34: The Lost Boy

Another perfect dawn over Polynesia.

A light wind skimmed over the turquoise sea, rustling the stiff leaves of palms along countless shores. The South Pacific was dotted with islands, all telling a similar story. They were born eons ago when a tiny creature came to rest on just the right spot of the ocean floor. It had found a mate, built a home, raised a family, and died. Its skeleton served as the home for some of its offspring, and they repeated the cycle, growing exponentially until the colony became a reef, and the reef broke the surface of the sea and became an island. Stray seeds took up residence quickly in the rich organic matter, and later, birds and insects. Some reefs grew large enough to support larger animals, including men, but not all of them, by far. It was on one of the latter that Draco Malfoy resided.

His skin had turned lobster red the first day, then peeled off him in sheets like a snake's. This left behind not scales, but tan skin that, on him, looked just as alien. The process had repeated several times the first month, until he was brown from head to toe. His hair, however, had taken the opposite tack, becoming pure white. He hadn't thought it could get any lighter, but the tropical sun and sea had overwhelmed its British sensibilities and pigments.

He had lived here alone for over eight months. Voldemort had given him a golden cup that provided his fresh water; his assignment was to keep the cup safe from the rest of the world. "Kill anyone who sets foot on the sand," Voldemort had told him, "unless they bear the Dark Mark. If I ever have need of the cup, I will send a courier; once you have learned where we are to meet, you will kill the messenger and bring the cup to me."

As an extra measure to assure his compliance, Voldemort had altered Draco's wand, carving curled sumbols all over it and hacking off three inches from the end. It would perform only a few rudimentary charms and hexes (including the Kedavra curse). He could no longer conjure or transfigure objects; when he was left on the island, he had only the clothes on his back, his denatured wand and of course, the cup. Months of swimming and foraging, with none of the rich food to which he was accustomed, made Draco lean and muscular. It was little comfort to him, however, that his body was in peak form while he was slowly losing his mind.

He'll know how much you can tolerate. Hang on to that thought, Draco. Days turned into weeks, months, and he hung on, but a lifetime? It was impossible. Draco Malfoy had never lived alone. There was always someone, a servant, a house elf, a thug like Crabbe or Goyle, someone to entertain him, to keep him from thinking too hard, regretting too much. Lately his own screams had woken him up at night. You can endure it if you remind yourself that he'll stop before it's too late. Too late for whom? Perhaps Voldemort would be perfectly satisfied to leave a madman guarding this cup; Draco could still kill if he were insane.

Draco had long since stopped wondering whether this was all a sham, if he'd been creatively banished by the Dark Lord, abandoned to watch over some worthless trinket. He was certain of it now. He hated the fact that he had to drink from it every day. He would have loved to cast it into the sea, even crush it under a rock first, but that would be his death. He could not Apparate off the island, and there was nothing but ocean on every horizon. He scouted constantly for ships, but there were none. He was far outside the trade lanes--and even if he could signal a vessel, he knew the Dark Lord would come for him if he abandoned his post. Voldemort was mocking him, leaving him where he must carry out this inane "duty" or die, using him as an anchor to tether his father into service.

Because of the badger engraved upon the cup, Draco suspected that it had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. If authentic, it was certainly worth a lot of Galleons, but hardly so precious as to require a hiding place on the bottom of the world, with a guard standing over it for a lifetime. That was perhaps the most rankling part of all: that Voldemort had never even told him what it was.

This day, there was something on the horizon, and it was not just a bit of debris or a whale's tail. Draco watched it for hours as it drifed slowly to the shore. A boat. A bit of broken mast, with some shredded sail still flapping from the boom. He debated at length with himself, whether it looked as though it would float past the island, whether he would swim out to it, whether he would run to it at once when it landed or wait and see if someone was on board. All of which was moot, for as soon as it floated within two hundred meters of the beach, he leapt from behind the dune and dove into the water, unwilling to risk that it might be carried off by a hidden current at the last minute.

It was so small that Draco thought he might tip it over if he tried to climb in. If there was anything worthwhile inside, he didn't want it to end up at the bottom of the reef. He got behind the boat and kicked his feet to push it to shore, which came up faster than he expected. Realizing he was only in ankle-deep water, he leapt to his feet with his heart pounding in anticipation, yet also dreading that it would be completely empty, a castaway shell like himself...

... he had never been so happy to see a woman's face in his life.

Strike quickly. A human being, a woman, she was unconscious, dehydrated... was she dead? No, there was movement, breathing. A flood of relief. Strike quickly. His wand was back in his shelter--to kill her right now, he'd have to use his bare hands. There wasn't anything harder than coral or wood on the whole island; it might take hours to beat her to death, and he had no taste for it. He could go back and get his wand, she wasn't going anywhere.

Draco pounded across the hot sand, over the dune, through the scrub grasses, into the trees. His wand was right beside the cup, as always. The cup... he could give her some water. He could immobilize her with the Petrificus curse, bind her with the bit of rope in her boat. Strike quickly. He hadn't even checked for the Mark, her skin was so dark he might have overlooked it! He grabbed the cup; if this was the Dark Lord's courier, then he had to revive her.

He sprinted back to the shore. The woman was right where he'd left her in the bottom of the boat, which had already begun to rock with the waves. The tide was coming in, it could have drifted off! Draco lifted the bow and hauled it far up onto the beach, almost to the dunes. He would have to pull it up further before high tide, but this would do for now.

He put his arm under her back and knees. He had become so strong from swimming and climbing that he could pick her up as easily as a baby. She stirred a bit, turning her head. He took the cup and raised it to her lips, knowing it would be full of water when it touched them. He tipped it carefully, hoping she was alert enough to swallow. Much of it poured down her neck, but she didn't cough or choke; he could do this, he could save her... and maybe she would stay with him.

She was dressed in ragged clothes. He wondered if she got caught in the squall two days before, perhaps when she was out checking traps or nets. After giving her some more water, he got up to check the boat. There were a few floats in it and some rope, the sort of things one might expect on a fisher's boat, at least if one had never seen such a thing before. She had to be poor, with such a battered old rig. Perhaps no one would miss her, maybe no one would even come looking for her, the sea didn't give up its dead, after all. But wait, maybe she was the courier, he still hadn't looked for the Mark.

She was sitting on the edge of the dune, examining the gold cup in one hand, with his wand in the other, along with a spiraled piece of wood that he was certain was her own wand. Strike quickly. It had all been an act, the helplessness, the weakness. She tossed the cup in the air and caught it, then held it by the handle as if to show it to him.

"Yeh mastah's not gonna be 'appy with yeh fah this one, my brothah." All this time he'd longed so desperately to hear another voice, and she made Hagrid sound like he'd been to charm school. It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing he'd ever heard.

"I'm dead," he said, and sank to his knees.

She smiled kindly and shook her head. "Not yet, yeh not, but thet's an option. 'Ere's anothah. What say yeh climb in thet boat an' come beck to Dunedin with me, and see if theh's some way arand thet?"

He stared off beyond the dunes, neither speaking nor moving. Why bother? He was dead. He might as well just stay here and wait for it.

She cocked her head and regarded him with concern. "Lad," she said softly, "no Death Eatah Oy've eveh known would've stopped to give me a drink, certainly no' from sech a fine tumbleh." She admired the cup lovingly, smiling at him again. "Per'aps yeh've been servin' the wrong side?"

"It doesn't matter. I've failed him twice now. He'll find me."

"'E will, indeed, my brothah, if yeh give up," she said with a solemn nod. "But Oy found yeh first. An' Oy might just be bettah at 'iding things than 'e is."

He finally looked at her again, though listlessly. "Just get in your boat and go."

"Fair enough, mate, Oy can do thet," she said. "But it pains me teh see a young man die jest as 'e's found some kindness in 'is 'eart."

His gaze intensified. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Nah, but Oy can guess," she said with a shrug. "Yeh must'a thought little o' kindness when yeh got thet Mark put upon yeh throat. An' 'ere Oy've known yeh less than an 'our, an' already seen it."

Draco's spine and abdomen both gave out at the same time, making him crumple like an accordion into the sand. How could she speak to him as though he had any hope? How could he listen, as though it could possibly be true?

"Did they evah tell yeh what this is, my brothah?" she said conversationally, shaking the cup. "An 'Orcrux. Did'je know thet?" Draco shook his head, not comprehending. "One o' six, actually. They're what's keepin' the one 'oo gave yeh that Mark alive, so teh speak."

For the first time, Draco listened intently.

"Yeah," she continued, "this'll be the fourth we've found. Only got but two more an' chk." She flicked his wand in front of her throat with a meaningful look. "Closin' in on 'im, brothah. Might even be worthwhile teh give it a go a bit longah, wha'?"

The best Draco could do was a raspy whisper. "Why are you saying these things to me?"

"Told yeh!" she said warmly. "Can't stand teh see a lovely young man go teh waste. Been plenty of 'em gone to 'is cause, every one of 'em a tragedy. Nothing like bein' left alone on an islan' teh make a man rethink 'is priorities. Oy 'ave teh leave now, take care 'o this cup," she said in a firm voice. "If Oy leave yeh here, yeh'll die, simple as thet. If yeh come with me, yeh may die. An' yeh may 'ave a chance. 'S'up to you, my brothah. Choose quickly."

Draco sat bolt upright. "I'll go."

She nodded and waved at the boat. "Get in front. Oy'm still going to bind yeh."

He picked up the bow and pulled the boat back down to the water, shivering despite the heat as he climbed in. Still keeping her wand pointed warily at him, she set down the cup and his wand and took up a length of rope from the stern. He offered his hands submissively but on impulse, turned one upward and held it out to her. She furrowed her brow, then reached out and shook his hand.

"Draco Malfoy," he said softly.

"Maura Arukangi," she replied. "A pleasure."

Tonks was pounding on his door. Harry had no idea what time it was, but he launched out of bed and flung the door wide. "What?"

"Kitchen, Harry. Now! Major meeting!" She dashed up the stairs to the next room, while Harry grabbed the nearest robe and charged in the opposite direction.

He was still tugging the bathrobe over his nightshirt as he leaped down the last few steps to the basement. "Harry, come here!" said Lupin. Lachlan was leaning against the wall, but upon closer inspection, he was leaning into it, his hands vanishing through the stone. A chalk circle surrounded by runes had been drawn there, and the wall within it was rippling as though made of liquid. Lachlan leaned back and pulled, and another pair of arms emerged from the wall, followed quickly by a witch wearing ragged clothes but a victorious smile.

"The cop!" said the witch "Oy 'ave it!" Lachlan picked her up and swung her around joyfully, but Harry hadn't the foggiest idea what she had said. He turned, a bit self-consciously, to Lupin.

"Cup, Harry," said Lupin quietly, but with glee. "She's found Helga Hufflepuffs's cup!"

Lachlan set her on her feet, and as she hoisted the cup high in the air, a cheer rang through the dark kitchen. It passed from hand to hand for a few moments, then someone set it down on the table. As if on cue, the mood sombered; just like the locket, now that they had it, what to do with it? People took seats around the table, studying it with concerned faces as newcomers continued to step out of the Floo and down the stairs.

Lupin glanced anxiously up and down the gathering. "Dumbledore destroyed one of these, at the cost of his hand," he said without preamble. "We now have two of them. They were meant to be spread far and wide, and there may be spells on them to alert Voldemort if they are brought together. Does anyone have any proposals for destroying them?"

"Yeh can't, not yet," said the witch, and though her voice was firm, she looked a bit frightened.

Lachlan stepped behind her. "Everyone, this is my wife, Maura. There's a complication. The one that was guarding it surrendered."

To Harry's amazement, Lupin and several others looked concerned. Harry simply shook his head. "So?" Maura glared at him, clearly wishing that the circumstances would permit a few choice words.

"He surrendered, Harry," said Lachlan. "Willingly--without a fight. He betrayed Voldemort, meaning he forfeited his life. We owe him protection."

"Excuse me?" sputtered Harry. "This is a Death Eater we're talking about?"

Lupin set his hand on Harry's arm. "This is a person, Harry."

"A person who would kill any one of us, probably already has... why is this even being discussed?" Harry was livid, and several people around the table nodded in agreement.

Lupin's voice boomed through the kitchen. "Because unlike our enemy, we have the capacity for mercy!" He stared down each of the dissenters in turn. "If this is a murderer, we'll see him punished. But he's risked certain death to help us; we can at least hear his story." He faced Harry again, taking firm hold of his forearm. "Whoever he is, he defied Voldemort, which makes him one of us."

"'E alreadeh is one o' yeh," said Maura. "Terrified Oy'll send 'im beck to yeh, mattah o'fact." The table went completely silent. "Name's Draco Malfoy."

One could have heard a pin drop, but no pin in its right mind would break the silence at a time like this.

Lupin finally spoke. "We know him, Maura. To the best of my knowledge, he's never killed anyone." Harry shot him a withering glance, but Lupin absorbed it without so much as a blink. "Do you disagree?"

Harry bit back his rage before he could speak. "He tried to kill Dumbledore--"

"And backed down," said Lupin, with an almost hostile edge. None of them could hear Harry's response; it formed only in Lupin's mind.

Lupin shuddered, then let go of Harry and turned to the Arukangis. "Bring him here. We'll interrogate him right now."

"Oy don't think so, my brothah," said Maura, jaw set and eyes afire; she looked small and unimposing, but the power in her glowed as strong as Dumbledore's ever had. "Oy accepted 'is surrendah, Oy won't turn 'im ovah fah vengeance." Lachlan nodded from behind his wife. Harry felt his shoulders tighten; he was not going to let Malfoy get away.

Before he could speak, a figure shoved to the front of the crowd and strode to the portal in the wall. It was Ondossi. She stepped through the portal without a word, hitting it so hard that it looked as though the wall would splash.

Lupin scowled momentarily, then shrugged. "It seems we're going to him, then."

The sun was brilliant on the other side of the portal; they had traveled to the other side of the world. Ondossi had both hands over her eyes, curled into fists. She herself was curled too, as though she'd been punched in the stomach, but there was no one within ten feet of her. Harry didn't spare her a second glance, though, having spotted Malfoy under a eucalyptus tree, surrounded by a band of wizards with stern faces.

Malfoy looked strange. His skin was deep brown, with a fine white scar meandering unbroken from collarbone to waist--the product of Harry's Septumsempra curse. On his throat, he bore the Dark Mark. He wore only what appeared to be an old shirt tied by the sleeves around his waist. But Harry was struck hardest by the way Malfoy's face held no insolence, no sneer, no challenge.

Harry meant to fix Malfoy's gaze right then, but he was jostled by the Arukangis coming through the portal. Ondossi stood up, rounding on him with her eyes closed. Wait. This could still be a trap.

Her words came to his mind, but he spoke his answer. "He will answer to me!"

"Yes!" she said aloud as well. "But not yet. I want a crack at him first. His memory may have been altered, Potter, and what you might miss could be invaluable. Don't screw this up."

"Harry, please," said Lupin. He was so earnest, so urgent, that the words found their way through Harry's anger and forced him to compose himself, to push back the bloodlust. Harry glared furiously at Remus, then Tura, then pulled himself roughly from Lupin's grip.

"Fine, then." said Harry in disgust, with a clear unspoken message: he was next in line.

"Lead me to him," said Ondossi, her arms outstretched; she could not open her eyes in the sunlight. Maura glanced at her husband, who nodded. She took Ondossi by the hand and guided her to Malfoy.

Tura stumbled as she walked blindly. It was bizarre and unsettling to see her so helpless. "Left hand," she said, and Maura beckoned to Malfoy, who looked alarmed, but raised his arm haltingly.

She held his fingers with one hand as she carefully ran the other over his forearm. Puzzled, she asked, "Where's your Mark?"

"Higher," replied Malfoy in a voice so hollow Harry barely recognized it.

Ondossi spread her fingers and moved her hand slowly along his arm until she hit the edge of the Mark, just above his shoulder. She gave a little gasp, running her fingers lightly around its outline, which extended over the entire left side of his throat up to his ear. Malfoy tipped his head back slightly with a sharp intake of breath.

Harry fumed. As if it weren't bad enough that she was practically caressing that traitor, she leaned closer and brought her face right up to the Mark, breathing deep through her mouth as though she meant to kiss him. Harry felt a surge of jealousy, but Ondossi suddenly sprang back from Malfoy and said harshly, "This was meant to kill you. How did you live?"

It took Malfoy a moment to answer. "I said something that amused him. He had time to change his mind."

Ondossi nodded. "It's good that you were honest with me. I am going to do a terrifying thing to you now. The more you fight, the worse you'll feel. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Malfoy, in that same flat voice.

She put out her hand cautiously, almost fearfully, and again Harry found it disconcerting to see her fumbling blindly. Once she touched Malfoy's chest, however, she quickly brought both hands up to his forehead. Instantly his face contorted with fear and he tried to back away. Three of the wizard guards had to brace against him to hold him still, though they looked rather uncomfortable about doing so.

Malfoy made an unearthly sound, beginning as a groan but steadily advancing into a harsh scream, a sound like a pneumatic wrench. Her hands remained on his brow. His knees buckled and he would have fallen to the ground, were it not for the guards holding him in place. Ondossi, by contrast, looked as though she could be sleeping, her eyes closed and her expression serene.

Even Harry began to wish she would hurry up and get it over with. He glanced at Lupin nervously, and saw that he had gone very pale. Lupin met his gaze but, to Harry's surprise, bit his lip and turned away.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that she would need help when she finished with Malfoy. He dashed toward them just as Ondossi pulled her hands away, whereupon she immediately crumpled, doubling over at first from the waist, then the knees. Harry caught her by the hair before she smashed headfirst into the ground, leaving him face to face with the trembling Malfoy. Harry recognized the look on Malfoy's face at once--he had seen it on a number of faces himself. His stomach lurched when he realized that Lupin had turned away from him because the scene reminded him of the times he'd writhed under Harry's penetrating eyes.

"I'm glad you didn't resist," said Ondossi from ground level, her voice filled with calm certitude. Her comment produced a number of dismayed expressions among the group, none of whom wanted to see what would happen under difficult conditions. Harry hauled her up awkwardly, pulling her partly by the hair; she was heavy and awkward when she went limp like that. "It would have been less frightening if I could open my eyes," she continued, oblivious to the absurd puppetry her body was enduring. "For that I am sorry."

To Harry's surprise, she recovered her footing almost immediately. Turning with a wobble to face Lupin, Ondossi said, "He has excellent information. Give Potter the opportunity to extract it; it will be educational." Lupin looked uncertain, but he nodded. Despite the fact that her eyes were closed, Ondossi gave a curt nod of her own and took a few shaky steps, but she seemed unsure where to point. "Maura Arukangi," she said, "come here."

The witch glanced about nervously, but did as she was instructed. Ondossi put out her hands, and though Maura looked as though she would rather reach into a bear trap, she took them in her own. "I would share your breath," said Ondossi in a barely audible voice. Harry and Lupin eyed the others incomprehendingly, but Lachlan and the locals seemed to take this right in stride. The two women leaned forward to touch their brows together, then each breathed deep through her nose. Lachlan whispered, "This is a powerful bond among the Maori, even the Muggles do it."

Ondossi stepped back and said, "Know that I will see your promise to him honored."

"Thank yeh, my sistah," said Maura warmly, though she still sounded a bit unnerved.

Ondossi wasn't finished, however; she spun again to face Harry directly. "You have legitimate grievances against him," she said quietly. "However, he is no longer the child you knew. Be careful when you take him." With that, she strode resolutely to the portal, as unhesitatingly as if she could see it, and stepped through.

A collective internal "What was THAT all about?" circulated within the group for a brief moment.

Harry and Lupin each gave a feeble shrug. "She's not always quite so... intense," said Lupin weakly.

"'S'alright," said Maura. "We 'ad a Legilimagus once, too." A few of the older wizards nodded thoughtfully. "'E was 'eadmasteh when Oy was at school. Even spookieh 'an 'at one, eh?" More nods, with vigor.

"Well," said Lupin, "are you ready to interrogate Mr. Malfoy?"

All eyes glanced back and forth between Harry and Draco. Malfoy was standing on his own again, but he was shaking and looked somewhat green. Harry's thoughts flew back to the top of the Astronomy Tower, and he recalled a desperate boy deciding between killing Dumbledore and killing his entire family, including himself.

Harry shook his head. "Once is enough for one day." Turning to Maura, he said, somewhat apologetically, "Please let us take him back to London."

Maura eyed Harry with apprehension. "Oy gave me word to 'ide 'im from 'is Mastah." Her implication was clear: she would not yeild to anyone who wished to kill him out of spite.

"There's no safer place than where we're going," said Harry. Looking deep into Maura's eyes he added to her alone, Tura's word is as good as an Unbreakable Vow. If she thought I would hurt him, she would never have left him to me.