Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Shards Of His Beloved	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
To thrnbrooke: He's Harry Potter and I can't imagine him doing nothing about it. I just felt like the explanations didn't belong to the previous chapter. I've planned them for the next chapters. What of Draco's birthday... Draco is quite hostile, so Harry just didn't want to provoke anything. I fail to imagine Draco reacting well on anything like that in his current situation. Thanks for reviewing :)!

To blackcurrent: Glad you liked it :). Thanks a lot!

To Felicia: Here it is. Enjoy!

To Nubia: Thanks! It's already here :).

To Sparrowbirdie: Thank you so much for your wonderful review! I hope you're going to keep enjoying it :)!

To liebe herz: Thanks! It's very nice of you.

To Grey_Archangel: Haha! Thank you! :)

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5. Casibus Fractus

     Harry thought about the blond more often than it seemed normal and acceptable. For almost three months of having Draco in his house, he still couldn't bring himself to simply talk to him. When he finally picked the day (it was his day off), Draco was making the light cleaning in the library, just to prevent it from becoming a dusty chaos again. Harry entered quietly and sat down in one of the armchairs, randomly taking one of the books for appearances' sake.

"Do you mind if I spend some time here with you?" he asked.

"It's your house," was the cold answer.

     For the next hour or so Harry was pretending to read the book, trying to summon up not only his courage, but also the right words to say. He was covertly watching Draco, who was now quite familiar with how to maintain order and keep the house tidy. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the white, gentle looking hands, and wondered what it would have felt like to touch them, what it would have felt like to be touched by them.

     Yes, he tended to keep some secrets even from himself, he'd done it for years, after all. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to himself, but it seemed it was starting again... The obsession. It had already started again. He made desperate attempts to read Draco's face, his every gesture, like back in Hogwarts, back in their sixth year. But still he found no opportunity and solution to make Draco feel better, to make his life better, to say the right words. Just like their sixth year...

     He quietly left the library before Draco finished the cleaning, once again failing to start the talk.

     He flooed home after work, knowing that Ginny and their kids were still in the Burrow, visiting Molly and Arthur, so he intended to have some food and sleep for a couple of hours. He stopped on the threshold of the kitchen, as the picture of tranquillity met him. Semiramis was lying on the windowsill, half-napping and purring, looking very peaceful and relaxed. Draco was sitting at the table with almost equally relaxed expression. There was the pleasant scent of bergamot orange, and Draco looked like he was enjoying it, inhaling it from his cup of Earl Grey. Harry decided that it was Draco's favourite or one of his favourites. It was the first time he saw Draco enjoying something since the blond had settled down in this house. Perhaps, it was finally the right moment to talk to him. But, once Draco turned his face and saw Harry on the threshold, the relaxed demeanour evaporated, the tension returned to his shoulders and sharpened his features.

     Harry made himself a cup of tea, too, and sat at the table across from the blond, who tried to pretend that Harry wasn't there and to keep enjoying his tea.

"Draco... I've been trying to talk to you for quite a long time," he began softly, leaving himself no way to retreat now. The blond didn't look back, but he was obviously listening. "I'm sorry for everything. It was too late when I realised that you'd been a hostage of the situation in our sixth year. I'm sorry for hurting you back then. I'm sorry you've been through so much. I just wanted you to know... You probably still think that I... that I bought you to find a way to hurt you, to humiliate you, but you're wrong. I'm terribly ashamed for making you my slave; I never wanted anything like this. I just wanted to protect you from those who could really hurt you. I know they are wrong, I know you're not a bad person. In some sense you're a better person than I am, because you've come through the war without killing anyone. I wish I could say the same for me. The point is... I don't know what you think, but you're here only to wait till the madness is over. We'll find a way to emancipate you."

"Why, of course, Master," Draco suddenly said with the voice full of sarcasm. At the same time Harry saw his hand, which was still holding the cup of tea, shaking. "I'm at the mercy of such do-gooders that have brought the world to peace and happiness, so I can just sleep well and be endlessly grateful." He put the cup on the table. His anger and nervousness were growing steadily; he was becoming dangerously overfilled with pernicious emotions that had been resting inside for quite a long time. Fuck, he'd been living with it for months and it had been under control, he'd been resigned; but now Potter just had had to open his fucking mouth!

"You're being unfair," Harry whispered. "All I want is to help you."

"I don't remember asking for your help," Draco almost hissed.

"You'd really make it better if you were a bit more cooperative," Harry said, though quickly realised that he was only aggravating the situation. Semiramis was looking at him curiously and sceptically.

"You want me to be cooperative?!" Draco fired up and was immediately on his feet, moving away from the table. "You, all of you, fucking mudbloods, have destroyed the world, my world, the pureblood traditions; you even allowed the thing that hadn't been allowed in this world for Merlin knows how long - slavery! Your fucking aurors, your aurors, killed my father when he was trying to surrender! I saw my mother, my proud mother, begging for his life on her knees, debasing herself! They laughed at her, saying that death was the only mercy they deserved! So they just killed them both!" he shouted. Tears sprang from his eyes. "In their report, I'm sure, they wrote that evil Malfoys had been killed whilst resisting arrest," he chuckled slightly, but it was as bitter as wormwood. And then, to Harry's shock, Draco started to sob, shaking all over. Harry knew that the bloody curse was punishing him for disrespect right now, but the blond was already too hurt, so he hardly even paid attention to it. "They took my child away from me, snatched him out of my arms! He was my world!!!" he cried, nearly doubling over from all the pain. "Some bastard fucked me like a slut for a couple of... of Galleons he'd given to the guard. Don't you fucking dare tell me what's unfair! Want me to be cooperative, Master?! I'll hate you forever! Every day I'm going to pray all the gods to make you and your friends suffer and die! I can't hurt you, but, if you know what's good for you, you better stop waiting for me to be 'cooperative', because it's fucking stupid of you. I'm your enemy! Forever!" In the end his words were the growl out of the depths of his throat. Tears streamed down his face; tears, full of pain and pure anger. He seemed to stop fully realising what exactly he was saying. "You're right, I've never killed anyone in my life, but I would've poisoned your entire family and made you watch! And then I would've gladly stabbed you with the knife to death! I want your wife to rot in hell! You're fucking bastard! My life doesn't cost a fucking thing! They've practically turned me into a squib. My body is filthy. Even my soul has been sold to you, so I couldn't have cared less if I had blood on my hands or finally killed myself! And yet, some fucking hero wants to save me! Fuck you with your idea of cooperativeness! Fuck you!!!" he yelled and finally stormed out, sobbing and wailing, and reeling slightly. Harry was appalled. He'd never seen anyone in such a state before. Because of shock he hardly felt tears on his own face. Semiramis jumped down on the floor and was following the blond slave with her eyes, looking confused. She turned her face to her owner for a moment, just to see him stunned and helpless.

     Draco hardly remembered how he'd made it from the kitchen down to his room. He hurt, he hated, he raged. It felt like a big poisonous spider inside his chest that crawled around and stung, and stung, and stung him inside, puncturing his flesh and soul, tuning it into a bloody mess, killing it slowly. The metaphorical spider punctured his lungs, so he could hardy breathe. Very tightly it spun his stung, bleeding heart in its web. The web threads cut into the pulsing muscle. The pain won over all other feelings, eventually, and Draco was on his knees with his forehead pressed against the side of the bed. Nothing could ease it. Nothing...

     Only an hour later Harry made himself go down to Draco's room. He approached the closed door just to hear the loud sobs. They made his heart hurt. He helplessly sat down on the floor outside and pressed his back against the door. He was here to share the hurt, even if Draco didn't know about it, even if he didn't need it. Harry let himself drown in the blonde's pain, let it pour into him.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Scorpius! I failed you! I'm a coward... My baby!" Draco wailed heartbrokenly. It wasn't Potter, it was himself he hated right now. He'd allowed his scared boy to be taken away. Draco's narrow shoulders shuddered violently with each pained sob. Crying was choking him and when he tried to inhale, he only managed erratic gasps. Muscle spasms didn't let him relax as his body shuddered in harsh convulsions. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was a pitiable show if anyone saw it, but he didn't really care. The loud, torn, throaty cry escaped him and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, still on his knees, as if trying to keep himself from tearing apart completely. At the same time, the photograph of his Scorpius was pressed against his chest. It was all he had; all he'd been left from his little boy. Wailing inconsolably, he was rocking back and forth.

     Every human being had its limits, and it seemed he'd reached his own. He'd never cried like this, even when things had been really bad. Maybe he hadn't been made strong enough to live like this, so it would've been better to end it? The curse wouldn't let him, of course, but he didn't know how else he could end this pain. He couldn't take it anymore and he couldn't stop the pain from tearing him like a rag doll.

"Scorpius, I'm so sorry!.." he cried to the deaf, lonely emptiness, where were no happy smiles, no little hands, reaching out to him. There was nothing...

     Meanwhile, Harry heard it all and it was breaking his heart. He suddenly thought he could use the privileges of a master and make Draco calm down, influencing his emotions, but the thought was sickening. He would have never forgiven himself for such an act of violation. So he was just sitting there...

     The anguished wails didn't stop for another hour and then it gradually became quiet. Harry waited for fifteen more minutes and entered tentatively, just to make sure Draco was okay after such a horrible nervous breakdown, though he knew very well that Draco was very far from being okay. The blond had apparently cried himself to sleep, had exhausted himself. His arms were wrapped around his own body; the framed picture of his baby was pressed against his chest. His face was still wet, pink and puffy from tears; his head was resting on the edge of the bed. Harry carefully levitated him onto the bed, took his shoes off and covered him with the blanket. He put Scorpius' picture on the bedside table, on its usual place. Harry made sure Draco was warm and comfortable. With the lump in his throat he thought that the blond looked like an angel of sorrow, destroyed by humankind. Even in his sleep he looked sad and broken. And he suddenly seemed very young.

    Harry had known that the peace had been weak, and that it would've ended, eventually, but he'd never imagined it ending like this. Merlin, it had only taken Harry's attempt to talk civilly. Why? Why had it ended like this? Why had it triggered the hell to break loose?

     Harry had known that the blond had gone though many dehumanising ordeals (being sold into slavery was undoubtedly one, just like serving to Voldemort against his will, not to let the monster kill his entire family), but he'd had no idea it had been that terrible! He had no reason to think that Draco had been lying, no matter how much he would have preferred not to believe all of it. He sighed, looking at the sleeping blond again. Draco had been victimised.., raped. How hadn't Harry seen it before? The way Draco had hated anyone even standing too close to him...

     Harry couldn't just let it all go, it was out of question. But having no details, it would be hard to press any charges. It would be ridiculous to even try to talk to Draco about it. For having that kind of conversation the blond had to trust him to start with, but, obviously, there was no such thing as trust on Draco's side. The blond trusted nobody at all; on the contrary, it now occurred to Harry that everyone was an enemy in Draco's opinion. It seemed the entire world from his point of view consisted of murderers, slavers, rapists, child abductors, corrupted aurors and politicians, and of everyone who had destroyed the world Draco had known; the one where he'd been born and raised. No, there was no way to interrogate him. Harry could only count on insults or another breakdown, which was nothing helpful for neither of them. The traitorous thoughts of spiking Draco's drink with Veritaserum or simply ordering him to tell everything he wanted to know were immediately brushed aside. Such things wouldn't make him any better than those who had violated the blond, even if he hated Harry all the same. Draco had made it quite clear that he hated him.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. "I don't mind if you hate me; just be okay.... But you're not okay. Of course, you're not. I'll try to make it up for you even if it's hardly possible," Harry whispered. He sighed, deciding that his monologue hardly made much sense.

     With a heavy heart he left the blond to sleep.

     Even since before buying Draco, Harry had been trying to find out if Draco's little boy was, at least, safe, but he'd failed to get any information about the child. Originally, he'd even had a plan to take Draco home after buying him, and Scorpius would've already been waiting for him here, in this house. Alas, it had failed. Somewhere on the way through the Department Of Childhood Protection the boy's traces had been lost. People just shrugged helplessly, saying that there was a chance the boy had been transferred to a foreign orphanage, because there was no Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy in British orphanages. Why the hell anyone would have done it, Harry had no idea, and people kept shrugging, giving no answers. It just felt wrong that not only the boy was away from his parent, but also, possibly, away from his homeland (even though he had probably been born in France); and it was outrageous that no one had any idea about the child's whereabouts, not to mention his wellbeing. One of Harry's colleagues, who had been asked to make inquires, had even expressed the opinion that the child was dead, most likely, and someone, who'd failed to keep the boy safe, tried to hide that fact by letting some files 'disappear'. It really made sense, but Harry didn't want to believe it. No, he just couldn't believe it. If it was possible to die of a broken heart, such news about his son would definitely kill Draco, destroy him, raze his entire world to the ground. 'They took my child away from me, snatched him out of my arms! He was my world!!!' Harry wasn't going to share such news, especially given that he wasn't certain about it at all.



     Ginny and the children were fast asleep after their return from the Burrow, but Harry couldn't get a wink of sleep, so he got up with a tired sigh and left the room silently, not to wake his wife up. After he had a glass of water in the kitchen, his feet brought him downstairs to Draco's room. He knocked quietly, but gained no response. The door was slightly ajar, so he decided that Draco had probably woken up. But when he entered tentatively, he saw that the blond was sleeping in the same position as Harry had left him. Meow was probably the one who had set the door ajar, whilst entering the room. Harry hadn't closed the curtains around the bed, so he could see that the cat was sleeping next to Draco's feet, but the feline opened his blue eyes slightly, as Harry had entered. Meow had fallen into the habit of sleeping in Draco's room, especially since the blond had started working in the kitchen and often was the one who fed the feline.

     The Siamese cat yawned widely and went back to sleep. Harry was about to leave, but noticed that Draco's hair looked lustreless and slightly wet, therefore, a little bit darker than their normal platinum blond colour. He couldn't see the blonde's face, because it was turned to the wall, the way Harry had placed him. He came closer and saw that the pale face was wet with sweat. Draco was breathing with a slight effort and it worried Harry. He touched the pillow near Draco's head. It was soaked in sweat! The blond definitely had a fever. Tentatively, Harry touched his face and it nearly burned his fingers. Without wasting any time, he headed to the living room and firecalled to St. Mungo's.

     The mediwizard arrived quite soon and Harry quickly showed him to Draco's room. He waited outside, but the door was half open (just in case).

"How is he?" Harry blurted out before the man even had a chance to open his mouth, exiting the room.

"Better. I administered several potions, but he's still asleep and he should rest. He needs, at least, several days of rest cure, and make him drink a lot of liquid," the portly man replied.

"He... He had a... breakdown," Harry said quietly.

"Here's the prescription," the healer said, giving him the piece of parchment. "There's also a good calming potion amongst the other things he needs. Give it to him in small doses, but thrice a day, just like I've prescribed." Harry looked down at the parchment. The handwriting was appalling, hardly readable. He nearly chuckled, not for the fist time thinking that muggle doctors and wizarding healers really had something in common. He hoped that apothecaries would be able to read it.

"Thank you. Is he going to be okay?" he asked.

"Yes. But you should know that slaves are getting ill quite often, Mister Potter. They catch cold pretty often or become easily infected. I've treated the slave once," the man said. Harry didn't know if he liked that the healer was straightforward enough to use the word 'slave', which, by the most people, was usually replaced with something that sounded more careful and 'less barbaric'. Harry never liked it and never understood; slaves were slaves, after all, and there was no reason to embellish the reality. As he looked at the healer carefully, he saw that the man used the word without disdain or prejudices, which meant he could be trusted with his job; at least, it seemed so. But now Harry was more concerned about what he'd just heard.

"I didn't know... Why?"

"There's a myth that they contribute to the health of their masters. There is some evidence, but personally I don't believe it. But I know for a fact that the curse that binds a slave to his or her master weakens a slave's immune system."

"I see..."

"I'll visit my patient within two days, but you may firecall me anytime," the healer said before leaving.

     Harry went upstairs to get dressed, then left the house and disapparated to the part of wizarding London where, as he knew, was one of twenty-four-hour apothecaries. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, anyway. The cool air, however, was a pleasant distraction. No, there was no way he'd be able to sleep now. There was definitely too much information; from what Draco had told him about his terrible trials to his current unexpected illness, developed in the twinkling of an eye (all right, it was probably a couple oh hours, but still rather quickly), and the healer's words about the fragility of slaves' health. No one had warned him about it!

     As he returned home with all the required potions and explanations to them (written by his own hand this time), he checked Draco's condition once again. As far as his auror skills allowed, he cast several diagnostic spells that made him aware that Draco's body temperature still wasn't normal, but it was much better. Harry cleaned and dried the bed and did the same to the unconscious body, hoping that the discomfort wasn't too much to feel it through the sleep. Draco only winced slightly. Harry carefully changed him into his pyjama, doing it with his mind wandering somewhere else, because he thought it was the only way to make it fair for the blond; and it didn't matter that said blond was sleeping. Harry deliberately ignored the feeling of his fingers slightly brushing against the heated skin accidentally in the process. He wasn't even looking. He decided not to cover Draco with a blanket to cool him down, but the blond even through his sleep looked uncomfortable about it, probably feeling rigour, despite the outward heat of his body. He really looked like he was feeling cold. Or he probably needed to be covered for a comfort. Harry decided to compromise and covered the curled up body with the sheet. It seemed to have worked, so the blond plunged into a deeper slumber, due to the heat exhaustion and because Harry had stopped disturbing his sleep.

     Only once, almost in the morning, Harry woke him up at his own risk, just to give him some water and potions. Draco was still half-asleep and, surprisingly, there was no resistance at all; on the contrary, he looked quite thirsty and drank the water greedily. He even took the potions before drinking some more. Everything was done with Harry's great help. Harry wondered if the blond was even aware of the fact that it was his loathed owner who was taking care of him. He doubted it. Very soon Draco was asleep again.

     Several hours later he firecalled Hermione and told her everything, because he just needed a friend to talk to, and her support.

"Is it true, Mione? What that healer told me, it's true, isn't it?"

"There are rumours, indeed. But that binding curse is quite new. The issue isn't studied enough, so it's open to question. I always thought that those deaths and health problems were the consequence of bad conditions and harsh treatment, and most of them were, I'm sure of it, so I can't answer, Harry."

"Fucking great; they use curses that are not entirely proven. They use them on people."

"If it's true, it wouldn't surprise me. And Harry... If you need my help with your investigation of what happened to Malfoy and his family, I'll do my best to help."

"Thank you..."

   He took several days off to take care of Draco. It felt a bit unusual that the blond allowed him to feed him a little, to help him drink, to give him potions. He even never protested when Harry had to touch him, helping him to sit up. On the other hand, Draco didn't seem entirely conscious most of the time, still too weak even to properly realise what was going on. His compliance could also be partly a result of being given the calming potion. Being Draco's owner allowed Harry to make the curse not to bother the blond and let him rest while he was so ill.

     But, in addition to that, Harry started his own investigation to find the people that belonged to Azkaban.

"Are you sure it's wise to arouse such a scandal?" the auror captain of his unit asked. The new Ministry had decided that they had to increase auror force by recruiting more people. There were more auror offices now, therefore, more aurors. Unfortunately, the quantity and the quality were two very different things. Harry missed Shacklebolt, who had retired after the severe injury. He'd known how to keep order among his aurors. Stephen Barrett, Harry's captain, wasn't a bad man, and he could be trusted, but he didn't possess enough zeal, in Harry's opinion. It was quite a short, tired and aging man with a very undistinguished appearance.

"Am I sure I want rapists and murderers to rot in Azkaban? Yes, I'm bloody damn sure," Harry replied cheekily. He just couldn't react any other way. The older wizard remained impassive.

"I hope you understand that we can't use any word of Malfoy as evidence. As a slave he has no right to make a testimony," Barrett reminded.

"We can do without it. I already have all the names of those who took part in killing Malfoys. There are five of them. All the other aurors were outside the house, strengthening the anti-apparition wards and making sure no one would escape, as they'd been ordered to. Those five entered and killed Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, making it look like Malfoys had refused to surrender and attacked them. Even if it was true, and it wasn't, they could have stunned Malfoys, but, no, they killed them, making it look like an accident. Accidents happen sometimes, you and I know it very well. But both Malfoys in one day? It looks very suspicious."

"It's true. But what are you going to do? You can't just press charges against the other auror, having no basic evidence."

"I want them to be interrogated under Veritaserum. It's so easy that no other evidence is required. God, is it necessary to complicate everything?"

"You know you can't do it without a warrant. And I cannot give you one, not without having some evidence, at least. No one in the Wizengamot is going to take your guesswork for a fact. You have my support, but I don't think I can be helpful. My position is not high enough to permit anything like this."

     As much as Harry hated it, it meant he had to discuss it with the minister. He sent the owl to set up an appointment with said minister and headed to make some other work.

     Soon, when he was home, two owls were already waiting for him at the window of the living room. The other one, apparently, hadn't been in the mood to wait for him, so it had tore the letter off its leg, damaging the letter itself, and left in on the windowsill. Harry twiddled it in his hands with amusement. But there was nothing of importance, anyway. As he checked all his post, he was glad to find that one of the letters was from the Ministry. Unfortunately, as he'd opened it, it said that the minister was not available for a week or two, 'but the minister's counsellor and assistant Ellerete Johns would gladly help to the best of her ability.' Harry sighed in frustration. On the other hand, it was better than nothing. The appointment was already booked for tomorrow. He sighed again. It was ridiculous that there was no way to avoid the bureaucratic obstacles to punish real criminals.

     Ellerete Johns, the woman who was about forty years old, with dark-blond hair and sharp features was carefully reading Harry's application. Hermione had made sure it was flawless. Now Harry was mentally thanking her for it, because the minister's assistant looked like she was searching for an opportunity to cavil at something. Her pupils were slowly moving behind the pair of small silver-rimmed spectacles. The long, thin silver chain was attached to the sides of them and rested on the back of her neck. It was the only jewellery she wore. It seemed a person like her would consider a pair of earrings as something inappropriate and too frivolous. It also seemed there was no speck of dust in her office and especially on her desk. Harry tried not to roll his eyes at this.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," she finally spoke. "I understand you want to... have some sort of revenge for your property, but do you understand that it means that you're going to charge the entire auror department? This is going to undermine the authority of aurors in general. You're going to make common people feel unsafe."

"They are not safe with criminals that wear the auror robes and live among them," Harry replied. It was obvious that Johns had already made the decision, and not in his favour. "I'm not going to give it up, whether you like it or not," he added stubbornly, but calmly.

"You're going to make yourself a lot of enemies. You have a family. Think about it," she warned. He couldn't believe his ears! It hadn't sounded like just a warning to him. Either it was just her manner of talking to the other people, looking down at them, or there was a hint of a threat in her words.

"Don't worry, I can take care of my family. I can also go to press and tell people the whole truth. If you want the uproar all over the country, so be it. People deserve to know about our impotent minister, who doesn't give a damn about them," he fired up. Fuck... Hermione had warned him to control his temper, but he'd remembered Draco's breakdown and failed to hold his tongue. Harry really, really wanted to do it for Draco, who deserved some justice. And for Narcissa who had saved Harry's life. Her murderers had to be punished, whether someone liked it or not. And Lucius... He deserved justice, too. Being murdered in cold blood wasn't one, no matter what he'd done in the past.

"Be careful, Mister Potter," the woman said sharply. "Do you seriously believe that people would disapprove the deaths of Malfoys? I don't think so. Some people would even consider it as a good turn."

"They are not above the law, and neither are you and I. Some people, a lot of people, will listen to me. I supported our current minister for his empty promises that sounded so appealing. He promised equality without any blood prejudices. I recklessly allowed using my name for him to gain more votes. I won't tolerate such a tyranny. You've done enough shit to make many other countries laugh at us. You used my name. You owe me if you don't want me to turn people against you. I just don't want to carry out any revolutions, because it would entail serious consequences for innocent people. I came here to ask for a favour, but now I demand to give me the warrant for administering Veritaserum to several murderers. I'm going to get it one way or another," Harry assured her, trying his best not to shout.

"This must be discussed with the minister," she finally said after several moments of thinking and looking at him piercingly.

"That's what I was going to do from the start, but our minister is such a busy man," he smiled a little. The counsellor quickly left to the next room, leaving the door open in a fit of temper. She seemed to be firecalling somebody, and Harry was almost sure that she'd contacted the minister. Now he could only wait. He could hear the woman's angry hissing, but couldn't make sense of the words he heard.

     She returned several minutes later and sat down at her desk again.

"The minister has allowed me to give you the warrant," Johns said, looking almost disappointed that Harry had won the argument.

     As Harry had arrived home some time later, he put the rolled up piece of parchment, angrily signed by the minister's high-flown assistant and counsellor, into the drawer of his desk. He felt very pleased with himself. Tomorrow he was going to make the murderers admit everything they'd done to Malfoys. Harry's triumphant mood faded, as he thought that he had no idea who had raped Draco after he'd been arrested. Harry really needed any, just any, help from the blond, a couple of details to make a start, but it didn't seem possible to ask for anything like that. At any rate, he was going to find the bastard, eventually, and make him pay. Oh, yes, he was going to find the swine and put it behind the bars.

     He suddenly heard some noise from the kitchen, and decided to check who was there, knowing that Ginny had taken the children for a walk. He was a bit aghast, as he saw Draco, hardly standing on his feet, but washing the dishes (both dirty and clean without making any difference) thoroughly, though automatically, as if there was no soul in this still ill and exhausted body. The last three days that he'd been resting in bed, he had only got up to use the toilet, and his walk was always very slow and unsteady. Harry had sometimes helped him.

"Draco, you're ill. You don't have to work before recovering," he said softly. There was no reaction other than a bit more intense scrubbing of every dish and putting them on the sideboard next to the sink with a bit more noise than necessary. At the same time, there was absolutely no expression on his face. "Draco, stop it! I order you to stop," Harry frowned. The blond just let go of the dish he'd been scrubbing so fanatically, and it almost broke as it had fallen into the sink. He stood there motionless without turning to Harry. "I'm sorry..." Harry whispered, knowing that he shouldn't have raised his voice. "All right... I want you to return to your room and lie down. Let me help you." He carefully grabbed Draco's shoulder, but let go very soon, feeling how tense the blonde's body was; it was stiff, even though the face expressed nothing at all. But still Draco headed to his room, as he'd been told to, walking mindlessly and slowly, swaying on his feet, so it seemed he was about to fall. Harry was following him to make sure it wouldn't happen. He wondered if it was that goddamned, stupid curse that, all of a sudden, had decided that the slave was fit enough to return to work, or it was one of the potions he was taking. Fucking mediwizard had probably given Draco the calming potion strong enough to make him act and look like he was completely stoned! Yes, it was either the curse, or the potion. Or the combination of both. It made Harry feel furious. Once Draco was in his bed, covered with the blanket and soon asleep, Harry took the calming potion from the blonde's room and later threw it away. He replaced it with some common Calming Draught.

     The next several days Draco was just lying almost motionlessly. Sometimes the stubborn fever returned, but it wasn't severe, and the potions helped.

     Semiramis surprisingly often spent her time in the armchair near Draco's bed. It looked like she pitied him, after witnessing his breakdown.

     She told him stories about sphinxes and during these days he found out about these creatures more than any book had ever described. She told him how her kind had been enslaved by wizards once, so they could fight the other wizards, their enemies, with the help of the powerful creatures. But slavery hadn't lasted. In spite of it, however, sphinxes had often been guardians or bodyguards of humans. Later their number decreased dramatically, so 'the breeders' (she couldn't find a more appropriate word for the meddlesome humans that 'should have minded their own business') could only magically crossbreed them with kneazles to prevent sphinxes from dying out completely. It had cost sphinxes their normal size (their bodies had stopped being as big as lions'), so they'd become smaller and lost a couple of hundreds of years of their lifespan. But there was evidence that the real, original sphinxes still existed, though their number was very small.

     She told him legends about Bastet and Sekhmet, and the cults of both feline goddesses. She told a lot about Bubastis and praised that ancient city that had been famous for the cult of Bastet. The feline goddess had had the magnificent temple there, so people could honour her. It had been a centre of worship for Bastet, and people had even had the feast of Bastet, celebrated all over the city.

     Semiramis told about the battle of Pelusium between Egyptians and Persians when Persians, in order to win the battle, had carried cats with them as shields, knowing that Egyptians would have rather lost a battle than hurt the animals during the fight. They had lost and endured the terrible sufferings, but had remained loyal to what they'd considered sacred.

     She told about two large cats that drew the chariot of Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility and beauty, and sometimes of war and death.

     In some periods of history cats had been considered as a symbol of good luck. For example, the fishermen's wives had kept the black cats in their houses, believing that it would protect their husbands from drowning in the sea and let them come back home safely. In the other periods, cats, especially the black ones, had been considered as incarnations of the devil; therefore, they'd been killed by burning, sometimes together with their owners that had been condemned for the heresy and witchcraft, which hardly ever been justified. That had entailed the plague epidemics, because the human cities had been flooded by rats, since there'd been no cats to destroy them. Semiramis highly approved such things, saying that humans had, undoubtedly, brought it on themselves. Some religions, such as Orthodoxy, on the contrary, considered cats as a good sign, even when they entered churches and temples. Such difference in human opinions confused Semiramis, but she liked to talk about it. Somehow she'd found out that the muggle scientists had supposedly discovered that the cat's purr was helpful in healing, especially in mending the broken bones sooner than normal. She confirmed it.

     As for the wizarding world, she also knew plenty of legends and historical facts about cats, kneazles, sphinxes and other creatures that had something to do with cats. She believed that a cat was the best choice of a power animal for a witch or a wizard, and gave a lot of noteworthy examples. Semiramis considered cats and catlike creatures, especially intelligent ones and ancient ones, as creatures that had to be worshipped, as they once had been. She had her own theory about the superiority of cats over the great majority of the other creatures.

     No one had actually heard her talking so much before. It seemed she enjoyed speaking, uninterrupted, and being listened without any arguing. Draco was too ill to listen to her avidly, but he listened, anyway. Not only the magical creature possessed some memory of her ancestors, genetically inherited, but her magical voice, however sounding like nothing really special, allowed a listener to sink deep into her stories and very vividly imagine everything she was talking about. In his sometimes not entirely conscious condition Draco felt like he visited ancient Egypt, Greece, Northern countries, Medieval Europe and many other places the sphinx described; he saw pharaohs, priests, warriors, kings, many wizards and witches of the past, including the dark ones; he saw healers, sailors, musicians and other people. And, of course, cats, sphinxes and kneazles. A lot of them. It almost distracted Draco from the unappealing reality, where he was lonely, unhappy, bitter and ill. Sometimes the sphinx's voice was the only thing that he was aware of. She, however, could easily fall asleep right in the middle of one of her stories, or whenever she felt like it; but then, after a good, short nap, she continued, though sometimes needed to remember where she'd stopped before falling asleep.

     Harry was thankful, because the sphinx's company seemed to soothe and distract Draco, so there were no more incidents with mindless wandering about the house and trying to do some household chores. She even often accompanied him to the bathroom when he was getting up with an effort. She waited outside and then guided him back to his room, so he wouldn't lose his way, which had happened a couple of times before. She was just telling him to follow her, and he followed. It meant Harry could concentrate on the other things without worrying too much every time he had to leave. And, fortunately, Draco's health started to restore.

     Meanwhile, five people had already been interrogated under Veritaserum, and awaited their trials for the planned murder of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and several other ex-Death Eaters. They also had other malfeasances just as Harry had expected. He was pleased, because the prosecutor had no prejudices about Malfoys (Hermione and Harry had chosen him personally), and was really determined to put the murderers in Azkaban. When the captain of their unit had offered not to make noise of this case and just to dismiss them from the auror force without any possibility to reinstate them later, and to give them a couple of years of probation, the prosecutor hadn't even let him finish his offer. No, he was going to put them in Azkaban. The press media already knew a lot of facts about this case, so the reporters couldn't wait for the trial, too. They also were very persistent in their attempts to talk to Harry, who, as usual, just avoided them.

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The Shards Of His Beloved