Disclaimer: Still not mine, still no profit.

AN: Well, I don't know… there is some exposition mixed in with all the yelling.

A Bicycle in the Family Tree

Part 23

Madame Pince had been cutting the group a lot of slack recently. Although they occasionally became loud, she had it on good authority (Dumbledore's, of course), that they were working on something important. The outburst of yelling and swears that followed Draco's defection, however, could not be be tolerated and after being kicked out of the library Buffy and the Hogwart's trio found themselves out by the lake where they could holler to their heart's content.

Not that Buffy had been involved in the yelling or swearing. Instead, she watched in disbelief and growing anger as Harry and Ron alternated between ranting and a horrible sort of vindictive triumph: of course Draco had betrayed them, what else could you expect from a Malfoy, they knew all along he was a Death Eater, you can't trust a Slytherin, and I told you so, I told you so, I told you so. Hermione was standing quietly by the edge of the water with a solemn, "someone just kicked a puppy" look on her face that made Buffy want to smack it off of her.

Buffy knew this type of betrayal. She had lived it once already in an amazing technicolor of blood and death and swords. Been there, done that, and thanks for the memories. In an absent sort of way, Buffy supposed that she should be more sympathetic to their shock but this was her brother they were maligning and it was so obvious that beyond the personal sense of betrayal, they were (Harry and Ron, at least) concerned only with what this meant for them, the prophesy, and not for Draco himself.

She, on the other hand, was very concerned with Draco; not because he had betrayed her, but because she knew that he hadn't. Which begged the question of where he was and what had happened to him.

Queen D., she thought numbly, pressing the palm of her hand over the necklace hidden under her shirt. What did they do to you? and Please be okay.

A sudden pulse of heat shot through the vial and Buffy gasped audibly.

This noise, pretty much the first she had made since the whole mess began, brought the trio's attention back to her.

"Buffy," said Hermione, still looking so solemn. "How are you doing?"

"I am so far from fine it's not even funny," replied Buffy sharply. "I can't believe you jackasses!"

A surprisingly sympathetic Ron tried to talk her down.

"Buffy, I know it's hard to imagine, but I know how you feel. When my brother, Percy, turned his back on the family, well, I wanted to lash out, too. But you have to know, you're taking this out on the wrong people."

"The wrong people?" said Buffy. "I don't think so. You're all supposed to be the good guys, but you're awful! You want to talk about loyalty and betrayal? You're so narrow-minded and prejudiced. And unforgiving! We should be trying to figure out what happened and how to save Draco, but you're so busy being petty and vindictive that you can't even see the truth."

Hermione hesitated before beginning her attempt to reason with the irate slayer.

"I understand that you're upset, but Buffy… I don't think Draco wants us to save him," she offered gently. Bad move.

"And you!" Buffy was all too eager to turn her anger on the bushy-haired witch. "You're supposed to be so smart, but what the hell? Have you never heard of a little thing called magic? Imperius curses? Polyjuice? 'Cause I seem to remember them featuring pretty prominently in some of the adventures you've had."

The comprehension was beginning to dawn in the collective eyes of the trio, but Buffy wasn't quite done yet.

"Let me break this down for you, and I'll try to use small, British words. That was not Draco. He didn't move like Draco, he didn't act like Draco. Hell, he didn't even smell like Draco! And he was wearing that ugly snake necklace instead of the Geminus Cruor vial I gave him, but I can feel that connection, it hasn't been broken…" Buffy trailed off, her gaze turning distant.

"Buffy, what is it?" asked a thoroughly subdued Harry.

"Separated for darkness," she murmured, and then more loudly, "I have to go!"

"Wait," said Harry as the slayer turned to leave. "Go where?"

"To join the dark side, of course," she responded with an eye roll. "I'm going to save Draco. You gits."

On that parting note Buffy spun around and began to hurry back towards to castle. She didn't make it more than a few steps before the trio caught up with her.

"Wait, Buffy," said Harry, "maybe you're right about Draco. I really, truly hope that you are. But either way, you're going to need our help."

"Well thank god for that," said the slayer before admitting: "I have no idea what to do next."

*~*~*~*~*

Draco didn't wake up so much a move slowly from a distant awareness of pain to a very present throbbing in his skull. Opening his eyes cautiously, he was first relived by the dimness of the room—and then extreme anxiety set in as he took in the damp, mildewed walls of a dungeon. Not just any walls of any dungeon, mind you, but the vaguely familiar, spent-a-childhood-pretending-not-to-be-afraid-to-go-down-there, Malfoy Manor dungeon.

"Ow," he mumbled, pressing his hand against his temple in an effort to sooth the agonizing pain in his head, a pain that seemed to worsen as he struggled to remember how, exactly, he had gone from the relative safety of Hogwart's castle to the depths of his ancestral home.

"Alright there?" The disembodied voice sounded more concerned than threatening, but Draco immediately jumped up from the narrow pallet he had been "resting" on. He almost immediately regretted this venture into sudden movement as his head swam warningly and little black spots danced before his eyes.

"Bloody hell," he winced, finding himself back on the bed with his eyes closed and wondering who had invited the entire clog dancing troupe of North Lancashire into his head. When he felt more confident in his ability to move and talk without yarking, he re-opened his eyes and finally managed to focus on the shadowy figure who was sitting on the pallet across from him. It was Blaise Zabini.

Draco frowned. "What are you—" he cut himself off as the lost memories finally came back. Memories of Blaise somehow exploding the potion in class and making an oddly big deal about a few drops of the mixture landing on his hand. Draco escorting the whinging baby to the infirmary. Blaise, on the way, suddenly stopping, grabbing Draco by the back of the head, and slamming him into the wall.

Well, that explains the headache and temporary memory loss, I suppose, thought Draco dully, and the surge of anger that swelled through him effectively, or at least temporarily, cleared his head of the dizziness and pain.

"You bastard!" he yelled and lunged across the cell to where Blaise sat calmly, grabbing him by the shoulders. "How could you? I thought we—"

The words got stuck in his throat as Draco realized two things. The first was that although Draco was free to move about the room and grab and shake people, Blaise was actually attached to his cot by a chain on one leg. The second thing was that the excessive bruising on Blaise's face indicated that he'd also had an up close and personal meeting with a wall, or other similarly unyielding surface.

"You though we were friends?" Blaise suggested somewhat bitterly. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Draco hesitated and released his hold on the other boy.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Hmm, well that makes two of us. Actually, I suppose I have a better understanding of the situation now than I did two weeks ago when the bloke I thought I had become friends with showed up with a new sister, disappeared for a day, and then returned, only to ignore me entirely."

Draco tried to avoid making eye contact but there wasn't much else to look at in the cell. He knew he had spent most of the last week holed up with either just Buffy or both her and the trio, working on solving the damned prophesy. In all honesty, though, he had also purposely been avoiding Blaise the rest of the time because he hadn't wanted to lie to him, and telling him the truth had never been an option. As Buffy might say, it was a "need to know" basis, and not everyone needed to know. The evasive maneuvering had seemed like a logical solution at the time. The plan, however, had not taken Blaise's feelings into account, nor how it would look like Draco had abandoned his friend in order to spend time with a group he had previously disparaged at great length.

"Yes," continued Blaise, "We were such good friends you didn't even notice that I haven't been at Hogwarts for the past three days."

"That's not possible," replied Draco, but his tone was uncertain. The bruising on Blaise's face and his disheveled condition certainly seemed to suggest the boy had been dungeon-bound for several days.

"You're probably right," offered Blaise facetiously. "It's not at all possible that my Death Eater father would lure me home with a fake owl from my mother, knock me out, lock me in my room, and assume my identity through use of some polyjuice potion and a lock of my hair."

He absently rubbed at his scalp. "Bastard didn't bother with scissors, of course."

"But how did—"

"How did I end up on your family's illustrious dungeon? Daddy dearest returned home in quite a rage after the first day. It seems he thought I would have had unlimited access to you and your sister. After discovered just how "close" our friendship actually was, he had to come back for more polyjuice and hair. And to express his displeasure. At that point he moved me here, presumably to minimize the possibility of my escaping and warning you, or perhaps just as further punishment."

Blaise shrugged lightly. "For all his skills in magic, he's always been a fan of the more physical types of punishment. Very hands on, is my dad, as you yourself have discovered."

"Apparently so," replied Draco tiredly, once again feeling every throb of his head injury. The guilt he felt at how he had treated Blaise really complemented it nicely. He had told himself that shutting Blaise out was the only solution, and then put the whole situation out of his head.

"I'm sorry," he said to his friend, knowing that sorry wasn't really good enough. To his surprise, Blaise gave him a warm smile.

"No worries," said the Slytherin. "No use crying over spilled potion, and all that. I mean, since my father seems to be involved in this plot to maim and/or imprison you, it's only fair to call it even."

"We're not responsible for our fathers' actions," protested Draco, thinking of all the horrible things Lucius had done.

Blaise nodded.

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but you have to admit that we pay for them, one way or another."

Looking around the dungeon, Draco had to admit that Blaise was right.

AN2: Did you notice all the crazy mood swings? Mad, sad, angry, confused… It's like the characters have the collective attention span of a couch. Anyway, sorry about the delay. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but it's been two thirds written for several weeks, and I needed to either just finish the thing and put it out here, or stop writing for another few years.