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“They what?” Thomas demanded. “How could they just leave England? Where did they go?”
“I’ve already begun the search for them,” the last member said calmly. “Harry purchased a portkey before our last attack; my contacts are sure it was set to send them to France. When we know exactly where, Anthony will join them there for the next attack.”
“Anthony? He’s contacted you?”
“Yes. He has a new plan and I think it might work. If he fails…”
Thomas swallowed hard at the implication he left hanging, but nodded. He was in this for the long haul. Harry Potter could not be allowed to marry a Death Eater.
-
Harry looked out to sea, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the sun as it bounced off the rippling waves at his feet. The water was a clear, majestic cerulean, so clear he could see the entire floor of the small cove. The water was ringed by an outcropping of rocks, covered in life and secluding the beach from whatever lay beyond. Smiling, he turned in a circle, wanting to capture the view from all angles, then stilled.
The villa, as Draco called it, looked more like a castle—all cream coloured stone and terracotta roofs, with turrets and towers of varying heights spearing into the sky. It was surrounded by a surprisingly lush garden, and a low wall bordered a path that ran from the grand front doors all the way down to the beach. It was more grand, by far, than even Malfoy Manor.
“Come along,” Draco urged him to move, his trunk hovering a foot behind him.
“You really are disgustingly rich, aren’t you?” Harry asked, rooted to the spot as he tried to take everything in.
“Oh, Harry, so are you. You just don’t know what to do with it… Yet.” He strode away, hips swaying seductively as he followed the path up and into the house.
Grinning, Harry followed behind, if a bit more slowly. “We’re not buying a castle, Malfoy.”
“There’s no need,” Draco called over his shoulder. “I already have this place.”
That surprised a snort from Harry, and he entered the enormous house shaking his head.
-
“Draco,” Harry called from the beach, and Draco rolled his eyes but swam dutifully back, as close as he could manage without leaving the water altogether.
“Yes, my love?”
"Do we have a vegetarian option?"
"Yes, Harry. Specifically for Luna, as I don't believe we have many vegetarian friends."
"Okay, thanks. Oh, wait," he said as Draco moved to jump back into the waves. "Have we sent the final guest list to the caterers?"
"Yes, yesterday. Why don't you put that down until Mother arrives? Come swim with me."
Harry smiled fondly. "In a minute; I just want to make sure everything's caught up."
"Very well. Don't take too long."
With that, Draco dove beneath the water, kicking off from the floor to propel himself some distance into the cove. He swam to the gap in the rocky ring of land, then back, luxuriating in the feel of the water against his skin.
On the trip back to the small strait, he opted for a leisurely backstroke, closing his eyes and letting the sun beat down on his chest and legs. He'd chosen to wear a swimsuit, today, for which he was infinitely grateful when he saw the man standing on the rocks, watching him, a moment before he cast and everything went dark.
When Draco came to, he was lying on the rocky outcropping, stones pressing into his back, his hands bound at the wrists. Glancing about wildly, he saw the man standing before him, a small cauldron balanced above a little fire, and his blood boiled.
Anthony Goldstein.
"Squirm all you like, Malfoy. You aren't getting out of it this time."
"So, you're going to kill me, is that it?" he asked, twisting his hands against the magical ropes. "That's original, I must say."
"I'm not a murderer," Goldstein spat, ladling a measure of the potion into a little cup. "Unlike you, filthy Death Eater."
"I've never killed anyone," Draco argued. "You know that. We were in school together."
"Yeah, and you chose the wrong side. What makes you think you deserve Harry?"
Draco swallowed hard. "You're right, I don't deserve him. But I love him. And, for whatever insane reason, he loves me."
"Yes, well, we'll see how long that lasts, won't we?" Stumbling forward, Goldstein reached out, even as Draco flinched away, and took a strand of hair, pulling it roughly from his head.
When he lowered one hair into the cup with the potion, Draco gasped, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk. "You think he won't recognise the difference? Polyjuice doesn't give you someone's personality. He'll know you aren't me."
"Will he? You've been a bit all over the place for several months now. He'll think you've been cursed again. And that means he'll make every effort to break the curse, and he'll eventually realise I'm not changing back, and he'll fall in love with me for who I am. He'll be so in love with me, he'll be happy when he learns I'm not you! He'll welcome me, he'll—"
"Send you to the Janus Thickey Ward," Draco muttered.
"It doesn't matter," Goldstein snapped. "I only need him distracted for three days."
"Three days?" Draco asked, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. He pinched his nose and knocked back the potion, grimacing at the taste. "What happens in three days?"
By the time he answered, Goldstein smirked down at Draco from his own lips, his grey eyes alight with terrible excitement. "In three days, you lose, Malfoy." Taking out his wand, he levelled it at Draco's chest, narrowed his eyes, and cast. "Beluga sevruga, come winds of the Mediterranean Sea. Larengix glaucitis, et max laryngitis, la voce to me. Now, speak."
Draco frowned, frantically trying to work out what the spell should do. When it struck him, he gasped and opened his mouth to shout.
But nothing came out.
Goldstein laughed—a harsh, manic sound. "Now, to keep you at bay," he cackled, casting again.
A white light surrounded Draco for the second time that year, and he howled silently in pain as his legs twisted, sealed themselves together. The knitting of flesh was excruciating, if short-lived, and before he could take a proper breath, his legs were gone. In their place, a long, emerald green tail lay glistening on the rocks. Goldstein released his hands and Draco reached out to touch, jolted when he saw the shiny green scales also trailed down his arms to cover his hands, his fingers slightly webbed.
Turning, Draco lunged across the rocks, grabbing at Goldstein’s ankles as he danced away, laughing a cruel mutation of his own laugh.
“What are you going to do?” he taunted. “You can’t move, you can’t cast a spell. And you can’t have Harry.” Striding as gracefully over the rocky terrain as he could, he moved back to the cauldron, pouring it into a flask and adding more hair. “You’ll be stuck in that cove forever. Harry can’t save you; he won’t even know you’re gone until it’s too late to break the curse.”
Three days, Draco realised. That was why he had three days. While Goldstein ranted into the wind, he threw himself into motion, grasping at rocks and dragging himself toward the water. He cringed every time a jagged edge sliced through the tender new scales where his thighs used to be, but he pressed on, determined to make it back to Harry. Before long, Goldstein’s words faded and his laughter resumed, coming closer as he followed Draco’s path.
“Here,” he said, his tone a mocking kind of helpful, “let me.” And he bent, grabbed a fistful of Draco’s hair, and dragged him the rest of the way to the edge of the water before propping one heel on his hip and leaning forward to look him in the eye. “Be sure you don’t miss the wedding now, Malfoy.”
Rising, he kicked out, sending Draco careening over the edge and into the water with a crash.
-
Harry smiled at Draco across the table as they ate in silence. The month since they’d arrived in France had been bliss. With no threats, no responsibilities beyond wrapping up the plans for the wedding, he could imagine this was what the rest of their lives would be like. Waking up together, preparing meals side by side, chasing each other across the beach and through the waves. He was beyond happy, but Draco… Draco had been quiet all day. Watching him eat for a moment, Harry frowned. Something was off. From the moment Harry had woken up to now, Draco seemed…wrong...but he couldn’t put his finger on how.
“Okay,” he said, setting down his fork and drawing Draco’s attention. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“What? Oh, n-nothing, Harry. Everything is fine. Perfect.”
“You’ve barely said a word since you came back from your swim yesterday. Are you upset that I didn’t join you?”
“O-of course not, honey. I could never be upset with you.”
Harry frowned again. Honey? Narrowing his eyes when Draco ducked his head, he watched as he lifted his fork to his mouth again, taking a dainty bite. With the wrong hand. A possibility occurred to Harry, and he wanted to approach it delicately.
Clearing his throat, he lifted his own fork in an attempt to remain calm. “So, er… did you see anyone today?" he asked lamely.
"Hmm, no. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's been a while since we arrived. I mean, how long until we expect that they'll find us?"
"Oh, Harry, you worry too much. No one's going to find us here."
"I don't worry too much, Draco. They've cursed you so many times. They've done everything they can to keep us apart. Goldstein is still out there. You said, yourself, that he wouldn't give up."
"I'm beginning to think I was wrong," Draco said, frowning at his plate. "Goldstein is harmless. The worst he could do was turn me into a beast, and that was temporary."
"He tried to kill you, Draco!" Harry cried, then stilled, realisation dawning. "He's been here, hasn't he? He's cursed you again. What did he do?"
Rising, he rounded the table and pressed a hand to Draco's cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes. "How do you feel? What's different?"
"N-nothing! Harry, I'm okay, really. No one has been here; nothing’s happened!"
In spite of his assurances, Harry was sure something was wrong. Maybe he just didn't remember it. Desperate, he bent and captured Draco's lips in his, kissing him deeply. But nothing happened.
Or, rather, nothing he expected happened. A familiar flavour lingered on Draco's lips, a flavour he'd never forget.
Polyjuice.
Harry jerked away, wiping the kiss from his lips and drawing his wand.
"Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Draco?" he demanded, aiming at the man’s chest.
"Harry, what are you—"
"Tell me who you are!"
The stranger posing as Draco stilled, his face falling into an expression Draco never wore, his features warped by madness. "I am Draco," he insisted, his eyes flat and vacant."
Harry stepped closer, jabbing his wand into his chest. "I won't ask again."
Now, he flinched. "I-I could be him, Harry. No one would know. We could be—"
"Shut up!" Harry cried, panic creeping into his heart. "Where is he?"
The eyes that weren't really Draco's narrowed, darkened. "You'll never find him in time. Soon, I'll be all that's left of him."
He began to laugh, high and manic, and Harry snapped. Shooting a Stupify, he felt a dark sense of satisfaction when the stunned body hit the ground. He stared for a long moment, nausea roiling in his stomach as he reminded himself over and over that this wasn't Draco. It only looked like him.
Binding him, Harry left him where he landed, crumpled on the floor, then raced to the door and out into the night.
-
Draco swam the length of the beach, back and forth, again and again. It had been two days, and Harry had come out each evening, screaming for Draco but unable to see him in the dark. Yesterday, he'd searched the terrain around the cove with the daylight—too focused to see Draco splashing about frantically in the waves—and screamed himself hoarse at night.
Today was the last day and Draco was desperate; there had to be a way to get Harry's attention. And, at around midday, he got his chance.
As he watched, Ron and Hermione popped into view on the shore, the latter quickly pocketing what must have been a portkey as glanced around. Draco waved, throwing his arms in the air and flailing them about, to no avail. When they spotted the villa, they wasted no time following the path into the house.
And Draco lost another opportunity.
Even as he lamented his failure, though, the door was swinging open and all three were walking quickly back down to the beach.
"...out there, over the rocks. I was looking for something like a cave or, I don't know what, where Goldstein could have hidden him."
"Have you tried a location spell?"
"Yes, 'Mione; it keeps telling me he's here."
Draco waved his arms again, swimming as close to the beach as he could before the water became too shallow, then splashing his tail madly. They were too focused on each other and the plan they were formulating to find him. A plan that wouldn't work if it didn't include looking in the water.
He had to try something drastic. Turning, Draco swam to the center of the cove before diving underwater and shooting himself back toward the shore. When he was as close as he dared to go, he broke through to the air, kicking with the powerful tail and rising up out of the water to dance on its surface.
He heard Hermione gasp, saw Ron jump, and watched Harry's jaw drop in the space of a moment before he came crashing down, landing on the beach and sliding a few feet forward as the trio raced to his aid.
“Draco?” Harry cried, falling to his knees beside the magnificent creature.
Its hair was the right colour, and its skin, but this was… it wasn’t even a merperson, really. Not a real one. It looked nothing like the merpeople in the Great Lake at Hogwarts but, instead, resembled muggle art work and folk tales of what a mermaid was.
Carefully, Harry turned the creature in his arms, pushing long, pale hair aside to see the face.
There was no denying it; he was covered in scales and seagrass, but it was definitely Draco’s face. "Oh, baby," Harry murmured. "I'm so sorry, I was looking in the wrong place, wasn't I?"
Smirking, Draco nodded, but didn't say anything.
Ron and Hermione smiled down at Draco, their arms sliding to encompass each other's waist. "So, you're half fish," Ron said. "How do we fix that?"
"He's not half fish," Hermione argued, swatting his stomach. Then she sighed, "he's a mermaid. Er, mer man ."
"That's not what merpeople look like," Ron countered, a bit redundantly. Hermione just rolled her eyes.
"He has a point, though," Harry said thoughtfully. "How do we fix this?"
It was Draco who rolled his eyes, this time, the look in them speaking volumes. Though why he didn't just speak, Harry didn't—
"Oh my god, you can't talk, can you?" he asked, struck with the thought. Draco grinned and patted his cheek in praise. "No wonder you didn't answer me. For fuck's sake. I'll kill Goldstein. What if I never—oomph," he said, breaking off when Draco grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and dragged him down, locking their lips together.
Golden light swirled around them, but neither saw it until they broke apart and Draco's eyes snapped down to watch his legs unknit themselves, springing apart into two separate limbs once again.
Ecstatic, he looked back up to see the wonder in Harry's eyes, opened his mouth to speak, and… nothing. Scowling, he lifted a hand to rub at his throat, tried again. But no sound came out.
Harry sighed, then rose and lifted Draco in his arms. "It was too much to hope for," he said quietly. "I guess it's back to St. Mungo's."
Draco felt like crying, so he laid his head on Harry's shoulder and let himself be carried into the house to wait for another portkey.
-
"Goldstein is talking!" Harry announced, striding into Draco's room in St. Mungo's. "Well, ranting, but he's dropped more names than O'Neill and the others combined."
"That's great," Draco said wearily. "Does that mean we can get married in peace?"
"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "They're raiding their meeting place as we speak; he said there were only two people left. We'll get them."
"Good. Come sit with me?"
He complied, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Draco close. "It's over, baby. No one is going to hurt you ever again."
Draco hoped he was right.