Voldemort’s Heir
Chapter Eight
Krista rubbed her forehead, pacing the length of her prison. She wanted out, was getting tired of being confined. She just wanted to be home, curled up on the sofa, cradled in her husband’s arms. They would be watching TV or listening to music or just simply enjoying each other’s company.
If only she could just teleport out of there. . . Sighing, she looked longingly at the palm of her left hand. Months ago, her brother Rocky had given her his Zeo shard, figuring that--as a Silver Guardian--she might have better use of the powers than he, a mere dojo instructor.
But she didn’t dare attempt it. . .especially not if Voldemort was correct about her being pregnant. She wasn’t exactly sure what morphing would do to her unborn child, but she wasn’t desperate enough to find out. . .yet.
She wasn’t going down without a fight, she knew that. Her brother and his best friend Adam had both shown her how to fight growing up, and Eric had furthered her training when she’d joined the Guardians. Even without the Zeo powers, she wasn’t exactly defenseless.
Inspired, she curled up on the cot, tucking her feet underneath her and began scheming her escape.
******
“Malfoy,” Voldemort rasped, his chair facing the fireplace in his chambers.
Suddenly Malfoy’s head appeared in the midst of the flames, and he bowed to his master.
“Yes, milord?” Malfoy said.
“Have you succeeded in locating my grandson?” Voldemort demanded.
Malfoy made a disgusted face. “He’s at Hogwarts, milord,” he said.
“Damnation,” Voldemort hissed, thumping his fist against the armrest of his chair. “The one place I do not dare try to reenter. If only Dumbledore were not there. . .”
“I could arrange something. . .” Malfoy suggested.
“No,” Voldemort said. “We must not have them suspecting you any more than they already do. No, we need to lure my grandson out.”
“His wife might be a good choice for bait,” Malfoy said. “But there may be complications. My sources indicate that he has purchased a wand from Ollivanders’.”
“Ah,” Voldemort said, sounding pleased. “They’re teaching him to use his wizardly talents. Wonderful. Saves me the trouble.”
“Milord, if he knows how to wield his skills, is it not possible that he could defeat you?” Malfoy suggested cautiously.
Voldemort waved his hand dismissively in the air. “His wife will keep him in line,” he said. “And by the time he thinks about overcoming me, I will have already performed the ritual and inhabited his body.”
Malfoy nodded. “I see.”
“Make preparations, Malfoy,” Voldemort instructed. “We’ll send my grandson a message that we’re holding his wife and will exchange her for him.”
Malfoy bowed his head. “It shall be done.”
******
Snape stood outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his face.
“Any news?” Mackenzie asked softly as she approached her ex-husband.
“None,” he growled. “I cannot believe I am being excluded from my own son’s training.”
“Severus,” Mackenzie said gently. “Fyril is just as awkward around us as we are around him. We’ve been apart too long. We all just need time to adjust to each other.”
Snape sighed, grumbling under his breath.
“Besides, darling, you’re a Potions Master,” she pointed out.
Snape narrowed his eyes and started to speak, but Mackenzie shook her head.
“I know you’ve wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position almost since you began your tenure here, but really, Severus, you’re better suited for Potions.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Mackenzie, I don’t see how you can justify that statement.”
“Severus, I realize you received exceptional marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts when we attended Hogwarts, but you had to work hard for those marks. In Potions class, you were--and still are--a natural.”
“So you don’t think I’m good enough to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?” he accused, a note of hurt in his voice.
She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Severus, that’s not what I said. You’re good enough to teach it, but you’re by far the best Potions instructor that Hogwarts has ever had.”
Snape stared at her for a few moments, mulling over her words. “You’re just saying that because I was once your husband.”
She laughed. “Maybe so.”
She leaned toward him with the intent of kissing him when the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom opened and Eric and Jason emerged.
“Oh, hello,” Jason said, smiling pleasantly.
“Professor Scott,” Snape said cordially.
“Well?” Mackenzie asked, looking Eric over. “How did it go?”
Eric shrugged. “Pretty good. He taught me basic stuff.”
“Basic ‘stuff’?” Snape snapped, glaring at Jason. “You really think that will protect him against Voldemort, one of the greatest and most evil wizards of all history?”
“Relax,” Jason said. “We’re taking a break. “I’ve got more to show him.”
“Good,” Snape said.
******
Draco sighed, crouched outside his father’s study, and wondered how he’d ended up eavesdropping on his father.
He’d come to his father’s mansion on an invitation to have lunch with Lucius. During the meal, the elder Malfoy had excused himself. Draco hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop, but he’d remembered Harry asking him to keep his ears open when he was around his dad. It was because of his promise to Harry that he found himself following his father to his study, staying far enough back that the elder Malfoy hadn’t known his son was behind him.
Draco had hidden in the shadows, listening at the door. He’d scarcely believed his ears when he’d heard his father conversing with Lord Voldemort through firetalk. He’d felt sickened as he’d heard his father and Voldemort plot against the evil wizard’s own grandson.
He couldn’t believe it. . .his own father. . .still working for Voldemort. Draco shook his head, saddened. It seemed Harry had been right all along.
It was somewhat surprising when the door opened suddenly, sending Draco flying back as it hit him. He stared up at his father with shock on his face and then swallowed nervously.
“F-father,” he stammered.
Lucius wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “Draco. . .what do you think you’re doing?”
“I. . .I was, uh, just coming to find to you,” Draco stammered, rising to his feet. “I, uh, I need to be going and I just wanted-”
“Silence!” Lucius snapped and Draco flinched. “Do not lie to me, boy. I know exactly what you were doing.”
“Y-you do?” Draco asked, resisting the urge to gulp nervously.
Lucius nodded. “You were listening in on my conversation with Lord Voldemort.”
Draco licked his lips. “So it is true,” he said, pushing back his nervousness. “You are still a Death Eater.”
Lucius shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Been listening to those lies that foolish Potter boy fills your head with?” he said.
Draco blinked, staring at his father. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not a Death Eater, son,” Lucius said.
Draco looked confused. “But. . .I heard you. . .talking with Voldemort. . .about his grandson.”
Lucius held up a hand, silencing his son. “Yes, I know what you heard,” he said. “But you see, things are not always as they seem. I am a spy.”
Draco’s mouth dropped open and he blinked, stunned into silence.
“I knew it,” he said finally. “I knew you couldn’t be working for Voldemort.”
Lucius nodded. “If only you had come to me with your suspicions, son, I could have told you the truth,” he said. “Instead, you listen to those lies Potter spreads about me.”
Draco looked suspiciously at his father. “This is the second time you’ve mentioned Har-Potter telling me lies about you. You make it sound like I have constant contact with him or something.”
Lucius laughed. “Really, son, did you honestly believe you could hide your relationship with him from me?”
“But how. . .I mean. . .I never. . .” Draco stammered.
“I have my ways,” Lucius said. “Really, Draco, you should learn to be more discreet when in public. Someone might see you.”
“Oh,” Draco said. “I’ll. . .remember that next time.”
Lucius nodded. “See that you do,” he said. “Draco, I won’t lecture you on your choice of lovers.” He made a disgusted face that spoke volumes of how he felt about his son’s relationship.
Draco looked surprised. “You’re not?”
“I don’t approve of it,” Lucius said, looking as though it was an effort just to say the words. “But you are old enough to make your own decisions. . .”
Draco nodded and Lucius patted his son’s shoulder.
“Come along,” the elder Malfoy said. “I believe Cook made some of your favorite pastries this morning.”
Draco smiled and turned to head back to the dining room.
With his back turned to his father, he never saw the elder Malfoy pull his wand from his robe. He never had a chance to defend himself as his father suddenly cried out “Stupefy!”
The only thing he could recall was the sensation of darkness engulfing him as he collapsed wordlessly to the floor.
******
Harry sighed as he paced Dumbledore’s office. Hermione and Ron had taken advantage of the free time to go on their date. As far as Harry knew, Ron had taken her to the Leaky Cauldron. He certainly hoped they were having a good time.
Snape and Mackenzie had vanished after the chat with Jason--Harry assumed they’d gone down to Snape’s quarters. After all, it seemed to Harry that it had been a while since they’d seen each other, so he figured they had a lot of catching up to do.
Isabene had vanished, presumably to Diagon Alley, on the excuse that she had some things she had to pick up. By the grin and wink she’d given Sirius, Harry had a feeling he didn’t really want to know what she was buying.
Which left only Harry and Sirius in the room.
They stared at each other, tense silence filling the air. Sirius sat at Dumbledore’s desk, drumming his fingers against the polished surface while Harry paced the length of the desk, rubbing his chin.
“So,” Sirius said finally.
Harry stopped pacing, glancing at his godfather. “So.”
“How’s life?” Sirius asked. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to really sit down and talk. How are things going? I heard about you becoming an Auror.”
Harry nodded. “Life is good,” he said.
Sirius waited for more, then sighed as Harry resumed his pacing. “Harry,” he said. “You can talk freely here. I’m not the Dursleys.”
Harry tensed up, glancing briefly at Sirius before dropping his gaze back down to his feet. “I-I know that.”
“Then why are you afraid to talk to me?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not afraid to talk to you!” Harry insisted.
“Sure,” Sirius said skeptically. “That’s why you say barely two words when you’re around me.”
Harry flinched. “Old habits. . .” he said lamely.
Sirius sighed. “Harry, what do I have to do to convince you it’s okay to talk to me?” he said. “I’m not going to beat you for breathing.”
Harry sucked in a breath, sitting down heavily in a chair opposite Dumbledore’s desk.
Sirius immediately straightened out of his slouch, staring at Harry with concern. “Harry? What is it?”
Harry shook his head slowly, swallowing. “N-nothing.”
Sirius frowned, then scowled. “Don’t tell me the Dursleys did beat you for doing something as simple and natural as breathing.”
“No!” Harry said hurriedly. “No, nothing like that. They just. . .I was different. Magical. That was enough.”
Sirius shook his head, saddened. “Oh Harry, I’m so sorry.”
Harry looked down at his feet. “It’s. . .all right,” he said softly.
“No, it’s not,” Sirius said. “If I ever see Dursley again. . .”
Harry looked up, his face paling. “Sirius, don’t,” he pleaded. “It’s in the past. Let’s just forget it.”
Suddenly an owl flew into the room, an envelope clutched between its beak. Sirius raised an eyebrow as the envelope was dropped into Harry’s lap and the bird lighted upon the desk, waiting for his tip.
Harry glanced at the bird, which was looking at him expectantly. “Oh, of course,” he said, using his wand to conjure up a bowl of water. As the owl began to lap up the refreshing drink, Harry contemplated the letter.
“Who’s it from?” Sirius asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “It’s just addressed to ‘Mr. Harry Potter.’”
Sirius frowned. “Open it.”
Harry nodded, tearing into the envelope as the owl finished its water and flew away. Pulling a letter from the envelope, he unfolded the sheet of paper and set the envelope on the desk. His eyes skimmed over the letter and suddenly he gasped.
Sirius’ frown deepened. “Harry? What is it?”
“D-Draco,” Harry whispered, his face paling. “H-he’s been kidnapped.”
Sirius looked confused. “Draco?” he repeated. “Draco Malfoy?”
Harry nodded wordlessly, gulping as he reread the letter.
“Hold on, I think I’m missing something,” Sirius said. “I thought you and he were enemies. Why do you care if he’s been kidnapped?”
Harry cleared his throat, his face turning red. “Well. . .um. . .you see. . .Draco and I aren’t exactly enemies anymore.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Well. . .you remember me telling you about that wonderful young man I’d met?” Harry said.
“Yes,” Sirius said, nodding slowly. “The one you said that you were head over heels for and had moved into an apartment with. . .oh god, Harry, don’t tell me. . .Draco!”
Harry nodded, looking sheepish.
Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “May I ask how exactly this came about?” he asked. “I mean, the last I heard was that you and he hated each other. I mean, he is Lucius Malfoy’s son and everyone knows that Malfoy is Voldemort’s top Death Eater.”
“That doesn’t mean that Draco is anything like his father,” Harry argued. “Look at Mackenzie Snape. She’s Voldemort’s daughter! Does that make her evil?”
Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “No.”
“Exactly,” Harry said.
“All right,” Sirius said. “I still don’t understand how you went from disliking him when you were in school to falling head over heels.”
“Can I explain it later?” Harry asked, fidgeting in his seat as he motioned to the letter.
Sirius sighed and reluctantly nodded. “So does it say who sent the letter?”
“His father,” Harry answered. “Bloody hell, he wants to make an exchange.”
Sirius groaned. “Let me guess. . .Draco for Fyril?”
Harry nodded.
“No way,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Voldemort’s not getting this kid that easily. We spent too much time sneaking Fyril out of the country without him knowing. Even though I don’t like Snape that much, he and Mackenzie have gone through too much to just hand Fyril over to Voldemort.”
“But Draco-” Harry protested.
Sirius interrupted his comment with a raised hand. “Harry, I know you love him, but we’re not about to sacrifice Fyril for your libido.”
Harry winced. “All right, all right,” he muttered, chewing on his lower lip as he read over the letter again. “What if I made him a counter offer?”
Sirius frowned. “What exactly would you offer?”
“Me,” Harry said. “In exchange for Draco.”
Sirius’ mouth dropped open. “What are you. . .no! Hell no!” he said, shooting to his feet. “My God, boy, your mother and father entrusted you into my care. There is no way in bloody hell I’m letting you pull a foolhardy stunt like that! Offer yourself up to Voldemort in exchange for Draco Malfoy? Absolutely not!”
“But think about it, Sirius,” Harry protested. “Not only would I be saving Draco, but Fyril as well. After all, I’m what Voldemort has always wanted.”
Sirius shook his head. “You bloody well will not do this!”
Harry sighed, a saddened expression crossing his face. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I have to.”
“Harry-”
Sirius was cut off by Harry drawing out his wand and aiming it at his godfather.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “Stupefy!”
The last thing that Sirius saw before his world went black was a sorrowful expression on Harry’s face.