I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from it.
Warning to all readers, blood, gore, guts, mental disturbities, some extremely scary shit! Swearing, horror, all of that. If you are looking for some hard core horror, this is it, if you were looking for some fluff with some scary stuff inbetween, this is not it. Please, do not read if you have a weak stomach, it gets worse as we go along. If you're still here, well, I hope you enjoy it and review ^^
A tear of black caressed a hollowed cheek, a trail of red left to stain the ashen skin. It caught on a quivering chin where it trembled softly before falling into the abyss below. Instead of shattering against cold stone it broke through the surface of a black sea of tears. A small sound, one of a bell, echoed throughout. The tear transformed into the brilliant red of blood, which was soon taken over by the despair of black.
A silence that sounded louder than words, then a whisper as broken and soft as the crying wind. "Isn't someone missing me…?"
Pale lashes jumped open to reveal the soft eyes of a stormy night. Fluttering like hesitant wings of a butterfly, light lashes forced tempestuous eyes to swim in and out of existence. A hand that might have been made of marble due to its deathly parlor and fingers that would have made a sculptor swoon brushed fairie blonde locks away from troubled eyes before falling onto the green hues of the pillow below.
"Harry…" the whispered name left shell pink lips, turning into a sigh before the word had fully left.
Again he had been plagued by dreams of the once famous boy who lived. Since the final battle Harry Potter had slowly faded out of existence until his name was nothing more than that, a name. Harry Potter had left the minds of nearly all, even his friends. Sometimes it felt as though he was the only one who still remembered who Harry Potter was, and that was only due to the haunting nightmares that ravaged his dreams.
"Damnit…" he sighed, sitting up to look at the rays of the sun that fringed the curtains to create a soft haze of dust motes and sunlit hues.
Twilight zone much, he thought, still not having shaken off the total effects of sleep. He stretched and yawned widely before flinging his pale green blankets off and slouching over to his closet. What to wear, what to wear, what to, damn… he had to go to the ministry today to examine an Auror who had been hit by a particularly bad hex and needed some sort of healing potion. Apparently nothing else had worked so far. This is what he got for being the head of the potions department on St. Mungo's. Oh well, nothing he could so about it.
He threw on some black slacks and a white button up shirt. A white lab coat followed of course, even wizards had to be professional. Next he went to the bathroom to freshen up so he looked presentable for human encounter.
"Master Malfoy," came the shrill voice of Merle, one of the three house elves that had stuck around the Malfoy manor after father had been arrested.
"Yes Merle?" he asked as he hurried down the stairs, trying to tie his tie at the same time.
"What would you like for breakfast?" the house elf at his heels asked.
"Um, just some coffee," he said absentmindedly. "Has mother already eaten?"
Merle trembled slightly before gulping and wringing her hands while she stuttered an answer. "T-the l-lady is n-not up y-y-yet…"
He sighed and hung his head before heading right back up the stairs. "I'll be back down in a moment."
Merle called a conformation before heading off to the kitchen, hopefully to make his coffee.
He reached his mother doors in the west wing. She had always loved to watch the sunsets, of course, before what had happened…
Shaking his head of dark thoughts a fist rapped against the doors. A moment of silence, then a drunken groan. Another sigh, the creak of an opening door, mothers slurred protest.
"Mother," he called, hoping that his words would reach her. He approached her bed, nose wrinkling at the strong stench of liquor that grew with each step. Upon reaching the bed he softly shook her shoulder.
"Mother," he tried again. "Time to wake up,"
A groan then the glare of an ice blue eye. Slowly, mother struggled into a technically upright position to better glare at him.
After father had been arrested his mother had fallen into depression. After that incident she had turned to drink. Now there wasn't a day when she didn't wake up with a raging hangover. Most of his paycheck went to quench her thirst; the other went to groceries and the house elves.
"It's time to wake up mother," he rubbed her back in encouragement. She hung her head in her hands, moaning weakly.
"What time is it?" she managed to get out, slurring slightly.
"Just after seven,"
"Oh god Draco," she fell back in bed. "I love you, but show some mercy," her slur grew worse as she fell back into the waiting arms of a drunken stupor. He sighed and got up, deciding that it was a lost battle. He had heard her raging past midnight, she must be knackered.
Merle was waiting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He smiled tiredly in thanks and grabbed his bag before hurrying out the door, couldn't be late.
"Thank god you're here!" a man exclaimed as he walked through the doors to the Aurors floor. "Theodore is almost gone."
His ears perked at the familiar name and he picked up his pace. He was led to a room. The man he presumed to be Theodore lay on a table, but he was so disfigured with cuts that it was hard to tell.
"What happened?" he demanded as he rushed over to his patient.
"That information is classified." Came the answer.
He ignored it for the time being, only focusing on the patient, he would find out later. Theodore screamed as he completed a quick look over. A sudden gasp as a memory rippled through him, overlapping reality for the time.
Tears streamed down his face. He opened his mouth to yell at whatever intruder dared spy on him, only to be cut off as pain assaulted him. Skin tore and red cried. Soon, a comforting warm enveloped him. He opened his eyes to see professor Snape leaning over him, muttering an incarnation that healed the slashes across his body. A glance up made him flinch. There was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, wand shaking, lips trembling with the weight of the curse just uttered.
"Po…" he tried to form the word, just that one word, but instead sunk into a deep stupor, leaving him with the wide, tear studded eyes of Harry Potter to flicker behind his eyelids.
It's the same curse, he realized, staring down at the man before him. If only he knew the counter curse, but only Snape knew that, and Snape had died by Voldemort's hand.
A single shudder ran through him at the memory, but he shook it away. This was no time for the past, he had to act fast or else Theodore would be gone.
He grabbed a calming draught and coaxed it into the screaming lips of his patient, followed by a blood thickener. This would ensure that the blood would clot, which it hadn't so far. True to its nature the cuts were soon bandaged with dried blood. Theodore gave one last whimper before slipping into unconsciousness.
He cursed. The pain from the curse didn't dispel until the cuts were healed and as yet healing spells were ineffective. A hand dug furiously through pale locks before dropping in frustration.
"Will he live?" a voice asked. He didn't bother to see who was speaking, just conjured a cauldron and kindled a fire beneath.
"Yes," he finally answered as he began to brew up a concoction to make the cuts heal.
"What's wrong with him? Will you be able to cure him?"
He sighed impatiently, just who did this man think he was? "Of course I will, it'll just take a few hours to come up with an antidote."
"The cuts will not heal with spells, but using some of Theodore's genetic makeup I'll be able to make a specialized antidote to heal them."
"Why not let the cuts heal on their own?"
He sighed, not turning away from his work. "Because, they will not heal naturally. The blood thinker will wear off after twenty four hours and he will continue to bleed till death. In addition, as long as though cuts are still open he will be experiencing intense pain."
There was a long silence and he hoped that the man had gone, but he could still feel the other presence, so his wish was wasted.
He could feel the man start to ask another question, but cut him off. "I will answer all your questions as soon as I leave this to simmer. Now, if you will excuse yourself I'll be able to focus more on my patient."
A pause, then a door opened and closed behind the man. He sighed in relief and bruised himself in his work.
Close to three hours later he emerged into the Aurors den. A small group of worried faces stared back at him.
"He'll live," he said right off the top. "The antidote should be ready in the next hour or so."
A collective sigh of relief shuddered throughout the crowd. The man who had escorted him to Theodore step towards him.
"When will he be able to return to work?"
"And your name is?" he asked. Now that he wasn't faced with life and death he would rather like to know the names of the people talking to him.
"Zakarison," the man presented his last name first before giving the first. "Charlie Zakarison."
Hmm, didn't the Weasley's have a Charlie somewhere? He couldn't remember, then again, it was hard to remember all those names.
"Mind if I just call you Charlie?" he asked.
Charlie nodded, wringing his hands. "Is Theodore going to be okay? No mental, emotional, or physical problems?"
"Well," he began. "I'm not sure how this will affect him mentally, I will come back to check on that though, but physically he should be in peak form. Some lingering effects from the pain, such as sore muscles and such, but give him a few days to rest and he should be good as new."
Charlie sighed, relief visible in his change of posture.
"Now," he tapped his foot slightly, hearing the sharp click of his shoes on tile. "How did this happen?"
"That is classified." Suddenly the faces of everyone there went stony.
"He was hit by an unrecognizable spell, was he not?"
A few sheepish head nods followed. More than a few eyes turned their attention to the ground.
"Well, if I knew what happened I might be able to come up with an antidote." He reasoned.
"Haven't you already come up with an antidote?" Charlie asked with a fear stricken glance to the door.
"I have, but that is an extremely personalized antidote. If any of you get hit by the same curse it would not work for you. In fact, it may even kill you due to the differences in pH balances, weight mass, core makeup, and so on and so forth." He folded his arms, tapping a finger against his bicep.
After an unspoken argument Charlie finally spoke. "Theodore and I were investigating the disappearance of a certain reporter."
"A reporter, what does that have to do with Aurors?" he interrupted, a very bad habit of his.
"The reporter was trying to find the whereabouts of Harry Potter," Charlie paused. "You do remember Harry Potter, right?"
"Yes, yes, the boy who lived. I remember him quite well, we were in the same year together." He said impatiently.
"At first we took no notice in the reporter's disappearance. Most thought that he was just in the Muggle world and had gone undercover. Then others began disappearing."
"Others?" he prompted when Charlie went on no further.
"Yes, others," Charlie sighed. "It seems that nearly everyone who was in the same year as Harry Potter was disappearing. Notices for extended vacations showed up at work. All of the Aurors in that year turned in the forms for an extended vacation, which is why we are missing many of our team. At first we thought it was just some reunion, but then we had some people look into it. There was no reunion, we couldn't track any of our Aurors, there was no trail, no nothing. As far as we can tell, you are the only one from that year who hasn't gone missing."
"Pansy…" he muttered under his breath. He hadn't heard from her in over a month. Was she…?
"Theodore and I followed the trail of the reporter until we stumbled upon… well, I can't remember. We were attacked from behind. Theodore jumped in front of me and took the bulk of the spell. I tried to fight the attacker, but there was no one there. So I dragged Theodore a good ways away and apparted outside the ministry. We tried St. Mungo's first, but nobody knew what he had been hit with."
He took a moment to digest this information before responding. "I'm not sure what the incantation of the spell is, but I can tell you the gist. It's meant to kill the victim by bleeding them to death. The cuts are resistant to any spells besides the counter curse. Intense pain is to prolong the victims suffering. It is a dark magic spell, even if it is unrecorded."
"How do you know so much about it?" Charlie interrupted. He gritted his teeth; even though he had the same habit it was so annoying when it happened to him.
"In my sixth year I was hit with the same curse. I did some research on it only to find there was none. Finally I managed to trace it back to Severus Snape. He explained the properties of the curse but refused to tell the incarnation, insisting that it should die with him. In other words, he created the curse. Only one other person knows of the curse, but, knowing who he is, I am sure that it will die with him."
"How can you be so sure?" Charlie asked. "Shouldn't we find this person and erase their memory of the curse to make sure it passes out of existence. Or, we could use it as a curse to reprimand followers of you know who."
"The curse is one that I would like to die. Though it might be effective against the dark side, it is just as effective against the ministry if fallen into the wrong hands." He reasoned.
"Well, by the sounds of it, it has already fallen into the wrong hands. Theodore was attacked with that curse!" Charlie pointed out, voice rising.
He sighed, damn logic…
"Alright," all of the Aurors looked at him in interest. "The only other wizard who knew the curse was Harry Potter."
"You mean Harry Potter used the curse on you?" an unknown voice in the crowd asked.
He sighed, so many complications. "Yes, but he didn't know what the curse did at the time. He found the curse in Snape's old textbook and tried it out when I was about to curse him."
"Why were you going to curse him?" another unknown voice.
"I was a death eater at the time and I thought he had overheard me talking about the dark lord." Oh god, he did not want to revisit that time again. Besides, wasn't this supposed to be about the curse and such?
There were some nods and a lot of wary glances. A lot of wizards were still wary about the fact that he used to be a death eater.
"So unless Harry Potter was the one who attacked you then I do not know what happened." He shrugged, hoping they would catch his gist.
Charlie frowned thoughtfully. "Do you fully believe that Harry Potter is innocent?"
"Of course, I mean, he is the 'hero'. Defeated the Dark Lord, helped the Muggle born, hell, he even saved my life!" he admitted. "I may not like the guy, but he is a really good guy. Unless he's gone mad since then, I'm pretty sure he didn't attack you."
"We'll investigate this further." One of the Aurors said. "Since you have given us some very valuable information, and have cured Theodore, we'll keep you up to date. Please, work on an antidote that will work on anyone attacked by this curse."
"Alright," he agreed, a bit intrigued at the thought of being keyed into this case. Ever since his father was thrown into prison he and his mother had been out of the loop concerning most things. Most of the time he was too busy working to even pick up any gossip and his mother never left the house anymore. "Now, where was it that you two got attacked?"
"Why do you need to know that?" Charlie asked defensively.
"Well, there might be some of the curses residue lying around. If I can get my hands on that it would be so much easier to come up with an antidote, and possibly even a counter curse."
This gave Charlie a pause. "Alright, we'll take you there when we check out the scene. While we look for evidence to help us you'll look for the curse's residue."
"Alright, now, if you'll excuse me," he turned back to the room. "I need to finish patching up your friend."
He let the door close behind him, glad that no one tried to follow him. The potion was done simmering and emitted a soft purple glow. He quickly stirred it counterclockwise three times and half a stir clockwise. The potion let out a hiss and faded into a red. He ladled a small amount into a vial and brought it over to the still unconscious patient. Gently, he lifted the head and brought the liquid to their lips. After making sure Theodore had swallowed every last drop he turned back to his supplies and began cleaning up. A low moan behind him told him that Theodore was awake.
"How are you feeling?" he asked as he walked back over.
Theodore gave a soft cough and clutched at his stomach before answering. "I ache,"
"That is to be expected." He informed the other. "You're going to feel a bit sore, a lot of headaches, and most likely nauseated for a few days. But don't worry; you'll be alright in no time. As far as I can tell you have no mental liabilities. Just let me give you the once over and I'll be one my way."
Theodore stayed silent as he completed the checkup. When he was done he grabbed his stuff and called Charlie in. After reassuring both of them that Theodore would be alright he went on his way.
He headed straight for home, St. Mungo's have already owled him that he should take the rest of the day off. Perhaps he could finally finish those reports that always seemed to stack up.
Merle was waiting at the door for him. She had a frightened look on her face that set off a series of alarms.
"Is something wrong with mother?" he asked, already heading towards the stairs. If mother had gotten into one of her fits again…
"No, no, no, Master Draco, please wait!" Merle struggled to keep up with him. He paused, one foot on the first stair.
"Then what is it?" he asked, confused.
"It's this," with a shaky hand she held out a letter to him. He blinked in surprise. A letter, now who would send them a letter?
He grabbed the letter from Merle and looked at the address. There it was, addressed to him, Draco Malfoy. There was no return address though.
He coked his head to the side and quickly tore off the top, only pausing after to hope that it wasn't booby trapped. Luckily, it wasn't. Inside was what looked like a note, but when he picked it up it didn't feel that way. It felt like, dried flesh… he shook his head at the absurd thought and flipped the note over. Two words were etched onto the back in what looked like blood. Gooseflesh erupted over the course of his skin and his breath caught.
The shaky were, help me, glared up at him. There was no signature to tell who the owner of this letter was. He studied the words closer, and then gasped, almost dropping the note as her realized who it belonged to.
But no, it couldn't be. And even if it was why would they send him a letter. They hated him, or so he thought.
He stared at the note again, eyes drinking in those two words until they flickered behind his eyelids every time he blinked.