To Kill You With a Kiss

Chapter 16

Tom pointed his yew wand at the wrought iron gates in front of Malfoy Manor. To Harry's surprise, the gates swung open before them before Tom had even uttered a spell.

Tom smiled slightly. "I think Malfoy Manor recognizes me, Harry. It must think that I am Voldemort. Or perhaps the magic of the house remembers my wand. It's rather odd, isn't it? There are now two identical yew wands in this time, one belonging to me, and one to him. I wonder what will happen when we point them at each other?"

They walked in silence up the path that led to the manor house. The gardens were in bloom now. At Hogwarts, spring was always a wild rush of colors, but the gardens of Malfoy Manor were of a paler hue. White lilies, blue-tinged rue and silver-green wormwood grew under pale green weeping willows. Snow-white climbing roses adorned steep iron trellises, and white marble fountains were surrounded by the faded hues of silverweed and artemisia. Ancient yew trees, cut into the shapes of strange beasts, grew along the garden path, fantastic topiaries against the darkening evening sky. The air itself felt different in here, loftier and more austere, as if it belonged to a different, colder spring. The gardens were silent at this hour; no birds were singing. Only the eerie lament of distant peacocks echoed among the trees.

The white manor itself hovered like a ghostly apparition in the deepening twilight, a pale expanse of marble, stretching its tall spires against the dark sky. They walked up the sweeping marble steps and found that the heavy front door opened before them, as the gate had done. They stepped into a vast entrance hall, wands held out in front of them.

"I don't see anyone." Harry's whisper echoed in the silence of the great hall. His glance swept over the solemn dark portraits on the pale walls, the tall, narrow windows with their pointed arches, the dizzying vault of the ceiling far above... No wonder Draco became what he is; who can imagine a child laughing in this hushed cathedral silence? Somehow, I think I'd rather have my cupboard under the stairs.

"Elias? Oh, Merlin, I must be dreaming."

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready. The marble hall was empty, and he couldn't understand where the voice was coming from.

"Up there, Harry," whispered Tom. He pointed his wand at one of the portraits.

"Oh." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he looked up at the portrait of a handsome man with long white-gold curls. "Hello, Abraxas."

How old was Abraxas in the portrait? Forty? Fifty? Or maybe even older; it was never easy to tell with wizards. His features were more refined and chiseled now, and his face had lost some of its rounded softness, but he was still Abraxas.

"I didn't know that portraits could dream. This is a dream, isn't it, Elias?" Abraxas' voice was soft.

Harry could hear Tom muttering under his breath: "Abraxas. Of course. He just had to be here, didn't he?"

"It's my house, Tom." Abraxas grinned, looking very much like his seventeen year old self all of a sudden. "Where the hell else did you expect my portrait to be? Slughorn's office? Or maybe in Elias' bedroom? You never did forget me, did you, Elias?"

Harry couldn't help laughing. "You are as impossible dead as you were alive, Abraxas."

Abraxas' portrait beamed. "I'd like to think so. I always was a bad influence, wasn't I? Speaking of bad influences, Elias - between you and me, Tom didn't turn out all that great in the end either. He comes by here quite a bit; both Lucius and Narcissa seem to adore him, but I can't help thinking to myself: Elias really would have been much better off with me..."

Abraxas' glance lingered on Tom. He frowned slightly. "This is a dream, right? I've imagined you walking in that door often enough, Elias, but I really don't understand why you brought him along. Tom, I really must insist that you get out of this dream right away. I would much rather be alone with Elias."