Adrift in Time

Anguish

March 31, 1998

The muffled yells were the first things he heard. They ricocheted through his head like spells reflecting off the shield of a protego charm. And they could only mean one thing. They had been found. Draco stepped out of the library and headed down the long, ornate hallway towards the drawing room. The Manor's ambiance eerily quiet as most of the Death Eaters were on separate missions for the Dark Lord. Various whispers from the portraits on the walls sliced through his thoughts and Draco wished they would just shut up as he neared the set of double doors.

His heart was pounding in his ears like the pulsating warmth of a fire, quickly melting whatever cold exterior he'd tried to put up. Books snapped shut and were put into shelves high up in his mind. Out of reach from any prying eyes. Himself included. He focused on getting rid of any trace of camaraderie or friendship (not that there was much, to begin with) between himself and the trio that he was sure lay on the other side of the door. Draco scoured his mind for any possible weakness; each time he found one he'd place it on a page and bind it to a book only to then secure it on the shelf just like Severus had been teaching him for weeks. His occlumency had been improving over the last month and although he still faltered, he needed to keep on practicing. He needed to succeed. He needed to stay alive.

With his newly acquired blank stare and seemingly uncaring stance, he walked up to the heavy oak doors. He stilled for a moment; listening. Voices were trying to break free from the confines of the drawing room. Only hints of them carrying through to the other side of the doors. Fenir Greyback. Draco thought, hearing one in particular.

Just then, a pale faced Narcissa Malfoy stood at the entrance to the room and motioned him inside. His mother was the image of elegance and poise but the slight tremble in her hand betrayed her calm disposition.

Draco glided into the room with an air of faux confidence. Not that anyone could tell, too busy fretting over the trio in the middle of the room. His right arm was extended behind his mother, guiding her further into the room— keeping her safe— before stepping away with a quick and reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. Grey eyes met black ones as he stared at Fenir Greyback. Out of his peripheral, he could make out his father, Scabior, and a number of other prisoners tied together. However, he refused to focus on the three familiar figures to the right of the inquiring werewolf.

"Well, boy?" the werewolf asked in a way that made a shiver run down Draco's back. Greyback nodded towards the group and the boy had no choice but to behold them. And they looked horrid. The redhead was undoubtedly Weasley although the dirt on his face and clothing disguised him at least somewhat from those who hadn't lived alongside the boy for years. Not to mention the quickly forming bruise thanks to a nasty punch to the face. The blazing red hair, however, was much harder to conceal. The same could be said for Granger's own mane of hair. Although she looked more like herself than her two companions. But Potter— or at least who he believed to be the Boy-Who-Lived— on the other hand, had changed his appearance drastically. His face looked to be stung by a dozen bees and his black hair was longer, dirtier, and more disheveled than he'd ever seen. Distracting, but not enough to make him believe otherwise. These people were who they were looking for.

"Well, Draco?" His father said in an anxious tone. He turned around and met grey eyes to blue. To very impatient blue. Draco immediately turned back around to the subjects in question making eye contact with each, if at the very least for a second. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Of course, it is.

"I- I can't- I can't be sure," he replied. Greyback's snarl just threatening enough to make him back up a few steps, his mental shield faltering.

Focus, Draco. You're higher in His ranks than him. He cannot touch you. He thought of a book. He thought of a shelf. The blond opened his eyes (he couldn't recall closing them) and tried to focus on anything other than her amber eyes pleading, begging.