Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Warrandice ❯ Lost In Translation ( Chapter 1 )

 

 

AN: ladies and jelly spoons

 

Legal Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J K Rowling and not me… I'd like to repeat, not me, I don't own Harry, Draco, Luna…. Heck, I don't even own Dumbledore. The only one to own Dumbledore was Snape. Oh, snap…. Yeah, probably shouldn't have put that last part in… oh, well

 

There a few things I should probably warn you about before you read this:

1. I like adjectives, I mean I REALLY like adjectives so that means that this story will be rather heavy going.. I can't help it, it's just the way I am…

2. I Haven't picked up a Harry Potter book since 2005, so this story will be rife with inconsistencies. Put it down to my literary genius that I've taken the series down a new and interesting path… two words: creative license.

3. Being in my last year of school it's feasible to assume that I may be spending majority of my time on my studies, the rest will be spent drinking. I'll update as frequently as possible but don't be angry if it takes me months to update. Remember that `absence makes the heart grow stronger'

4. I'm a review junkie so please review, or critique as long as it's constructive, I.e.: `Great story, but I'm pretty sure Harry's parents are dead and not living, breathing, walking around, eating burritos, etc'

I really can't stress this enough, people, statements like; `this story sucks,' or `don't quit your day job.' will result in my hurt feelings and the subsequent napalming of your house…

5. If all goes well this'll end with about twenty chapters, give or take. I have absolutely no idea about the direction of this story but I have a very hazy outline

6. This is a Luna/Draco pairing…I'm yet to decide whether Draco will form a relationship with the Terrible Trio yet, so it should be interesting to see how things will pan out…

 

 

And without further adieu, please enjoy:

 

 

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Warrandice (wor'-an-dis) n. In Scots law, a clause in a deed binding the granter to make good to the guarantee any loss arising out of obligations antecedent to the date of the conveyance

- Collins English Dictionary

 

 

WARRANDICE

 

Chapter 1: Lost In Translation

 

 

“Who is the man I see

Where I'm supposed to be

I lost my heart

I buried it too deep

Under the iron sea”

- Keane, 'Crystal Ball'

 

 

Water dripped from a multitude of cracks in the decaying, concrete roof. Rats scurried noisily, unhurried as the sole illumination; a naked bulb, coruscated sporadically before enveloping the room in darkness once more. In the dingy blackness of the room the figure lay; recumbent and inert. Platinum blond hair matted and limp, his face almost entirely submerged in grime. The rancid water around his mouth rippled as he shakily exhaled.

 

Draco regained consciousness in the darkness naked to the waist, trousers sodden, bruised, shivering and completely alone. He opened one swollen eye, blanching slightly. He slowly lifted his head, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat as the room spun. Draco drew a few dizzying breaths and waited for the vertigo to pass. With great effort he coordinated his limbs. One palm then, the other, flattened on the grimy floor, he attempted to lift himself upwards.

 

Draco's arms shook dangerously and the dull ache in his head flared into an agonizing, relentless pounding. He moaned as he dragged himself to the closest wall, his muscles screaming in protest. He propped himself against the wall and hissed as the rough surface rubbed against his wounded, hypersensitive flesh.

 

Attempting to distract himself from the pain, Draco opened his eyes the same time the bulb flared; he yelped and covered his eyes, blinding whiteness blanketing his vision. He waited for the glare to pass as his eyes adjusted.

 

The room he was currently imprisoned in was a vile affair of dampness and hard, uncompromising concrete about three meters long and two wide. He squinted at the adjacent corner of the room and noticed a black shape. The shape manifested itself as a rumpled heap of cloth and as he reached out to grasp it, he drew up short.

 

Draco drew his left arm up close to his face.

 

There, on the inside of his arm, was the dark mark.

 

The jet black ink stood out starkly against his alabaster skin and ran from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. He drew a shuddering breath and for a few seconds, time stood still. The bulb sputtered and died as darkness fell once more.

 

His stomach plummeted and he felt the bile rise once more. The dark mark? But how?… I don't remember anything.. His head swam dangerously as he tried to recall his scattered memories. Where am I? Nothing; just a foggy emptiness. Which could probably be attributed to a potion.

 

He cursed and spat.

 

The door to the cell suddenly swung open and Draco shielded his eyes. He saw two dark blurry figures against the stark whiteness of the hallway and heard a gruff voice shouting, “He's come to!” Before the world went dark.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

Draco awoke in a loud, uncomfortably hot room in more pain than before. I blacked out again? If I keep this up people will start calling me Potter. He chuckled and tried to raise his hand to his throbbing temples to realize with dread that his hands were chained.

 

Draco opened his eyes and waited for the spots dancing across his vision to subside. He seemed to be shackled to a chair at the head of a claustrophobic dining hall filled with scores of robed people. Maintaining their back to him, they moved about chattering and picking food. Fires blazed magically adding to the suffocating atmosphere. Every footfall, every clinking of cutlery and glass echoed painfully in his head.

 

Someone had taken the effort to clothe him in deep emerald ceremonial robes. He reached up as far as his restraints would allow and ran his hands slowly over the ornate cloth.

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to reach for the closest goblet, the chains strained and rattled in protest. He slumped in the chair and sighed in defeat. The hard backed wooden chair was putting unwanted pressure on the sores on his back and the robe, albeit expensive, chafed him.

 

When he renewed his battle with the shackles, the robed figures unanimously turned.

 

Draco froze.

 

Death Eaters.

 

Their gruesome masks glowed eerily in the dim light and sent icy shivers down his spine. Even though he'd been to many Death Eater meetings with his father, Lucius, they still made him feel naked.

 

Exposed.

 

Powerless.

 

One anonymous figure disengaged itself and strode toward him. Draco tensed until the mask was removed to reveal the stern, aristocratic features of his father. He reached the table, selected a goblet and handed it to his son.

 

“You handled yourself well”

 

Draco inclined his head slightly and tried to still the tremors of the hand clasped around the cup.

 

It took all of Draco`s restraint not to empty the contents over his father`s expensive robes and wipe the smug, conceited expression from his face.

 

He took a generous swig of the liquid and let the velvety texture slide down his parched throat like ambrosia.

 

“I knew you wouldn't embarrass me,” His father continued. “you're mother,” He spat out the title like it was diseased, “was of a different opinion. She believed you to be too young to be initiated into The Dark Lord's great ranks.” Lucius shook his head and pinned Draco with a cold, flinty glower, “Women,” His father snorted, “What do they know?”

 

Draco hazarded a laugh and gulped his drink, unsure how to otherwise respond, the direction of the conversation making him uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, blanching as he felt wounds on his torso reopening.

 

His father took this as encouragement to continue on listing his Narcissa's shortcomings, “She knows nothing aside from the luxurious life she leads.” Lucius' gaze became unfocused, distant, “Although for that I am wholly to blame.” He sniffed daintily, “I'm always indulging in her girlish fantasies, and subsequently she has become far too dependant on me.”

 

Draco made as if to interject; his mother certainly wasn't happy as a Malfoy. In fact, `happy' probably would've been the last adjective Draco would've used to describe Narcissa's mood lately.

 

He remembered absently when he was a child, the halls of their family estate used be filled with the sounds of his mother's ringing laughter, her face used to glow. A smile ever hovering on her full lips.

 

But after her miscarriage everything had changed. The horrific events of that night surfaced from the dark recesses of his mind:

 

 

.:FLASHBACK:.

 

A five-year old Draco, clad in his pajamas, hovered anxiously by the door to his mother's room, clutching his stuffed toy dog to his breast. He clamped his small hands over his ears, trying to block out his mother's screams of agony. `let mummy be okay' he pleaded, over and over, a silent mantra.

 

So much confusion

 

He slid down the wall into the fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest, his head buried under his arms. 'make it stop' He started to sob.

 

So much pain

 

The nurses kept coming out of Narcissa's room, arms leaden with bloody sheets.

 

So much blood.

 

With daddy away on business, there was no-one to look after mummy. No one to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay.

 

Suddenly, there was silence.

 

Draco lifted his head, he couldn't hear anything. After the confusion, the complete absence of sound was eerie and sent chills down his spine. Shouldn't his little sister be crying? Shouldn't mummy be shouting with joy?

 

A cry of bereavement pierced the stillness of the night

 

Draco stood, tucking his toy under one arm, and moved to the whitewashed door. He pushed outward…

 

.:END OF FLASHBACK:.

 

 

The memory of his mother, delirious with sorrow, holding his stillborn sister in her arms would be one that would stay with Draco forever. Since that day he'd watched his mother's smile disappear, her laughter fade from the halls of the manor, her eyes grow haunted.

 

It wasn't until many years later Draco found out that his father hadn't been away on business, but had been with his mistress in Europe.

 

Since then, Draco had directed all his inward rage toward his father, blamed him for the horrific sequence of evens that had left his mother an empty shell.

 

It was HIS fault he hadn't been there to hold her hand, help her bring his sister into the world.

 

It was HIS fault his mother had become mere shadow of her former self.

 

It was HIS fault that every time he brought his mother another trinket Draco was forced

to watch his mother's heart break all over again.

 

No… His mother definitely wasn't `happy' in her gilded cage.

 

Lucius bent to remove Draco's shackles. A chill shot up his spine as the Death Eaters halted their conversations, turned to him and began to remove their masks. His father half lifted half wrenched Draco out of his seat and stood him before the assembled crowd.

 

“Dark Wizards and witches,” His father's voice was soft but carried authority and demanded respect, “May I present to you my son, the youngest Death Eater to be admitted into His ranks in wizarding history.” His father grabbed Draco's left arm roughly and yanked up his sleeve, exposing the black tattoo snaking up his arm. Draco tried to look nonchalant as the hall erupted into applause.

 

His stomach churned, bile rose in his throat.

 

This isn't exactly how I was intending to start my sixth year at Hogwarts.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

Luna Lovegood slowly opened her eyes and stretched languidly.

 

It was July, and the start of her second last year at Hogwarts.

 

She turned over, sighed contently and buried her head in the soft, downy pillow.

 

Her magical Wapslark-safe alarm clock, that she'd made herself, shrilled incessantly.

 

She reached blindly toward her dresser.

 

Luna swatted the area she believed the clock to be. She knocked over her purple lampshade and smacked her pet cat square on the head, whereupon he yowled in indignation and thundered off, hackles raised.

 

“Sorry Craddles.” She murmured, rising to wipe the sleep from her eyes. She punched in the special code on the alarm clock. One could never be too careful with Wapslarks… they were a crafty bunch.

 

She weaved her way through the congealed mess of papers and articles of clothing to her desk. She didn't want to move anything lest she disturb the family of Troflargs taking up residence underneath her old Hogwarts textbooks. The mother Troflarg had a notoriously bad temper, especially in the morning.

 

Luna still couldn't stop the ominous foreboding she'd been feeling the past two months. Three readings on her Ghafter Sphere had confirmed her suspicions.

 

Something bad was coming her way and there was little or nothing she could do to stop it.

 

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

 

Luna picked up the freshest copy of the Daily Prophet on her desk, which only happened to be seven months old. She pored over the headlines, searching for a distraction.

 

Finding none, she tossed the newspaper back on the desk and moved to get ready lest she miss the train…

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

The shrill whistle of the Hogwarts Express started Draco from his slumber. I must've dozed off, he thought absently as he observed the students all flooding out of their compartments and onto the Hogwarts platform.

 

Draco joined the throng of nervous students and noticed that something was awfully wrong.

 

The complete absence of sound.

 

Aside from the initial whistle of the steam train, there was nothing but an empty void of silence. The robed teenagers bustled past him in mute excitement. Their mouths moved in inaudible conversations. Owls shrieked soundlessly in their cages.

 

Draco stopped as he felt a stirring in the air. Suddenly Draco could sense the presence of something evil. A virulent presence that sent chills up his spine and made him want to run.

 

Draco's feet remained rooted to the ground in fear.

 

Black clouds billowed on the horizon and engulfed the perfect blue sky. An arctic breeze cut through his clothing as he tried to pull his robes tighter around his body. His breath plumed before his eyes.

 

He turned.

 

There stood the Dark Lord. His thin lips curled into a serpentine, cruel smile.

 

Like a rabbit caught in a trap Draco stood shivering, his legs filled with lead. It was then he noticed Lord Voldemort was holding his father captive. One of his claw-like, translucent hands was snaked around his Lucius's throat while a look of frozen terror played across his father's face.

 

His other hand withdrew his wand and aimed it at Draco's chest .

 

Draco could feel Lord Voldemort penetrate his mind. Pain unlike nothing he'd ever experienced flooded into his head and lanced through his body. He screamed at the brutal intrusion.

 

Destroy Potter or I kill you both.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

Draco awoke from the nightmare, a scream lodged in his throat.

 

He was sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle in a Hogwarts train compartment. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson sat across from them, deep in conversation. Apparently, Lavender Brown's parents' company had gone bankrupt leaving them without so much as a silver sickle to their name.

 

The remnants of the dream still clear on his mind, Draco pushed the two hulking behemoths out of the way, slammed open the compartment door and stormed off down the hallway, ignoring the confused glances of his peers.

 

Draco finally located a toilet cubicle and, after scaring away a few first years waiting in line, he slid inside and closed the door.

 

He stared at the boy before him in the mirror; dark rings underneath his eyes stood out starkly against skin that was far too pallid. His cheeks looked sunken and his platinum blonde hair had lost its sheen.

 

He pulled his shirt out of his slacks and lifted up his school robes and examined his bruises. They had lost their sickening purple hew and were now a musty yellow that reminded Draco of a jaundice victim.

 

He still didn't understand how being beaten to a bloody pulp, dumped in some dingy cell then shackled to a chair could've aided his transition to a Death Eater, but his father had assured him it'd all been necessary, “Character-building,” He'd said, “Life defining experience.”

 

Draco, who believed his father was as mad as a mandrake root, was less than convinced. He believed it just furthered the idea that Death Eaters were nothing more than a bunch of sadistic Dark-Lord-worshiping zealots and that his father would lick the grime off the Dark Lord`s boot if ordered to.

 

Still, he couldn't deny that since the trial his popularity hadn't increased tenfold.

 

All the slytherins had looked upon him with jealousy and awe, and some, Draco noted with smug satisfaction, with fear. His notoriety was a welcome distraction from the emptiness he felt.

 

He didn't know what to do about the vision. Maybe telling Blaise was a good idea… Draco realized that he didn't really have anyone else, considering between them, Crabbe and Goyle would be lucky to tie their own shoes and he wouldn't know how his father would react to being told about his own predicted demise.

 

No, he realized, this was a problem that Draco would have to sort through himself.

 

He dropped his robes, leaving his shirt tucked out. He turned on the tap and splashed the icy water over his face, running his wet hands through his hair. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, absently wishing he knew a spell that would get rid of the bags under his eyes, and left the stall.

 

As Draco was heading back to his compartment he ran into none other than the Griffindor Trio.

 

He suddenly felt like all his Christmases had come at once.

 

What better way to vent his frustration than to get under Potter's skin?

 

He sauntered up to them and called out in his most derisive tone, “So, the Infallible Three, together again.” Ron squared his shoulders, Hermione sighed with a holier-than-thou expression plastered on her face, Harry just looked tired.

 

“Resorted to childish name-calling, Malfoy?” Came Hermione's shrill retort, “Yeah. This is desperate, even for a rat like you.” Added Ron.

 

Seeing as that wasn't nearly the response Draco wanted (making Ron agitated and Hermione frustrated was about as difficult as teaching a dragon to belch flames) he goaded them further.

“And how did the weasel, the Mudblood and scar face spend their vacation? Visiting relatives no doubt.” He stared pointedly at Harry, who fixed him with a vacant green stare.

 

This hollow-eyed pacifism wasn't what he was anticipating and for a moment, Draco conceded to admit to the possibility that Harry may have gotten the better of him for once.

 

His nostrils flared. A Malfoy never admits defeat.

 

Students from all four houses begin to mill around them with nervous excitement, waiting for a fight to break out.

 

Not one to loose face, particularly in front of such a large audience, Draco sorted through his arsenal of insults, deciding to go for one last stab.

 

“I don't know quite how you manage it Potter,” He spat, “But you somehow manage to dispose of anyone who you've gotten close to… it's a miracle that you let the princess and the pauper within ten feet of you.” He glanced at Hermione, her dark brown eyes glaring daggers, and Ron, who's face now matched the bright vermilion of his hair, “Not that I'm complaining; it facilitates the Dark Lord's work, of which He sends His thanks.”

 

A cacophony of sniggers, gasps and hollers emanated from the crowd of students, who had now formed a tight circle around the four of them.

 

Draco knew automatically that he'd hit a nerve, even before Harry's closed fist was sailing towards his face. He sniggered as he easily dodged Harry's blow. Seriously, If there's anything more entertaining than pushing Potter's buttons I don't want to hear about it.

 

“Now, that wasn't very nice, now was it?” A disembodied feminine voice cut through the leering swarm of assembled students.

Harry let go of his chokehold on Draco's necktie and Draco peered around, trying to source the direction it'd come from.

 

“Shame on you Draco Malfoy.” The voice took on a mock-reprimanding tone. “Harry's not long lost his Godfather and here you find yourself compelled to insult poor Sirius's memory?”

 

The mob parted to reveal none other than Luna Lovegood. She moved forward to position herself next to Hermione.

Draco snarled, “You stay out of this, Looney!”

“Leave her alone, Draco. Your fight's with me.”

 

Draco almost laughed. Oh, the drivel that spewed forth from Potter's mouth; always good for a laugh, the self-righteous git. He practically projected virtue and chivalry from every pore in his body.

 

I bet he's still a virgin.

 

That thought brought a smirk to his face. Harry caught the look, his hand reaching for his wand, suddenly suspicious. Draco crossed his arms and cocked a thin silver eyebrow.

 

“Don't bother, Harry,” Came that annoying voice again. Draco was yet to decide whether she was brave, daft, or equal parts both. One of the many irritating qualities seemed to be ingrained into the character of every Griffindor to ever grace Hogwarts` halls.

 

“It's not his fault his home life's unsatisfying.”

 

That melted the smile off Draco's face. “He's being forced into doing something…” She placed a gentle hand on Harry's arm, who slowly lowered his wand, “That he doesn't want to do but has no control over.”

 

Draco's hand reached for his wand.

 

No, he definitely wasn't happy with the direction this conversation was headed.

 

“I have a sinking suspicion that Snaffle-Gougers are behind it.” Luna tapped her nose conspiratorially. Draco's grip on his wand eased significantly, the girl was clearly deranged. Still, came that insistent voice at the back of his head, That hit far too close to home.

 

The crowd, sensing the fight had come to a disappointing, anti-climactic conclusion, gradually dispersed.

 

“… and I think I have the perfect charm to counteract it,” Was she still babbling? Draco raked his hand through his shoulder-length hair and let out a dramatic sigh. “somewhere in here.” She proceeded to rifle through a gaudy shoulder bag that looked older than Dumbledore.

 

“Ah, there it is.” Luna withdrew a knickknack about the length and width of her palm and tried to hand it to Draco, who glared at it with such fervent disgust Luna felt like she was offering him human feces instead of one of her charms.

 

Harry, Ron and Hermione sniggered at his expression.

 

Draco, feeling like he was losing the upper hand, shot them all death glares; which only made them laugh harder.

 

“It's ok,” She prompted, “it won't bite.” Draco looked at the thing in her hand, doubtful. It appeared to be a dried aubergine with owl feathers and mermaid scales cello-taped to it. “the owl feathers to bring you good fortune and the mermaid scales will protect you from the darkness that the Snaffle-Gougers have shrouded you in.” She finished her explanation with a few random gestures in the air.

 

Draco grudgingly took it out of Luna's hand. Daintily grasping between his thumb and forefinger, he tucked it into his robes.

 

Luna beamed. “Don't get the wrong idea, Loopy. This means nothing.” Draco's eyes were cold. He heard Hermione inhale sharply.

 

He turned abruptly and stormed back to his compartment, hoping to leave with at least a portion of his dignity. What concerned him more than the Wonder-Trio undermining his authority was how violently his body had reacted to Luna's smile.

 

The stabbing desire that coiled in his stomach was nothing short of alarming.

 

Draco loosened his tie. Alarming indeed…

 

“He's such a prat,” Ron grumbled and made an obscene finger gesture at Draco's receding figure.

“Weren't you listening Ron? Snaffle-Gougers are solely to blame for the confusion clogging his Q'Arthon Zones, this creates tension and makes him lash out at others like a wounded Gnafler… The only problem is can anyone save him from himself? My charms can only do so much...”

 

Luna floated away as silently has she had approached.

 

It was on the tip of Ron's Tongue to tell Luna how `effective' her charms were but a stern frown from Hermione silenced him. He contented himself with making a swirling motion at his temple, which made Harry snort and Hermione frown harder.

 

“Careful 'Mione,” Ron joked, “If the wind freezes you'll be stuck like that forever.” She promptly hit Ron over the back of the head with a textbook she'd been lugging around since they'd got on the train, “That's not funny, Ronald!” She shrieked.

 

Harry burst into peals of laughter, “You two. I swear sometimes you were a married couple.” They ceased their argument and simultaneously flushed bright red.

 

Harry cleared his throat, sobering slightly.

 

“You are, aren't you? A couple, I mean.” His words hung in the air.

 

“I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, we were waiting for the right moment.” Murmured Hermione, staring at her feet.

 

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, letting the betrayal sink in.

 

“It's okay I guess.” Harry said with sincerity he barely felt himself. “I mean, the three of us have faced Voldemort before, so what`s a secret between friends… right?” He plastered a false smile on his face matching those of his two friends.

 

The train shrill whistle sounded, signaling the imminent arrival at Hogwarts Station

 

They made their way back to the compartment to ready their effects.

 

Draco smiled. He'd jumped into an empty compartment within earshot and had heard the entire conversation with mounting glee. He now possessed a powerful weapon in his arsenal... Now how to use it?

 

He turned the charm around in his pocket. His smile darkened

 

This year wasn`t turning out so bad after all…