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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
- 31
- 32
- 33
"We could end all of this, right now, right here. I know that you are exhausted." The Italian said, his voice mild and patient, almost compassionate, but there was a tension around his eyes and lips, and more than that, Blaise and Draco could smell his frustration, sharp and pungent in the air. Beyond the feint annoyance, there were traces of adrenaline pumping through his veins, biting and invigorating like ozone.
It wasn't because he feared them, although he should. Both their interrogators didn't smell like the prey animals they rightfully were. They were confident enough in themselves and in their powers of observation to think they had the situation under control. That the two Vykélari they had apprehended were safe and self-aware enough to be questioned.
A part of Blaise and Draco that still clung to rationality found it very ironic that they, as the two Vykélari in question, were far less assured of their strength of mind. The other part was all too ready to vent its pain, consequences be damned.
They were not exhausted, far from it. If the Vykélari seemed apathetic and slow to react, it was only because they were mostly focused inwards, where they felt as if a monstrous darkness with claws and teeth had ripped into their beings and clawed out the most important thing in their lifes. Knowing that it was Harry's loss didn't lessen the pain. Harry's magic that had taken refuge inside of them screamed with the agony of it, and it tore at them, every damn moment it tore at them and dragged them towards an edge beyond which lay chaos, grand and powerful and destructive. Pure chaos, to fill the emptiness with.
Around Blaise and Draco, the air seemed to be crackling with static, with anticipation; something was about to happen. And that something was them.
It had been like this since Harry had vanished and the animalistic representations of his magic had burst into a flurry of movement like the shockwaves of an explosion, upset and aimless, lost without their owner. Like a swarm of hornets they had converged to attack the one person closest to their suddenly missing master. Instinctively, Blaise had raised his wings to protect his body, the bronze feathers suffused with sympathetic magic, just a fraction of a second before hundreds of projectiles of shadow and fire had hailed down on him. Draco had seen them vanish and not emerge, his lover flinching from each jostling impact and an icy fear had gripped him.
The stag had made to jump forward as well, its enormous pair of antlers lowered aggressively, and Draco had fought through the pain in his side and jumped up to intercept the beast, hands out, calming sparks of magic dancing along his fingertips; it had worked once, he'd been desperate enough to hope it might work again...
Draco had pushed and the stag had pushed back, unrelenting and strong, and suddenly it had pushed in.
The pain of a cruciatus had burned through his body and his mind, as if his veins had been filled with tiny razor blades instead of blood. He had screamed, or thought he did, had felt his jaw lengthen, the teeth melting into the bone, feathers sprouting from his head and wings bursting from his back.
Overwhelmed, Draco hadn't had the presence of mind to cut his clothing and his growing wings had splintered beneath his shirt before the cloth had finally, mercifully ripped in two.
When Draco had come to, he had tasted the metallic blood of Blaise's family in the air, the tangy smell of burned flesh and panic interwoven with bitter traces of despair and grief. It had been darkly invigorating and therefore all the more terrible. Unsure of where the smells ended and his own emotions began, kneeling and trembling in the ashes, Draco had wondered whether the only escape from madness lay in transforming the chaos into actions.
He had only noticed that he was hyperventilating when the other set of lungs in his ribcage had started to compress, letting out a deep, controlled breath and urging him to do the same. He had become aware of a presence in his mind, not calm or steady, because Blaise wasn't calm or steady either, but nonetheless soothing with the assurance of support and companionship.
They couldn't have said how long they knelt there staring into each other's blackened eyes, breathing as one, feeling as one, but barely recognizing the other’s outlandish features. Only when Giallina's hysterical sobbing had registered in their minds, did they somewhat return to themselves.
With awareness an ugly realisation pierced through to their consciousness: here they were, two monsters sitting in a destroyed courtyard littered with human remains, and the one person whose plight should have justified their presence was gone. Draco and Blaise had been lost in feeling and smells and instincts for too long. The Guardia would be upon them any moment to arrest them and it would take time to prove that it hadn't been the two of them who had killed the Lanais. Especially with the looks of nightmares made flesh.
They didn't even have any proof of Harry having been kidnapped. Harry's devastated, wrathful magic had melted and entirely destroyed the two-way mirror and thus, as long as Ron and Hermione's bodies were not found, as long as nobody was reported missing or Taide regained his consciousness and made a statement, no one would be any the wiser that there were two more casualties.
No one who hadn't used illegal means of spying that should better remain unknown lest their recent acquittal be called into question.
What proof did Draco and Blaise have that it hadn't been them who had wreathed this havoc? What proof when joining the destruction sounded like water on a parched throat. Just letting go and stop feeling altogether. What a temptation.
In the end, the two Slytherins had decided to send away Giallina, gesturing towards the hillside and hoping the traumatised Elf would understand the order to return to the manor with the other House Elves waiting there. It wouldn't do to give the Guardia any more witnesses to interrogate than was absolutely necessary.
Giallina had disappeared just in time, because the Guardia had arrived not much later in a flurry of light flashes and raised wands, with the air of power, importance and urgency gathered around them. Despite the blustering demands to drop their non-existent wands and raise their hands, Blaise and Draco could smell their fear, the blood pulsing quickly beneath their skin. It was enough to immediately make them snap their beaks and raise their wings high in the air.
Almost, almost they attacked right then and there.
But they didn't.
The Guardia must have known how close they had come to certain death for they proceeded much more carefully. Their leader moved slowly, deliberately, telling them what he was about to do and waiting for their reactions before actually following through. He asked them to return to the ministry with them. He must have known that a hundred wizards wouldn't have been able to force the issue, much less the two dozen Guardia he had brought.
Blaise and Draco had followed quietly, to the ministry and into this room with its bare white walls and nothing but a table and four wooden chairs occupying it. But every minute since had been a struggle for control made worse by the incessant, if gentle, needling of their interrogators.
The Slytherins they had been brought up to be realised just how dangerous their situation was. Losing control of Harry's magic and causing a magical explosion was just the least part of it. Much more damaging and downright dangerous in the long term was their distraction. It was difficult to follow the flow of the interrogation, difficult to keep up with the questions, the lies they had told, the half truths. Almost impossible to reign in the surging, wild anger and pain at having to relieve each and every moment of this hellish night.
At some point in the future, Harry’s powerful magic would fade from them, and then the judgement passed on the basis of their current statement would be executed without mercy.
From the beginning on, through the haze of their instincts and turmoil, one thing had stood out to the political minds of the two Slytherins: The man had introduced himself as Generale Carraci. Generale. The highest rank within the Guardia, equal to the head of the Auror department in Britain. If a man of his position was involved in an interrogation, they were in serious trouble indeed. They needed to concentrate. Especially with formidable opponents like these.
Carraci's hair was more salt than pepper, and the crises he had no doubt weathered in the past had left deep furrows on his brow. He carried himself with a confidence born of experience, not arrogance. Someone of his calibre would not be manipulated by two young Vykélari half mad with another's rampaging magic. No, he was a clever interrogator, astute, asking the right questions with the accuracy of a sniper while chipping away at their armour with the perfected aura of nothing but calm and friendly interest, as if inviting them to speak up and tell their tale in a seemingly judgement free zone.
Only Blaise and Draco knew that the judgement would come afterwards. Possibly in the form of a prison sentence.
The woman at Carraci's side was equally as good, a tall brunet with the wiry frame of a runner and thin lips, painted wine red. With her dark eyes Guardia Spina looked at them as if ready to listen to them confess to every atrocity imaginable and neither flinch nor utter a word of blame.
The only thing granting them respite was their incapability of speech. Forced to awkwardly scratch their answers into clay boards on the table in front of them with their own impractically curved claws, it was easy to exaggerate their difficulties and get a few precious moments to think before they had to formulate their answers. And it slowed the entire interrogation down.
Much to the annoyance and frustration of the two Italians. So far, Carraci and Spina had allowed them to skirt around the more dubious aspects of their story, focusing on Harry and what had happened to the young Gryffindor instead. But the time of mercy had run out, Carraci's ozone smell told them as much.
Draco closed his black eyes, feeling oddly lightheaded. What did it matter, anyway? Harry might be dead already, and if not... this loss inside his chest, he couldn't see how anyone could come back from that. How Harry, righteous and earnest, could come back from it. Perhaps watching something else burn might even make them feel less fractured.
"Okay." Carraci said quietly, startling the two Vykélari out of their dark thoughts. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, Blaise and Draco warily following his movements with their black eyes. Neither of them could remember if the man had even asked a question they were supposed to answer.
"Then if you don't mind, I'd like to go over some more details with you."
Blaise cawed throatily, his beak twitching open to taste the air. There was a sense of anticipation there that belied the calm and unaffected aura that Carraci and Spina were trying to maintain.
"After Mr. Potter left with Eleuterio Lanai, you attempted to reach out to your allies in the area, and when that proved fruitless, you contacted allies in Britain who were to then rally Mr. Potter's most loyal friends, including minister Shacklebolt. Correct?" He asked and waited for them to confirm.
"So why didn't you wait for them to arrive?" Spina continued in her deep, endlessly patient voice. "Leaving your home when you had been ordered to stay there... you had to have known there would be serious repercussions. And with your allies on the way..." She shrugged with one shoulder and looked aside for a moment, as if seriously considering the matter. "Why didn't you wait for them?"
Blaise and Draco had hinted to a reason before, only mentioned it in passing. But there was no doubt that Carraci and Spina remembered with the way they were watching them intently. Now the interrogation had truly started: the Italians were trying to entangle them in contradictions.
Draco straightened, his black wings fluttering behind them, gleaming with a cold metallic shine, as if made from blades. Blaise snapped his beak closed with an audible, threatening click in the direction of their unimpressed interrogators.
Had the Slytherins told them that they had left as soon as they had reached Daphne, as soon as they had ensured someone would come help them weather the consequences of going against the Guardia's order? Blaise had favoured that version, because it was more comprehensible, more reasonable. His lover however had argued that it could be disproved later on by Daphne herself and revealed to be an outright lie, had preferred staying closer to the truth...
Draco leaned forward, his clawed hand hovering over the wet clay, his forefinger nicking the surface. They had settled on Draco's version, he was almost sure of it.
'We realised it took too long' He finally scratched the words into the clay board and waited for them to be read and be wiped away so that he could write more. In that way he continued with his answer in increments.
'Harry on his own, alone'
'grew restless. Might be too late?'
Looking up, Draco stared at Carraci and Spina, for a moment seeing his own otherworldly appearance mirrored in their eyes, grotesque, dangerous and repulsive. A nightmarish being without visible emotions. He could see it through Blaise's eyes as well and wondered if this was what Carraci and Spina thought of them.
'We wanted to force you to help.'' He continued, smoky quartz eyes fixed firmly on his writing.
'you'd follow us, see them with Harry'
'despite laws you'd have to help'
Carraci gazed at the words for long moments, stony-faced. Blaise and Draco wondered what he thought of them. Here they were, members of traditional, dark families, claiming to trust in the Guardia to stand by them, to interfere on their behalf and in conflict to the law just because it was the right thing to do.
Strange that it was actually the truth, that they had lied only about the reason why they had left the manor when they had.
"But you couldn't have known that Mr Potter was in such danger, that we would come upon a scene that would force us to interfere." Carraci said finally, slowly, as if carefully considering the words... or their reaction to them.
Blaise and Draco huffed out a breath of derisive amusement, Harry's magic unwinding inside of them, gleaming in their eyes, dancing in sparks over the blackened, strangely jagged Vykélari markings on their skin.
'x Dominants kidnapping 1 submissive' Draco scrawled into the clay.
'suspected it + were proven right'
A feint smile stole itself onto Carraci's face. "I guess."
Even Spinà huffed out a laugh. "By the way," She said, still smiling slightly, "Signore Battelli mentioned that only you, signore Zabini, were present during your short floo call. What were you doing, signore Malfoy, while Zabini was reaching out to your allies?"
Draco and Blaise froze, entirely unprepared as an image of the pensieve flashed into their joined minds, a silver Pandora's box with poisonous memories instead of sicknesses. Their skin prickled with the sudden agitation of Harry's magic, sparks of it shooting into their fingertips, making the talons lengthen and gleam.
The question wasn't entirely unexpected, but the way it unsettled them and cut through the easy atmosphere the Guardia had created surely was.
Very, very slowly, Draco leaned forward, and this time his difficulties to write with his long, curved talons were not exaggerated at all.
'Questioned Alfar. Head House Elf.' He lied, knowing it wouldn't satisfy his interrogators.
"The one who died?" Spina guessed.
Blaise nodded while Draco continued, the skin on his arms pebbling, tiny feathers starting to sprout and cover him like an armour. 'He'd heard Harry scream + plead'
"Did he, now?" Scepticism written all over his features, Carraci leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "And why didn't you tell my colleagues when they put you under house arrest?"
"You naturally didn't think they'd believe you without proof." Spina said in a much more conciliatory tone, answering the question for them. She sucked on her lower lip, as if deep in thought. "But then not two hours later you left for Lanai manor in a mad rush, with only one House Elf to assist you in the travel when you could have taken a dozen to help you fight the Lanais.” She cocked her head, for the first time mocking them openly. ”All of that because you suddenly rediscovered your faith in the honourable Guardia, believing that you only had to lead us there and we would fight for you, following our own morals rather than the laws we are tasked to defend. Tragically, the only witness of both Mr Potter's initial blackmailing and the happenings in that courtyard ended up dead. Or should I say 'conveniently'?"
At the end of her little speech, Draco's talons were deeply embedded in the clay board, and the feathers on his and Blaise's head were raised aggressively. Harry's magic rose like mist from their skin, sizzling and crackling with power.
"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini," Carraci said firmly, his dark eyes never shying awa from the furious, black gazes of the two Vykélari. "For the sake of honesty and a preferably quick solution to our problems at hand: I am not looking for a convenient scapegoat here. You and all your no doubt numerous petty and more serious offences don't concern me, I'd prefer to leave the problems of the British to the Aurors. I am only interested in Mr. Potter's current wellbeing. We can stop with these questions the moment you tell me where he is. It is entirely your choice."
He paused expectantly, but continued unperturbed when neither Vykélari moved a muscle. "Or we can continue this interrogation and I can find all the little holes in your story: starting with what you were really doing, Mr. Malfoy, while your fiancé was contacting your allies. Because you sure as fate weren't just interrogating one single Elf in all that time. We could explore why you left for Lanai manor when you did, why you didn't take all your House Elves with you - or rather why you actually did and just don't want us to know."
He gave them a mirthless little smile, barely a twitch of his lips. "If we want to be petty, we could also talk about the portkey you sent Potter away with, where you got it from and whether it was properly registered here in Italy. Or more interestingly about the letter Potter sent in which he very clearly accuses you of abuse and kidnapping."
Again, Carraci paused, and any hint of a smile or even the pretence of one was gone from his face. “You can stop me, anytime.” He reminded them. But neither Vykélari reacted, frozen to the spot, afraid that any movement might tip the scales, might unleash the destruction they could feel pooling beneath their skin, hissing, sizzling, burning with rage. A stream of glowing magma under an all too thin layer of slowly melting stone.
“Or,” Carraci continued, focusing on Blaise, “I could ask about the Lanais and your relationship with them. Specifically why they, as a traditional, pureblood family with an ingrained distrust of the Guardia actually went so far as to denigrate you in front of us. You, who is even related to them by blood. Personally,” he said, leaning forward, ”I imagine it might have something to do with the habit of your mother's husbands to die young, one of whom was Valerio Lanai's little brother."
Blaise shook his head jerkily, feeling their heartbeats quicken, feeling Harry's magic twisting iltself inside of them, pulsing through their clawed fingertips. He rustled with his feathers, trying to find the sense of calm and quiet that Severus had taught the two of them in their occlumency lessons, tried to project it to the both of them. Next to him, Draco cocked his head, his beak opening with a crackle of magic, the wood of the table splintering beneath his claws.
Could it be? Could it be their fault that the Lanais had gone to such lengths? That Valerio had rather betrayed his own nephew than allowing a submissive to fall into Amalyne's hands?
Spina's wand hand twitched and Carraci narrowed his eyes, assessing them intently. But the two Vykélari didn't take notice, trying to reign in the pulsing energy within them. They felt their skin harden, feathers sharpen into weapons, buried their taloned feet into the ground.
Was it their fault that Hermione and Ron had been tortured? There on the ground. In agony. Screaming, screaming and not stopping. And that they had died, pressed to the two-way-mirror. With blood every - No!
Draco and Blaise reeled back with deafening twin screams and suddenly they were half jumping, half fluttering away from the table, toppling it over along with the chairs. Carraci and Spina stood hastily, rushed away to the other side of the room where the door was, just as the two Vykélari crashed against the wall, wings caged in by the too low ceiling, hindered by the walls and each other.
It was about to boil over; Draco could feel the magic press against his chest. Frantically he turned, reached for his lover with his hands and his own magic, pulled him close and down, embraced him with his wings and felt Blaise's close around him. A cocoon of flesh and feathers and in between them a storm of writhing, bristling energy alight with pain and rage. It grew and shrunk, transformed lightning fast. Teeth and claws emerging and striking out before vanishing a moment later.
The Vykélari screeched and screamed, the clothing against their chest growing wet with blood. Still they held on, could do nothing but wait the storm out and hope to contain the worst of it.
An eternity later, Draco and Blaise leaned against each other in the dark cave formed by their unnaturally black wings, gently rubbing their beaks together for comfort, deeply exhausted. Little by little shreds of Harry's magic had sunken back into the embrace of their own sympathetic cores, the overwhelming anger burned away to suffocating grief, and even more difficult to bear: shame and guilt.
They couldn't have said how long their loss of control had lasted, or when Carraci and Spina had left. But for the moment they were alone.
Blaise shivered and pulled his lover closer against his body. In their joined minds he projected images and feelings to the other man: of his mother, of his father. His father - who was nothing but an abstract concept in his mind, overshadowed by the knowledge that it was Blaise's own strong, supportive, perfect mother who had made the man vanish; any thought of him suppressed by Blaise's refusal to deal with that knowledge.
He hadn't wanted to think of him, hadn't wanted to think ill of or speak out against the only constant family in his life, the beacon, the idol he had always tried to emulate. He remembered Valerio questioning him during his childhood, always so cunning and subtle, remembered him growing colder over the years as Blaise refused to acknowledge any fault in Amalyne's violent nature.
Was it so farfetched to think that Valerio would do anything to prevent Amalyne from gaining access to a submissive Vykélari? Not only her, but Blaise as well: the boy who was too weak and dependant to turn against the murderer of his father, Valerio's own beloved brother.
Draco crooned, a hurt and angry sound, his claws gently combing through the feathers on his lover's neck. Slowly, Lucius' figure stepped out of the shadows into their consciousness, tall, stern and haughty, the way he had looked when they had last seen him, lecturing Draco on his duty to the Malfoy family. Visions of people's scorn followed, a young woman spitting onto the pavement close to Draco's feet, because of the covered-up tattoo on his arm, and his platinum blonde hair.
Their families were poisonous, their parent's deeds following them everywhere, tainting every new relationship, every endeavour before it even had a chance to begin. Draco could have been Harry's friend from the beginning on, if only he hadn't mindlessly prattled on about his father's ideals, if he hadn't thoughtlessly repeated all his mistakes. He might never have joined the Death Eaters, never have been given the suicide mission of killing Dumbledore, if not for his association to a family that only kept on lecturing him on his duty towards them while pulling him into their abyss.
And now this.
Carefully, Draco extracted himself from his lover's embrace, holding onto his arms instead. The mask around Blaise's eyes had darkened and grown, jagged lines reaching from the onyx of his eyes into the mane of raven black feathers that by now entirely eclipsed his hair.
'It is enough!' He let the words echo through their joined minds, strengthened by a feeling of determination, a sense of finality, of loss. 'It's enough.'
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Night Flight