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The Prophecy of Absconditus	By : AndromedanQueen Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1570 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Penname: Page of Cups

Email: AndromedanPrincess@hotmail.com

Title: The Prophecy of Absconditus

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini

Rating: R

Summary: Wherein the past returns to the present, there are explorations, and more surprises than are really necessary.
I do not own Harry Potter and that is why I must sell my guitar for my ferrets� distemper shots. (NOTE: My ferrets are named Squee and Draco, the amazing non-bouncing ferrets.)
Chapter Eighteen: Fontis de Ortus lux Lucis

Harry entered first, muttering, "Lumos," and lighting their way. Blaise followed, carrying the Absconditus map. The passageway was narrow, wide enough to fit three across. Low ceilings gave Ron the paranoid impression of being smacked over the head, and though they were high enough to accommodate his personage, Ron walked hunched until the small of his back ached in protest.

Everything was dark and smelled like a foul combination of an old, stale room and sewage. Broken stone lay weathered and eroded along the ground. Fungus grew along the walls and ceiling. This was like a terrifying combination of Aragog's lair and the Chamber of Secrets. Needing to feel contact, Ron reached behind and grabbed Draco's hand.

Walking ahead, Harry checked out the passageways.

Blaise passed Ron and headed to where Harry stood. He needed to be in the sun again, to feel its rays on his skin. This place had a way of making someone feel dead and decayed, like the atmosphere. It was only for a few minutes, and Ron already wanted to scream.

Draco tucked his left hand under his arm, the finger his his right hand curled around Ron's, clasped tight enough that it was almost painful.

"I don't know about this," said Ron. Draco nodded.

"Part of me wishes we would have never come down here. But if we didn't -- I can't live with that kind of guilt. If I can help and I turn my back on it because I'm scared --"

"Scared?"

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

"Terrified. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what I'm going to have to do. It's all too big."

Ron didn't answer as the followed Blaise and Harry down the dark corridor. Harry waved his wand back and forth, trying to see everything at one time. The attempts were futile. There was too much darkness, and a simple Lumos spell would never give them enough light. Draco dropped Ron's hand, wrapped his arm around Ron's waist, and rested his head on Ron's shoulder.

"I don't feel well."

"I know you don't. I told you to take something before we left."

"This must be what dying feels like."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Malfoy," said Harry. "Are you going to whine the entire time?"

"If it strikes my fancy."

"Would you two shut up?" said Blaise. "You're giving me a headache."

"You're not the only one," said Ron.

"Maybe that's because of all the saliva you and Malfoy seem to be swapping lately. Leave it to a Malfoy to share his germs."

"Potter, do us all a favor and shut your face."

Harry frowned, rolling his eyes in the low light. Dull semicircles flickered across the flecks of green and gold, and Harry td hid his back to them again before walking on.

The passage narrowed, and Ron had no option but to crouch as he walked. They descended a steep incline, the path worn. Harry mentioned similarities between this path and the one that led into Honeydukes. Ron remembered a similar one from the foray under the Whomping Willow. Either way you looked at it good memories were not associated with this kind of journey. Ron heaved a sigh and tried to regulate his breathing.

He dug his heels into the ground with every step. As they traveled, the hill became steeper, and Ron thought it might be more efficient to have a seat and slide the rest of the way. Draco might opposet Rot Ron couldn't care less how dirty he was. It had been a few days since he last had a proper shower anyway.

Bugs climbed, slithered, and crawled along the walls, which closed in on him with each passing second. Ron tried not to think of all the spiders that lurked among the maneepyeepy crawlies wedged into the ceiling, floor, and walls. He shivered, crouching further still, and grasped Draco's hand. If Ron fell, Draco was going down with him.

His heart pulled tight in his chest the farther they went, and Draco hacked from behind. Once or twice, Ron heard him pause, and his arm would pull. Ron stopped, waited for Draco to finish coughing, and then moved on again. An image of Draco's skin grey and pallor flooded into Ron's mind, and he hoped that the sweat clamming Draco's hand was from the journey, not the illness.

The ground started to level, and Ron sighed: The glorious feeling of stretching out his spine was pure euphor Ron Ron never thought standing upright could ever feel so wonderful. He cracked his neck and stretched out the muscles, breathing deep through his nose. Stretching his legs, Ron tried to work the creaks out of his body, and keep up with the shorter Harry and Blaise.

As the passage opened farther, Draco moved next to Ron and rested his head against Ron's arm. Ron more so dragged Draco than Draco actually walked. His skin turned a sick, eerie grey, and his eyes, once vibrant, were lackluster, slitted. Those deep pink lips (that Ron had so many fantasies about in the past few weeks) were slate and foreboding, cracked at places, and a thin sliver of drool caked the side of Draco's mouth. Perspiration beaded against Draco's forehead, collecting at the brow.

"You look terrible," said Ron.

"I feel terrible."

Harry glanced back for a moment, eyes falling on Draco, before turning back to the passage. They emerged in an old storage room, or so it appeared, filled with crates and boxes. The air was musty, like a room that hasn't been opened in a very long time. Absconditus had to be sixteen-hundred years old, and Ron supposed that classified as a very long time, but it seemed a little too long.

Ron felt it as soon as he walked in, sensed its presence as he drew closer. The magic building in that room alone was almost enough to take him off his feet. It whooshed through his head, setting off his equilibrium. With the flow disrupted, nothing but the ebb there to sweep him off balance, Ron tried to collect himself and support Draco. The last time he had been hit with this kind of feeling was when he had his first vision. Before that, coming to Hogwarts gave him that high, floating sensation. There was nothing quite like a surge of magic to get you going in the morning.

"Do you feel that?" said Ron.

"Feel what?" said Draco, limp in Ron's arms.

"He needs to rest," said Blaise. "Soon."

"I know. Draco, you think you can stand? For a little while? We're going to try to find a place to sleep for the night."

Draco nodded, his body raised on shaky legs. Ron held him around the waist, his grip loose but prepared to latch on if Draco's legs should give. Twisting the knob, Harry fought the warped wood of the door on the far wall to get through. It creaked and almost came off its hinges as Harry and Blaise pushed through, and it hung haphazardly from the frame.

A long hall stretched before them. Unlike the manors, nothing flashy stood out as either elegant or extravagant. The floors were uneven slabs of stone, light grey, and turning black oeen een at some places with age and corrosion. All lamps and light fixtures were eaten with fungus, and heavy clouds of dust billowed in angry clouds from beneath their feet. High windows spanned the corridors on either side, a mess of broken framework and glass covered in moth-eaten draperies.

"I know there were a lot of charms on this city, most of them because we needed to return, but . . ."

"It's been sixteen centuries since we've been here," said Bl. . "I know. This stuff shouldn't exist anymore."

"But it's here . . .�

Ron drifted off, no longer remembering (or caring, for that matter) what he intended to say. The heavy weight of the repercussions of this mission was lifted as Draco doubled over Ron's grip to throw up. Beneath his hands, Ron felt Draco's stomach lurch, and the muscles pull. Sweat poured down the back of Draco's neck, soaking the pale hair and making it darker, almost a pale brown.

Easing to the ground, Ron's arms bulged, holding Draco's body level with one hand while the other supported his head. Blaise walked over, and pulled Draco's hair away from his face. Pale skin flushed, sweaty, and burned beneath Ron's touch as Draco stained the stone with his vomit.

"We've got to get him in bed," said Blaise.

"Good one, Blaise. Where are we going to find a bed? I don't even want to know how far under Malfoy City we are, and unless he gets a lot ost, st, we may not be able to get him back up."

"He's just trying to help," said Harry.

"Well it isn't helping."

"Fighting with us isn't helping, either. Since when do you get up in arms over taking care of Malfoy?"

"Since I fell in fuckinge wie with him."

Harry opened his mouth, tongue poised with whispers of a word, but then his eyes caught Blaise, and Harry shut his mouth with an audible snap.

Draco fell limp in Ron's arms, and Blaise released Draco's hair, allowing it to cascade over Draco's shoulders. Strands stuck to his sweaty neck and face as if drawn to a powerful adhesive, collecting in clumps that refused to give way. Hoisting Draco to his feet, Ron supported him from one side as Blaise shifted his weight under the other. Draco's head lolled, his chin scraping his chest, hooded eyes cast toward the ground.

Torches dimmed from behind and went out, leaving a trail of darkness behind. Approaching, the torches grew bright and inviting, and though Ron wasn't sure quite where they were, he continued down the hall paying no heed to the high, double doors lining both sides.

Some strange, unspoken agreement led the three conscious boys to the end of the hall. Double doors, pointed, and far larger than any other, loomed at the end. They stopped before these doors, and Harry moved toward them, but they opened without any assistance, creaking on sixteen-hundred-year-old hinges. Part of Ron's mind insisted that it was far longer. The other part argued that this was neither the time nor the place, and that it was quite insensitive to have one's mind on such things when one's boyfriend was suffering.

Out in the open, the air was thick and musty. Black and grey clouds billowed before them. The sky was thick and foggy, glazing over the hard, stone dome that trapped in the ruined city. Absconditus, or what was left of the ruins, spread out below. To the right, a narrow path flowed down the slopes of the hill they stood on, like the entrance into the mouth of hell.

It would be so easy to go back; they could just run back inside and scamper up into Malfoy Manor. It wasn't safe up there, but it wasninviinviting down here, and Ron wished they would have just stayed at Weasley Manor for the duration of the war. In his arms, Draco lurched, coughing, trying to throw up, but producing nothing from his empty stomach, and Ron increased his hold around Draco's waist.

"Let's try to find a place to sleep," said Blaise. "I'm not going to make it much longer and Draco's right out."

"Easier said than done," said Harry. He stared beyond Ron, back at the building, which sat in the stomach of Malfoy Manor. Ron turned, sucked in oxygen, and choked on the saturated musk.

They came out of a tall tower, which pointed to the dome's top. Its upper parts were decayed, falling apart, and broken windows lined the many floors that descended impossibly high. The architecture was too advanced for the fourth century; the magic of the time proved purer and more powerful than Ron ever thought possible. He had seen pictures of Azkaban once, when he was little and Charlie wanted to give him a scare, and the tower had the same foreboding warning.

"Enough gaping, you two," said Blaise. "Draco needs to rest. Let's move."

Harry pulled his eyes away, heading the party as they moved to the narrow path. The muscles in Ron's neck screamed as he walked, his eyes wanting to hold onto Alecto's Tower for as long as they could. Recognition clicked the moment Ron laid eyes on the building. He wanted to speak, to tell Harry and Blaise where they were going (the first Absconditus vision pictured Ryan dying on this particular hill), but he remained silent. Every mention of a vision caused Blaise's eyes to glaze. Harry stared, unmoved at times, glaring at others. Resentment never loogoodgood on Harry, but Ron tried not to blame him. It never looked good on Ron, either, or maybe that was just Ryan digging under his skin.

Did they think he wanted this? Maybe they wanted to know what was going on, but Ron would be pleased if he didn't have a clue. Sometimes it was nice to be included, to know what was progressing and why, but sometimes it was better to be in the dark. Ignorance is bliss, and Ron wondered when he stopped being ignorant. He figured sometime around fifth year when Sirius died and Harry lost his mind.

Somehow, he was the one everyone looked to now because Ron was the freak; he knew what was going on. After years of being the youngest Weasley boy, all Ron really wanted was a little recognition. A little appreciation every now and then wouldn't have been amiss. This was more than Ron ever wanted. Ryan was the unofficial leader of the Absconditus gang, though Ron wasn't sure whether it was because it was his family that was murdered or that he was the Seer.

They reached the foot of the hill, and continued along the path toward town. To the right, far into the distance, Ron saw the high stone walls surrounding the upper-class village. From what Ron remembered, there were many small castles in that area, a place where the noble family came from. Larrissa lived there once, as a young girl, before bearing Bade and wedding his father.

Far ahead was the marketplace, the center of town, and the fountain ought to be there, but there was no time for foolery with the fountain tonight. Castles, buildings were all derelict, falling apart and ramshackle, looking something like Potter Manor had from the outside. Ron fought to breathe, almost frightened at the effect this abandonment had on his body.

Lush, green grass expanding over the vast Absconditus countryside was dull, barren. Dirt paths intersected as they neared the market. Without thinking, Ron turned to leftleft, dragging Draco and Blaise. Harry called to them, retracing his footsteps, and he raced ahead.

"Where are we going?" said Harry, pulling the worn map from his pocket and rubbing his dirty hands over his jeans. Ron wondered when Blaise and Harry passed the map, but he supposed it didn't matter. Blaise couldn't carry the map and support Draco at the same time, anyway.

"I'm not sure," said Ron. "Where were you going?"

"Town. I thought we could head into the center and then decide where to go."

"That'll take too long."

"So where are you taking us?" said Blaise.

"Palace," said Harry. "It's the only thing this way, unless you plan on taking us to the gallows."

"Gallows?" said Blaise.

"From Ron's �- er -� Ryan's notes, this path was only taken by royalty. If you go right . . . yeah, right leads to some kind of dais. There's a note about announcements. Maybe that's where they made their public appearances. And when you go left, it takes you to the palace, unless you keep going on past, and then the gallows. At least that's what I think from the pictures and my brief knowledge of Latin."

"Figures Ron takes the royalty path."

"It isn't like I knew what I was doing. I just turned. That's all. Don't make such a huge deboutbout this."

Ron felt white-hot anger bubble beneath his skin, and there was that weird, glazed look in Blaise's eyes. Getting a bit annoying, really, watching them stare and glare as if he was some sort of freak show. Didn't they talk to him about instincts the very first night while trying to explain their newfound love affair? Why did everything concerning Ron have to be some kind of drama?

It was hard to believe anyone could be resentful toward him. Ron just wasn't the kind of guy tpeoppeople like Harry and Blaise resented. Resentment was too close to jealousy for Ron to ever be on the receiving end of such an emotion, and now that he stood there, somewhere between flux and influx, Ron wasn't sure he liked it.

Furthermore, Ron wasn't sure he liked this knowing where he was going. The path seemed familiar. His mind's eye scanned over the barren landscape, lit with an eerie glow that only something like magic could produce. There were places where Ron was sure he knew what should be there. An apple orchard blossomed in one location, and at another, you could often see children racing in the fields while their mothers at home did the washing. As Ron walked by, he no longer felt Draco's weight pressing on him, but the sensation of floating captivated him, and all the people in the streets stopped, paying homage to the royal family as they passed by.

Sometimes Percy reminded him of Starvos. Ron didn't know when the connection came about, but when they were younger, Ron often resented Percy in an odd sort of way that was never quite clear. He pondered this as they rounded the bend, and the palace came into view. The same odd, horrible hatred boiled inside him at the sight of the desolate building. No longer wasthe the palace; this place was his home, and he didn't pause to gawk or stare as he had at Alecto's Tower. The sense of knowing was familiar now and held little captivation or surprise.

It wasn't as big as you'd expect the castle of the royal family to be. Things weren't as lavish back then as they were when the Manors and Hogwarts were built. Wrought-iron gates surrounded the perimeter, guarding what stood sacred on the other side. As they reached the end, they followed the rust-eaten metal to the high, double gated entrance. A large key-lock lay set in on the right door, but the handle turned with ease, and flecks of metal chipped off on Harry's fingers as he pushed in without the expected creak, allowing the gates to clang behind them.

To the left, high walls of broken stone, sedimentary and flicked with quartz, stood. Moss and lichen climbed over the rock, and Ron marveled at the survival of plants in a land where the sun never shown and water never flowed. More of the magic built into the city, he supposed, shifting Draco's weight from his arms to his shoulders. The walls stretched out from Ron'sw, aw, and halfway down, hidden behind strands of ivy, was a small wooden door with a round handle. The gardens, if Ron remembered correctly, lay beyond, one of his favorite places to go when Starvos or Larrissa was really getting to him.

On the right, a path broke out from the courtyard, reaching to a small building Ron couldn't make out. Instinct insisted that the carriage house and stables were back there, among the many trees that once lined the property. They were gone now, nothing left but petrified wood and a low, musty scent wafting through the low light.

Straight ahead, the courtyard narrowed into a path leading to the entrance doors. Two shallow basins stood on either side of the path, rounded, and walled with small stones, rough on the outside, smooth on the inside. Fish once lived in these ponds when water flowed through Absconditus, and Ron closed his eyes for one pained moment. Dawning Light was never supposed to look like this.

"All right there, Ron?" said Harry.

"Not quite, but I will be."

Harry nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning back toward the palace. It didn't loom; there must have been only two floors. Malfoy Manor was taller than Dawning Light, but it stretched out longer than the Manors. The center part of the front palace wall lay constant and straight, the doors centered on their walls. To the left and the right, tall towers spanned from the ground to the sky, triangular rather than circular. In the back, Ron was certain that rectangle protrusions would stick from the back corners on the second floor, overhanging the patio areas on the left and right. In the center, there would be a semicircle, the third tower which reached heights taller than the front towers.

There was that odd prickling again, the anger and hatred burning inside his body, simmering just beneath the surface of his skin. Harry moved to open the doors and only succeeded in forcing one to move. The other seemed rusted shut. It was as on on the rest of the building, at least from the outside, and upon entrance, similar effects bode on the palace as Potter Manor had.

Things weren't lavish, but they weren't extravagant when Ryan was alive, either. Though the grandeur of the shock wasn't on Potter level, it was considerable. It had been sixteen-hundred years. Corridors extended to the left, right, and straight ahead. Before them, staircases with similar construction to Malfoy Manor loomed. Two staircases started, leading up to a landing that stretched over the forward corridor, and then they separated to the left and right, climbing to the second floor.

"We can explore after Draco lies down," said Ron.

Harry's head snapped around, he nodded, and they all moved to the left staircase, following Harry's lead. At the landing, Ron directed them to the right, and they came out on the second floor. A balcony stood straight ahead, railings wrapped around a large semicircle. Harry walked to it, leaned over, and gazed down below.

"The ballroom," he said. "I remember standing here wI waI was little, watching everyone dance. I remember watching you and thinking you were the most handsome man I'd ever seen."

"I hope you're talking about me," said Blaise.

"I wish I were," said Harry, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Gods, I really was a girl."

"Why do you say that?"

"I remember wishing I could wear the dresses."

Ron laughed, shifting Draco back to his arms. "Don't worry about that, Harry."

"I'm not worried about it. I'm getting used to this girl thing. It's not entirely as bad as I thought it would be. Wouldn't it be fun to go back to Hogwarts as a girl? They could call me the Boy-Who-Was-Really-A-Girl-Who-Lived."

"That's a really long name."

"So is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Good point."

"Can we please put Draco down? My back is breaking."

"Sorry, Blaise," said Harry. "Well, Ron? It's your palace. Where to?"

"Around the right. You see that door on the other side of the balcony?"

"There's two," said Blaise.

"The one on the far right. That's Bade's room."

"How do you know?"

"The same way I know this is the Dawning Light Palace, and the same reason I can suddenly read Latin. Instinct."

"All right. Harry, get the door."

Harry nodded, running around the right side of the balcony to the door. He turned the knob, gave it a rough shove, and opened the door. Blaise and Ron lugged Draco, entering the room, which sprung to life, lamps shining. Small, wooden tables stood around the room, and on the far left wall, a painting of some long-dead relative hung. A crooked smile crossed Ron lips, knowing where that painting led.

"Bade's chamber isn't very big," said Harry. "In fact, I think it was the smallest. I remember you complaining about it."

"Ron's never happy unless he's complaining about something," said Draco.

"Didn't know you were awake, love," said Ron.

"Been saving all my energy to insult you."

"And you couldn't even do that properly. Well, into bed with you. Harry, get the blankets."

The bed, large and lush with heavy red blankets and canopy, was still in tact. Ron didn't have time to marvel. His back, too, felt like it was breaking. Blaise and Ron heaved Draco onto the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest, and Ron fell next to Draco, sighing.

"And I thought that was the lighting," said Harry.

"What?"

"Er -� he looks different. You know, come to think of it, you look different. Your hair looks bleached out."

Blaise eyed Ron, and nodded.

"It does. It looks like you've been in the sun too long. And Draco . . ."

Ron rolled over, looking at Draco. The long, pale hair was darker than its earlier light brown. It was the color of milk chocolate, falling on his shoulders, stringy from sweat and sickness. He stared at Ron through slits, his eyes bluer than Ron remembered them being.

"What's going on?" said Draco, wincing.

"I'm not sure."

*

One would think strange journeys around sixteen-hundred-year-old magic palaces would be fun. Truth be told, the boys were rather bored. After leaving Draco to sleep, Ron, Harry, and Blaise set out to explore. Ron felt like the odd man out, watching Harry and Blaise hold hands on their trek. He had to admit it wasn't fair, but part of him considered claiming guilt at leaving Draco alone just to not witness the displays of affection.

They explored the grounds, finding the gardens (which were just as dead and decayed as most of the city) behind mossmoss-covered walls. The stables and carriage house were in the back right corner of the grounds. In the lower rooms of the triangle towers, the study and drawing room lay. In the back semicircle tower, Ron amused himself going through the library, but Blaise and Harry had enough libraries to last them a lifetime, and so they headed back to explore. After kitchens, parlors, classrooms, dining halls, and throne rooms (not to mention the lavish ballroom from which Harry stared down on earlier), they wandered into the servant's quarters.

"I came from a farm," said Harry, brushing his hand over the sheets of one room's bed. "I had to work there because my family worked up debts they couldn't pay. They used me for money. They didn't love me. You think that's what my real mum and dad were like?"

"No way," said Ron. "Not with the way Lupin and Si �- well, you know, everyone talks about them. It got split up. Your mum and dad loved you, but they died. The Dursleys treated you badly. Look at the way my family back then treated me. My mum and dad aren't like that."

"Percy kind of reminds me of Starvos."

"I thought the same thing earlier. It's not like that, though. I don't hate Percy. I do hate Starvos."

"My family's the same," said Blaise, shrugging. "Only I don't have a thousand siblings."

"And it was Draco's father who was overbearing. Bade didn't even have a father."

"But Draco says that his mother was behind his father," said Harry.

"But Draco had a father. Bade didn't. Not everything repeated. You aren't a girl."

"I should've been. It would have been easier. I wouldn't have to deal with a gender-identity crisis. I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to be a boy and trying not to be a girl. No wonder Dudley used to tease me for acting like a little girl. I was."

"You were raised as a boy," said Blaise.

"With a girl's instinct."

"Who cares?"

Harry shrugged, sitting on the bed. Blaise sat beside him, snaking his arm around Harry's waist and kissing the top of his head.

"Harry, you aren't Hero Veriatice."

"That's just the thing. I am Hero Veriatice. Somewhere inside, I am."

"You used to be, but come on. Ron used to be Ryan. You honestly think he's a prince?"

"He's a king," said Harry, smirking. "Draco's never going to live that one down."

"Providing he lives," said Ron.

"Don't be so melodramatic. Draco's immortal."

"Bade's immortal."

"Same person. Pay attention to the conversation. You've got to keep up."

"It's funny . . ." said Blaise. "We all came from different places, and we all ended up here. Hero lived at the farm, but she was sent here. I ran away and ended up here. You were born here, and Bade . . . and then we all ended up at Hogwarts together."

"I don't see how it's funny," said Ron.

"That's because your visions suck all the fun out of you," said Harry. Ron grinned, pulling his arms into his chest. "I'm tired. Where are you going to sleep?"

"I was going to sleep in my chamber. It's weird, but . . . it's mine, you know? Or at least it used to be. And you?"

"I think I'm going to stay down here."

"I'll join you," said Blaise, sitting by Harry and taking his hand.

Ron excused himself, heading out of the room and through the tangled, narrow hallways of thevantvants' quarters. Coming to the large, ebony door, Ron turned the glass knob and exited into a long hallway by the staircases.

When he emerged on the second floor, Ron walked to the balcony and grasped the railing, leaning over to stare at the ballroom. Candles dimmed, illuminating the ramshackle walls and floors, memories of what had once been. It was hard to grasp, standing here, aware of all that had been and what it had become. To the right were the tower stairs, leading up to Reynaldo Lynx's quarters. Straight ahead was Bade's chamber where Draco lay sleeping in a fever pitch. Ahead to the left was Ryan's chamber, and Ron trailed a hand along the banister of the balcony, moving to the left this time, and rounding the semicircle.

The doors pushed in, falling with ease at Ron's touch. Much larger than Bade's, Ryan's chamber spread out to the right and left, turning on the left in an 'L' shape. Where the two lengths met, a wall lay in one of the back, rectangular protrusions, and a single door stood in the center.

He entered on the short part of the 'L', moving left toward the inlaid door. He pushed in, greeted with the washroom. Thin curtains, stiff with age, barred the windows. Low torches lit the four corners and around the tub, standing on clawed feet. It was strange to see a tub without fixtures. A realization of just how old and ancient this place was gave Ron a headache, and he stepped back into the bedroom.

On the long part of the 'L' (which wasn't that much longer), a door stood on the far end, and double doors loomed on the right wall. The double doors led to his closet, and the far door led into the hallway -- the servant entrance. It was Hero's entrance, if you wanted to be more specific, and Ron felt his cheeks heat, thinking of the tub without fixtures, the closet, and how royalty did next to nothing for themselves.

Back on the short part of the 'L,' the large bed stood, sheets tucked in with perfection and canopy overhanging after all these years. The bed was familiar, Ron realized, as he slid beneath the blankets, not only from visions but memories as well. Long nights lying with Bade beside him, below him, inside him infiltrated Ron's senses, and he clenched his fists.

*

Sunlight does not toAbscAbsconditus. Last night, when it was dark, this had been easy to accept. Today, when the rays of light did not touch the windowpanes, this was harder to believe. Ironic for a place called Dawning Light, Ron awoke to a room just as dark as it had been when falling asleep. The only difference lay in Draco, who stood in the portrait doorway between their chambers.

He looked better this morning. The skin still stretched gaunt over his face, making his bones stick out in a sick gesture. His hair was so black it looked blue, foreign and familiar as it fell over his sticky face. Bright blue eyes sunk into his skull, dark circles holding them in place, softening the blow. His eyelashes fluttered and Draco leaned his head against the frame.

"I remember I used to visit you at night this way. Sometimes I'd fall asleep and Hero would kick me out in the morning."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Bloody useful, that."

Draco padded across the room and slid beneath the blankets, wrapping his arms around Ron's waist. He buried his face in Ron's chest and inhaled, rubbing against the material of Ron's dirty T-shirt.

"You smell."

"So do you. Should you be up and walking around?"

"I feel better. Just a headache."

"I don't think you're up for any exploration today."

"What kind of exploration?" said Draco, his fingers skirting the length of Ron's torso and tugging at the hem. Slipping a hand inside, Draco pressed his palm flat against Ron's stomach.

"What did you have in mind?" said Ron, arching an eyebrow. Draco grinned, releasing the pressure and trailing his fingers to Ron's chest. "You�re sick. You shouldn�t be doing this."

"Why?" Draco pushed out his lower lip, and he pinched Ron's left nipple between his forefinger and thumb. "Don't you want me?"

"You know that isn't it. You should be in bed. You're sick."

"I feel better. I told you that. As it is, I am in bed."

"Not like that, you aren't."

"What does that matter? I'm laying down."

"You should be resting."

Draco shrugged and raked his nails over Ron�s neck. He continued to roll Ron�s nipple between his fingers.

"How am I supposed to rest when we're here, and you're right next door, and did you know you're blond?"

Ron hissed, scrunching up his eyes and throwing his head back. Draco seized the opportunity, attached his mouth to Ron's throat, and ran his teeth down the length, pausing to suck on the Adam's apple. He dipped his tongue into the hollow crevice at the base of Ron's throat and nibbled on Ron's collarbone. Wrapping his fingers around Draco's hair, Ron tugged back, and brought his head down to crash their mouths together.

Dropping his hands to Ron's hips, Draco dug into the hipbones, his fingers molding to the shape. Ron tried to keep his hips down to the mattress, tried to keep his body from responding because Draco was sick and he wasn't going to get better this way.

"Draco, come on," said Ron, squirming, whimpering as Draco dug his nails into Ron's thighs. "You're going to get worse. You need rest."

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Draco ran his tongue over the sliver of skin exposed between Ron's T-shirt and jeans. He nipped at the waistband, teasing the skin beneath with nibbles.

"You don't feel well."

"You do."

"Draco --"

"Aren't you sick?" said Harry. Ron jumped, jerking his head away from the pillow and looking to the door. It was closed. He frowned, his brows knotting, but Draco poked him in the arm, pointing to the servant entrance.

Harry leaned against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. Blaise stood behind him, his arms wrapped around Harry's waist.

"Couldn't wait, could we?" said Blaise. A wry smile twisted his lips. "Guess this place has a way of getting inside you."

"Why do I get the feeling this used to happen a lot?" said Draco, frowning. "Don't you two have other places to be for the time being? It's been a week since I've properly touched him."

"Too much information," said Harry. "If you tell me about how you're sexually frustrated as well, I may have to cut my ears off."

"What do you want?" Draco rolled off Ron and laid next to him, stretching out his body, one arm languishing above his head while the other draped across Ron's hips. "It had better be good."

"We came to wake you," said Blaise.

"No need. As you can see, we're up already. Go do naughty things to each other and let us be."

"We've already done our naughty things to each other."

"Now that's not fair."

"We're hungry."

"So am I. Take the hint."

"What are we supposed to eat while we're here? How long is this going to be?"

"Why are you asking me?" said Ron.

"Because like it or not, you're the unspoken leader of this group. Accept it."

"It's not that bad," said Harry. "Does get tiring, though. Thanks for the relief, mate."

Ron scrunched up his face, nodding. He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, Draco's hand falling onto his thighs as the blankets collected around his waist.

"You're welcome. Listen, I don't why you've elected me in charge. I still haven't figured out why Ryan was in charge."

"It was your family. We were accused of conspiring with you," said Draco. "Still, I see what you're saying."

"I'm a bad leader."

"So was Ryan."

"Tough it out," said Blaise.

"If I have to tough it out and be a leader, you all have to tough it out, too. We didn't have great planning."

"That's my fault," said Draco. "I figured how to get here. I should have thought of what we were going to do once we actually arrived."

"Actually admitting it?" said Harry. "How noble of you."

"Stop it. This is not the time nor the place." Ron sighed, raising a hand to rub at his temples. "It's things like that, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Fine, then. Let's try to do this as fast as possible. Draco, you're staying here and getting rest."

"No way you're going out there without me. If you go, I'm going."

"You're sick."

"I'll deal. If you go without me, I'll follow once you've gone. You know I will."

"All right. There's no food. We have to deal with that. I propose we look through the city. The fountain's in the center of town. Let�s check that out first."

"What about the blood?" said Blaise. "A blood of a new life will make the Mages rise. Remember? It's in the prophecy."

"We'll figure that out when we get there."

*

"Potter, would you stop swinging you hips like a cheap whore?" said Draco. "I'm getting motion sickness from watching you walk."

"I'm not swinging my hips like a cheap whore. Since when are you watching my hips, anyway?"

"Since you've shoved them in my face."

Harry rolled his eyes and continued walking, his hips swaying in exaggerated sweeps. Blaise smirked, grabbed Harry's hips from behind and pulled Harry against him. Groaning, Draco gagged and turned to Ron, his eyes narrowed.

"Malfoy, we've been dying to ask you --"

"How I wish you would?"

Harry smirked. "What happened to your hair?"

"I don't know, all right? It's just . . ."

"Black," said Harry.

"And Ron's blond," said Blaise.

"And you're a woman," said Draco.

"It's not like I have breasts. You don't have Malfoy hair anymore. What would your mother say?"

"Curse me as a disgusting by-product of filth and throw me down aircaircase, but that's just the way my mother shows her love."

"Sounds like fun," said Ron. He rolled his eyes, grinning as he met Draco's.

They walked down a path similar to the royal path they used yesterday. Not long ago, they passed by the place where it led to the oracle, and shortly after there were paths on the left and right, one to the gallows, the other to a temple. The dead, barren countryside rolled by, depressing Ron, and he tried to focus on the others.

"I'm hungry," said Blaise. He kissed the arch of Harry's cheek.

"I hope you don't mean what it looked like," said Draco.

"He's got sex on the brain," said Harry. "We interrupted his earlier excursion and he's getting rowdy."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're something of a slut?"

"Sometimes Hermione told me. Ron just smiled like I was crazy and let me go on my tangents."

"Wasn't that sweet of him?"

"I don't know. Was it?"

Draco grunted, shaking his head.

A path on the right, another bypass for the royal family according to Ryan's memory, stretched away from the main path. They were close to town. Ron saw the broken buildings looming in the distance, shadows of their former selves. Market was a place full of loud children and happy people, and was one of Ryan's favorite places in Absconditus. It had a way of cheering him up after another rousing row with Mummy Larrissa. Now it was dead, depressing, and Ron wrapped his fingers around Draco's.

"The longer we're here, the more I remember," said Blaise. "I used to live around here. Up north, in a village where the lower class lived. It was more of a shack than a house, especially with ten kids."

"So it's something like Weasley's hut, is it?" Ron ground his elbow into Draco's ribs. "Oh, I love you."

"I know," said Ron. "I lived in the palace."

"So did we," said Blaise.

"But I was born there."

"Right. The Forgotten Alcor."

"Yeah." Ron looked to the ground, biting his lip.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. Forget about it."

They came into a circular area, lined with buildings (shops), and four main roads divided the lining. In the middle, the fountain stood. Its base was simple, large stones piled upon one another. In the center was some unidentifiable metal, rising straight from the base and protruding with little curved spouts. At the top, a crystalline star shone, growing brighter as they approached.

"Dry," said Blaise, dipping his hand in and swiping it over the bottom. "Clean, though. Must be a fountain elf lurking."

"Isn't falling apart, either," said Draco. "Whatever magic is in there, it's powerful. The other buildings, I mean, sure, they're here, but they're decaying. This thing --"

"Looks like it was just built," said Ron. He approached, dropping to his knees, and brushed his fingers over an engraving toward the bottom. Leaning further, he examined the letters, running his fingertips across the letters:

Effundo non sanguis insontis; mortis est dulcis tamen ultonis est dulcis.

"Ron?" said Harry, dropping to his knees for a look. Blaise followed, Draco leaning over his shoulder. "Why can't I read it?"

"You were a slave," said Draco. "I doubt slaves knew how to read."

"What does it say?"

"Shed not innocent blood; death is sweet but revenge is sweeter," said Ron.

"That was in the prophecy --"

"Yes, Blaise, we know the bloody prophecy," said Draco. He looked around, taking in the paths, buildings, fountain. Walking to the southeast path, he faced the fountain and walked directly to it. "Ron, walk straight at it from the path we just came from. Blaise, got to the northwest. Potter, the northeast. No, Potter, the other east."

"Instinct?" said Harry, glaring at Draco as he and Blaise switched positions.

"I just remember . . . Alecto told me how to do it. How to restart the fountain. She knew Ryan wouldn't listen. Not with the way he was refusing to be bound. In fact . . . I don't remember him . . ."

"I don't either," said Blaise, looking to Ron.

"This is not the time," said Ron, walking toward the fountain. "I refused to be bound but I'm here, aren't I? What does it matter? Let's just get this over with."

Draco pulled out his wand, muttered something under his breath, and the tip of his wand grew bright red, smoldering without harming the wood. He touched it to his palm, wincing to bite back a scream, and a thin stream of blood trickled from his hand. Draco held his hand over the fountain, allowing it to stain the stone with small droplets.

In turn, Draco walked around the fountain, holding his wand to their hands. Ron almost screamed feeling the wand sear through his skin, and the wound throbbed when Draco moved on. He felt the pain travel up his arm and into his soul as Blaise and Harry contributed. Both winced wthe the wand touched their palms, but neither screamed, and Harry squeezed his hand into a fist as Draco made his way back to start.

It was slow at first. A trickle of water dripped from one of the spouts, landing on the stone with a large splash. Then another spout burst to life. Soon, the water poured, and Ron shivered. His body felt as if it had been lit aflame and his skin burned away from his body, ash pouring off to reveal something fresh and new underneath. The others looked the same way, and Harry fell to his knees, gripping at the edge of the fountain.

'What the fuck just happened?'

'Ron?'

Ron's head snapped up, looking around to the other three. Their eyes were wide, looking at him in disbelief.

'Can you hear me?'

They nodded.

'Can I hear you?'

'I don't know. Can you?'

Draco. He hadn't spoken; Ron was sure of that. His voice, however, sounded in Ron's mind as if he had.

'Something tells me bad things will come of this.'

Blaise.

'Actually, this could be useful. It's weird, but, you know . . .'

'What do you know? Potter's inarticulate in all shapes and forms.'

'Just what we needed. New and fun ways for Malfo ruo run his mouth.'

"Is everyone hearing this?" said Ron.

"I am," said Blaise. "Or I was. When no one was speaking. It got fuzzy, though when I looked away from who was talking. Thinking. This is confusing."

"Still think it could be useful," said Harry.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Potter's right," said Draco.

"Things just get stranger and stranger," said Ron.

"Hey --"

"What do you expect? By now, I'm used to things being strange. Its when they're normal that I get confused," said Harry.

"Hey, Ron --"

"Potter, you're always confused," said Draco.

"Ron --"

"Blaise, what are you babbling about?" said Ron.

Blaise moved from his spot, grabbed Ron's head, and directed it toward the fountain. His eyebrows furrowed as Ron's lips pulled into a frown. The letters of the engraving were lit, glowing in the low light of Absconditus, and as soon as it started (or that Ron had noticed, anyway), it went out.

'What the --'

Ron had little time to finish the thought. Eight, robed people -- Death Eaters -- appeared from the fountain, their wands trained on the boys.
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The Prophecy of Absconditus