Ron Weasley And The Dragons

Chapter Seven

By Libertine

       

"It's a quest. Sort of. We've got to destroy it."

For the past six hours Ron has been trying to explain his unlikely circumstances to the disbelieving Draco. So far, Draco's offered nothing to Ron's monologue except the occasional raise of both his eyebrows. Eventually Ron subsides to a gloomy silence – he prods experimentally at his dead limbs.

"You don't think these dragons have an alterior motive for wanting the medallion destroyed?" Draco says, finally. "Say, the fact that they'll suddenly be freed of all control, and be able to pillage happily without fear of repercussion? Don't you think you're running into this Hero thing a little too fast?"

"Look, Draco –"

Draco wrinkles his nose. "I should have known. You've always been jealous of Harry. Now you've a chance to be centrestage. Of course you aren't thinking clearly. I say, bring this dragon down to earth, and we'll feed it until it – until the medallion comes out again. Better to be safe than very fucking sorry and turned into a spit-roast, I say."

"It's not like that at all," Ron snaps. "Dragons are just like us wizards – only they don't talk the way we do –"

"Oh, yes. The talking-to-dragons thing. Are you sure that isn't all in your head, Weasley? Does Elvis ever speak to you?"

Ron blinks. "Elvis?"

"Fat dead Muggle. Very famous. Sung a lot of love – oh, forget it." Draco runs a hand through his slick, fair hair.

"You watch too much telavasin," says Ron.

"It's television. And don't knock it. I hear you play Nindo, anyway."

"What?"

"Look, I'm digressing. What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't trust these damn dragons. Or the voices that you hear in your head, either, come to think of it. You start listening to voices and you'll end up like my great great uncle Faramire the Fucked-Up." Draco pauses. "That wasn't his real title, of course. But that's what people called him behind his back. He used to talk to his horse. Ended up marrying it, as far as I can remember. Rather embarrassing for the whole family. He wasn't invited around for tea at the manor, afterwards. My great grandfather refused to serve hay at the dining table."

"I am not your great great uncle, Malfoy. This is real."

"Really?" Draco smirks. "Then do tell me when the happy day between you and scaley here is."

Mushrooms. A salad as an appetiser.

I told you he was a shithead, Ron tells the Bluewing.

Urge to pillage, rising..

"Just shut up, Draco," Ron advises.

"I refuse to be a part of your inane – quest, or what ever you want to call it," Draco snaps. "It'll all end in tears, let me tell you."

"So don't be part of it," Ron suggests. "You're only here because you forced us to take you. You can hop off any time you like."

Draco leans over the dragon's shoulders, and peers down through the clouds. The ground looks very far away. In fact, he can't even see the ground. He shudders, and crawls back to Ron.

"I'm not going to jump," says Draco.

Aw, shoot.

"So deal with it," says Ron, shrugging. He stares at Draco over his chest, and puts his hands behind his head.

       

Harry is a mess. He's been running from person to person, all over the Ministry, but no one seems inclined to release either Remus or Serverus from custody. They've had firm orders not to do so, and even Harry's star-power won't shift them. In despair, Harry slumps into a corner on a wooden bench, and covers his face with his hands.

At least Hermione's going to be okay, he thinks. That's one good thing. But it was close – it's lucky he got there in time, and lucky that the medics from the Ministry were able to save her before she died. She's in hospital at the moment – she won't be out for at least a month, despite having the most skilled English wizards taking care of her.

But what about Remus and Serverus? Harry can't believe that Remus would ever want to hurt the Malfoys – he can't believe that Remus would ever conceive of such a cruel plan. Then again, in the past few hours he's learnt a lot of things about Remus he would rather not have known. And a few things about his father. Serverus was especially cutting on that account. Harry doesn't want to believe any of it is true – but he knows the Malfoys too well.

"Congratulations, Potter."

Speak of the devils. Harry looks up between his fingers. Slim and pretty in their blonde way, the Malfoys stand before him, their arms interlocked. They've spoken in unison, and now they smile at each other, one of those smirking snide side-glances of theirs.

"Congratulations? For what? Remus and Serverus are probably going to go to Azkahban for this," Harry says, wearily. "And Hermione's still hurt. I didn't do anything."

"Au contraire, Potter," Narcissa trills. "You rescued the girl, knocked out the villain, and saved the day. At least that's what I've heard."

"The villain? Remus isn't a villain – he wouldn't have done anything like this. I can't even imagine Snape would seriously think of doing something so rash. He must have been – mad, or – or –" Harry trails off. The Malfoys are smiling genially at him, their heads tilted toward each other, as if doting on a particulary ignorant child.

"Yes, dear," says Narcissa.

"There's talk they're going to go to Azkahban for this," Harry says, standing. He's annoyed by their offhand attitude to the affair. "I won't let them – I won't let that happen. You can't do that. Even if they wanted to kill you. It's too cruel. They're good people – honestly. You have to –"

He pauses. He's realising slowly that he's begging the Malfoys for help, and they are standing there, lapping it up, wallowing in their superior power. Harry hates himself with a suddenness – he's always promised himself he'd never bend to the Malfoys, ever; no matter what happened between he and Draco. But this is different – there are the lives of innocent, or nearly-innocent men at stake. If I grovel, Harry thinks, it may just make the difference.

He doesn't want to do it. Every part of him rebels against it, every ounce of pride in his body screams, No! But he has no other choice; he has no other friends or allies. His shoulders slump.

"Can you please help them," he says, quietly. "I'm desperate; I really can't let this happen to them. I'll do just about anything you want."

Lucius sniffs. "I don't think that will be necessary, Potter," he says. "Everything is quite – quite under control."

"What?" Harry blinks.

"Well, Serverus and Lupin were old friends of ours at Hogwarts. Even if they have turned into terrible people, we do owe them a duty to make sure they aren't incarcerated in such a horrible place. Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Quite, my love. And so we've decided to make a plea to Cornelius, and let Lupin and Serverus spend the period of their sentence in our basement. We do hope he'll agree. Especially after Lucius pointed out that he did tell you where to go, in order to save Cornelius' dominatrix. And that you used his broom."

"And the manor is well equiped to be proper jail. Incorporating all the mod-cons whilst remaining true to the general ‘essence’ of a medieval dungeon. With live-in Veelas, too. I can imagine it could become quite popular, if we were to market it commercially.. Not that we have any intention of doing so."

"Yet," Narcissa chimes in.

Harry is shocked into silence. He can't muster the words to squeak out a – a protest? Or just his complete disgust at the way the Malfoys handle all affairs they can sink their sharp little nails into. He half wonders if it wouldn't be better for Remus and Serverus to do their stint in Azkahban. At least that way they wouldn't have sex-crazed Veela to worry about.
 
While he stands there Narcissa and Lucius release each others arms and interlock themselves with Harry, and gently but firmly begin to frog-march him down the hall. Harry tries to resist, but despite their slender appearance, the Malfoys are remarkably strong. They carry him along between them, all the while telling Harry exactly what it is they wish him to do.

"Now, you'll need to tell Cornelius that Lucius told you that those two were plotting to kill him," says Narcissa. "And that though you think they're dastardly evil-types, of course, you think that being tormented by Dementors is rather too harsh a punishment.."

"Everyone these days wants to kill a Malfoy," says Lucius. "It's in vogue to hate the rich and attractive. And you do have to mention our wonderful basement, and the time you spent in there, which really did make you reconsider your life choices.."

"In fact, it was due to our basement that you finally decided to buck up and become a much better person, all round.." says Narcissa.

"Of course, lying is such a harsh word for it.." Lucius purrs.

"We prefer to say, altering the truth significantly in order to provide the best possible benefit to all involved," says Narcissa. "It's either that or Azkahban, Potter, and you know how we feel –"

"Cold," says Harry, faintly. "Very, very cold."

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