Chapter Text
Harry Potter sat at his desk staring at the random artifact his partner had just set down in front of him. "What is it?" he asked in confusion.
His partner shrugged and drawled, "I have no idea. Shacklebolt wants a full report by Monday, though."
"So much for my weekend," Harry muttered.
"Got big plans, Potter? Maybe bedding the weaslette?"
"Don't call her that, Malfoy."
Draco smirked. "Maybe if you'd marry her, she'd be more willing to lift her skirt."
"Maybe I don't want to marry her."
"Why ever not?"
"Malfoy! Potter!" They both turned toward the door, where a large black man was standing and observing them. "Stop bickering like an old married couple and get to work!"
"I am not old." Draco huffed.
"Yes, Kingsley," Harry sighed. "What are we supposed to do with this thing?"
"Figure out what it is and what it does, by Monday."
"It's Friday afternoon. Do you know anything at all about it?"
"The script on it might be Semitic."
"Is that a language?" Draco asked.
Kingsley Shacklebolt silently handed him a large tome. When he merely lifted an eyebrow, Shacklebolt sighed. "It's a universal translator, Malfoy. Copy the script exactly onto a page. The opposing page will display any possible languages and what it means in those languages. Once you've done that, figure out the probable language and search for relevant myths and legends recorded in it. I trust Hogwarts taught you how to research."
Draco glared. "Do not patronize me."
Shacklebolt ignored him. "Enjoy your weekend, boys, and do try not to kill each other."
They heard someone down the corridor shout, "But feel free to shag each other!" before the door clicked shut.
Draco set down the book and picked up the object again. It was made of some kind of hard wood, whether natural or spelled he did not know. The wood was yellowish in color, each band separated by thin, dark lines. The object was shaped roughly like a box with poles sticking out the two ends. What he presumed was the top looked as if something had once been attached, but had broken off. The long sides were covered in small script that looked like random lines to Draco. They could have been Arabic, he supposed. In conclusion, he said, "It's ugly, whatever it is."
"Give it here," Harry said, finally.
"I'm studying it."
"I'll give it back in a minute. I want to start deciphering the script." Reluctantly, Draco handed it over and watched as Harry pressed a paper to the side, then ran a bit of coal over it. When he pulled the paper away, there was an approximation of the script on it. He handed the object back to Draco, then began copying the script into the book.
After several minutes and false starts, he read aloud,
"'Ge'ez,' whatever that means.
"'It is written: I will keep the covenant with whomever has faith in me, even as Ibrahim who bound his only beloved son before me and waited with reverence, the sacrificial blade in hand. I will bestow on-'"
"What are you reading, Potter? Some guy bragging about killing his follower's son?"
"I don't know. Ibrahim sounds vaguely familiar."
"Never heard of him."
Harry wrote a hurried letter and stood. "I'll be back in a while."
Draco read over the rest of the translation in Harry's absence. It frightened him. In his mind, the speaker was the Dark Lord, bragging about someone, possibly his own father, handing his sole child over to him to die in some twisted ceremony. Draco was only vaguely aware of slipping to the floor as he recalled the pain of taking the Dark Mark, of being forced to bind himself to his father's master. He remembered vividly the certainty he had felt at the thought of being tortured and murdered. He had fully believed he would not survive the war.
Harry returned to find Draco sitting on the floor, leaning against his desk and shivering. "Draco? Are you okay?" Harry crouched beside him and forced the object from his fingers, then picked up the book from the floor and set them both on the desk. He turned back to Draco and took in his pained look and tear-stained face. Gently, he pulled the upset man against him. "Tell me what's wrong, Draco."
"The words ..."
"The translation?"
Draco nodded silently. After a long silence, he added, "The Dark Lord."
Harry read the translation, a description first of a man handing his son's life to a powerful ruler, presumeably, then a couple lines about the ruler delivering his followers from those who would corrupt and destroy them. He stared for a long time, wondering if the author had been or had served an earlier dark lord. He understood why Draco was upset. His own father had handed him to Voldemort. He hugged Draco again. "Bad memories?" Draco nodded. "Want to talk about them?"
"You're not my shrink, Potter."
"No, but I am your friend. When you're ready to talk, I'll listen."
Draco struggled shakily out of Harry's arms. "We should finish the translations."
"You still look a bit out of sorts. Want some tea or something?"
"I'm fine, Potter."
Harry stood and returned to his desk. He worked diligently on the translations, wondering why the names seemed so familiar. House of Ibrahim ... where had he heard that before?
Draco had left, most likely to wash up and compose himself. He returned about half an hour later, a message in one hand and two books in the other. "Feeling better?" Harry asked.
Draco ignored the question and handed Harry the message. "This just came for you. I picked up a couple books on ancient languages."
Harry opened the message and read it silently. He looked up at Draco. "Could you fetch me a copy of the Bible?"
"That Muggle religious book?"
"Yes, the Christian one, any version. Hermione says she thinks Ibrahim may be the same as Abraham. The story of Abraham sacrificing his son is in the Book of Genesis in the Old Testament. I want to read it."
Draco set down the books he was holding, then swept out of the room, quietly grumbling about Muggle barbarism.
Harry smiled weakly at his back. Draco amused him, but this task had genuinely unsettled the blonde. Harry would be glad when Monday was over.
Draco brought both the Bible and a pot of tea with him when he returned. As he poured some tea for each of them, he asked, "Find anything new?"
"Yeah, after bragging about the loyalty of Ibrahim, the writer describes his loyal follower Elias who killed his enemies and converted others to his side by calling fire from the heavens. Apparently Elias was also compassionate, as he brought a boy back to life once. I think he was a wizard."
"How can you bring someone back to life?"
"He did it by stretching himself upon the boy in his own bed, it says." Draco paled and the book of Semitic languages slipped from his fingers. "Draco? Are you alright?"
Draco sat down slowly, still shaking. "He raped him."
"What do you mean?"
"In the war, some of the first-generation Death Eaters enjoyed ... tying us down and ..." Draco's voice cracked and he stopped. Harry stood and moved to his side. Draco clung to him, shaking silently.
"They raped you," Harry whispered as he hugged the blonde. Draco nodded. Harry hated Kingsley in that moment for giving them such a horrible project. At last, he said, "Let me bring you home. We can finish tomorrow."
Draco nodded weakly, but when they reached Draco's house, he refused to release Harry. "Stay with me. The nightmares ..."
"I'm here, Draco. I'll stay as long as you need me."