***

Chapter 3: The Rules of the Game.

***

Mist. The world around him was filled with it.

Draco knew he was in a forest, but he didn’t see any further than a hand in front of his nose while the pouring rain overpowered every noise. He remembered an intense pain, a battle…one memorable clash. And now, where was he? Who was he?

With caution, he walked ahead, looking around. The intricate weave of the trees and the whipping of the thunderous rain hindered his sight. He turned around, and to his horror he found himself at the same point he’d started. He saw the body of a dark-haired young man a little shorter than average sprawled on the floor. He seemed vaguely familiar, as if Draco had known him well—his black hair, robe and cloak reminded him of someone.

But Draco stepped back in horror when he noticed the blood that was splattered all around on the ground. The man was dead—he must have taken part in the battle, because he wore a robe of ancient style and a kind of armour.

Slowly, the mist began to disperse. The contours of the forest became clear and luminous and, finally, Draco could look around.

The dense woodland that surrounded him seemed familiar; only the placid waters of a distant lake broke it. A lake still covered in mist.

Unexpectedly, a muffled cry attracted his attention. Draco didn’t know where it came from, but one thing was sure: he wasn't alone.

He moved, looking around with caution, and soon found the source of the noise. Little farther ahead of where he was, lying by the river, was a man. He wasn't young, but his hair was red like the sky at sunset although spotted with little threads of white. His face, grimacing in pain, was beaded with sweat. His clothing was of ancient style and was covered with his blood.

Next to the man, a small and delicate brunette was crying. Her long braids soaked, her face hidden between her hands.

‘Why did it happen?’ asked the man in a weak voice. ‘Why get to this point?’

The woman sniffled and dried her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She stood and bowed at the dying man.

‘Do not concern yourself now. All shall be well…you will be well. In the end, you were pardoned.’

‘Yes, but at what price,’ he said. He seemed willing to say something else, but no more sound came out his mouth; the muffled and regular beating of the rain was the only noise that filled the silence of the forest. The woman bent over the dead body of the knight; her sobs resonated in the air, as a proof that she was, in some way, still alive.

***

Draco woke and sat up. He discovered that he was lying on a sofa and wearing clean pyjamas.

Where am I? It doesn’t seem like the usual hostel…and I never put pyjamas on, he reflected while his senses noticed, without warning, the smell of food that wafted all around. His stomach rumbled furiously—it seemed that he hadn’t eaten for days. He blushed, looking to see if there was anyone around.

He moved his legs off the sofa in order to sit against its back. He felt weak…but surely better than the majority of mornings he’d had until now. The place was warm, and the pyjamas smelled of soap.

Suddenly, he heard a noise and turned towards it. A girl with long, flaming red hair, stared at him eyes wide, holding cloth that fell out of her hands at the sight of him. She quickly collected it, blushing and made to leave the room.

‘Wait,’ said Draco, ‘who are you? You can stay…I won’t bite.’

She blushed even more and stopped, watching him. ‘I came to check up on you. We were all worried, you’ve been very ill,’ she said. Her voice was familiar, but who she was, he didn’t remember.

‘All?’ he asked, frowning. Who’s all?

‘Harry, Ron…everyone…’ she finished.

Draco’s eyes widened when he heard those names, as the memories of what had happened before he lost consciousness came back to his mind. He blanched. Yes…Potter had saved his life. And now Draco had even more to thank him for, not just for that bloody Patronus. Damn!

‘How long have I been sick?’ he said.

‘You’ve had a high fever for four days. Hermione studied a little Muggle medicine, and said that you had pneumonia. She made a potion in order to cure you, and you’ve got better. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for ten days.’ She wrinkled her forehead at Draco's irritated grunt. She approached, however, and sat on a chair in front of him.

‘You’re Ginny Weasley, right?’

She nodded.

Very well…not only did he owe his life to Potter twice, but now he also had to thank the Mudblood? He was ecstatic about the situation. ‘Now, all that’s left is that Weasel has miraculously raised me from the dead overnight, and then I swear I’ll commit suicide,’ he said.

‘If you mean Ron,’ said a voice to his right, ‘he went everywhere to get ingredients for Hermione’s potion, and almost got attacked by a Death Eater. He didn’t do it for you though, but because Hermione asked him to. Don’t worry, your life’s not in danger,’ said a voice from behind him. Draco turned and recognized Harry; he sank against the sofa.

‘I was going to call you, Harry,’ said Ginny, rising hastily.

‘How long has he been awake, love?’ Harry asked, emphasising the word love in a way that Ginny didn’t like, thought Draco, because she looked a little annoyed.

‘Only a few minutes; he finally seems to be better.’

‘Good…give him something to wear and show him the way to the library. I’ll get back there.’ Harry approached Ginny and hugged her from behind, giving her a light kiss on the neck. She seemed to appreciate the gesture. Or at least, she didn’t withdraw, but smiled pleasantly, ruffling his hair with an affectionate gesture.

I must've been mistaken, Draco thought, shaking his head. Ginny waited until Harry left, then walked over to a settlement beside the sofa and took from it a robe, a cloak and some underwear. She gave them to Draco and walked away, entering another room.

Wow! A wizard’s robe…how long has it been since I wore one? He dressed, suddenly happy, and sighed from the appealing feeling of the woven fabric on his skin—he never was able to tolerate the Muggle clothing that he was forced to wear in order to hide. Sure, the colour maroon wasn't exactly his favourite…and he guessed to whom that robe belonged. It was a little too long for him, but not distasteful.

When he had dressed, he decided to see what Ginny was doing. He discovered that the room where she had gone was the kitchen. It was bigger than the one in which he had been confined and was equipped with every type of gadget, reflected Draco.

In a corner, Draco noticed a funny clock that had the faces of Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and a man he didn’t recognise on its hands. All the hands pointed to the library, except the one of Ginny, which said kitchen, and the one of Ron, which Draco couldn’t read where it pointed. Ginny had just opened the stove, checking something that smelled like a roast. At the unexpected smell of food, his stomach reminded him of just how many days it had been since he’d last eaten.

Draco blushed to the root of his hair.

‘I didn’t think your face could ever get to that colour, Malfoy….’ said Ginny with a smile. Draco felt even more blood rushing to his face, but he resumed his usual demeanour almost immediately. ‘However, I understand that after all those days without eating, you can’t resist the smell of food. Go and seat yourself at the table. I’ll bring you some tea with biscuits,’ she ordered.

Draco smirked, noticing how comfortable she looked in the kitchen, but did as he was told. She came with a pot of tea and some biscuits, and only when he bit into one did Draco notice just how hungry he was.

‘You seem to like my biscuits. Ron says they’re dull, Harry…doesn’t even speak of them at all.’ She snorted. Draco couldn’t answer, as he was entirely taken up with testing the capacity of his jaws. He hadn’t eaten anything better than this in his whole life. Potter and Weasley must have somewhat strange tastes in food. It didn’t surprise him—they were idiots after all.

‘I saw Potter hugging you earlier. You must be happy, Weasley. If memory serves, you nearly died mooning over him at Hogwarts,’ he drawled after swallowing a biscuit and washing it down with tea. He saw Ginny’s expression darken.

‘All that glitters is not gold.’ Ginny stood, an annoyed frown furrowing her brows, and went away. After some time she returned with more biscuits and a second pot of tea. It was clear that she hadn’t stormed off for those—she could’ve made them appear on the table with a simple spell.

‘What do you mean?’ Draco's hunger started to subside. As his stomach became full, this new matter ignited his interest.

‘Well…Harry is now my boyfriend.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘He does treat me well…he’s affectionate and kind. That's all.’ A melancholic sigh jolted her chest.

Draco watched her mockingly. ‘What did you expect? Passionate love is bullshit from romantic novels,’ he said, but Marion’s smiling face flashed in his mind. She had been happy…until his father had destroyed their lives. Or, at least, she’d said she was.

‘I know that, Malfoy. However….’ The young woman blushed, as if she were on the verge of saying something, but decided not to. She glanced around and stood up, starting to clear the table. ‘The others are waiting for you in the library. You go back to the small room with the sofa where you slept. Then you take the corridor to the right, and after the stairs, go through the glass door to the left. Not to the right or you’ll find yourself outside.’

Draco was seriously thinking of getting lost on purpose, but then he changed his mind. With a maroon robe and a black cape, wearing slippers and without money in his pocket he wouldn't go far. So he followed Ginny's instructions and again, he found himself in an enormous room.

The walls were filled with books of every kind. Some were the typical books of Wizards, old-looking and covered with dust. Others seemed to be Muggle's. Surely Granger wasn't fastidious and had collected anything that was made of paper and had printed words on it. There were also piles and piles of newspapers and magazines, of every kind and from the look of it, in various languages.

‘Finally you're up, Malfoy,’ said a voice to his left.

Draco turned in the direction of the sound, and saw a pair of brown eyes looking back at him. After debating for a moment in his head on who it could be, Draco decided it must be Sirius Black. He stared at the older wizard in disbelief—as far as he knew, Sirius died many years before. What was he doing there? He'd seen his photo so many times in the newspapers a few years ago that he could hardly be wrong. What happened? He was itching to ask, but decided to leave the question for later.

‘Yeah. Seems that I’ve slept a lot,’ Draco said, trying to keep his tone dry. A little intimidated by the incredible mass of books that surrounded him, he darted his gaze around to familiarise with the place. In one of the lateral wings of the library, he saw a person carrying a pile taller than she was. The person approached along the table where Sirius was sitting and put down her heavy load. When he could finally see her face, Draco noticed that it was Hermione.

‘Oh, finally the sleeping beauty from the sofa considers us worthy of his presence,’ she said.

‘I’ve told you, Hermione, he only woke up a while ago,’ said Harry’s voice. Draco saw that Harry was standing on the stairs, reading a big tome.

‘What do you want to do with him? You’ve had some time to think,’ she said in reply.

Draco cleared his throat—he didn’t like to be talked about as if he wasn’t there. ‘Potter won’t decide for me,’ he burst dryly.

Hermione glared at him. ‘Fair enough. But he had the great idea of bringing you here, he saved your life…he did it all. Thus, I think that he must also establish if you can stay here or not.’

‘As for me, he can stay. I’ve said it plenty of times.’

‘What if he's a spy?’ Hermione argued.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed noisily: probably the young woman had already placed this objection many, many times.

‘I think that we’ll find out soon enough if he’s a spy,’ Sirius said, closing the book he’d been reading. ‘By now we've no choice. Even if we kicked him out, he’d know where to find us. It’s also useless to do a memory charm,’ he continued seeing that Hermione wanted to speak again. ‘Those childish spells have no use with Voldemort.’

‘Okay Sirius, I understand,’ said Hermione. Draco’s eyes widened after hearing the confirmation that his suspicions were correct—that man was indeed Sirius Black. But he had to recover quickly, because Hermione looked at him and asked, ‘So…d’you want to stay?’

‘I don’t have much of a choice,’ he reflected. Thinking coldly, he didn’t have any intention of continuing the life he carried out before. Even if he’d had to share the house with Potter, Granger, Black and the Weasleys, to be there was better than going from a Muggle hostel to another, risking being caught by a Dementor at all times.

‘You’re ready to swear not to betray us?’ Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t know if I’d believe you, but…an oath is an oath.’

Draco slammed a hand on the table; his grey eyes flamed with anger. ‘I may also swear on the Malfoy name if you want,’ he shouted. How dare she, a filthy Mudblood, doubt his word? ‘If it makes you feel better, I mean. Potter saved my life. It annoys me to admit it and to remember it, but it’s an unfortunate fact.’ He sat on a nearby chair and chose a comfortable position, crossing his legs and arms.

‘Very well,’ said Sirius. Harry appeared on Draco’s side, resting three books on the table and sat next to the elder wizard as he continued, ‘Since you’ve decided to stay, we need to establish some rules. First, you’ll have to clean up your act.’

At that, Harry and Hermione smirked, and that greatly annoyed Draco.

‘What d'you mean, Black?’ Draco said and sat more decorously, supporting his elbows on the table and his chin on the back of his hands.

‘I mean that you will do your part of the work. You won’t behave as if you rule the world and you won’t insult others.’ Sirius stopped and smiled lightly when he noticed that the blond wizard was sneering. ‘I shan’t compromise on this point, Malfoy. I remind you that if anyone here loses their patience with you, we won’t hesitate to give you back your clothes and kick you out. Finding another hiding place isn't something that makes us smile, but it’s not impossible.’ Sirius’s gaze locked with Hermione's while he emphasised the word anyone.

‘I’ll try my best.’ He noticed that his three companions stared at him a little incredulously. ‘I mean…I won’t insult you if you won’t insult me. And I shan’t compromise on this. It will be difficult to hold my tongue. So, if you don't hassle me, everybody will be happier.’

‘Fair enough.’ Sirius locked gaze first with Harry and then with Hermione, stopping a little longer on the girl. Then he eyed Draco. ‘Okay, now let's come to the second point on the list. You must swear not to betray us, Malfoy.’

‘As I’ve said, I swear on the Malfoy name. Honour is the only thing that I’ve left,’ snapped Draco.

‘Very well. We’ll try to believe you,’ Sirius said, looking at Hermione with the corner of his eye. The young witch didn’t seem happy, but eventually she nodded. As soon as she did, Sirius looked at Draco again. ‘There’s another thing, Malfoy,’ he continued.

Draco watched, with a questioning look.

‘You must learn to shield yourself and protect yourself from the Dementors. If you carry on the way you did in the past few days every time one passes by, someone might discover us.’

‘I can’t promise to succeed, Black, but I’ll try.’ This time, Draco was serious. He wanted to learn how to protect himself from those monsters, and badly. He didn’t want to see Marion’s death before his eyes again. He couldn’t show his weakness in front of Potter and the Mud—. Uh…Granger.

‘If you don’t break these rules, you will be welcome here. Now, take a book and begin to work.’

Draco looked at Sirius as if he were crazy. 'Excuse me?' he asked.

‘Sirius, you forget Malfoy doesn’t know what we do here,’ Harry reminded him. ‘Unless he has psychic powers….’

‘…Which is impossible, given the look on his face,’ said Hermione.

Draco glared at her, but stayed silent and his reaction seemed to be a relief for the witch. Probably it was a matter of trust: the bags under her eyes told Draco that probably she hadn't slept well since he had started to live with them. At first, she was probably worried about his critical condition. He knew her sense of duty pretty well: even if it was him…he was a human being. She must have taken responsibility for his life, and if he had died, she never would’ve forgiven herself. But of course, her agitation didn’t fade even when he got stable. She didn’t trust anything he said, no matter what. Draco smirked.

'Two and a half years ago, Harry’s scar started hurting badly. To make a long story short, we discovered that Voldemort hadn't been destroyed in the battle that had caused Headmistress McGonagall's death. The Death Eaters came back more powerful than before and the fear re-insinuated itself in the Wizard World,' explained Hermione.

Draco nodded—it was a story that he already knew well.

'Your father was the first to be condemned as a Death Eater. He had used an Unforgivable Curse and, a few days after it, the Dark Mark had come back. Cornelius Fudge didn't trust him anymore and this time no price could’ve been enough to save his life.

'Panic burst everywhere immediately after his execution. Your mother went crazy for the fear and the humiliation, and is now locked up in Azkaban. The wizarding prison is now kept by mutant forms of Dementors, like the ones that patrol the Muggle streets, magically forced to obey Ministry orders. As new Death Eaters joined Voldemort's ranks, we've been forced to hide. Even though the public opinion and the Ministry were on our side, the Death Eaters were looking for us and we couldn't expect the Ministry to constantly protect us.'

Draco nodded in agreement. It made sense.

'For months,' continued Hermione, 'we hid between a wine cellar and a cove. I had to give up my studies and my new job; Ron had to give up on his career as a Quidditch player. When we found this place—it's a Muggle hotel that had been abandoned for being dangerous—we managed to fix it with ad hoc spells and made it our home. Having found again a semblance of privacy, we decided to start our research.'

‘Research of what kind?’ interrupted Draco.

‘We’re trying to understand why the Green Torch didn’t work. That object was supposed to destroy Voldemort, not to knock him out for a few years,’ Harry said. ‘All the books that you see here have been supplied by the Ministry and several libraries. The newspapers have been piled up for a few years, we haven't thrown anything away.’

‘And what conclusion have you reached, in two years?’

‘None.’ Harry sighed and opened one of the books, turning the pages absently. ‘It seems there’s nothing to explain quite what the Green Torch is. The only person who could’ve helped us is…beyond our reach.’

He refers to Dumbledore, of course, Draco thought. The old Headmaster of Hogwarts had never found his sympathy, but the young man knew very well that, with respect to Ancient Magic and its secrets, he was second to none. He had vanished in unknown circumstances, which had been a relief for the Dark lord himself, and also for Draco's father.

His father…Draco felt he had to remember something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

‘What shall I do?’ he said, trying to forget the horrible feeling that he had something important to say and couldn’t remember it.

‘Help us.’ Hermione handed him a few books from another part of the table. ‘Scan the books and look for any information on the Green Torch.’

‘I’m not a book-worm like you, Mud…Granger,’ Draco corrected, clearing his voice. Hermione looked at him with an annoyed frown, but didn't object, as if pretending not to have heard his insult. Maybe the reason was that he had corrected himself, and she found that was a step in the right direction.

‘You think that being here going over these books and wasting my days is my ultimate goal?’ she burst. ‘I had a career, you know. I took care of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and I assure you that it was much more satisfying than breaking my back in this library every day.’ She shrugged at his sceptical look. ‘I still like studying. But I miss travelling, and International relations.…Maybe this is too difficult to understand for the likes of you.’

Draco glared at her for a long moment, itching to argue something in reply, but eventually decided against it. So he opened one of the books and began to read.

To be Continued…