Chapter 01 Cat and Lion
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Late that night, Draco Malfoy awoke to a soft hoot emitting from the mouth of the cave. For a moment he lay still, listening for any other sound. He turned to look at Snape. His Head of House was sleeping on his back, snoring silently—Draco had put a silencing charm on the man after he dozed off.
Draco stood very carefully, checking to be sure his wand was in his robe pocket, and crept towards the cave entrance, hugging the walls. The cave was located on what was almost a sheer cliff and he could see all the way down to the roofs of Hogsmeade village. He shivered to think that he was so close to the place from which he had run away. And Draco shivered to think that he had been so close to turning into a murderer. Draco hated getting dirty.
Standing there at the edge of the cliff, Draco had to fight the urge to begin climbing the rocks down to the familiar and friendly village below. Suddenly the sound of footsteps in the dust behind him made Draco teeter at the edge. He grabbed the cave wall, holding his breath and listening. A tall figure was emerging from further within the cave. Draco breathed.
Squinting as the moonlight covered his face, Severus Snape looked at Draco with disappointment.
“You will be my downfall, Draco,” he said, taking no care to keep his voice down. Ignoring him, Draco gazed down at the pine trees swaying slightly below them in the ravine.
Snape sighed. “You spend altogether too much time making me feel guilty for keeping you safe. Sometimes I wish I’d forgone all this bother and left you for the Order to sort out.”
Draco folded his arms and slid down the cave wall into a sitting position, still watching the trees. “I didn’t ask you to play nanny for me,” he said coldly, taking his wand from his pocket and turning it between his fingers.
Snape snorted, then turned and sauntered away. After a moment, Draco heard Snape’s heavy breathing turn into light snores. He waved his wand once and the sound died away. He began twirling his wand again, thinking of just how tired he was of being around his father’s…associate. Draco respected the man, but after spending a month on the run with him, it was beginning to wear on his nerves.
As Draco’s thoughts began to wander, he fancied that he saw shapes down in the pine trees below—misty clouds that changed shape as he grew drowsier. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Waiting in the shadows, Snape stooped to pick up Draco and carry him back to the pile of blankets. As he lay the boy down, careful not to wake him, a muffled sound echoed from deeper within the cave. Snape withdrew his wand and held it ready at his side as he crept farther into the darkness.
There was a pinpoint of light off to the left and as Snape turned towards it, a wand jabbed into his throat. He swallowed, his heart racing in anticipation. Turning his head, Snape could just make out the face of his captor. He inhaled sharply.
It was Minerva McGonagall. Her face looked thinner and more careworn. Perhaps it was the new title of Headmistress. She looked upon Snape with unrestrained hatred.
“Don’t move, Snape,” she snapped, groping with her other hand for his wand. He relinquished it, a mildly amused look on his face.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve just been frozen by one of your accomplices, Minerva. I am flattered by the notion that I pose a threat to you.”
McGonagall’s face hardened as she shoved him away from her. He stumbled backwards, smirking at his colleague’s infuriated countenance. Snape bowed to her, and said respectfully, “Headmistress.”
“Bastard,” retorted a voice from the shadows. Snape whipped his head around. The insults continued. “Liar. Traitor.” Snape could make out the faint figure of a woman. “Murderer.” It was Nymphadora Tonks, the young Auror.
Tonks slid a small vial into McGonagall's hand. The liquid was clear, and Snape recognized it instantly as Veritaserum. The Order, Snape supposed, as McGonagall and Tonks forced him to drink the potion, was a mess without Dumbledore.
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Harry was under strict instructions to remain indoors at all times, and being an obedient child, he only disobeyed when Uncle Vernon began grumbling that the garden was not being watered often enough. On this particular June morning, Harry had been sent out to give the back garden a drink before the sun shone over the fence and dried out the flowers.
Usually while watering the plants, Harry let his mind wander to memories of milling around the lake at Hogwarts on weekends with Ron and Hermione. Once or twice during such nostalgia, Harry’s hand would wander into his pockets as if to pull out a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans or a Chocolate Frog. It was these times that Harry felt homesick.
But today, Harry’s thoughts were not on fond memories of Hogwarts. Rather, he was trying to keep Dudley in his sight as he poked around the gardenias. Harry didn’t want to be responsible for any damage Dudley did to his mother’s garden. Keeping one eye on the spray of water and the other on his cousin’s fat backside turned out to be far more difficult than Harry had imagined. He turned his attention back to the hose and began to wonder why Dudley was awake so early in the first place. Just as he looked up at the sky to see if the sun had risen high enough to merit him going inside, a loud yelp came from the other side of the garden. Harry turned around in time to see a gnome running away from Dudley’s large rear end. Torn between amusement and shock, Harry dropped the hose and ran over to the sobbing lump, who was trying to kick in the hole into which the gnome had escaped.
“Dudley…no!” cried Harry, as he attempted to pull his large cousin away from the gnome’s nest. Dudley grunted as Harry tried in vain to move him.
“Get off of it!” Dudley yelled, pulling on a few of Petunia’s prized lilies. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see it because I did!” Dudley dove at the ground, digging pathetically, trying to get at the creature. Harry sighed, knowing that he would somehow be blamed for the destruction of the flowerbed, and decided that the situation was hopeless.
Walking slowly back to the hose that was still spouting water everywhere, Harry stopped when Dudley said, “Wait...Harry.”
“What, Dud? You didn’t seem to want help.”
“No…I mean…is it like you?”
“What?”
“That…that thing. Is that thing like you? You know…” Dudley’s voice trailed off, and he leaned in towards Harry and whispered, “magic?”
Harry blinked, and then understood. “Yeah. That was a gnome. It’s a magical creature.”
Dudley looked awed. “I knew it was,” he said. “I knew it.” His voice dropped back down to a whisper. “Since it is,” he said, “since it’s like you—“
“It’s not like me. I’m human. That was a gnome.”
“Whatever!” insisted Dudley, who seemed determined not to be pulled into an argument over terminology. “Do you know how to catch it?”
“Catch…why would you want to catch a gnome?”
Dudley looked aggrieved. “Harry, I just want to know—“
“You want to know how to get something that’ll gnaw on your fingers or your bum? Because I can tell you plenty of boys in Little Whinging who would love the chance to—“
“Now you’re just being thick, I know you are, come off it!” Dudley shouted, waving his massive arms around his head like a windmill.
Harry crossed his arms, forcing himself to stay calm. Why Mr. Weasley enjoyed the Ministry of Muggle Affairs he could not for the life of him understand. “Alright then. Why do you want something that’s a bloody pest?” he asked.
Dudley looked at him, confused. “Gnomes are bugs?”
Harry sighed again, and ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “No, Dud, it’s just…they invade wizard’s gardens and you have to get rid of them.”
“How?” Dudley asked, trying to get Harry to cough up more information.
Harry shrugged. “You throw them. You throw them nice and far so they get all confused and can’t find their way back.”
Dudley’s eyes lit up, and Harry had the fleeting thought that he might have condemned the creature to death. The large boy turned around and began searching in the dirt for the gnome.
“Sneak up on it, Dud,” said Harry, who had just realized that the faucet was still on and most of the garden was full up with water. He ran over to the wall of the house and frantically turned it off. He replaced the hose and ran inside.
For the rest of the day, Harry contemplated writing a letter to Ron. It was nearly evening when Dudley finally succeeded in catching the gnome and throwing it. Harry couldn’t decide whether to laugh or worry when the pudgy creature sailed over the fence and into a neighbor’s yard—one of the neighbors far down the street. As he sat back against his pillow, he wondered what Petunia would say when she discovered that her darling Diddy-Ums was covered in both dirt and scratches.
It was nearly dinner time. Harry sat back. Perhaps this summer would be interesting.
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Furious, Draco stormed into his dormitory and proceeded to throw his few belongings onto the floor. Cursing when the heaviest object managed to hit his foot, he flung his wand across the room in frustration. He ran his fingers through his now-messy hair, leaving a few strands to hang in front of his face. Draco fumbled for the opening in his bed hangings and pulled them enough to expose the bottom end of the bed. He sat down and sighed, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“Mind doing that a little slower?”
Draco jumped off his bed and spun around quickly, pushing the hangings out of the way.
“What?”
A girl was sitting on his bed, apparently waiting for him. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, and whispered, “Hi.”
In shock, Draco shook her hands off of him and backed away from the bed. “What are you doing in my…” he spluttered. “Who the hell are you?”
She bounced to the edge of the bed. “An exchange student,” she said, tilting her head endearingly.
Draco blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open.
“Then…what the hell are you doing at Hogwarts, during the summer, and in my bed?”
The girl gave him a coy smile and asked, “Isn’t this my bed?”
Draco crossed his arms. “No, it’s not,” he said. She smiled at him. Draco took a closer look at her.
She had dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back and had a slight wave to it, but her clothes… Draco frowned. “What happened to your clothes?” he asked.
She looked down at her outfit. “You don’t like it? Does it not show enough?” she asked.
Draco eyed her again. “Well, it depends on what you’re going for. If it’s ‘slutty whore’ then you’ve got yourself set.” He crossed his arms to try and cover up the fact that his shirt was still unbuttoned.
The girl pouted and confided, “Actually, I was going for more of a luring seductress look, but if you’d prefer something else...” She pointed her wand at herself and changed the pink babydoll she was wearing into a dark green dress. “Better?” she asked, displaying her impressive cleavage.
Draco shook his head and asked impatiently, “Who are you? Did McGonagall put you in here?”
“Isabelle Desiree and yes,” she said, playing with her hair.
He rolled his eyes and muttered, “You must be joking.”
Isabelle leaned closer to Draco, examining his face. “You look just like your father,” she said.
“How do you know my father?”
“I’ve seen him.”
He stood there for a moment, thinking in silence, trying to make sense of the girl.
“Are you going to leave now? I’ve had a rather trying day, you see, and I’d like to get some undisturbed sleep.”
Isabelle smiled and backed away from him, then turned and sashayed to the door. Draco groaned and put his face in his hands. He didn’t want to have to deal with people yet, much less obnoxious ones.
“Sleep well,” she said, winking and stroking the door frame.
Draco sighed and changed into his pajamas. As he was drifting off to sleep, he thought, what the bloody everlasting hell.
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