Draco Malfoy and the House of Black

London Fireworks

Draco sat on the ground as the ropes wound around his helpless wrists and ankles, staring up at the Animagus with the smoking hand. He could only pant for breath and wait for Black to kill him, just as Severus had warned him he would. But Black didn't say anything.

Draco realized once Black shoved his singed hand in Draco's face that it was a question, one that Black could not ask with a cursed tongue. The Langlock still held, but Black could do wordless magic, at least of the less complex kind under stress. Black couldn't lift the Langlock, though, not that he seemed concerned right away about that. Instead, he gave another wave of his hand, which looked much like Mother's after their visit to Ollivander's. Except it was darker, closer to black than red after the moment of impact.

When Draco didn't give an explanation, Black got his own wand back, leaving the talon wand behind on the ground and magically dragging Draco back down the hall. At least Draco did not have to slide far over the unforgiving ground before they reached the living room, where Black hauled him onto one of the less rotted armchairs.

Draco might still have protested the besmirching of his holly-green silk robe and mint-green cashmere jumper, by touching the faded old red velvet upholstery, but for the state they were already in, so sullied and wet and scorched that any green color they'd once had was unrecognizable. So much for his second-best Christmas robes, and the jumper his mother had given him just that morning. She'd be lucky if she had a son to come back to her in it.

Black tied the ropes to the chair in impressive-looking knots before turning on Draco again. He held up his palm, then jabbed his wand into the underside of Draco's chin. Black seemed to have been lucky enough, like Mother, to at least pick up the talon wand with his non-dominant hand. His gaze and the gesture were eloquent enough, demanding healing.

"I don't know how to reverse it," Draco said, the first words he had ever spoken to his first cousin once removed. "I've tried before and it didn't work. This wand just has a will of its own."

Black scowled at him, looking about as likely to believe that as anyone would under the circumstances. He shook his hand, with pain visibly riddling through his body from it. Then he pointed to his mouth instead, like if he couldn't get his hand fixed, at least he wanted to yell at Draco about it. That, Draco could address. And his natural inclination was to be contrary, but not against a murderous madman. "That I can fix with just a counterspell, but it has to be by me. And I can't do it without a wand." Draco tried to look innocent and helpless. "I've never been any good at wandless magic."

Black squinted at him with that lined haunted face, seeming to take a good look at his captive for the first time, and then waved his wand in the air in a dismayingly impressive wordless Flagrate charm. Of course not. Child. Draco nodded vigorously in agreement, though usually he would have protested the sentiment. His thirteen-year-old body had no doubt already led Black to underestimate him, and maybe it would make him more merciful. I give your wand, you undo, give wand back, Black wrote in flaming letters, and Draco nodded again.

Black brought back the talon wand with trepidation, floating it before him and dropping it onto Draco's lap, where he seemed surprised not to see it burn. He jabbed his wand right into Draco's forehead before loosening the bound on Draco's right wrist, and slowly, carefully, to show he meant no disobedience, Draco reached for the wand, and cast "Finite incantatem." Black reached up to touch his tongue, marveling at it, and his wand went up enough to make Draco seize the chance and yell, "Sectumsempra!"

Black dodged the curse with ease, and slammed his fist right into Draco's face.

"Enervate," Draco heard, waking some interval later, his head pounding for so many reasons. His right eye had once again swollen shut, though honestly this time. His bonds were more secure than before, his wand sitting untouched on the floor just out of reach of his feet, and Sirius Black had his wand on him, waking him. Behind Black, there was a large scorch trail and cuts in the floorboards that extended all the way to the opposite wall, where there were half a dozen wide dark cuts still smoking black, shaped like great talons had raked across them.