Author's note:  Wow, thanks for all the support! I got so many e-mails and reviews about that grammar argument I had with my teacher. I'm so grateful to you all! And I'm delighted to inform you all that the correct answer on my stupid test is: "the shoe was much too big," "he was driving too fast," and "he was driving to California." I was right! Yay! My teacher admitted she was wrong (I tried very hard not to look smug just then, I really did), but not before looking it up in a dictionary. It's a bit worrying, I think, that the person who is in fact my English teacher, and even gets paid for it, doesn't know things like this. My education is going down, down I tell you.

  On the subject of wrongly informed teachers and weird discussions, we discussed homophobia in class the other day and it was hilarious. My teacher kept accusing today's youth of being too homophobic and afraid of the unknown. I had a hard time trying not to burst out in fits of laughter, as you probably can all imagine. Seriously, you should've heard him. I'm under the impression that he thinks he is in some way superior to us because he thinks he knows how our minds work. He actually thinks we are all homophobic, and therefore that he can say whatever he wants since he's not and believes we will be too grossed out by the old fashioned mental images of men with moustaches and leather pants to pay any real attention anyway. I think I'll write a little something for him on our next free assignment and see how he copes with that. Maybe that'll prove to him how "shallow-minded" today's youth really are, compared to the older generations. Don't get me wrong though, I respect this particular teacher very much, and I'm glad he thinks he's superior to us because of his open mindedness rather than superficial and trivial things like skin color or mere old age with no wisdom behind it. Nevertheless, I've decided to write my next free assignment as I would a perfectly common slash-fic. It would be nothing smutty, of course, as he tends to show my stories to the entire staff.

  About the story, I really want to finish it before the 5th book gets out in stores, but it's difficult due to lack of time and inspiration especially.

Chapter. 8

  Draco brought up his hand and caught the broom that came flying towards him. He kept his eyes focused on Harry the entire time, in case the boy decided to try something. But Harry was sitting unusually still, and only raised his head slightly as he heard the broom.

"You have a Nimbus 2001," he said, as if in wonder. Draco didn't reply. It had occurred to him that even if Harry knew who he was, he could've decided not to show it, believing it would make it easier for him if he put on an image of complete oblivion.

  Harry didn't budge even as Draco bent down behind him to tie his hands together. Draco fumbled a little. Harry had such thin wrists. He would wait with the legs until they got back on solid ground. He did not quite trust his balance and precision on broom enough to feel confident he would manage the trip while carrying another boy.

  With a solid grip on Harry's raven hair he pulled him up from his knees and steered him over to where the broom was hovering in the air at waist height. Then he stopped. How on earth was he supposed to do this? He felt a sudden urge to punch Harry hard in the stomach. This was his entire fault! The boy was more trouble than he was worth. He decided to wait with that, too, until they had gotten safely down.

  Harry would have to sit in front of him. Obviously he couldn't sit behind, or he'd most certainly fall off. And besides, Draco reasoned he'd have better control over him that way. Slipping one arm around Harry's waist he swung his leg easily over the handle and pulled the other boy after him. Catching on, Harry followed suit and was soon perched on the broom just in front of Draco.

  Harry was gripped by a sudden panic at his own inability to hold onto something, leaving him with no other option than to rely on the arm to support him. "Hold on tight," muttered a voice, so close that the warm breath tickled his ear. Hold on to what, thought Harry glumly. But before he could sink any deeper into contemplation over this, they kicked off and soared skywards.

  Harry couldn't keep himself from making a small delighted sound at the feeling of absolutely nothing under his feet but thin air. Though he had flown many times before, this was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He was at least fairly certain that he had never flown a broom in the middle of the night before, with his arms tied behind his back, blindfolded, and with someone else's arm around his waist to keep him from falling off. It was exciting in a dangerous sort of way, and he found he enjoyed it to no end.

  At first Draco didn't want to stay airborne any longer than necessary. But after a while he, too, began to enjoy the feeling of it. The night air became chill as they began to gain altitude, and goose bumps rippled over Harry's naked arms. He shivered a little, but only just, fearing he might loose his balance by moving around too much. Instinctively Draco tightened his grip around him.

  The view was truly magnificent from up here. He looked down at the garden, and spotted the little pond glinting like a gem in the far end. Everything was white surface and blue shadows in the moonlight, and the Malfoy manor looked like something from a fairy tale.

  Suddenly, he was startled by a loud growl coming from the pit of his stomach. Draco hadn't realized until then just how hungry he was.  It must be getting early, he thought. In front of he him he could hear Harry chuckle lightly, and then the next thing he knew they were diving for the ground at alarming speed. Harry had taken the opportunity as soon as he realized Draco wasn't paying much attention to him, and leant as much of his upper body forward as he was able to.

  Momentarily frozen, Draco could only stare at the fast approaching ground. The wind howled around his ears, ruffling his clothes and hair into disorder. He regained his senses just in time to jerk Harry up straight with one arm and pull off the dive. Strands of grass touched the tip of his shoes, but he barely noticed, because while the broom was no longer headed for the same direction it had lost none of its speed whatsoever and carried on zooming across the garden.

  The urge to knock the wind out of Potter returned of a sudden with full force. When he finally did manage to pull back and stop the broom, he lost his grip on Harry who tipped sideways and fell head first into the little pond with a soft splash. Instead of screaming out loud in frustration, like his inner self was telling him to, he closed his eyes instead and took a deep breath.

  Spotting Harry wasn't difficult. Even if it hadn't been for the moonlight, the noise was more than sufficient to go by. Not surprisingly the boy seemed to have recognized his new environment, and had then proceeded to panic.

  And he had panicked. He hated water. He wasn't a good swimmer in any condition, and it was even worse now that he couldn't move his arms. He flung out his legs, hoping he'd get a hold of something. He didn't, but something, or rather someone caught a hold of him. The next he knew he was laying flat on his back in the grass and could breathe again. He instantly suck in as much of the sweet air his lungs could hold.

  "You idiot!" Draco slapped him hard across his face, much like a father would do to a disobedient child. "Are you trying to have us both killed?" He didn't know what he'd expected Harry's reaction to be, but it certainly wasn't the one he got. The raven-haired boy didn't seem to even have noticed he had been hit. "You let go," he said quietly. It wasn't an excuse. Nor was there any anger or accusation to his voice. Why should there be? Harry probably felt no obligation to act polite towards the man who had taken him away from the safety of his muggle relatives, and whining would do him no good, anyway.

  "Of course I let go! You bloody fool, what were you thinking? Do you want to die?" It occurred to Draco the instant the words were out of his mouth, that they had been a mistake. He shouldn't have said anything.

  "And if I do, you'll drown me?" Harry grinned humorlessly at his own suggestion.

  "No." Draco's stomach growled again. He really was hungry. Instead of wasting more breath on the insufferable brat on the grass, he began to think very carefully of whether it would be safe to bring Harry into the kitchens. The only real danger was that blasted house elf. But it was very late, or very early depending on how you saw it, and she would be busy cleaning the hallways around these hours if she was doing her job properly. She shouldn't be in the kitchens, he reasoned, because if she is then she's somewhere she shouldn't be, and if that's the case then she's in trouble anyway. His final conclusion was that it would be safe. He could give Harry something to eat, too, while they were there.

  His train of thoughts were interrupted by the very insufferable brat Draco had decided not to waste any more of his precious air on. "You know, I'd be jolly grateful if you would remove this blindfold, please."

  "No."

  "But where is he then?" Arthur Weasley sighed in frustration and drew his hand distractedly through the sparse hairs on his head. "Listen, Arthur, we are all concerned, but many good wizards have been put on the case. I'm sure we'll have him back in a few days, safe and sound as ever before." The young wizard tried to look reassuring, but the bags under his eyes betrayed him. He didn't believe what he was saying. It had only been a few days, but already people were losing hope of ever seeing young Harry Potter alive again. It was frightening. Had it been any other young wizard it would have been different, Arthur knew. Nevertheless, he had promised his wife and children to do whatever he could to help search for Harry. And, of course, tell them all about it afterwards.

  Since his field of expertise didn't really touch any part of the incident itself, apart from the minimal damage that had been done to the furniture and miscellaneous other nearby items, he was not a part of the case. His only relation would be that he had to the missing boy, and while that was enough to ensure him constant updates on the current situation, it wasn't sufficient to ensure him anything more. It would have to do, at least for now.

  It was late, or early, if you chose to look at it from that perspective. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had insisted the investigation took place at night, so as not to alert the neighbors. Witches and wizards who had just apparated from Privet Drive were filing into the office, they looked as though they hadn't slept for days and their faces were masks of perfect hopelessness.

  "Oh, hi there, Arthur." A dark haired man, going by the name of Louie Limesborough, was coming towards him with a cup of steaming hot cocoa in his hand. He didn't look nearly as tired as the others, and Arthur guessed he had only just arrived. "Good morning, Louie. It's been a while. How are you?" "Fine, thank you. And yourself?" Arthur shrugged. "These are difficult times, you know. And with Harry Potter disappearing just now… Well, they aren't getting any easier." He wasn't trying to sound depressing, but that was how things were. No use pretending everything was in great order when they weren't.

  Louie nodded knowingly as he took a small sip of his cup. Louie worked with charms, and specialized in protecting charms and those kinds of charms that made you believe you were seeing something that wasn't really there. The same sort they used to cover up Hogwarts with. "You know, that Harry Potter incident is a mystery to me," he said. "The wards that have been put around the house are all intact, not so much as a flaw on any of them. The neighbors all claim they didn't see or hear a thing out of the ordinary, but what else is new. And what surprises me the most is that they found all the boy's school things, including his wand, locked in a chest in his bedroom upstairs. How is that even possible? He preformed magic that much is clear from the reports, but his wand was upstairs the entire time. How did he do it?"

  Arthur smiled. "Harry is full of surprises."

  "He must be. But I suppose I won't find out until we find him." He took another sip of his cocoa. "How is this investigation progressing then?" asked Arthur, hoping he'd get a more satisfying answer from Louie than that other rookie. "Well, like I told you, it's a mystery to me," said Louie with a shrug. "But I'm only working on the charms part, so I don't know anything about the rest except from what the others see fit to tell me." "And what do you know?" Louie scratched the back of his neck, eyes turned upwards as though the answers were written on the ceiling. "He went north after leaving the house, so our guesses are that someone was waiting for him there. He brought nothing with him as far as we've been able to tell. Apart from his owl, everything's still in the house. There are no traces of anyone suspicious near the house either." He was silent for a moment. "See, the problem is that we are unable to find any actual motif for the disappearance. He might've decided to run away on his own, but seeing as how we arrived so fast he couldn't have gotten very far on foot. We would've found him. We know for sure that he didn't take the Knight bus, and we've also checked with the muggle bus companies to see if he was among the passengers on any of those."

  "What about abduction or kidnapping?" Arthur wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but he had to ask. He had to know. "Well, we believe we can rule out kidnapping. A kidnapping is usually followed by a ransom demand, and we haven't received so much a note. Abduction is a more likely option." Louie moistened his lips and looked to the floor for a moment before looking up to meet Arthur's eyes. "But, see, strange thing is, how would this… abductor know when to strike? It was only a coincidence that Harry Potter left the house at that time that night. As far as we know, he never planned it, which means that there was no way for anyone else to know. Unless, of course, this mysterious someone is clairvoyant, or know someone who is."

  "But couldn't they have spied on him?" "Well, it is possible, of course. But, like I said before, there have been put up wards around the house to prevent such things from happening, and in any case, if so was then the neighbors would've noticed something for sure. It seems they live and breathe for spying on each other."

  A young witch in dark robes interrupted them. Arthur couldn't help but marvel at how many young people the ministry was employing these days. He hardly knew a soul here anymore. It seemed Louie knew her though, for he shook her hand and introduced her to Arthur as Aggie Schmith. Aggie Schmith was also a part of the investigation, but before Arthur could ask her what it was that she did, she began to speak of an important meeting they would be missing if they stayed much longer, and soon after Arthur found himself staring at their retreating backs.

  At least he'd finally received some valuable information. It was typical of Louie to appear as if he didn't know anything, when in fact what he knew was of high value to anyone who had the faintest clue of what they were looking for. Of course, Arthur knew better than to draw conclusions at such an early stage when the element of surprise was still big enough to get in the way of nearly any theory, but several theories could at least now be eliminated, which was a relief.

  "Er… Wait, here we have something, do you like wine?" Draco balanced on a rather frail-looking chair and was searching through the many shelves where all the food was kept. The biggest problem wasn't to find something to eat, there were plenty to eat, but the fact that Draco couldn't prepare the easiest meal kept getting in the way. Cooking was a skill he'd never expected he'd need. Preparing food was something servants did, and Draco Malfoy was nobody's servant.

  The kitchen was dark, quiet and blissfully empty when they arrived. So he had placed Harry Potter, that insufferable brat, on top of a bench with too many drawers, and went to search for food. And so far Harry hadn't made a single complaint, though he still sat exactly where he'd put him, and Draco's quest was a failure. He barely knew the name of half of these things! How was he supposed to know if they were even eatable?

  "What sort of wine is it?" called Harry's voice from the main room. "I can't tell. It's too dark in here," he called back. He seriously doubted Harry would know the difference anyway. After a few more minutes he finally came up with some fruit and a French loaf of white bread, and brought everything out to Harry in a small basket he'd found underneath the shelf with the fruit.

  Harry was a curious sight sitting there; hands tied together, blindfolded, and, of course, dripping wet. And yet there was a small grin on his pretty face. Draco couldn't help but wonder what went on inside that head of his. How could he grin at the mere prospect of getting some food at a time like this? He would never understand Harry. He honestly didn't think anyone ever would. With Harry, you could never be certain. There was no category fit for him to belong under, and so he could at times be rather confusing. He kept asking himself whether the boy was brave, for instance, or really that optimistic to people. Or was he just plain stupid and naïve?

  Draco pushed his distracting thoughts aside, and fumbled through a few drawers before finally producing a knife fit for cutting bread and fruit with. He tore off a chunk of loaf and used the knife to cut himself a suitable piece of a crimson apple. Then he devoured everything at once, and it occurred to him of a sudden that he should've taken the time to find goblets for the wine. It was too late to bother now so he merely downed some of it straight from the bottle. Then he spluttered it out again. Red wine. Of course it had to be red. He hated red wine.

  Harry chuckled at the noises. He had a pretty good image of what was going on even if he couldn't see it. "What was that?" Draco glared at him as he wiped the remains of the dark red liquid from his face with the back of his sleeve. "Nothing," he coughed. He tore off another chunk and ate it, slowly this time.

  In the mean time, Harry was staring at him in silence. Or at least he had his head turned in a position that suggested he might have stared if he hadn't been blindfolded. He didn't say anything, nor did he move, and Draco soon found he'd stopped eating and was staring back. Finally he sighed. "Yes, Harry, what is it? Why are you staring at me?" Harry grinned. "How can you tell I'm staring at you?" Draco rolled his eyes. "All right then, why is your full attention directed at me?" Harry licked his lips in a manner that would've been suggestive had it come from someone else. "I'm hungry."

  "But you didn't want my food, remember? You said so yourself." Harry stuck out his tongue in a childlike manner. "No, I didn't say that. What I said was that I wasn't hungry. I'm hungry now. And besides," he added, "You said I was ugly. I was hurt, so that's why I didn't want to eat the food you tried to give me then." Draco laughed at the last part. He couldn't help it. "And now I'm forgiven? Because I've got food?" To his surprise Harry shook his head and looked almost offended at the idea. "I chose to forgive you because you saved me," he said, and then suddenly he laughed, too. "And I'm not that pretty anyway."

  Draco felt this little performance deserved some sort of reward and decided to give the boy what he was asking for. Without further comments he began slicing the apple into little pieces. He held one between his thumb and index finger and lifted it so that it was right in front of Harry's slightly parted lips. "Open your mouth." Harry obeyed. Draco put the little piece carefully inside and withdrew his fingers just in time to avoid being injured by a row of pearly white teeth. Harry chewed on it a couple of times, slowly like he wanted it to last, then swallowed. "Thank you," he said. "Now I feel really full."

  "Quit whining." "Give me some more and I will."

  Draco shoved a fistful of the soft white loaf into his mouth and carefully ignored the other boy as he chewed on it. I'll give him some more in a little while, he thought. But he has to earn it. It's only fair after everything he's put me through.

  Harry was silent for about two minutes, but when Draco began to chew very noisily on a peach he couldn't contain himself any longer. "You know, you also said you weren't going to kill me. And then you proved it by saving me. Twice. But unless my dead body is in fact what you have in mind then I suggest you give me something more to eat." Draco took a sip of wine. He had decided not to bother with the goblets at all. "You know, I'd be a little more polite if I were you," he said calmly as he held up the peach he'd been chewing on, allowing for Harry to have a taste of it as well. "It might actually get you somewhere." Harry snorted. "You're the one to talk!" he said accusingly as soon as he'd finished it. "You kidnapped me. You're not seriously expecting me to be polite to you after that, are you? I don't know what you want from me, but I seriously doubt it's my friendship. You even said I was ugly!"

  "That ugly-part really got to you, didn't it?" muttered Draco. "No, like I said I don't care. My point is that you haven't been polite to me, so why should I be polite to you?" Harry had begun to swing his legs back and forth, producing squishy sounds from his soaked jeans when they stroke against each other. "And if I had told you were the most beautiful boy I ever saw," said Draco slowly, watching the dripping water form small pools on the floor under his feet, "Do you think that would have made you feel better about your situation?"

  Harry yawned and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. And I don't care that you think I'm ugly. Now can we please move on to the part where you feed me?" Draco gave him some of the loaf and watched him as he ate. If he had been kidnapped, he thought, and the kidnapper had said to him that he was the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen then he certainly would've been frightened. More frightened than if he'd been told he was ugly. If nothing else, it certainly would've planted a firm suspicion in his mind as to what the kidnapper wanted from him. He came to think of Pansy's letter. "Now they're talking about rape and murder and God knows what not!" And on the subject of letters… Hedwig was still in the cage in his room upstairs, and so was the letter he'd wanted to show Harry.

  "I have something I want to show you," he said suddenly. "Does that mean you'll take this bloody thing off?" Harry interrupted him with a hopeful voice. "Yes, but it's not here so we'll have to eat while we walk, and you absolutely cannot make the slightest sound. Understand?" Harry nodded to show that he'd understood. Draco grabbed him by the collar of his wide, black T-shirt and pulled him down from the bench. He was getting too tired to be able to lift anything much beside the food basket, and in any case he didn't feel much like being close to someone this wet, so with one hand tangled in the mass of black hair and the other pressed against the small of his back, Draco steered a dripping Harry out of the kitchen.

  Harry was given the great honor of carrying the wine bottle in his back bound hands, and so far he had not complained about it. He also seemed happy to finally be allowed to walk for himself. He also kept unusually quiet. Something for which Draco was glad. If there ever was a time in his life he didn't want anyone at all to see him, it was now!