back on his shoulders, something caught his eye.
Something wrong.
Right where he had been cutting away the mushroom was a puncture wound on a sheep’s neck. Four large puncture wounds. And a series of smaller ones in between.
Draco took a step back and took in the sight as a whole for the first time. No longer blinded by what he was after, Draco could see that something was missing.
Blood.
And a whole section of a sheep’s back. And a few limbs.
Draco was not looking at an unfortunate pile of wayward animals. He had stumbled upon the remnants of a feast. One he had bared witness to once before.
Dark clouds rolled into Draco’s mind as storm of the past brewed behind his eyelids. A howl in the dining room. The smell of damp fur and iron in the air. Dark red pawprints trailing from the garden throughout the white marbled halls. Carcasses of he didn’t want to know piled in the corner of the once grand entry way.
A chill ran down his spine. He quickly threw up a temporary protection ward. The bodies had started to decompose on the forest floor and the full moon had been a week ago but there was no telling how far away the attacker might have wandered off. Especially if there was still food in the area…Draco thought of the farmer.
Draco took out his camera and took a photo making sure to get a close up of the bite marks and scribbled his rough coordinates on a page he ripped from his book. He’d owl them over to the Department of Magical Creature Sightings upon his return home but for now he had to leave.
Quick work was made of retracing steps through the dense foliage. His own heartbeat served as the drum to which he pumped his legs. A spell on his feet to quiet the running did little to help his desperate gasps for air. The trees opened back to the sprawling hills. Sunset was claiming the valley. Through the lowlight he could see everything that came up on him, and everything could see him. Shaking hands tried to spell a disillusionment charm but failed. Draco tried to calm his mind but his body would not respond no matter how many times he demanded he think rationally.
The road ahead. The turn on a heel. A soft pop dampened by the grass.
Two hops later and Draco was gasping for air in his garden. The panic of the predator he was sure he had stumbled upon rose as bile in this throat. Draco heaved and spelled away the mess.
He was safe now. He could breathe. Nothing could get him here.
Steady steps led him back into his house. The back room was ready for what he had collected to be prepared for shipment. Draco methodically retrieved his book and samples from the day and packaged them, writing notes on storage preferences and ideal use by dates as he went. The thoughts and worries of the day floated around in his head, finding their places in the neat book shelves of his mind. With the new books sorted, the door to the library closed. With a blank face Draco called his owl and sent the packages away, grateful for the calm reprieve that occlumency allowed.
The sun slipped further below the horizon. Whispers encouraging people into their homes beckoned for the creatures of the night to emerge. The only magical garden in town was a beacon to fairies and gnomes alike. Glowing beetles and invisible spiders crawled about. The plants growing under the moonlight lifted their leaves in welcome for the nightly company. The garden never slept. It was full of life. The light pouring from Draco’s windows spilled into the neat rows of leaves and flowers.
Hands in his pockets Draco took a slow and deep breath. Nostalgia from a time long since passed washed over him in waves.
The same grand entry way from his memories was washed in a blue light. The windows leading to the garden reflected the night sky onto the white marble floors. Lightning bugs danced along with the stars as the smell of rain filled the air. A serenity only known to a vast garden in the middle of the night enveloped the scene in a loving embrace. In the distance, a light in a greenhouse cast shadows on the ground, dancing in harmony with the figure signing to the roses kept safe and thriving inside the glass panes.
A book in the library slipped off the shelf.
The scene morphed. The greenhouse was dark. The plants had grown over themselves. The stench of death and decay filled their air. Gone was the peace. Gone was the serenity. Gone was any semblance of normalcy.
Draco put the book back into place and cleared his mind.
He hated making a mess.
After dinner was had and the lights turned out, Draco settled into his high back chair in his living room. A candle floated nearby casting light onto the books and tomes spread out before him. His note book hovered near by. A dry quill lay abandoned. His chin rested in his palm as he braced his elbow against his thigh. The after dinner research had once again stretched far into the night. But nothing had been written. The notebook if anything had more things crossed out than before. Dozens of ingredient options gathered from centuries old potions books and still no one had attempted what he was setting out to do. It was uncharted territory.
With a sigh Draco closed the book in front of him and placed it in the unhelpful pile. It was a growing stack next to the coffee table about three feet high. It was becoming more and more clear to him that he would not be able to find the potion he needed. He would have to create his own.
Tidying took mere seconds. A wave of his hands stacked the rest of the books on the other side of the table. They could prove helpful yet. He was hoping to continue experimenting in the next few months with real ingredients as compared to equations. His first few brews would be ready to try soon.
The floating candle haunted him up the stairs and down the hallway to his room before it found its preferred spot on his bedside table. The house, previously owned by muggles, was wired for lights but the harsh over head lighting common in muggle buildings felt clinical and oppressive to Draco. He preferred his candles. The companionship of a small flame following him was an added comfort.
Once under the covers, Draco roamed the halls of the library of his mind. His fingers traces the spines of books as he made sure each one was accounted for and in its proper place. Only one book threatened to fall from it’s shelf. He pushed it back into place and moved on allowing the towering bookcases to fold in on him as his racing mind finally began to come to a stop. The slow rise and fall of his chest was the perfect accessory to rest.
As he slipped into the gentle descent of sleep a sound echoed in his ears.
A growl.
The same growl he had slept next to for years in Azkaban.
Don’t worry. I’ll find you.
~~~~~~~
“Your shop was closed last week.”
Draco jumped in his seat. He hadn’t noticed anyone come in, too engrossed in his reading to hear the bell above his shop door ring. Grey eyes met a warm pool of brown. Accusation and a demand for answers were burning as wild as the curls that flowed around the face of his visitor.
Draco rose to his full height and tucked a marker into his book for later. He was onto something, but it could wait.
“For one day,” he replied. He made a move to get around her, but she witch in front of him was not done with her questions. He felt trapped on his corner. Defenseless. “I was out.”
What did he have to defend himself from? A former school mate? He was just jumpy from yesterday, at least, that’s what he told himself. He refused to panic at the sight of her again, even if she had snuck up on him.
“Where?” The question was innocent enough. She seemed intrigued by the man in front of her, but the gaze of intrigue often felt like scrutiny.
He thought for a moment to give her no reply, but if she was anything like she had been back in the day, she would not rest until she had one.
“Collecting ingredients for a custom order out in the field.”
“Oh.” Perhaps she had been hoping for gossip he surmised. Or something more exciting.
His heartbeat threatened to over take him once again. Was she so unaware of the effect she had on him? The power of her stare?
“Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Ganger?”
For the third time in the last month the short witch produced a crumpled piece of parchment and ripped off the lower half, and extended it for Draco take. He surveyed the ingredients and started moving towards them in his shelves as she followed behind. Her proximity spoke of habit; she worked with friends and he worked alone. He wasn’t used to a shadow following him around. Her presence behind him more haunting than his candles.
Todays list comprised of similar ingredients from the first two visits but a few other additions to the list caught his eye. He had crossed two of them off his own ingredient list just last night.
Gone were the crushed beetle wings. This list contained ashworm powder and bat fang.
The former a gentle binder and the other a reactive additive. For metamorphosis. Stronger than anything Polyjuice called for. Especially if she were using pumpkin as a base. He once again thought of the makeup of her cauldron. He wondered, but it wasn’t his place to ask. From his own research, bat fang was too strong for what he had been looking for. It would render any amount of fairy wing useless, and fairy wing was necessary in removing curses, however, either bat spleen or dragon scale could also be used but only when applied topically, as ingesting dragon scale could react with stomach acid and…
Draco snapped back to the customer in front of him.
“Anything else, Miss Granger?”
She thought for a moment, looking at everything he had grabbed for her and put on the counter. Only a few moments of silence passed between them but they felt like hours to Draco. Three times now he had had to look into her eyes, speak to her, answer her questions. It was almost too much to bear. And out of everyone from his past, of course it had to be someone with whom his past was painful, confusing, complicated…
“I think that’s all,” she hummed in response. Her delicate fingers tapped her chin as she stood deep in thought. He wondered briefly what could be on her mind. Was she thinking about her potion? What exactly was she making? Was she experimenting? She had always been a model student, known to excel at anything she put her mind to. She was always in the papers for charity work and advocating for Lycanthropes in the workplace. What use could she have for Polyjuice? What was she adding to it? Why was she adding to it? Draco vaguely remembered a rumor floating around at the end of second year. Was she having another go around with Potter and Weasley? Why did he care?
He didn’t, so he told him self.
“Very well then,” Draco replied. He packed the vials and boxes together as he had before and accepted her payment, placing it once again in the rude customer jar.
She was just about to the door when she turned around. Her brown eyes bore into his. Draco braced himself for the barrage of questions from the nosey patron.
“Do you brew your own potions?”
“Yes.”
“Do you experiment?”
“Yes.”
“Often?”
Draco narrowed his eyes.
She made a small sound in response and with that war hero turned on her heel and walked through the door.
Draco finally took a breath. He could not panic this time. He would not. It was just a customer.
He put his books back onto their shelves. He would not run away and close shop up early again.
His racing heart slowed. His brow was wiped. He returned to his seat in the corner of his shop and resumed reading.
Today’s book was part of an ongoing research project that was of the upmost importance. It had burned a month ago. It hadn’t burned in over ten years. He was scared.
A passage in his book caught his eye.
Magical Marks.
Perhaps that would lead to some answers.
The last few brews he had tried did nothing but tickle the skin on his inner arm. One had burnt off most of his arm hair. One had even refused to soak in, instead it stayed as a thick paste which also refused to leave his arm. A few more books and hours of research later, he had discovered he had made a protection paste to “ensure the longevity of the magical mark the bearer possesses.”
Draco sighed. He read on.
Freedom couldn’t be that far.
~~~~~~~~
The brewing room in the back of his store had been scrubbed clean. The sun, high in the sky, had been blocked out by the heavy curtains blocking the small space from all natural light. Several candles floated in the space above the cleared table. A lone iron pot with a low flame underneath it sat on the table.
Draco snapped his fingers. His notebook rose to eye level, flipping to its most current page. As neat as he could he had listed the eleven ingredients and the fifteen steps he had all but committed to memory now. The potion was a guess, however educated it might be. The magical scarring solution was but one reference, a framework, for a much more convoluted potion the young Malfoy was hellbent on creating.
Bubotuber pus, bone, bat spleen, dittany, griffin claw, honey water, infusion of wormwood, lizard’s leg, Niffler’s fancy, star grass, and unicorn hair were all premeasured, prepared, and in a line on the shelf above the workspace.
It was now. Draco’s hands shook from anticipation.
Nerves?
And so he began.
Draco went down the list. Adding, mixing, warming, waiting. Each step was vital to complete with care and precision.
Step five turned a vivid green and let off a puff of smoke. Draco cast a bubble head charm and continued. His stomach churned. He breathed deep to steady his hands.
Raising the heat, letting it simmer, adding more, waiting more. An hour had passed.
Step twelve and he was almost done. Stir counter clockwise for a minute with a golden rod. Then clockwise once with silver. Gold helps the ingredients to bind. Silver to stabilize.
Step fourteen and the lizard’s leg dissolved into the now blue watery mixture. The last ingredient vanished before his eyes, settling into the concoction in front of him.
Step fifteen: Do not stir. Remove from heat. Allow to cool to room temperature. Store in small quantities in a glass container.
He was done.
The hardest part was over.
Sweat dripped down his back. His sleeves had rolled up. He left the brewing room and ran a hand through his hair, resting his hands on the counter as he allowed his body to relax. He took a few deep breaths having gone tense during the brewing process. Years of research, months of prep, and weeks of brewing had brought him to potion currently cooling in the back. So much was riding on it. Niffler’s fancy was hard enough to get his hands on and the unicorn hair could only be purchased in small quantity from the Ministry themselves and they controlled the price. His rude customer jar was only so deep.
Draco hung his head as the potential in the room behind him grew. Freedom meant everything. He could move on. He could become anything. The ghosts of his past could rest and dissolve into the nothingness he so desperately wished they had always been. No longer did he desire to bear a badge of pain, hate, anger, and loss. He wanted to be himself. There was no duty to preform except for that of self preservation. It was all he craved. All he dreamt of.
Freedom.
The feeling of eyes on him made Draco snap his head up.
There was someone in his shop.