Title: Captivated

Summary: Instead of taking Harry's hand, Draco escaped the Fiend Fyre caused by is trusty sidekick using the Vanishing Cabinet. Unfortunately, he was captured by forces unknown (yet) and was rescued by Storm and Cyclops. First day at mutant high did not go so well, in Draco's opinion.

Warning: See Chapter 1 or Prologue. Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter than the other chapters.

Chapter Two: It was supposed to be here!

"Where did he go?" seemed to be a question that plagued the former Xavier estate the moment the boy disappeared from Foley's office with a soft, echoing pop. It seemed to snap Jean out of her concentrated exchange of imaged with Foley, which made them both wince from the sudden pain that resulted with the cut of connection. Their reaction, or something or other, had also alerted the Professor, or Professor X, that something was wrong from where he sat on the Observation Deck inside the Danger Room.

Frowning, he leaned towards the PDA as his other hand hit a few buttons on the dashboard, disconnecting the power from the weaponry in the Danger Room. "Everyone, go get change, we're done for the day."

Is something wrong Jean? He murmured softly.

Down below the Observation Deck, both Nightcrawler and Shadowcat sighed in relief, since they both had something planned for the days. Rogue, with a disinterested look, stalked off the room. Bobby hooked both hands behind his head, whistling as he left, leaving Scott to make his way towards the pad that serves as an elevator, leading up to the Deck. "Is something wrong Professor?"

The Professor's wheel chair screeched softly as he turned to face him. "The new Mutant you and Storm retrieved earlier seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Jean's panicking."

"He teleported?" Scott asked, his face scrunched up in a frown.

A feeling of dread filled Professor Xavier at Scott's surprise. Normally, as normal as they can get anyhow, a Mutant possesses one or two abilities, as with Bobby's singular control over ice or Jean's telekinesis and telepathic powers. The new Mutant they had just retrieved seemed to have several, some he could control and some controls him.

Molding shields was a branch of telekinesis, something that reacts on their own without the boy having any control over it. He could make something out of thin air, like clothes, as Scott had claimed. He could heal, or something of the like, judging by the state of his body and Jean's fascination. Apparently, the boy could also teleport. If the boy could knock out two of the strongest (or at least well-trained) mutants at the school within thirty seconds, untrained, imagined what he could do to when he allowed himself to be trained.

Did he give a reason for leaving? The Professor asked. Verbally, he asked Scott as they both moved into the elevator, "have the jet ready in case he's out of our reach. I'll have Storm and Logan meet you at the hangar bay." The elevator give off a hiss as it moved down and sideways, towards Cerebra's Chamber.

Scott tilted his head, closing his eyes as he pulled off the sunglasses he just put on and slipped back on the single-framed contraption over his eyes. "You think he can go that far? Even Kurt can only go two miles or so."

No Professor, he just disappeared without a word. I can't sense him anywhere on the grounds. Can you use Cerebra to find him?

"Unfortunately, we do not know the limits of his abilities to judge," he replied to Scott. Scott is prepping the Blackbird, find Logan and Storm. The boy might be too powerful for you and Scott to take care of alone.

Yes, Professor.

As the elevator opened, Scott headed towards the right to the hangar bay, running into Wolverine, while the Professor's wheel chair rolled forward, to the end of the hallway, where Cerebra's chamber sat. She lit up as the Professor entered, as if welcoming him into her abode. The Chamber was slightly egg shaped, with a single bridge that lead from the door to the center of the room. At the end of the bridge, in the center of the room sat a rectangular table, in which a helmet connecting him to Cerebra sat.

From the lights, the panels along the walls of the cavernous chambers began to light itself up as he slipped on the helmet.

It did not take Cerebra's long to find Draco's signature, since he shone brightly among the thousands that made Earth their home. Too bright, perhaps. What intrigued him was his current location, which was halfway around the world. For a millisecond, the signature seemed to disappear before reappearing once again, in another part of the British city.

Jean?

Did you find him Professor?

He's in London.

In London…

Draco stared. Like stared, really, really hard at Lucy's Hair Salon that had popped up where Leaky Cauldron supposed to be. Unfortunately, it did not move, shimmer, or become intangible when Draco touched it.

Which was what supposed to happen, Draco glared hatefully at his reflection in the glass windows of the salon.

After Apparating out of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Draco landed in an dark alley at the edge of London. Before he had the chance to look for the Leaky Cauldon, his rumbling stomach had sent him into a local "Pizza Parlor," where he found a bakery that seemed to specialize only in baking flat bread in the shape of a large circle. "Toppings" varied from customer to customer. The place was half-filled, with it being about dinner time here in London. The pizza smelled good enough, delicious even with the fact that Draco hadn't eaten since he went through the Cabinet, he entered. Using his Legilimency skills, he navigated through ordering a plain cheese pizza for himself and paid with transfigured money.

Though he was quite disgusted with how the "Pizza" was cooked, it was well enough for him to stomach it. Afterwards, ignoring the curious gazes of various customers, Draco found himself another alley and concentrated on the street where the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron supposed to be and Apparated.

He landed in the streets, fortunately with no one about but in front of him, instead of barely blinking lights of an ancient pub (it was built in the 1500s), stood a cheery sign "Lucy's Hair Salon" right next to a strawberry. He cast several spells over the ghastly looking place, making sure Dumbledore's squib brother hadn't gone insane and decided to change his occupation. For his own sakes, of course; Draco shuddered, could not even imagine a worse person to go anywhere near his hair.

After he had ran out of spells, Draco decided that the Wizarding World had probably moved the pub to another location and if they had, it meant that the war had probably ended (who in their right mind would move a key entrance between worlds during a civil war that will decide the fate of both wizards and muggles alike?). He Apparated to Wiltshire and only found a lazy grassland that stretched form where he stood to the edges of the forest.

By the time midnight comes around, he had ran out of places. No home, no pub, not even the Forbidden Forest and Hogwarts was there. Frustrated, he plopped himself on his arse in the alley where he had first arrived in London. There was not a single sign that the Wizarding World had even existed. The War destroyed everything.

To his surprise, tears blurred his vision as faces of his parents and close friends flashed through his eyes. He would give anything right now to hear Pansy's sarcastic comments about his boots or Blaise boast about his most recent liaison. Even his mother's embarrassing tendency to kiss his nose would not be amiss. As the thoughts build up, the dam finally broke and Draco began sobbing, sitting with his chin on his arms that curled around his knees, pulling them up to his chest.

"And he felt the need to send all four of us after this runt?" a rough voice said, coming out as a soft growl and barely understood words.

Draco's head snapped up and he found himself overshadowed by a large, stocky man in a full set of black leathers with sideburns at the ends of his curly brown hair. In the shadows of the alley, a pair of glinting brown eyes stared down at him. He narrowed his eyes despite the tears still streaking his face, refusing to back down from the ferocity of the man's gaze despite the sudden thrill that ran up his spine. "I dare you to call me that again."

"Runt," the man grunted.

Draco narrowed his eyes. Ascendio. He released the magic through the palm of his hand, slamming the dark-haired man against the other side of the alley and holding him uplift against the wall. The man struggled uselessly as Draco nearly face-palmed himself. His head snapped up again as a sharp sound of sharp metal unsheathing interrupted his internal admonishment of his careless use of magic.

"Of course, you're a mutant," Draco muttered under his breath. He met the man's eyes and allowed himself to be wallowed in mind magic as flurries of images passed through his gaze. It confirmed that he was a mutant, named Wolverine, though other aliases seemed to pop up in different sets of memories. His oldest memories, however, was locked up behind a wall that without much effort, would stay there. Draco did not delve too deeply nor studied the Wolverine's memories; they were of no interest to him. To his displeasure, however, he found that the mutant affiliated with the School for mutants and that a man named Charles Xavier sent him to capture Draco, or kill him if there was no other choice.

As if they could. Cutting the connection, Draco wiped the tear stain that were on his cheeks before noticing that the man was continuing to struggle uselessly as he floated in thin air. It made for a comical sight and lessened the intimidation of the set of claws that protruded from his knuckles. "Promise you won't attack me and I'll let you down."

The man stopped and cocked his head in a way that reminded Draco of a puppy his mother once given him. That was, before his father found out and it was the last time Draco got a pet of his choosing. Pity, he didn't even remember the name he had given the pup.

Faintly, he wondered if his memories of his mother would fade as well over time. This world was unknown to him, without anyone to help or protect him out of unconditional love. Draco suddenly smiled bitterly. There was no one else in this world like him, and the closest thing to a wizard in this blasted place was a mutant, hated by most of society. Lost in thought, he did not hear Wolverine's answer until the feral growled at him. Waving a hand carelessly, he did not watch as the man landed squarely on the ground but turned his back and left the alley.

He didn't quite get out, since something equal to a giant boulder tackled him and held him bodily against the dirty wall of the alley. "Let go of me before I really get mad Wolverine." Draco frowned.

"Oh yeah, what are you going to do?" the grip around his neck got stronger. "And how the hell do you know me?"

"Saw your memories, and the Professor doesn't really want you to kill me so let go before I decide to retaliate." Draco murmured, resisting the urge to squirm against the grip around his neck. To his exasperation, the position reminded of the first time Blaise had took him, biting down on his shoulder while thrusting inside him. It had hurt, at first anyway. Fortunately, he faced away from the mutant and the shadows hid his blush marvelously.

After what seems to be a very long two minutes, the grip around his neck loosened and Draco stumbled away, rubbing his neck. "Are all Americans this uncivilized?" he grumbled. He'd probably have bruises around his neck by now.

"Canadian, actually," Wolverine replied and to Draco's shock, the man leaned down and picked him up around the waist.

With his shoulder pressing against Draco's stomach, he rose, efficiently throwing Draco over his shoulder as he began walking out of the alley. "What in Merlin's hell do you think you're doing?" Draco snapped, digging his elbow into Wolverine's shoulder. "Put me down or you'll bloody wish you've never been born!"

"Quiet down or I'll shut it for ya," Wolverine replied in softer tones but completely ignored his instructions as he continued walking.

"I should have you castrated," Draco replied in exasperation before taking a deep breath. At the very least, he wasn't chased by Aurors or Death Eaters and he was not burned alive with Fiend Fyre. "I assume we're going back to the blasted mutant school?"

"You're the mind reader," Wolverine replied without a care in the world.

"Mind reading is rude," Draco sneered. If sometimes necessary. "I saw your memories, things that happen to you. I don't hear your thoughts and quite frankly, I don't want to be inside your head. Now put me down!" When he didn't get a replied, he jerked his knee, felt it connect but no reaction. Draco ground his teeth before taking another deep breath; the swaying rhythm of being carried like a sack of potatoes was getting to him. Not to mention that the sight of his hair along with the ever-moving pavement was quite dizzying. "Put me down! You know I can kill you with the snap of my finger."

It was untrue, since to use Avada Kedavra, one has to want the victim's death as well and while the Canadian mutant was infuriating, he did not warrant death. Wolverine seemed to sense this somehow and resolutely refused to put him down.

"Damn it! I demand that you put me down this second!"

"You demand huh?" Wolverine replied infuriatingly.

For the first time in years, Draco felt like bodily hurting somebody. As if sensing the limit of his temper, Wolverine spoke up again. "If you tell me why you were crying, I'll put ya down."

The question shuts Draco up, for at least five minutes before he broke out of his wolf-imposed stupor and scowled, though no one can see it. "Its none of your business and I was not crying, now put me down!"

"Nope."

Unbeknownst to them, there was someone watching from a tall window, their gaze curious as they watched a man, probably in his late thirties doing what was much like a kidnapping. The kid was probably fifteen, sixteen, with platinum blonde hair and despite the obvious maturity, the kid's face was familiar to most Europeans across the continent, since it was plastered on every billboards across the country for an entire year, half a decade ago.

Smiling in glee, the man used his phone to snap a quick picture before dialing.

Lucky for him, despite the time being somewhere between one and two in the morning, a soft, feminine voice answered him. "Malfoy Incorporated, how may we help you today?"

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