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Night Flight	By : Massanie Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 77567 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me and I'm not making any money with this story

Chapter List
- 23
- 24
- 25
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CHAPTER 24: Third Time's The Charm

CHAPTER NOTES:

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It was odd, Draco thought, that his raging fear should quieten now with a dozen experienced fighters standing in front of the manor's wards, all of them looking determined to use the wands that were already drawn and pointed at him and Blaise, when only moments before his heart had given such a furious drum-solo at the very thought of Harry being lost to them.
But their Gryffindor was still here where they could protect him and their enemy had transformed from a bodiless phantom of smoke and shadows into something real, had solidified into a being of flesh and blood that could be fought and could be defeated. Even better: it turned out to be an enemy they knew so that they could follow him if he retreated and take him down, could deduce where to find Harry's friends and save them – there was no doubt in his mind that they were the bargaining tool used against the submissive in this vile attempt at blackmail, not after Harry's reaction to Blaise's so innocently voiced proposal – and decide on the best suited strategy for all of these options based on the knowledge they held over their enemy.
Of course it would be foolish to forget that Blaise's uncle, too, knew where best to strike at them; Draco wouldn't ever make the mistake of underestimating his fiancé's family that had left quite an impression on him when they had last visited Italy for any extended period of time – during the summer preceding their fourth year at Hogwarts, before the Dark Lord had returned and thrown their orderly world into chaos.

But Blaise and Draco had matured during the four years that had passed since then, more than the Lanais might expect, had most likely changed more than their adversaries who hadn't had to deal with a civil war being decided on their doorstep. Therefore they might have an advantage at least for some time.
In any case, neither of the two Slytherins would allow these men to take Harry away without a fight.
With a few, resolute steps Draco was at Harry's side, his long fingers closing around the younger man's elbow securely to ensure that the Gryffindor wouldn't rush forward and deliver himself up to his blackmailers.
Harry flinched within his grasp, evidently not having heard him approach, and his skin was clammy as he looked up at Draco with a painfully frozen expression, a study of blank distress that reminded the pureblood somewhat of a work of that French artist, Delapensé – a photographer who mixed muggle and wizard techniques to create only partly moving pictures, often studies of feelings where everything aside from the very face of his current motif was in constant, fluid motion, brought to life by the gently blowing wind: leaves wafting across the picture, rustling branches, flying hair; everything was in stark contrast to those frozen, still faces as a homage to the expressiveness of the human face: love, hate, anger, surprise, joy… all depicted perfectly through a single moment in time.
It was the very reason why Draco had taken a liking to the eccentric artist in the first place, understanding that in their world of intrigues and façades one often wasn't given anything more substantial than this vital second to assess one's opponent and he had thought the photos to be perfect studies in what to look for. But his mother wouldn't accept anything in her home that was related to muggles in any way and his father disliked the obscene flaunting of emotions which he thought was something for the lower classes. Therefore Draco hadn't had the chance to see one of the rare pictures again after the one exhibition where he had first come upon them, hidden in a side room where they barely had the space and favourable light to unfurl their masterful effect.
Now though, seeing a study of desperation painted on Harry's face, set apart from the peaceful scenery around them – the perfect setting of a beautiful park bathed in starlight, the ocean breeze wafting around them and playing with Harry's raven strands and silky green feathers – he couldn't help but think it was tasteless and cruel.
At least the expression was just as fleeting as those captured by Delapensé and was gone quickly, gone with the moment, and Harry glared at him again, free wildness burning up in his eyes in that so familiar fashion that it raised something dark in him, memories and habits and desires that the gentle flow of the past few days had buried deep within him. Possessiveness and frustrated rage and above all: bitterness – why was Harry so stubbornly not allowing them to help him?
"Let go!" The brunet hissed, no hint of insecurity in his voice, no trace of turmoil that might lead Draco to doubt his sincerity. Harry had made a momentous decision and now his future, at least the immediate one, didn't include Blaise and him. Pushed aside for someone more important, discarded again and again and again by his former nemesis, his obsession – he could be brave enough to call it by its true name, if only in the privacy of his mind – his lo…
Draco almost recoiled, shaking his head without really meaning to.
No. No, not that!
But the thought was already implanted into his mind firmly and strong enough to see over the bitter resentment, to see Harry and Harry's seemingly insurmountable problems, his fears and try to understand them.
And in a way, he did: Harry might choose his friends over his Slytherin suitors now but that didn't necessarily mean that he cherished them more, only that their lives were at stake and not Draco's and Blaise's and Draco had to hold onto that belief.
Nonetheless it didn't change his decision. He wouldn't allow the Gryffindor to leave, wouldn't give him the choice even if Weasley and Granger should die in the wake of the events now unfurling before them, he didn't care for them above the hurt their death would inflict on Harry anyway. He'd readily sacrifice them if it meant their Gryffindor's safety, even if Harry grew to hate him for it. Draco wouldn't force himself to endure the torture of standing back and watching Harry throw himself away, his life, his happiness; Harry couldn't expect him to.
He could protect the submissive and if the worst came to the worst, he could even give him someone to blame, so that Harry wouldn't have to blame himself.
Draco tightened his grasp on Harry's elbow, letting his magic seep into the unnaturally cold skin beneath his fingers to ease what discomfort he might be causing the submissive, and of course, hopefully also gentling the emotions wreaking havoc within.
"No, Harry, I won't. Now listen!" With a quick glance towards his fiancé he assured himself that Blaise would take care of their unbidden guests while he kept their Gryffindor safe, then he turned to Harry again, cupping one of those soft cheeks with his free hand, his resolve steeling when he felt the crusty residue of tears.
"3-0-5, Harry…" He softly whispered the keyword for the portkey Blaise had given him, letting his thumb stroke gently over the soft skin at the other's temple. "Say it and go! And I promise we will take care of everything else. They will think I forced a portkey upon you. It will be fine, now that we know who they are they won't dare to hurt your friends." And he infused him with more soothing magic, trying to boost his confidence in them.
Harry only shook his head in tiny, jerky movements though, eyes wide like a rabbit's, his lips moving exaggeratedly as if he wanted Draco to read from them what he wouldn't voice out loud. What the hell…?
But the only thing the blonde got clearly was 'no' and the only thing he realised a moment later with brutally shocking clarity, was that somehow the blackmailers must be listening in on them at this very moment, probably had the whole time they had been out here, following the escaping submissive.
And Harry had known about that, had tried to keep up the illusion of leaving out of his own volition for the benefit of an audience that they couldn't see… hence his fear of Draco and Blaise learning the truth about his friends, his fear of giving in and staying without being forced. It all made sense…
And Draco had given the secret of the portkey away…
Horrified he looked at the brunet as if seeing him for the first time. Oh, Merlin how brilliant, how evil, how cruel and simple and clever… that was it, wasn't it? They had told Harry to leave the Manor and not alert a soul or they would kill his friends and somehow they had found a way to monitor him to ensure that he would have to follow through with it, too. Draco could almost respect the sharp mind behind this plan in a certain, sick way: it was ingenious in its simplicity.
But Harry's lips moved again, and the words he wanted to say were perfectly understandable, both visible in the clear mussitation and the look in his eyes that encountered him with such a painful request for forgiveness.
'I'm sorry.'
An ominous sense of foreboding overcame him, drenching him like cold rain. Immediately Draco raised his magic around him in defence, raised his wand and spread his wings, fully intending to cocoon Harry in them and enforce his compliance. But Harry was quicker.

Nothing in Blaise's poise and sure, measured steps would have betrayed his wariness as he approached the wards and stepped past the row of House Elves that had faithfully refused the intruders entrance as per their master's orders. Not that the group of men seemed to really have tried: they were waiting to be acknowledged, perhaps – hopefully – because they were unwilling to risk a fight with so many House Elves.
Still, Blaise himself very well knew that the outcome of such a confrontation was more than just uncertain. He himself was no experienced fighter and Draco would probably be busy enough trying to keep Harry from handing himself over.

Aside from that, they only had two emergency portkeys back to England right now and that meant that at least one of them couldn't flee. If he didn't want to find himself stranded in Italy as a fugitive, he would have to be careful not to clash with the law.
For whatever reason the guardia had found their way to his doorstep, he would have to try to placate them, even if that looked like a well-nigh impossible task, what with their grim expressions, the scornful tightening around their lips, the narrowed eyes and the drawn wands, their stances betraying their readiness to launch an attack at a moment's notice.
"Signori," Blaise nodded towards the armed guardia with a carefully measured, polite smile, once he came to stand before them.

Then he turned to his uncle. "Zio Eleuterio."
"Blaise." The man greeted him, his voice ominously free of any trace of the cautious warmth that he had previously used in his conversations with his nephew. Of course that wasn't too surprising: Blaise had never been very close to the family of his father, mostly due to his mother and his mother's deeds. Being widowed once was sad; twice was a true tragedy. But to be widowed seven times was more than just circumstantial evidence for murder, even if there was no real proof for foul play that any court would accept.
So, his uncles, aunts and cousins had stayed in contact with him only because he was family, whatever crimes they believed his mother to be guilty of, and because they saw it as their duty to look after their family member's initiation into the Vykélari society as a young dominant.

But Amalyne was still the mother that had raised him and had been a major influence throughout his youth and neither Blaise nor his father's relatives would ever forget that little fact.
"It is a bit late for a social visit." He remarked in Italian, refusing to overtly eye the wands pointed at him, even if he kept them in his line of vision. That pale face with the watery green-brown eyes remained his main focus as he tried to gauge the man's intentions, his strategy.
"If this is about a Vykélari related matter, then I must ask you gentlemen to leave," Blaise continued with a short glance at the men from the guardia, "as non-Vykélari are prohibited from interfering. If it is not, however, then I would ask you, uncle, to leave since this seems to be a matter of grave importance that is likely to occupy my time for a while."
Somehow, this seemed to be the wrong thing to say. His sharp ears easily caught the quiet, angry murmurs the Italian Aurors probably thought to be inaudible for him, curses and muttered insults, and with a spark of unease Blaise noticed that they were actually on the verge of attacking him. Honest contempt and revulsion pulsed towards him in waves and more than one of the men took an angry step forward, knuckles white around the sturdy woods in their hands.
"They are here, because the Vykélari council asked them to help in the enforcement of our laws and in this function they observe my command." His uncle declared coolly, pausing to give the words the proper effect.
Of course. The Vykélari council was, like the British Wizengamot, an organ of the legislature and while it could execute its laws by itself, it could also request the support of the guardia. Blaise knew that this was very similar to the system in their own country: if someone infringed on Vykélari laws, Lucius had the right to pronounce a sentence and demand that the Aurors arrest the perpetrator.
His relatives wanted to manoeuvre him and Draco out of the way without actually having to fight them. They were about to accuse them of some offence or another!
Before Blaise could decide on a suitable course of action, his uncle was already continuing with such genuine disappointment and aversion, that it nearly could have fooled even him. "How could you, Blaise?"
"I am not aware of any wrongdoing!" He answered, harshly lifting his chin, secure in the knowledge that they could not have any solid evidence for neither he nor Draco had actually broken any Vykélari laws as far as he knew. But right in front of him one of the guardia, a man of mid-thirty with dark eyes and thin brown hair, snarled at him. Actually snarled!
They really thought him guilty of whatever it was they were accusing him of.
The realisation was quite surprising. And disconcerting. Whatever lies his relatives had spread about him and Draco might have serious repercussions and spread like a disease from one wizard to another, from one country to another; like an epidemic. The list of their allies was short enough as it was, they couldn't afford gaining more powerful enemies, especially not the local executive authority.
Blaise squared his shoulders, letting all the visible emotions drain from his expression, his voice and his posture, and willed himself to calm. Magic and intelligence – these were the powers he believed in; and without Harry willingly fighting on their side, he only had the latter to lean on.

"And what is it you think I have done, if I may ask?"
Just then a dull thud had Blaise whip his head around before his uncle even had the chance to answer. His heart faltered at what he saw, making a distant part of his mind wonder how often Harry could do that to him before it would just give up beating altogether.
It took a moment for him to grasp and understand the image that presented itself to him, but when it did, it appalled and shocked him all the worse: Harry had attacked Draco! He had attacked him and his fiancé was bent forward, curling around some hidden pain, clutching at his stomach with his wings hunched up behind him and Blaise couldn't see his face, couldn't see how bad it was, how badly he might be hurt. His platinum blonde hair fell messily into his brow and eyes and Harry had taken him by the scruff of his neck. By Mordred, he must have kneed him!
Blaise reached for his own wand, not even sure whether he wanted to stun the Gryffindor or cast a protego between the two fighters so they wouldn't hurt each other further; at the very same moment Harry was snatching that beautiful piece of hawthorn and unicorn hair that was Draco's weapon out of the blonde's loosened grip. Just as Blaise raised his hand, the guardia behind him reacted, thinking him about to attack the submissive.
Multiple bolts of pure magical energy hit his back, one shockwave after the other singeing his skin, and Blaise felt his wand fly out of his grip, felt his arms snap violently to his side and his legs push together in a full body-bind, felt himself fall, helplessly, to the ground.
He could only watch the rough gravel rush towards him, unable to even close his eyes and he expected his nose to crush on the stones painfully when he was magically flipped at the last moment and sank into the cottony softness of a cushioning charm.
Moments thereafter Blaise saw out of the corner of his immobilized eyes, how the heavily blurred silhouettes of his servants surrounded him protectively, could sense the soft vibrations of their own innate magic pulsing around him and yet he couldn't feel relieved, desperation swelling in his throat accompanied by the taste of bile, so thickly he could barely swallow past it. What was happening to Harry? To Draco?
"Leave master Blaise alone!" Alfar screeched from where he stood directly next to Blaise's head, who was left without any other option but to listen while the endless, starlit sky filled almost his entire field of vision. Fervently he tried to push against the hold of the body-bind, to sense out the magical strings that bound him and break them apart, but the worded curse was too focused in its aim, too stiff for him to counter; not like Harry's own comfortably familiar magic earlier that had been driven by a vague wish for his safety.
Damn it! He needed to see Draco, needed to know both him and Harry safe and well and…
And he needed to bring Harry back to reason before he was gone!
"Stand down, Elf!" Blaise heard his uncle order. "We are not here to arrest your master, though if you attack us, he will be charged for your offence."
Tense and agitated, Blaise strained his ears, trying to calm his too fast and too loud breathing, the desperate need to know what was happening sizzling in his veins.
But there was only silence, intermitted by heavy breathing fraught with tension, the barely perceptible rustling of the fabrics wrapped around the House Elves' bodies when they shifted around. Alfar must be obeying his uncle's order and in a way, Blaise was glad: he neither wanted to lose his trusted servant who couldn't be expected to measure up to so many wizards, nor did he want the added trouble of another formal accusation. But if Harry had taken Draco's wand and maybe checkmated him completely, then there was no one but the House Elves to interfere now.
"Mr Potter," His uncle called out, having switched to English. The clear voice echoed over Blaise's land, and he felt as if it was tainting it – every stone, every leave and flower – with the falseness of his concern.

"You are Mr Potter, are you not?"
"I am." Harry answered resolutely and Blaise wanted to cry out in frustration when the Gryffindor's voice came from much too close but his enforced silence and stillness held.
"Don't be afraid. Your letter reached us and we are here to help you."

Feint and sick, Blaise listened, a murderous ache blossoming behind his temples at that revelation.
Harry's letter. That stupid, damned spawn of thoughtlessness now being turned into a tool of spiteful destruction. Blaise's muscles cramped as he willed them to move, already tensed beyond what was wise and healthy due to the force of the hex lying upon him. That Harry's rashness should now be used against them!
Harry, who was now stepping past him, so close that Blaise saw his face, barely and much too blurred to make out any details, in the periphery of his field of vision, a pale oval in that see of darkness. There he paused, looking down at him but Blaise couldn't see his expression from this angle, unable to change his eyes' focus away from these damned stars consuming themselves in the endless distance.
'Look at me!' Blaise thought, tried to will it to happen like a wordlessly cast spell. He just needed to see Harry, if only he could speak with him, look him in his damned green, gorgeous eyes and convince him not to leave…

Had either he or Draco ever just asked Harry to stay? Blaise was ready to beg him.
"What will you do with them?" Harry asked with a curiously dead voice, bar of any intonation and he still hadn't moved any further as far as Blaise could tell. The immobilized Italian held his breath as he waited for an answer, sick with this situation and his helplessness and hoping against hope that he and Draco wouldn't be arrested before they could somehow find a way to safely get Harry back to Britain.
But oh, he'd kill them! If they hurt this idiot, Blaise's idiot, or forced him to mate, he'd kill them all!
"Don't worry, you no longer have to fear them." Almost Blaise could have sneered spitefully at this ignorant statement. Never, not once in his life, had Harry James Potter been truly afraid of either him or Draco. He was brave, their Gryffindor, foolishly so sometimes, but he wouldn't have him any other way: proud, defiant and bowing to no one! No one. Least of all Blaise's own relatives.

Maybe, they would find that out for themselves and if that happened, Blaise could almost pity them.
The oval of Harry's face narrowed like the waning moon as he faced away from Blaise, turning to his uncle for a few silent seconds, probably staring him down, that little jewel…
"It depends entirely on your testimony, Mr Potter," his uncle Eleuterio finally said with a feint hint of impatience, "which you could give tomorrow if you feel up to it after you have rested. Until then their wands will be confiscated and they will stay here under house arrest."
'Say no!' Blaise found himself silently begging. If Harry refused now – even though Blaise rationally knew that he never would – they could still get him to safety, could still work on proving his relatives' involvement in this obvious attempt at blackmail to the guardia.
But Harry only nodded in the periphery of his field of view and he walked away, the gravel crunching beneath his feet deafeningly in the silence of the night and every step felt like a kick to Blaise's guts.
The worst was, that in the end he couldn't even hear the exact moment their colibrí finally left, the quiet sounds that he made – someone used to walk and move as quietly as an owl on a hunt – were too low even for his ears to pick up, easily getting lost in the noise of the guardia as they fastened bracelets around his and Draco's wrists that would notify them the moment one of them set foot outside of the manor as well as enable them to locate the two of them wherever they went. He strained his ears, attempting to follow Harry for as long as he could but however much he tried, he couldn't identify the moment his uncle and Harry were finally gone.

Draco was shivering with rage when the Italian Aurors at last released him from the paralysis Harry had cursed him with. Not that anyone but him and maybe Blaise would have noticed the barely perceptible tremors in his shoulders and hands, but still; his fury was so intense that the disgust and revulsion on their captors' faces didn't even faze him in the slightest.
He stood quickly, one hand flying to his stomach as it reminded him with a painful pinch of Harry's abuse. And oh, how he would make the Gryffindor regret that one once he had him back! 'Or if' a part of him that he didn't care to listen to acknowledged the loathsome possibility of Harry never returning.
"You are making a mistake!" He growled lowly at the young, brunet man who had freed him and who was still regarding him as if he was dried flobberworm mucus dirtying his boots (which were undoubtedly of imitation dragon leather, anyway). How he wanted to smash the pretentious idiot's nose in!
The guard huffed condescendingly. "You can deny it all you want. We saw with our own eyes how you treated that poor boy."
Draco might have attacked the man, if not physically, then at least verbally, were it not for Blaise coming to stand next to him at that very moment and grasping his shoulder. Insistently his fiancé turned him towards him, demanding his attention.

"Are you okay?" He asked in English and from the concern and tenseness in his deep timbre and his grip Draco knew that it was as much a caution as it was a query for his welfare. Without wands, without allies, they were reliant on the goodwill and believe of the guardia, whether Draco abhorred the very notion of depending on someone else, least of all Aurors, or not; it was a necessity.
After giving his dark lover a short nod of acquiescence to both, Draco turned to the other man once more.

"Is that what we are accused of? Abuse?" He asked and if there was more outrage resonating in his words than he intended there to be, well, at least it was genuine.
"I'd say it was obvious, but if you need me to spell it out for you: yes, Eleuterio Lanai, as a representative of the Vykélari council, found you guilty of the abuse of a submissive."
"Of course he would!" Blaise sneered but the man went on undeterred.
"And considering the brutality we just witnessed, the state of evidence is more than clear! You are under house arrest until the submissive in question…"
"His name is Harry!"
"… had a chance to testify."
Draco snorted angrily. "And by then he will have been forced to mate with…"
"Don't you dare accusing the Lanai family now or I will personally lodge a libel action!" Another man ground out, irately throwing his long, dark hair back over his shoulders. From the silver ribbon tied round his left upper arm, Draco recognized the commanding guard, a tall, formidable wizard with broad shoulders and a face that looked as if roughly carved from oak wood.
Draco puckered up his lips, trying to reign back his anger. Maybe, if he could appeal to these men's sense of justice and conscience… "You'll see whether we lied or not when Harry is mated by tomorrow morning to someone he never met before! But by then it will be too late and it will be your fault!"
"Eleuterio is a highly respectable man and furthermore a good friend of mine, so watch what you say, boy!" The man warned, thrusting his finger into Draco's shoulder so hard that he had to take a step back and Blaise snarled, his elongated fangs exposed threateningly, as he pushed himself partly in front of his lover.
"We only tried to keep him here because someone blackmailed him into leaving!" It was a desperate attempt, a useless attempt, and yet Draco still had to make it, to try one last time even though he knew that the guardia wouldn't listen, not when they had already revealed their partiality.
"And do you have any proof of that preposterous accusation?"
Draco was surprised that the Italian had even bothered to ask, having expected him to merely threaten them some more about the possible repercussions of calumny. But the end result was the same.

No one had entered the wards, and if the two-way-mirror was destroyed, as Draco suspected (the blackmailers surely wouldn't forget such important and obvious a detail when they had thought of nearly everything else), then they couldn't even prove that someone had contacted Harry, let alone blackmailed him.
No one would believe them if they said that the submissive had enjoyed their date, had kissed them passionately and of his own free will only half an hour before undertaking a reckless attempt to flee; not when they were the accused. After all he had even shown himself willing to hurt Draco and Blaise.
And asking for veritaserum was a dangerous thing, since they had forced Harry to stay in the manor, had denied him a wand and made the House Elves into his prison guards. And while that was legal, according to Vykélari laws, they hadn't been really gentle about it either. The way they had tied Harry up after his first escape attempt could be perceived as abuse and that was punishable. It certainly wouldn't help their case that such things hadn't been unusual in the past and that it had practically never come to a lawsuit: dominants had always ensured that submissives wouldn't contact anyone before the actual mating and afterwards, well, who would ever accuse the man you, your life force and your magic were irreversibly bound to for the rest of your life? It would only make a bad situation worse.

Besides, in the rare cases that a submissive, or a friend of the submissive, accused a dominant, the Vykélari council used to iron out the problem in one way or another before it reached the public. It wasn't exactly possible to complain that this council had now decided to really enforce the law just to give the submissive to someone else, especially since there was no way to really prove the last part of this claim.
"No, we don't." Blaise finally answered when Draco remained silent, glowering and fuming inside.
"Good." The man nodded, contented for now before he and his men made to leave.
Only one of the guardia hesitated for a few moments, his muddy brown eyes resting thoughtfully on the two Slytherins they left behind, without a wand and without the possibility to follow Mr Potter unnoticed. He was still young, of course, still less experienced than most of his unit and he knew he shouldn't let the untenable accusations of criminals get to him, but the little spark of insecurity that these two men had planted within him threatened to catch fire in a moment's notice.
What, if they were right?
But when the Comissario Mancini called his name once again, he followed, his dragon leather boots scrunching as he walked over the white gravel.

CHAPTER END NOTES:

Well, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone: I hope you didn't expect a grand final battle between our Slytherins and twelve men from the guardia with Harry jumping in somewhere in the middle, all of them achieving a glorious victory before going to free Hermione and Ron in another epic battle.

Would be too easy :D Besides, if they did that, Hermione and Ron might be dead and an army of Aurors would be thirsting for their blood while they'd be stranded in Italy. Which would cause quite the international incident and that is just too much political chaos to deal with.
And don't be too hard on Blaise and Draco in any case. Blaise has no experience whatsoever with fighting and Draco was taken by surprise by a war hero. I think it's forgivable that they didn't manage to keep Harry from leaving. But one might lose a battle and still win a war! Whatever happens until I get there, I promise there will be a happy ending!
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Night Flight