Harry Potter Trilogy
by: Stacy Renee

Story One: Harry Potter and the Cunning Plan

Story begins during the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (about chapter 28) and remains very true to canon up until this point.
Please disregard Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I know I do.

Plot: Draco Malfoy fails to kill Dumbledore and is unable (or unwilling?) to return to the ranks of the Death Eaters. He joins with Harry and the Order in the fight. Dumbledore has explained to Harry what to do (sort of) and Draco fills in a lot of gaps, as well as teaching cool magic and wittily increasing the content rating, to help destroy Horcruxes and defeat a more evil Voldemort.

Author's Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter was created by J.K Rowling. I don't own any of the rights to the series and am not making a profit from the release of my fan-fiction. …this story brought to you by (early) Muse and Dave Grohl's biceps, Kashi (the frozen dinners, not the cereals), my cat's antics, my best friend, and my ex-boyfriend – who taught me what it meant to be in love and then set me free.

Warnings: High rating for language, violence, and sexual content. This Draco Malfoy may be out of character, but I quite prefer to see him sword-fighting with demons, wearing leather trousers, and rocking a better haircut than Tom Felton's ever known.

Requests: Please review. As of today, 07/15/2011, I've finished writing the first story's chapter outlines and all three story arcs, but I feel like I could use some help to fill in incomplete scenes even for this first story. I also need a second Beta (preferably a Brit - to inject this story with slang and witticisms like it's Madonna's forehead, lips, and/or neck - and someone intimately familiar with the inane facts of the canon series), so check out my profile on this site or on facebook if you're interested.

"There was a decorated General, with a heart of gold
That likened him to all the stories he told
Of past battles, won and lost, and legends of old;
A seasoned veteran in his own time.

On the battle-field he gained respectful fame,
With many medals of bravery and stripes to his name.
He grew a beard as soon as he could to cover the scars on his face
And always urged his men on.

But on the eve of a great battle with the infantry, in dream
The old general tossed in his sleep and wrestled with its meaning.
He awoke from that night to tell what he had seen
And walked slowly out of his tent.

All the men held tall with their chests in the air,
With a courage in their blood, and a fire in their stare.
And it was a grey morning and they all wondered how they would fare,
'til the old General told them to go home.

He said,
"I have seen the others
And I have discovered
That this fight is not worth fighting.
No.

And I've seen their mothers
And I will no other
To follow me where I'm going.

So, take a shower and shine your shoes;
You've got no time to lose.
You are young men, you must be living.

Take a shower and shine your shoes;
You've got no time to lose.
You are young men, you must be living.
Go, now, you are forgiven."

But the men stood fast, with their guns on their shoulders,
Not knowing what to do with their contradicting orders.
The General said he would do his own duty, but he would extend it no further.
The men could go as they pleased.

But not a man moved; their eyes all gazed straight ahead,
'til one by one they stepped back and not a word was said.
And the old General was left with his own words echoing in his head.
He then prepared to fight."

-The General, Dispatch

CHAPTER ONE: 'Resistant to the Cruciatus Curse' or Altogether Unforgivable

Draco swung one arm wide to steady himself. He'd landed hard on solid ground and fire tore up his shins. Somehow Severus managed to keep his balance, though Draco had had to Apparate both of them back to relative safety within the fiefdom of Malfoy Manor and had nearly fallen and on his arse anyway. The air here was charged with something Dark and the cold bit at your skin. Another lovely homecoming, but then Malfoy Manor was not built to be welcoming and inviting.

Draco blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, actually feeling the effort Severus Snape was putting into remaining motionless beside him. It was probably lucky they had all of their fingers and toes, as he'd prioritized time during the Ministry's apparition classes by trying to get Potter to splinch himself and couldn't quite recall the 'four D's'. He looked down at his hands. In the dim light they were only just visible, but seemed to be intact. Maybe there were only three "D"s after all. Potter-

"Well?" An excited voice broke through the stillness. Draco narrowed his eyes and stared hard into the inky purple-blackness of a vast hall that stretched on beyond his senses, without any candles or torches lit. The voice seemed to bounce off of the walls and come back at him from all angles. The echo died and the sound of his heart pounding in his own ears was the only response. He felt a shift in the air, cool breeze swept the side of his face as Snape moved sharply to their right. Draco followed suit, stepping out from behind him and getting his wand hand ready; tensing the muscles in his left hand and focusing on feeling each of his fingertips, when actually reaching for his wand could prove deadly. He tried not to think too loudly. There was the soft rustle of a Death Eater apparating in front of them and Draco realized he must have missed the first arrivals. Maybe Amycus and Alecto hadn't rushed away from the castle, but there was no doubt in Draco's mind that Fenrir Greyback was already drooling at The Dark Lord's feet.

"Things," Severus drawled, his voice silken and dripping with cold irritation, "did not go as planned."

"Aha!" Draco heard another, female, voice and squinted against the darkness as he saw his Aunt Bellatrix moving toward him. Her pale skin shone at him just so that her eyes were two black holes burning in the night. "You didn't kill Dumbledore!"

Draco shrunk back from her, afraid to speak. His arms were heavy and he was quite sure he was running purely on adrenaline. A heavy smell of musk and oil invaded his nose and his stomach turned. She began circling around to stand in front of him, but kept close to the walls and stayed out of the firelight like some kind of animal.

"Draaa-co," she called his name eerily as she moved into the square where a window on the opposite wall let in a dimly glowing patch of starlight. She was holding a wand on him with each hand. The pose was more for effect however and it struck him as being ridiculous, though he was terrified of what she might do. He couldn't take much more of this.

Her hair was wild, only parts of it pulled back into an old clip which had lost several of its pearls. Anymore she only wore the one ratty dress, which was black with a full skirt that had been extremely shredded, but a rather tight bodice of ornate lace. Tonight she had paired it with even filthier robes that may once have been black, but were instead a sort of grey-brown. The bottom had gone beyond that tell-tale color change, where dirt and age ate away at magic, and there were fluid splatters in an assortment of unmentionable colors across the back of it. "You're such a little fucking coward, Draco. Now the Dark Lord will know what we all know." Her words were angry, but her eyes were sparkling with delight. The orange splatter could be Veritaserum, Draco supposed, but that was an awful lot of potion to be splashing around in.

"And you-" she whirled on Severus, drawing herself up to her full height though the man was only inches taller than Draco himself. Unable to contain herself, she spilled over with fetid laughter and clasped her hands together under her chin. "You," she cried, again, delighted.

"I know you question my loyalty my, Bella," Severus cut her off swiftly with a voice Draco recognized as that of his Professor. "But when Draco failed to kill the old man, I did it."

Bellatrix gasped at this and spoke with one hand over her mouth, "Then you-" Her heavy brow sank, but Draco couldn't read the expression on her face.

"Enough!" Severus cut her off again. Her face fell to the familiar angle it took on when she didn't hold her head up and square her shoulders. "You may tell your sister. Now, we need to report to The Dark Lord," he demanded. Bellatrix stepped backwards and Draco could no longer make out where she stood in the darkness. He was surprised to find he was actually more comfortable with a clear view of her. He made note of Snape's non-sequitor about his mother.

Snape set off in another direction and Draco followed him eagerly. They were headed along the ground floor, further into the East Wing from the Apparition Hall. Draco couldn't explain why there were no torches lit even along these wider corridors. Impressively, Severus moved as comfortably as Draco could have at a breakneck pace along the labyrinthine corridors of the abandoned wing.

"Can you believe that bird…" Draco spat, trying to be conversational. Severus didn't speak. He was probably furious with him. He ought to be furious with him. Draco wondered if he was in shock. It seemed he might be. A portrait hanging against the wall tittered at them as they rushed past and Draco was annoyed to discover he wasn't familiar with the pictures in this corridor. It could have been nearly anyone. Well, maybe not anyone.

It suddenly occurred to Draco that they were headed for the old Dining Hall beyond the kitchens. The thought of how large that room was unnerved him. It was likely that all the Death Eaters would be present. Draco absently wished he'd chosen a bolder knot for his tie that morning. Adjusting robes still askew from a hasty flight from Hogwarts, he sighed.

"Indeed," Snape's voice was unsympathetic. "I should like to speak with you, Draco." But before anything more could be said, the tall man wrenched open a door and his form was thrown into relief. Draco blinked against the sudden light and saw beyond Snape that the long table was filled and extra chairs had been set around. There must have been one hundred Death Eaters. His stomach leapt into his throat. Every face was turning toward him. He worked his jaw.

"Join us," The Dark Lord hissed. "Draco, come, sit beside your mother. And Severus?" The name was a hissed expectation.

Immediately Draco moved to sit down, glad to be out of the door where everyone was leering at the pair of them. They moved in opposite directions, for Draco's parents sat along the left side of the table in front of them and Snape occupied a place among the Death Eaters who sat immediately to the left of Lord Voldemort. Draco tried not to notice when people craned their heads to look at him as he passed, though he recognized the second son of Dolores Umbridge and Pansy's father, Francis …or maybe Frederick Parkinson. The sound of his heels on the stone floor was the only sound in the room; Snape always moved in silence, like he was a source of silence and could absorb the sounds of other imbeciles around him. Draco felt gooseflesh rise across his upper arms and chest. The atmosphere was altogether unfriendly.

Draco slid into the place beside his mother. The chair to his right stood empty. While the Death Eaters didn't customarily leave open places for those missing from their numbers, Draco supposed his father's incarceration might be a special case. Nevermind the strong possibility that his father's chair would burn the pants off of anyone else who attempted to sit on it. Snape was standing behind the only other empty chair Draco saw and staring at Voldemort, who he supposed was using Legilimency to review the events of the evening. An evil smile spread across The Dark Lord's thin mouth and he began to laugh softly. Draco heard his mother whimper beside him and The Dark Lord's laugh escalated from a wicked cackle to something frantic and maniacal. Sucking his lips back against his teeth, Draco set his jaw and resolved not to show fear. Though it seemed The Dark Lord was amused by the circumstances of his failure, the situation could turn deadly serious without any warning.

The worst of it had been between he and Dumbledore. Draco felt a muscle in his jaw jump. He sent a silent prayer to Merlin that The Dark Lord not turn to him next. Against The Dark Lord's Legilimency, Draco's skill at repressing thoughts and emotions was of little significance.

Severus remained standing behind his chair, up the table from Draco, closer to his Master's favor than Draco's own parents and therefore physically closer. The Dark Lord's laughter quieted and Severus spoke, "I completed the-"

"Ah!" The Dark Lord threw his head back with a cry and cackled louder than ever. "Bellatrix," he struggled to speak her name. Draco saw his aunt's eyes open wide as she turned to face him. "Bellatrix, try to imagine young Malfoy's face!" He gasped. They both laughed obscenely and some of the other Death Eaters joined them.

Feeling his face grow hot with embarrassment, Draco stared down at the floor. His pants were really too short. He hated it when too much sock showed because he was seated. He crossed his legs defiantly.

"Forgive me," Severus spoke in a deep drawl, "if I do not share your amusement." His tone was neutral and without its typical bite. While The Dark Lord laughed even more loudly, Bellatrix sobered and glared at Severus. Draco wondered if there was anyone she trusted aside from her Master. "The task was completed," Severus sighed. Draco heard him throw himself down into his chair. Professor Snape never tolerated interruption. Not when he so carefully selected every word.

"Yes," The Dark Lord hissed. "But not by the boy." The statement hung in the air and Draco looked up. Every Death Eater at the banquet table was staring down at their master. Though Draco couldn't see his mother, sitting on his right, he felt anxiety rolling off of her. Draco drew in a slow breath through his nose. "It has been decided," The Dark Lord spoke after a minute, "that there is a more fitting test for Draco Malfoy."

Draco stared carefully at The Dark Lord's chest. Meeting his gaze was both insolent and dangerous. Draco could feel the red eyes boring into his skull.

"Rise, boy," The Dark Lord's voice was sharp and Draco looked up. The vertical pupils were contracted nearly to straight lines in the warm glow of candlelight that filled the hall. Draco pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

Unbidden, Draco remembered an afternoon when he was eight years old…

He could smell roses on the warm air and feel the afternoon sun on his face. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat and when he raised a hand to his chest, his fingers were chubby and they touched the cool wool of his blue Christmas jumper.

Draco had dismissed his tutor early today, tired of reviewing French and Italian. The weather was perfect and he had greater designs. After breakfast, his father had called him to his study to test Draco's knowledge of Latin. During his time in the study, Draco stole a book of basic Dark Magic spells. With his afternoon all cleared up, he snuck outside to the topiary garden to revive a pet rabbit dead two years since. In the end, Draco had killed it. Though he knew the Unforgivable incantation Avada Kedavra, he'd struggled with the intent for a minute. The rotting corpse which struggled to attack him on three legs had, after all, been Sir Ears of the North Field. Draco took a step backwards, away from the slowly advancing corpse as he tried to cast the killing curse again and his legs came up against the chair. He shook his head.

"This task will be of much greater purpose," The Dark Lord nodded. Draco was suddenly aware of the chill in the hall and uncomfortable in the presence of the other Death Eaters again.

"You're going to perform Bifrons Voco," Bellatrix nearly shouted, unable to contain herself.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Abyssus abyssum invocat," Snape muttered.

"The Bifrons Voco spell," The Dark Lord hissed, "is performed to call forth the daemon Bifrons and his legion from the depths of Hell." He paused for dramatic effect and Draco watched Bellatrix scratching at her arms. "They are bound to the caster and must complete whatever task is asked of them to be freed from enslavement." Another dramatic pause. "If you are able to perform this spell, you will become the master of an army of such untenable force-"

"Alright, alright," Draco raised both hands defensively and shifted his weight. "I'll summon a demon from Hell." Snape rolled his eyes.

"Crucio!" The Dark Lord cast. For a moment Draco nearly forgot to respond, then he fell forward and slammed his hands against the table as though his legs had gone weak. The curse had no effect on him. Draco could remember a time when it had, as a child when his father had scolded him for one thing or another. Maybe the spell could only be cast on a person so many times. Draco didn't know. And he didn't ask.

He gave what he thought was a particularly convincing groan of agony and let his hair fall forward from behind his ear, staring at the floor. His mother was a statue in his peripheral vision.

"You will summon a daemon from Hell to raise me an army of such brutal force that we may begin to spread our message…" Draco stopped listening when he dared to raise his head, rather amused at the way Bellatrix was leaning one elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand and staring dreamily at The Dark Lord. Hearing his name, Draco blinked to clear his thoughts and resumed listening. "-Draco. If you fail me again," The Dark Lord paused dramatically and almost made a more threatening expression, "it is not this table you must fear returning to, but to any. Not to do this is to choose death," The Dark Lord expounded. Draco thought all this was a bit unnecessary, but wasn't going to say as much. Nor would he say that doing this was really choosing death as well and there just wasn't a choice being provided. He nodded once, stiffly, trying to squash mutinous thoughts. He saw that Thicknesse was nearly drooling, across the table, his smile was so wide. "This will be done by the Harvest Moon. Do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord," Draco nodded again, staring at the three gold clasps on The Dark Lord's cloak. He couldn't even remember what made the Harvest moon different from the Hunter's moon. "Of course."

"Sit," The Dark Lord hissed and Draco sat slowly on the edge of his seat, not pulling the chair back in toward the table. "Let this be a lesson to you all. To fail me is to forfeit your life."

Draco looked around the table, hoping he was the only one who thought his life ought to be rather forfeit after the events of the evening. Fenrir Greyback seemed to bristle under this threat. Draco supposed he was one of the few other persons present who did not bear the Dark Mark. The warning had seemed more universal to Draco however and if He was going to be raising a massive army, The Dark Lord might actually be better off without about half of these incompetent followers.

"Enough," The Dark Lord's voice broke the uncomfortable silence, "threats and planning. This weekend we revel. I will summon you. Go, now, and do my work," The Dark Lord twirled one hand in the air as He rushed through His customary dismissal.

"Yes, My Lord," Draco muttered with the others. Everyone began to Dissapparate immediately, touching their wands to their Dark Marks and vanishing in a cloud of wispy black smoke.

Draco saw Severus slowly working the buttons on the tight sleeve of his jacket. Their eyes met and he heard Severus' voice. 'Malcolm's at three.' Draco had supposed they would meet inside the shop of the apothecary on Knockturn Alley. Parker Malcolm was insanely loyal to Severus and Draco understood he'd been very much in love with the man since they were in fourth or fifth year.

Draco looked at their Master, checking for recognition of this infidelity. Though Rodolphus Lestrange had gotten up from the table and was leaving the room while talking loudly with Greyback about the Carrows, his wife was still seated in the chair at the Dark Lord's right. Draco congratulated himself on the correct assumption that they would have seen enough action for one night back at the tower. He loved reducing people to their base intentions and correctly predicting their actions.

As Snape vanished, Bellatrix leaned against The Dark Lord, her hand moving slowly across His chest and resting over the place where a heart might be beating. She whispered something to the flat side of His head and Draco nearly threw up in his mouth. The Dark Lord's red eyes shown with something Draco was glad he couldn't identify as He turned and licked the side of her face.

"I'm leaving," Draco announced loudly to no one, quickly rising. His mother did not move or acknowledge him. Draco hoped to come up with a plan and already have done some research into this summoning by the time he would meet with Severus.

He moved quickly through the corridors of the East Wing, now brightly lit by the torches set into the mountings on the walls. Draco had been living at Hogwarts, but understood that when the Manor became The Dark Lord's base, He brought along followers either escaped from Azkaban or who'd never had a place to live. Draco glanced over his shoulder before ducking sideways through what appeared to be a solid portrait of his grandfather drinking a vodka tonic. The idea of these people living in the Manor made his skin crawl.

"Fuck," he swore as he stomped up the two stories of spiraling stone stairs to his parlor. He was not going to be able to skate through this battle and stay on the sidelines. Draco hated being forced to do anything, let alone make a political gamble.

"Fuck!" He repeated as he angrily swatted aside the heavy black drapes which covered the tunnel's exit.

"Manners," his mother's hard voice came from beside him. Draco's head snapped around and he saw she was seated in his favorite armchair. He raised one eyebrow. "Sit," she gestured to the couch opposite her. It was the second time that evening that he'd been outpaced as he tore through his home. At this rate he was never going to have a moment alone to think. He dragged his feet as he crossed away from his bedroom to join her.

"What is this?" He sighed. His mother looked hurt and Draco fought to keep his expression neutral. She'd never been particularly loving, turning downright callous after he'd started attending school, and Draco had thought it was natural that he treat her similarly. Their relationship was based very much on duty. She sent sweets and he wrote cool letters in response. It was what was done. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively as he sat down. She wasn't going to make him feel bad on top of everything.

"I never wanted to have children," she began and nervously untucked her hair from behind her ear. Maybe making him feel bad wasn't the plan. Draco watched as she played with a strand of her hair. Sitting there, with her shoulders slumped and staring into her lap, Draco had never seen her look so defeated and child-like herself. "Your father and I were not the parenting type."

Draco struggled to hold his tongue. At least he understood his father. If he was cruel, he wanted Draco to be better and stronger.

"Don't look at me like that," his mother said softly. Draco sighed, unsure of what look he had given. "Your father joined the Death Eaters at Hogwarts. While The Dark Lord was in school, your father was too young to gain His favor. He joined later and was welcomed for his political influence and wealth." His mother smiled, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. "I suppose those were the same reasons I was attracted to him. I imagined a romantic life, summer vacation homes and lazy winters…I had friends in my year who warned me away from him. We corresponded by letter for two years while I finished school. We were always so happy together," she pursed her lips. Draco watched her rub her left arm absently. He knew the pain of a mark that wasn't there.

"Then The Dark Lord heard a prophecy and felt it necessary to take extreme measures to ensure His victory in an impending battle to overthrow society and establish a new order." She scoffed, smiling tightly. "His great foe was to be an infant and The Dark Lord wanted a soldier the boy's own age. Your father and I were chosen to provide Him with this ally."

Draco felt his stomach tighten. His mind was whirling with strange thoughts. He'd always known that being a Malfoy meant he was a Pureblood. Being a Malfoy was being a Death Eater. Now his mother sat before him, saying these things…

"You're going to be killed, Draco," his mother's voice was urgent. She stood up suddenly and moved around the low table to stand before him. Draco looked up and saw her face had turned a sickly grey color that made her white-blonde hair look almost golden. "You're not meant to survive this battle." She knelt on the ground in front of him, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. Her eyes were such a pale blue and still so much more colorful than his own. "I don't know the plans your father and The Dark Lord have for you."

"Yeah," Draco finally spoke, "something about an undead army…"

"I'm serious, Draco!" She cried, placing a hand on his knee. "The Dark Lord feared I would become attached to you and try to stop this sacrifice. I can't speak your father's name for fear I'll use it in a spell."

"Attached?" Draco raised one eyebrow critically.

His mother laughed, though tears sprung to her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she rested her head on his leg and began crying in earnest.

"You shouldn't have told me this," Draco sighed. He had no idea what to do. He wanted to speak to Severus more than ever, but he needed his mother to remain convinced of his loyalty to The Dark Lord.

"Bella told me that The Dark Lord wasn't gone," his mother sniffed rather indelicately. "She told me not to give up. I did, though, and I think I would have loved you anyway."

Draco patted her hair and tried to make comforting shushing noises, but he had no idea what he was doing and everything she said was more haunting.

"Run away, Ange," his mother sobbed.

Draco swallowed hard against a lump that had formed in his throat. He'd forgotten that she used to call him that.

"Please run."

R&R!