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Nemesis Memory
By RaistlinofMetallica
Chapter 21: Veiled
"Father! Father!" he called out, running down the castle hallway after his father. He was very young, maybe five or six, and he struggled to catch up.
Morning Star turned, standing in the main doorway of the castle, a tall silhouette against the bright sunlight. He smiled, waiting patiently for his son.
"May I come with you, father?" Dragon asked, slowing clumsily as he reached his waiting father. "...To the palace?"
The tall man pretended to consider it, purposely delaying his answer for a few moments while his son anxiously waited for a response. "You didn't say please," he said finally, a note of teasing in his tone. "However, perhaps it is time that you meet your future king and his generals. You'll be seeing a lot of them in the future, I expect."
He gave his father a confused look, not understanding what his father had meant, and took the proffered hand. "Is Elysion pretty, father?" he asked, curiously. He had never seen the palace of the Golden Kingdom before, but he knew its name. His parents talked about it from time to time and he knew his father went there to help the king with Very Important Things.
Morning Star chuckled and gently patted his son on the head. "You shall see for yourself soon enough, little one. Have patience."
The world melted, blurring and spinning, bleeding into another place. He was in a palace of white marble and polished grey stone, colourful banners and elegant tapestries drawing his eye. It was a lively place, full of people hurrying this way and that, but it was a strangely comfortable bustle – almost as though everything was in its proper place. Dragon felt a tug on his hand and looked up at his father, suddenly realizing that he had begun to walk. He walked quickly, trying to keep pace with his father's much longer stride while still trying to look at as much of the palace as he could without falling behind.
"Morning Star!" a man shouted, smiling broadly. He had the look of a rogue, brash and untamed – a creature of simple things. "We've been waiting for you!"
Morning Star bowed respectfully, "Your majesty."
Dragon crinkled his nose, looking at the stranger with uncertainty. This loud, scruffy man was the king? It was an image that refused to mesh in his mind; this man seemed nothing like a noble. He had more the look of a warrior or a tribesman than a king.
"And this young man must be your son," the king observed, leaning down to take a closer look at Dragon. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "My word, child, you do take after your father! I'll bet you've got a better sense of humour, though, hm?"
Morning Star rolled his eyes, as though this was something of a common occurrence. "Your majesty..."
"Oh, take that stick out of your ass for five minutes, you twit, and relax," the king said quite candidly. "The politicians can afford to squirm for a few minutes while we talk as men of families."
Dragon goggled at the king in horrified shock. Kings weren't supposed to swear!
Morning Star sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose you're right, your majesty. I was not looking forward to dealing with the heads of southern tribes. They are an unsavoury lot," he paused for a moment. "Has my brother-in-law tried to restrain himself around them? We don't need another disaster like the Atlantis incident on our hands."
"No, I suppose not," the king said absently. "We're still on dodgy ground with them anyway. Self-righteous bastards," he snorted. "But your dear sister has been most helpful in keeping that hot-headed husband of hers under control and there haven't been any incidents as of yet."
Morning Star smirked, "Hard to believe that the Heavenly King of the Desert could be cowed by a simple woman, isn't it?"
They were walking now, down a corridor, but to where Dragon did not know. He knew a little about what was being said between his father and the king, but some things – like the Atlantis incident, whatever that was – went straight over his head.
"Ah, the power of love," the king smiled. "How it brings even the mighty low... She had the poor man wrapped around her finger from the moment he laid eyes on her! Are you sure there's no Venusian blood in your family?"
Morning Star laughed. "Veela, maybe... but not a drop of Venusian blood runs in our veins. We're truly children of the Earth, you daft git – a fact that you repeatedly seem to forget, even after all these years! Truly, I don't know how you managed to get control of this bloody planet with such a shoddy memory."
"Truthfully, I had to bash in a lot of skulls to get it done," the king said with a crafty grin. "But I doubt Endymion will ever have to use such a brute demonstration of power. He naturally unifies people under him."
Dragon looked up at the king curiously and piped up, "Is Endymion your son, majesty?" He was very careful to be polite, as mother had taught him. Even if he was talking to a rather rude king, he was still talking to a king.
"Yes, child," the king said, smiling broadly at him. "We're going to go see him and get you properly introduced. The children of my Heavenly Kings are with him, too. I think one of them is about your age..."
"That would be Zoisite, your majesty," Morning Star supplied.
"Yes, of course... I always get their names confused," the king sighed, sounding a bit frustrated. "Were you the only one of my generals left out of the naming conspiracy, Morning Star?"
This elicited a chuckle from the wizard. "My wife was not to be so easily swayed by the juvenile minds of men who had not yet grown up in heart. I still have yet to figure out how that desert rat managed to convince my sister into going along with it."
"Again, love is a powerful and tricky thing," the king said, his voice taking on the false air of a sage. He grinned mischievously, adding, "But, all is fair in love and war, and the gods are left to sort out the aftermath."
Dragon scowled, not understanding what they were talking about, and let his eyes wander over the corridor. They were passing a set of shining white doors, carved with thousands of intricate symbols. He was able to recognize a few of them as the names of the imperial planets, but the others were foreign to him and he wasn't able to examine them for very long while he was still being led along the corridor.
Morning Star seemed to notice that his son's attention was wandering and gave his hand a gentle tug. "Dragon, come on. We're nearly there," he said, smiling.
The king gave a bark-like laugh. "Come now, my old friend! It's not every day a child comes to the palace – right, Draco?"
Dragon blinked in confusion. That didn't sound right. The king's voice had sounded a little funny, too...
"...Draco, wake up, you prat! It's nearly noon!" the annoyed voice of one Theodore Nott growled, accompanied shortly by the sudden disappearance of the rather warm quilt he'd been burrowed under.
Blearily, he opened an eye and glared at his housemate. "Whassamatta?" he slurred; there had better have been a damn good reason he was so rudely awoken. And on a Saturday too, if he wasn't mistaken.
"You've been asleep all weekend," Theodore said, glaring at him. "We were beginning to think you'd died."
Draco snorted and tossed his pillow at him, grumbling, "I can sleep in on a Saturday if I bloody well want to!"
"It's Sunday, for your information," his housemate pointed out dryly. "If you slept any longer, we were considering telling Snape to kick your arse out of bed. And you know how much that would piss him off, right?"
The blonde boy grumbled a series of partially unintelligible curses under his breath and slowly dragged himself out of bed. "Y'sure it's Sunday?" he asked, stumbling across the room.
"Yes, I'm sure," Theodore said, rolling his eyes as he returned to the door. "We're waiting for you downstairs. Don't even think about going back to sleep on us." There was an unspoken 'or else' in that statement that couldn't be missed.
Draco gave his housemate a calculating look as he watched him leave. There was no doubt in his mind that Theodore had not come up those stairs of his own volition; Pansy or one of his other housemates must have conned him into it, as he kept to himself generally. But the threat was not idle when coming from the quiet boy – in fact, it was far from it – and Draco didn't particularly feel like being hexed out of bed.
He yawned, stretching, and resisted a sudden strong urge to shake himself. "I am not a dog," he growled, mostly at himself, and stalked off towards the bathroom, cursing at the moon under his breath the entire way.
A woman, her pale and narrow face veiled in black, slipped into the pew next to him. She wore the black clothes of a woman in deepest mourning, all her silvery-blonde locks pinned tightly beneath her black hat. She quickly made the sign of the cross and bowed her head. "It is good to see you again," she whispered.
"You're late," he said quietly, bowing his head to hide the movement of his mouth.
She hesitated slightly, closing her eyes. "I know. I was being followed again. You think they'd have stopped with..." Her voice faltered and fell silent, but he knew what she meant. Her son, then twenty-one, had been kidnapped and murdered four years ago; his body had never been recovered. The muggle press would pounce on any chance they had when she or her diplomat husband appeared in public, hunting for more information about the case.
"I remember," he sighed, rubbing his temples slowly. Yes, he remembered all of it: the stench of fresh blood and the aura of dark magic, tainted with demonic energy. A shudder travelled through his body. Even as a Death Eater, he had never experienced such an aura of ancient evil.
The woman raised her eyes, drawing in a calming breath. "You mentioned the curse in your reply. Do you really think it's happening again?"
"A Dragon in the line of Bad Faith, born from a Noble Flower and the Morning Star, is never a good sign," Lucius countered softly. "He knows about the curse and, what is more, one of his classmates told him that it could be broken this time."
She sighed then, as he remembered her doing when he was younger and full of the silly questions that little boys had. "This classmate of his must be very powerful to know of such a thing," she paused a moment, considering. "But I think he's right. This time... This time something's different. I know it sounds silly, but I keep thinking of that vision I had all those years ago... the one that led me to my husband."
"And got you kicked out on your arse," he muttered bitterly. Their father had not taken her third vision well at all. Enraged, the old man had immediately thrown her out and banished her name from the family records, as though she had never existed. So great was their father's rage that he cursed his sons to never speak her name again or from even mentioning that they ever had a sister.
She shot him a pointed glare from under her veil and softly replied, "I don't regret following my heart, you know. That vision was my destiny and I knew it, deep inside. I just wish father had been more understanding."
"He was a stubborn old warhorse, wasn't he?" Lucius gave a half-smile.
The woman nodded, raising her head to look up at the chapel altar. "I remember."
"But he was a bastard –"
"Don't say that in church!" she scolded, giving him a pointed glare. She was very keen on being respectful of religions, whereas he couldn't care less; he had always assumed it had something to do with her visions or where she believed they came from.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing himself as she had done earlier in an attempt to placate her. "Well, he was," he grumbled stubbornly and decided to change subjects. "What about that vision of yours? You said you'd had a new one."
"It – It was odd," she managed and he noticed that she was twisting the fabric of her skirt in her hands. "Brother... how many times have I had a vision?"
"Five times," Lucius answered with a sad smile. "And you were dead on every single time."
The woman nodded, as though that was the answer she'd expected – and didn't want to hear. "It's different this time," she whispered, closing her eyes again. "It's an impossible vision."
"How so? Your visions are never wrong," he countered, being sure to be quiet.
She chewed on her lip in a very unladylike manner before finally finding her voice again. "I saw my son... alive. He was somewhere far away, but he kept saying over and over again that he was coming home... that everything was all right now."
His mind raced, a strange sort of realization dawning on him. They had never found the body! It was a bit of a far stretch, considering how much blood the boy had lost, but it could be possible that he'd somehow escaped. He looked up at her then, still somewhat dazed, and noticed the hot tears making their way down her face. "But... wouldn't that make it a good vision?"
"No, you don't understand," she practically hissed. "He died. He can't come back. No one returns from the dead. You know that just as well as I do."
Lucius scowled; a childish rage tempted him to hurl her words back, to tell her that the Dark Lord had come back, but he knew that it was a fool's retort. The Dark Lord had never been completely dead – the lingering Dark Mark had been more than enough proof of that. Instead, he forced himself to calm down and say, "Tell me more about the vision. Maybe you're just missing something."
She shook her head slowly. "I can't."
"Try," he insisted. "You've never been wrong, so there has to be something you're missing."
Giving him an annoyed glare and a rather unladylike sniffle, she sighed and muttered, "Oh, fine. You win, you stupid little brat. You always did understand this stupid ability of mine better than I did."
"I'll have you know that I am not a brat, nor am I little," he said, feigning an indignant childish tone. "I'm much taller and smarter than you. Now, tell me what you saw so I can figure it out for you."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "There was a lot of light. It was very bright and I couldn't really make out where he was, but I could almost swear there were crystals everywhere."
"Crystals?" Lucius repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Could it have been light reflecting off ice?"
The woman blinked, looking at him curiously. "I'm not sure. But, no, I don't think so. They looked more like little jewels to me... thousands of little jewels."
"Was there anything else?" he asked, now genuinely puzzled.
She shook her head, replying sadly, "No. There wasn't anything else."
Silence hung between them for a few minutes, save for the distant sounds of the mass in the main church behind them.
"Well, it looks like we've got quite a mystery to solve," he said finally. "I'll look into some of my sources and see if I can't find anything."
A sad smile graced her lips and, through the veil, he could see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, little brother," she said, starting to stand. "You know this means a lot to me."
"I owe you my life, remember?" Lucius replied, bowing his head. "Your fourth vision..."
There was no response. It wasn't needed. He knew she remembered, even though twenty years had passed. Neither of them would ever forget. If she hadn't told him what she'd seen, he never would have known what was going to happen when the sun set that day. He'd have been dead before he even knew what hit him and his father would have had to bury another son.
She put a delicate gloved hand on his shoulder and, after a moment, finally whispered, "Place a flower on his tomb for me. I know he understands why I wasn't able to do it myself."
"I always do," Lucius said matter-of-factly. He never would tell her that he still checked the tomb carefully, hunting for any trace that he had somehow failed and that the soul of their brother was still without peace. But the marble slab had not moved – nothing moved there, except in the memory of that night. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to not think about it, and noticed that her hand was gone from his shoulder. She had left the chapel to disappear into the muggle world again, as she had when she was disowned so many years ago.
"Damn you, father," he hissed under his breath at man's memory and stood. "Damn you for robbing us of her name."
He started to move towards the end of the pew, but paused a moment. Don't want to arouse suspicion, he reasoned mentally. With a heavy sigh, he rolled his eyes and faced the altar again, half-heartedly crossing himself as the woman had done. That being done, the wizard quickly exited the chapel and headed out of the church in the direction of a safe apparition point.
Almost as an afterthought, Lucius aimed a well-concealed hex at a passing pair of undercover reporters and smiled at their sudden cries as their cameras exploded in pink smoke. It was worth the small fine he'd be getting from the Ministry.
"You cursed yourself in your past life... to come back, again and again, as long as it took... to find her again. But you're trapped. Not just you, your parents, too. You're trapped in the curse."
He had been dreaming a memory of Dragon's, he knew that much. But there was something funny about it. The king in the memory had mentioned that Dragon's father had a sister, however – as far as Draco was aware – his father didn't have a sister, only an older brother who had died five years before Draco was born. Yet, from the sound of the conversation between the king and Morning Star, not only did Dragon have an aunt on his father's side but a cousin as well. And if what Potter had said about the curse was true, then Draco had to have the same.
Like a good pureblood son, Draco had memorized the family tree as a young child. He knew every scorch mark on the ancient tapestry hanging in the manor and where the lines of thread connected to the other old noble houses. Vaguely, he recalled having made a game of trying to find all of the ancestors that shared his name. There was a disturbing irony in that memory now that he knew each of those entries that bore his name were his past lives. Still, there was no evidence on the family tree that his father had any siblings other than an elder brother.
He sighed and continued to pick at his food. Family records were unreliable anyway, what with the various ways most pure-blooded families had of disowning disobedient or rebellious members of the bloodline. For all he knew, his father probably did have a sister at some point and she'd probably gone and done something stupid to get herself thrown out. But it was unusual that there was no scorch mark on the tapestry next to the names of his father and uncle, a typical indicator of a disowned family member, and he was again forced to wonder...
"Draco, what do you think about all this?" Pansy said suddenly, interrupting his train of thought.
Coolly, he replied, "I'm sorry... I didn't quite catch what you were talking about."
"That's unlike you, Draco," she said, matter-of-factly. "What's the matter? You seem preoccupied with something lately."
Blaise nodded in agreement. "We're not blind, you know."
Damn, Draco mused. He was hoping to avoid any questions from his housemates, but it seemed they had decided to broach the subject earlier than he'd anticipated. This was going to require some truly clever verbal sleight-of-hand on his part to throw them off. After all, he couldn't very well tell them that he was the twice-cursed reincarnate of a wizard from an empire thousands of years gone. Oh, sure, like that would go over well.
"It's nothing," Draco said with a dismissive air. He was careful to use a tone that indicated the matter was closed, adding, "I was just thinking, that's all. Now, what were you talking about?"
Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fudge is sending someone to inspect the school –"
"Not just anyone," Blaise interrupted. "He's sending Dolores Umbridge, one of his most loyal supporters."
"Oh, yes," Draco said. "I've heard about her. Isn't she the crazy bitch that wants to go on a crusade to stomp out all the half-breeds?"
Tracey nodded. "That's the one."
Daphne leaned forward, smiling slyly, and added, "And if she gets her way, not even Dumbledore will be able to save that fleabag Lupin from a lethal dose of silver nitrate. After that, it's only a matter of time before she'll get the axe put to Hagrid."
"I thought she only was after the suppression of rights," Draco managed, covering the sudden sinking feeling in his gut.
This earned a laugh from Daphne. "Ha! Hardly! She wants them gone, permanently."
"Of course," Blaise purred, "You realize why no one's said anything about her."
Both Crabbe and Goyle seemed completely oblivious to the entire conversation, while Pansy, Nott and Draco exchanged knowing looks.
Tracey raised an eyebrow and sighed, "Explain, please."
"Strategic value," Nott stated coolly, while Draco discreetly tapped the inside of his left arm with his right hand.
Tracey understood now: Voldemort was playing the Ministry and the wizarding world like a finely tuned harp, getting them to fall exactly where he desired in their fear and hatred. If the half-breeds and werewolves were to become outlaws, where else would they have to go but into his waiting hands? He'd spin their fear of capture into a web of hatred and there they would become trapped, unable to escape him.
"A grim future awaits us," Pansy commented finally, her eyes distant.
No one disagreed.
A narrow shaft of light spilled across the hall from one of the classrooms, causing him to pause a moment. Curiously, he drew closer to the door, wondering if it was one of the seventh years attempting to nick potion ingredients from Snape.
But before he was even close enough to see into the room, a woman's voice called out to him, "Come in, child. I've been waiting for you."
Draco froze in place and gulped, hoping whomever it was just bluffing. Maybe if he was still enough, she'd think there wasn't anyone there.
"I know you're there," the woman said, matter-of-factly. "You can't hide from me, dear child, not so long as magic remains in your blood. Now, come in and speak with me a while."
He hesitated, wondering if this could be a trap. As it was, this entire situation didn't sit well with him – nor did it sit well with the wolf, which had yet to fully recede into his subconscious.
"I am not an enemy," the woman supplied. "Come, I shall prove it."
The door jerked inwards with a loud bang and Draco instinctively jumped backwards, startled by the sudden noise. With the door fully open, he could now see the whole classroom, empty save for the single figure at the back – a figure he recognized as the madwoman that Snape took care of, Luna. She sat behind the desk where the professor normally taught, her body partially concealed by the long shadows that clung to everything in the dimly lit room. Thick tomes and jars of potion components covered most of the desk, almost appearing to surround the woman and the simmering cauldron before her. In the yellow light provided by the two candles at either end of the desk, her eyes shined an unsettling gold and the crescent marking on her forehead stood out starkly.
"Hello, Dragon," Luna said, her piercing eyes fixed firmly on him. "It's been ages."
Cautiously, Draco entered the classroom. Not once did his gaze drift from the madwoman. He barely even registered the quiet click as the door shut and locked behind him. "Who are you?" he asked, daring to approach no further.
Languidly, she raised a delicate hand and swiftly brought it into a fist.
Something inside him pulsed and the familiar electric shock that preceded his transformations raced up his spine. Alarmed, he looked at his hands and was horrified to see the silver fur returning. This wasn't possible! The moon was waning now – there was no way he could transform!
"I am she of the red moon," the woman answered finally. She opened her clenched hand and he dropped to the floor, the fur disappearing as he returned to normal. "You transform under the light of my kindred and I. And, as you've no doubt noticed, I am perfectly capable of triggering or inhibiting your transformation."
He could only whimper in pain from his prone position on the floor, while he struggled to understand how this could be possible.
"I see you do not yet remember," Luna sighed, her eyes lowering. Carefully, she sprinkled a pinch of shimmering gold powder into the cauldron and raised her eyes again. "My cousin was right. The werewolf protects you from Dragon's cursed memories."
Draco slowly curled into a ball and shivered as the last vestiges of the forced transformation began their retreat. How could turning into that... that beast protect him? The idea was laughable – but, then again, transforming outside of the full moon was supposed to be a laughable idea, too. And transforming at someone else's command? One would have to be absolutely barking to even consider it a remote possibility.
"Oh, get up!" the woman snapped forcefully. "If I'd wanted you to grovel like a dog, I'd have let you transform completely."
Already, the Slytherin was shoving himself to his feet, eyes blazing with anger. He was dimly aware that he was growling as he glared back at her defiantly and spat out, "I'd gut you in a heartbeat, before lowering myself to bow to you!"
"Somehow, I sincerely doubt that," Luna countered smoothly, raising a single narrow eyebrow at him. She raised one of her delicate hands and pricked her fingertip with a small dragon-shaped dagger. A thin wisp of red smoke wafted from the tiny wound, shimmering with sparks of purplish black and bluish white; it moved like a thing alive, slithering through the air until it was nearly within his grasp.
Draco stared in fascination, his anger forgotten, and tentatively brushed his fingers against the curling tendril of red smoke. Instantly, every nerve in his body flared to life as his magic reacted to the strange misty substance like a sponge to water. His senses reeled, spinning into overdrive and nearly driving him to his knees in sheer bliss from the magnitude of pure magical power rushing into his veins from that single wisp of smoke. It took all the strength he possessed to tear his arm away and not reach for it again. He knew exactly what it was now – a magic more pure than anything he'd ever encountered – and it drew him like a moth to flame.
The madwoman smiled slowly, the tendril of red smoke curling in on itself and slithering back to her obediently. It drew back into her fingertip, transforming into a single bead of deep red blood. That smoke was magic in its purest form, he noted fearfully, and it was her blood – her blood was pure and undiluted magic.
She let the drop of blood fall into the simmering cauldron and gave the concoction a stir, raising her eyes to his again. "Now do you understand, child?" she asked softly, "You could never hurt me, even in the form of the wolf, for I am that which you hold most sacred – the purest source of magic."
A part of him understood, but he didn't want to believe it could be true. He whimpered, torn between fleeing in terror and prostrating himself at her feet as he realized the true scope of what sat before him.
"I am the Veiled Maiden, Lady of Illusion," Luna stated simply and she allowed her true aura to swell around her, the crescent marking on her forehead shimmering with golden light. "I am the Goddess of the Red Moon, Lunitari."
The last shreds of his self control fled him completely and, tears streaming down his face, Draco sunk to his knees. Her power was so pure, so beautiful that he couldn't help but feel compelled to abase himself and beg forgiveness for his ignorance.
The goddess rose from her seat and circled the desk to stand before him. "Come, dear child," she said firmly, holding out her hand to him. "All is forgiven. I have been taking great pains to conceal my true nature from all of my children, including you. You were never expected to see beyond what I desired you to see, so rest assured that you have committed no sin against me. Now, rise, for we have business to attend to."
Relief washed over the Slytherin and he took her offered hand, pulling himself to his feet easily.
"Tell me," Lunitari began, returning to her seat at the desk and adding a strange-looking root to the cauldron. Without skipping a beat, she continued, "What do you know about Dragon and his curse?"
Draco shrugged. "Not that much... I've got a rough idea, but most of what I do know Potter told me."
"Ah, I see..." the goddess smiled slyly. "So, you've been talking with my dear little cousin. He is a strange creature, isn't he?"
"He is the one that answered me when the others would not. He is the one that made our curse possible, Draco," the words of his past self echoed in his ears. "He is a being of darkness and secrets, one who gives power and takes it just as quickly. He is the Wicked Child, the destructive lightning that crosses the moon. He is the son of the great Dark Temptress and the powerful Fire of Vengeance and his twin sister is the Raging Tempest. Do not be deceived by his mask."
"But it is not unexpected," she sighed, stirring the potion. "He's the youngest, after all."
The Slytherin stared at her with wide eyes, logic warring with disbelief as he put the facts together. "Potter... is a... Oh, shit. Oh, shit."
"Breathe, dear," Lunitari said patiently. "Again, this was something you were not meant to see unless willed to. However, the true nature of the situation is far more complex than you realize."
Draco glared at the goddess incredulously.
"Harry both is and is not my cousin," she explained, throwing a pinch of green powder into the cauldron. "He is the mask that my cousin hides behind in this world. For many years now my cousin has been sleeping behind that boy's face and he is slowly reawakening."
That explained a lot, the Slytherin noted silently. No wonder Potter had such astounding blind luck.
"Unfortunately, my dear cousin is still vulnerable in his current position," the goddess sighed and stirred the potion again. "Therefore, I am going to make a bargain with you, child. I will tell you anything you wish to know about Dragon and his curse, if you cover for my cousin until the day after Halloween."
Bargaining – now, that was familiar territory for Draco. "Will you only answer my questions about Dragon and the curse right now or can I ask more later on?"
"If I agree to answer your later questions as well, will you attempt to make friends with my cousin and encourage your housemates to ally with him for the time being?" Lunitari countered smoothly.
Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If you can see to both my parents surviving this war intact, then I'll consider that a deal."
There was a slight pause and, slowly, an amused smile crossed the goddess's lips as her crescent marking flashed again. "Agreed, child. We have a deal. You will cover for my cousin until the day after Halloween, attempt to befriend him and persuade your housemates to ally with him, in exchange for answers to any current or future questions regarding Dragon and his curse and the assurance that both your parents will survive the war without harm."
The Slytherin grinned triumphantly. After all, it wasn't like they had made the deal for him to actually succeed in either befriending Potter or convincing his housemates to ally with the Boy-Who-Was-Definitely-Not-Bloody-Human. All he really had to do was cover for him for a little less than two months. It couldn't be that difficult.
"So, have you got anything about the whole Dragon business that's particularly bugging you?" Lunitari asked quite plainly, rummaging around in the desk drawers a bit.
Draco thought back to his dream and nodded. "Did Dragon have a cousin on his father's side?"
"Yep," the goddess replied and beamed as she found what she was looking for – a crystal flask. "His name was Kunzite. He had about ten years on Dragon. Quite handsome, too."
The name seemed to trigger a brief flash of something, but it slipped through his mind so quickly he wasn't even sure it was ever there. "Do I have a cousin on my father's side?"
"Loads," Lunitari said, matter-of-factly. "You'll have to be more specific."
Draco blinked and then slapped himself on the forehead. "Dragon's father had a sister. Did my father have a sister?"
"He has a sister," the goddess sighed and set about ladling the potion into the flask. "And don't even think you'll get any information about her from him. Their father was a real piece of work and, when the old bat threw her out, he made sure no one in his family would ever mention her again. Cursed his own children, can you believe it?"
He glared at her. "This is my grandfather we're talking about. He married an Addams willingly. Trust me, I can believe it."
"Well, you don't have to get snippy about it," Lunitari sniffed in mock-hurt.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"And before you even ask, yes, you do have a first cousin." The goddess paused a moment and shrugged, adding, "Sort of. He's kind of between bodies at the moment."
"WHAT?" the Slytherin shrieked in disbelief. "How can he bloody well be between bodies at the moment?"
Lunitari smiled mischievously. "I don't have to answer that, as it doesn't pertain to the curse."
"It does pertain to Dragon," Draco shot back.
"But not directly."
"Bloody hell!" he snarled, stomping his foot.
She wagged a finger at him and chided, "Temper, temper, Mister Malfoy."
With a scowl, Draco tried to think of something else to ask and his mind drifted back to the encounter with Galaxia. She had mentioned something about a secret being hidden in his soul. He had planned to ask Potter about it, but maybe the goddess would be more forthcoming. "What's this about a secret hidden in my soul?"
Lunitari blinked in surprise and quietly finished filling the flask. Finally, she answered, "That's a tough one. Where'd you hear that?"
"Galaxia mentioned it. She seems to be quite set on getting her hands on my soul, in case you haven't heard," Draco replied snidely.
The goddess let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "I wish I could help you out on this one, kiddo, but the file is restricted. Generally, most cases involving the Fidelius charm are."
"What? Wait a minute, what the hell does the Fidelius charm have to do with this?" he demanded.
She gave him a pointed glance. "It has everything to do with this."
Draco seethed in a mix of frustration and confusion.
"I suggest you think on it while you fulfil your end of the bargain," Lunitari said as she gracefully rose from the chair and circled the desk. Gently, she pressed the crystal flask into his hand. "Take this. It will greatly reduce the visible after-effects of your transformations and restore your health."
He stared at it uncertainly.
"I can't very well have that bloody bitch Umbridge figuring out that you turn into a wolf every full moon, now can I?" the goddess smirked, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Now, get a move on. Snape is on his way back and I doubt you want to be scrubbing cauldrons for the next week."
The Slytherin had to admit she had a very good point.
"I'll bring you some more of that stuff on the next full moon," Lunitari said brightly, ushering him to the door and practically tossing him out.
Draco stumbled, regaining his footing as the door slammed shut, and shook his head to clear it. "Well, so much getting answers," he muttered acidly and stomped off towards his room. Bed had never looked so good.
The trick had been in finding out where exactly the Malfoy brat was sleeping. She discovered that he was no longer rooming in the levels under the common room, where most of the Slytherins were. Instead, he was in a room by himself on the abandoned third floor of the old Slytherin dormitory tower. An oddity, but she did not care. It was far easier for her than descending into the labyrinthine passages below, where escape was more difficult.
She climbed the stairs to the third floor quietly, being careful to stick to the shadows. There was no sense in giving away her position prematurely, after all, and even less sense in arousing suspicion in the humans. Slowly, she crept into the hallway, her hungry gaze landing on the closest door.
"I wouldn't try that, if I were you," a woman's voice called from the far end of the hall.
Titanium Frog raised her arms, the bracelets that bound her gleaming dangerously in the dim torchlight, and hissed, "Show yourself!"
A woman with waves of long brown hair partially emerged from the shadows, her golden eyes burning like twin suns as she glared at the soul hunter. Three golden marks adorned her face: a crescent upon her brow and an oval on each cheekbone, just beneath her eyes; and it was these marks that identified the shadowy woman as a deity. "You are not welcome here," the goddess said icily.
"K'so," the girl snarled and hastily retreated, her prey momentarily forgotten in favour of saving her own hide. But it didn't matter. She wanted that boy's soul, will of heaven be damned, so she would find another way. Titanium Frog smiled to herself as she ran back downstairs. Sooner or later, she'd get that soul...
...And when she did, she'd bathe this castle in human blood.
AN2: A minor edit to one of Draco's lines in the second to last section of this chapter which I firmly believe makes it a little more readable. Updates are in the works.
Thank you for reviewing, reviewers.
