Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters. Find someone else to sue.
(A/N): My apologies, this is a repost of Chapter 1. It seems I lost some of the story in the transfer of the first, which might be why the ending is so abrupt. For those who have reviewed me, I say simply, I am estatic. Those of you with questions, be patient. They'll be answered soon. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
Harry Potter and the Werewolf Scare
Chapter One: The Winds Will Change
The Order of the Phoenix was in chaos, its establishment in ruins. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been the Snake's Head; with him dead, the rest of the organization fell apart. Only Dumbledore had known everyone who was in the Order. Only Dumbledore knew how to contact his informants. Dumbledore had been the head of everything, from beginning to end in the fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort. No one knew where to pick up the thread, no one knew where to even start. At least, that's how it had been before Harry had been shipped off to the Dursley's.
Harry woke instantly to the noise of the bolts of his door snap open, and then when the door itself opened a minute later. Aunt Petunia stuck her horse-like face into the door. "Boy! Get up and get to work." Harry shot her a look of wearied tolerance- thank Merlin it was July 30th, he only needed to put up with this shit for another few hours.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said, his voice devoid of emotion.
She glared at him. "Why are you still here?" She snapped. "You leave earlier and earlier every year. We were hoping to be rid of you for good by now. Don't any of your freak friends want you with them?"
Harry snorted. "You would think so, wouldn't you?" He said, more to himself than to his aunt. "But it seems I'm nothing more than a figurehead to the wizarding society anyway."
"Do not mention that freakishness in this house." Petunia snapped, slamming the door in his face. He shrugged, sprawling onto his back on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head. He had a near overwhelming urge to start belting out a few wizarding ditties, but beat it to pieces almost before it formed. He'd gotten a reprieve for the day, he wasn't about to ruin that.
Staring at the ceiling, he brooded on the Order, wondering if they'd restored it from its frenzied state, or if they were still floundering. He'd wanted to stay, but Kingsley Shacklebolt (who'd taken Dumbledore's position) had ordered him back to the Dursley's.
"Harry, I think it would be best for you to follow the normal summer schedule." Shacklebolt said. Harry stared at him in disbelief.
"No. There's no point in me going back. It was Dumbledore's spell and my mother's blood that gave me any protection at all at the Dursely's. Now Dumbledore is dead, and Voldemort used my blood in the spell that resurrected him. The protection no longer functions." Harry snapped.
"You don't know that, and even if it's true, Voldemort most certainly does not." Shacklebolt replied.
"That's bullocks!" Harry retorted. "Wouldn't it be safer if I stayed within the protection of the wizarding society, instead of surrounded by muggles?"
"We don't have the man power right now to guard you, Harry."
Harry snorted. "Right, so I'm supposed to go to Surrey, sit around and twiddle my thumbs, and hope, gee-gosh-golly, Voldemort doesn't know the protection doesn't work anymore."
Shacklebolt's palms smacked the table between them. "You will respect the members of this Order, and the superior knowledge they have compared to you."
His fists clenched at his side as he stared at the Auror, eyes pouring venom. "I'm nothing but a figure head to you people. Something to pull out of some nook or cranny, dust off and prop up. Fine, I'll go, good luck in my absence." He whirled around and strode through the door, almost knocking Molly Weasley over as she came to see what all the shouting was about.
Harry shook his head, sitting up. He'd be gone tonight, and it would be the last the Wizarding World would hear of him for a very long time. Voldemort could only be destroyed once all of the horrocruxes were. He looked at his watch, and smiled grimly. Ten hours and counting…
Ronald Weasley stood on the porch of the Granger home, staring into the well kept backyard covered with green grass, spotted with gardens, and enveloped in shade trees. He'd graduated school two years ago, when he and Hermoine had taken up the battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There were tension lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, a wariness to his frame, as if he were on constant alert, just waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen. A scar ran from jowl to collarbone on his right side, his eyes shadowed by too many deaths, and too little to celebrate. He was swathed in a war that they were slowly losing a grip on.
The door behind him opened, and Hermoine Granger stepped out. Her eyes were alert, her stance just as wary. "Ron, a meeting's been called."
Ron nodded, pulling out of his pocket a small coin of copper coloring. Engraved in it was the image of a rearing Gryphon, talons tearing the air around it. The Order of the Phoenix was dead, but the Gryphon Union had formed from its ashes. "The Snake Lies." Ron intoned, and, at once, experienced the now familiar feeling of being hooked by his naval and jerked off his feet.
The port key transported him to a garden encircled by stone pillars. It was large, with a fountain at its end. A small pop, and Hermoine was beside him. From the shadows of the nearest pillar came a silky, cultured voice. "Weasley, Granger. You're the first to arrive. If you would, we need the landing spot clear."
"Malfoy." Hermoine said, walking briskly up the stairs. "What's happened?"
"Voldemort's called in his forces for a concentrated attack on the Ministry."
Hermoine's eyes widened. "He has enough people swayed now, if he could actually gain the seat of power-"
Ron shook his head. "If he gains the ministry, he gains the government." He murmured pensively.
Draco Malfoy nodded. "So we've nothing to lose. It's time for the Gryphon Union's last stand."
"Now to convince the others…" They fell silent, Draco leaning against the pillar, Ron with his hands in his pockets, head tilted towards the sky, and Hermoine with her arms akimbo, foot tapping out a rapid rhythm. They were the leaders of Gryphon, ones who pushed hard and fought ferociously for every scrap they could get. Three years ago, Draco would have been killed on sight- him being partially responsible for Dumbledore's death. He'd shown up a year and a half ago with information that tipped the scales once again in the favor of the Light. When questioned, he had reported, with a low, vicious hiss, Narcissa Malfoy had been tortured mercilessly, and left to die by his father's hand for nothing more than the Dark Lord's amusement. Severus Snape covered Draco's escape- and been killed in the process. "The bonds of blood were broken when my- when Lucius killed my mother." He had said, glaring up at Ron from beneath silvery-blonde bangs, knees pressed to where he'd been forced to the ground. "And the bonds of blood were the only reasons I had to stay."
Months later, Gryphon Union was born, with both fronts of the war on even footing, but, after a while, even that began to slip. Draco, being the next Black heir, offered one of the Black Estates as headquarters.
The Final Battle was a torrid affair, death came swiftly and mercilessly. Hermoine threw a curse over Dean Thomas' broken body, leaving Knott nothing but a crumpled shell. Ron, on the other side of the Ministry of Magic building, led his force against a wall of dead family and friends, behind which the Death Eaters were able to take a slow, steady toll on their opponents. Draco was locked in combat with Malfoy senior when Ron's group finally won its way past the ghastly barricade, and Hermoine and her own band forced the front doors open. Draco felt the trap being sprung, sickly aware of the cold smirk that plastered itself on Lucius' face before the man apparated away. A shouted spell caused the room they were in to begin to spin rapidly, before they were spilled out onto a field no one could put a name to, and faced with the full force of Voldemort's army. The battle began again, in earnest, as the outnumbered Gryphon members fought for their lives and hopes of ever living in a safe environment ever again.
Ron took down Crabbe with Avada Kadavra, dodging a wild spell before coming face to face with Karkaroff. The man's wand was already aimed at Ron's heart, the spell already rolling off his tongue, and Ron had a moment to identify it as a severing spell when a shield of glimmering green sprung up between them. Ron gained his feet, and the shield vanished, revealing the passage of an oddly garbed man without a wand. Magic danced around the figure, twining around him and lashing out in seemingly random intervals. The man didn't pause, and, in a moment, was out of sight. Weasley looked down to the crumpled body of Karkaroff lying at his feet, eyes wide and staring, blood leaking from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. A searing pain awoke Weasley from his startled state and he threw himself back into the fray.
Hermoine yanked Luna Lovegood from the path of a deadly spell, turning with her to form a shield for Cho Chang as the Chinese girl took the reprieve to heal the gash on her leg. Hermoine brought her wand down in a slicing arc, deflecting one spell and counterattacking with barely a breath between, then flicked the wooden stick in a half circle in front of her, sending a blast of yellow light in a five foot diameter. In the moment of respite, she caught sight of an oddly familiar figure as it zipped between another battling pair, glimpsing hauntingly green eyes and feeling that jolt of reorganization before the figure was gone. Hermoine helped Luna get Cho to her feet. "Did you see him?" Cho asked, turning to Hermoine. "Did you see Harry?" Luna and Hermoine nodded, and the three shared a look of hope that they hadn't dared feel for such a long time.
Draco dived out of the way of a Cruciatus Curse, countering the blast with sercumceptra. Executing a neat roll, he was on his feet the next second. The avoided crucio had landed on another, nameless Death Eater. He finished her quickly, and turned to look for his next opponent. His father's figure stood over Blaise Zabini, Draco's lifelong friend, wand pointed steadily at him as he held him under the Cruciatus Curse. Draco whipped his wand up, aiming a spell at Blaise that was designed to reflect the pain twice fold to the cause of the pain. Lucius screamed and lost his concentration on the spell. Draco sent the man sprawling with a thought.
"Hello again, father." Draco crooned silkily when Malfoy senior recovered from the short bout of pain from the previous spell. "I think it's time to collect the debt you owe me. You know," He said to Lucius' blank look. "Mother? Tell me, do you feel her blood on your hands? Can you still hear her screams? Does it haunt you in your sleep?"
Lucius snarled. "The only thing that haunts me is having a blood traitor for a son."
Draco emitted a bark of derisive laughter. "Blood traitor I may be," he said, slashing his wand in a motion that his father hastily fended off, "But a debt you still owe me- a debt that can only be paid with your life."
"You betrayed me, Draco. You were to be honored as I was, to be at the head of the Dark Lord's inner circle." Lucius panted, deflecting another spell.
"Sercumceptra. Ah, Father, I was getting rather tired of living up to your expectations as it was." Draco said, shield himself with an almost bored air. "From the cradle it was be perfect or suffer your wrath. How very droll."
"You were to be of the greatest of wizards, Draco."
"You see, that I don't understand. You always preach-" He rolled away from an imperious curse "-about this greatness, yet you grovel at the feet of a halfblood, hypocritical, backstabbing monster that has no honor to speak of. Your view of greatness is very far from my own. A pity, for you truly believe in your Lord."
"He wishes to better our society, Draco. He is striving to purify us, put us on a higher pedestal, make our line stronger."
Draco snorted. "If you truly believe that, you are delusional. This conversation is at an end, Father. Avada Kadavra!" The young man poured everything he had into the spell, his rage, grief, and desperation from his mother's death, the agony of losing his godfather, and his belief in the better days that never could be had at the feet of Voldemort. His father toppled backwards as Draco himself fell to his knees, spent from the energy the spell took. A mad cackle sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Belatrix Lestrange leering insanely at him, her wand making excited circles in the air.
"The wittle Malfoy heir is in trouble." She sang. And he was, there wasn't anyway Draco could summon the magic to hold off his Aunt, not for another few moments, at least, and she knew that. But that was alright- Draco had done what he'd sworn to do, his mother was avenged. If it was his time to die, so be it. Draco lifted his chin defiantly, silver eyes gleaming with battle fervor, a triumphant smirk stretching his lips. His mad aunt cackled, drawing back her wand to end his life.
Draco felt power as it lashed out, not at him, but at Belatrix, enveloping her and forming into a large, black snake. It's jaws opened, revealing fangs dripping with pale, glimmering venom. Belatrix opened her mouth to scream as the snake latched its fangs into the side of her face. The snake was magic again, and the woman was ripped apart in a contained but violent explosion. Draco stared at the remains of what had been his mother's sister, nothing more than jagged chunks of flesh before he tore his eyes away to meet hard, glimmering green. Draco stared at Harry Potter wordlessly before a shout diverted his attention: Neville Longbottom stood over the fallen figure of Ginerva Weasley, wand brandished in the faces of four Death Eaters. Draco flung raw magic down the hill, willing it to kill the four. Green power intertwined with his own, adding precision to his violent rage. The Death Eaters before Neville were felled in a brilliant flash of light, and when Draco's vision cleared, Harry was gone. Draco struggled to his feet and hurried down hill to help Neville with Ginny.
The Weasley twins wove through the field, their spells as intertwined as their manner of speaking, their movements, and their thoughts. Each time they reached an officer of Gryphon, they'd pause to relate their news.
"Tonks, old gal!" Fred dodged a Death Eater's curse, whirling around to protect his brother's back as George continued on the relay.
"You won't believe what we've seen."
"Just walking at his own sweet pace-"
"Right through the middle of the field."
"Ripped Bellatrix the Sociopath a new one, he did."
"Saved Malfoy. Didn't think that would happen-"
"-unless we locked him up in a room-"
"-and explained what's happened in his absence."
"They both saved Neville-"
"-and Ginny."
"Wicked cool, I might add."
Tonks by now was enthralled in the chaotic dance as they ducked, dodged, and wove through Death Eater defenses, and was having a bit of a hard time keeping up with both the battle and the stream of conscience babble the twins were emitting. "What in the name of Merlin are you two talking about?" She snapped, disarming a Death Eater she recognized as an Auror she'd worked beside. She dispatched the traitor with a vicious spell Mad Eye Moody had taught her.
"Harry Potter, of course!"
"He's back!"
The twins swung Tonks out of the way of the next curse, jostling her out of her shock.
Slowly it spread through the field- Harry's back, I saw him! Harry Potter has returned. The Boy-Who-Lived, he's here to kill the Dark Lord!- and with the news, there was a spread of new hope, energy, renewed determination. And why wouldn't they? The man was miraculous! Nothing had touched him from the time he entered the battling fray, as he strode through battling pairs, defending and defeating the respective parties, and even now, as he steadily was moving closer to the center of the field, his power bringing a form of resuscitation to those around him, striking down his enemies without pause. The floor length, dark leather coat with a split up to the knee in the back billowed, moving as if blown by a wind no one else could feel, revealing glimpses of a tight, black shirt and dark trousers made out of a muggle material called 'jean.' His power flayed about him, stirring his wild black hair with the same intensity of his coat, his visage was awe-inspiring.
When Harry Potter reached the raised center of the field, a stillness draped over the skirmish, and, one by one, people turned to watch their fate played out in another's hands.
Harry came to a stop at the edge of the hill, regarding the monstrous countenance of Voldemort. A slow smirk spread on his face as he met the muddy red eyes of the Dark Lord, and he shoved his hands in his pocket, taking on the air of nonchalance. "There really isn't much of humanity left in you, is there, Tom?"
Voldemort drew his lips from his teeth in a what Harry assumed was a smile. "You have been absent long, Harry Potter. What a pity to learn you have not abandoned your precious followers."
The smirk widened, as green eyes narrowed calculatingly, something akin to pride in his expression. "They have become more than my followers, Tom. As for my absence, you know very well where I have been. How is Goyle Sr., while we're on the topic?" He asked, referring to the sole survivor of the party Voldemort had sent when he had realized what Harry was up to- and, by survivor, he meant only just. Unfortunately for him, Harry had already found and destroyed four of the horcruxes. Deep satisfaction spread through the younger man when Voldemort snarled in rage. "I deeply regret having to inform you of this, my Lord." Harry said sardonically, "but you are now verily mortal."
The Dark Lord screeched in rage, whipping his wand up and letting an unnamed curse fly. It scorched a hole in the ground at his feet, deflected from Harry's shield. Harry's green eyes were narrowed in concentration, but that was the only sign of it. His hands remained in his pockets, his posture relaxed. Voldemort's wand snapped.
"Come now, Tom, let's do this the right way. Two powerful wizards dueling it out with perfect control." This last was said skeptically, as if Harry were doubtful of Voldemort's skill at wandless magic. And it achieved what he wished as Voldemort let another rage-filled spell fly. This, too, was deflected, this time burning a good bit of the Dark Lord's robes before it burrowed into the dirt. On and on it went, Harry goading the other wizard into throwing curses at him, and then deflecting them without moving, just forming a shield that bounced the spells back perilously close to Voldemort before glancing harmlessly into the ground. At last, Harry saw what he'd been waiting for; Voldemort's eyes widened, his breathing and heart rate kicked up, and he stepped back. Harry was doing nothing more than toying with him, and now Voldemort knew it. Harry let the smirk fall from his face, his expression grave. "You have had your reign of terror for entirely too long, Tom Riddle. It is time it came to an end."
The Dark Lord: Dead at Last
Aribelle Moonsglow
On the evening of August 14th, the third year of the Second War, the Gryphon Union, a specially organized group of defense against Death Eater troops led by Hermoine Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley, went head to head with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Army in what the survivors are calling the Battle of the Frayed. The battle originally took place at the Ministry of Magic before a verbal portkey transported the Gryphon party to a field the Northern reaches of Britain, where they faced the full regiment of Voldemort's forces. According to unnamed sources, the Gryphon's were outnumbered four to one. In an interview with Gryphon leader Hermoine Granger, valedictorian of Hogwarts School of WitchCraft and Wizardry of two years ago, she shared some insights one what was supposed to happen.
"From our interrogation of captured Death Eaters, we learned Voldemort's plan was to lure us into the Lobby of the Ministry of Magic building, where one of Voldemort's inner circle would then activate the verbal transportation spell, and transport us into a specially marked area of the battle field, which the rest of Voldemort's death eaters had surrounded. If that had happened, I believe the outcome of the battle would have been very different indeed. As it was, a spell caught Voldemort's man before he could complete the spell, and we landed several feet off the mark, therefore taking both of us at equal surprise."
Granger went on to say the verbal portkey was an entirely new spell, and that she would look into it further to see if it could be made into a more reliable transportation method.
But, as Mrs. Granger reported, they did not land in the trap, but several yards on either direction, where they came face to face with their enemy. It was then, survivors say, that they began to see him.
By 'him' they meant Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He came to the battle field bearing no wand or any means of magical concentration, hands shoved in his pocket, striding straight to the center of the field. Many fighters are alive today because of Mr. Potter's attribution. Ronald Weasley reports he would have fallen to Karkaroff- former HeadMaster of Durmstrang- if Mr. Potter had not thrown up a shield at that moment. "One moment, I was staring down the length of Karkaroff's wand, and the next some strange man is striding past me, and Karkaroff is dead at my feet." He did this countless times, rescuing those fighting against the Death Eaters, while destroying the Dark Lord's followers, and "never pausing for a moment." He did finally come to a stop before the Dark Lord Voldemort, and, indefinitely, killed him. Gryphon members attested to Potter's almost casual countenance, as he faced off with the Dark Lord, saying he had a confident air. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Boy Who Lived with several potentially deadly spells, only to have them rebound scant inches away from him. Witness say that the Dark Lord's robes were in tatters before Potter finally finished him.
As to how Voldemort met his demise, no one knows. At one moment, Voldemort is battering Potters shields with curses, the next there is a blinding flash of light and the most feared Dark Lord in Wizarding History is "a charred, lifeless corpse." In the confusion afterwards, Gryphon members were able to set up an anti-apparation ward and capture the surviving Death Eaters.
As you doubtless know, Harry Potter vanished three years ago, on the very day of his majority. No one knew what had happened to him, and no one could find him- barely anyone had the time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had resurfaced by then, and the Light side's own commander, Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Albus Dumbledore, had been killed, leaving the Dark Lord's opponents dreadfully unorganized. Mr. Potter could not be tracked down for an interview as to why he had disappeared, but we're hoping for it in a later issue.
Draco Malfoy tipped back a glass of wine before glancing back down at the front page article of Witch Weekly, quickly finishing the line, and finally gave voice to his opinion with an impolite snort. Hoping for an interview in a later issue is far too optimistic for my taste, especially in consideration of a certain Hero. The silver eyed man thought, knocking down the last of the wine. He made a face, it was one of the many bottles sent in as gifts for being part of the opposition against the Dark Lord. It was mediocre, at best, but Draco was of a mind it was strongly flavored horse piss. Turning his thoughts back to the paper, he found himself remembering yesterday. The battle, as the paper had said, had ended suddenly, but Hermoine had been quick to cast a location charm on Potter before the git had disapparated, and then an anti-apparation charm. Draco gave the woman points, she was quick, and good at what she did. Which was just about everything. Several hours later, after things had been sorted out to the best of their abilities, Hermoine had taken Ron and Draco- why, Draco still hadn't figured out- and apparated to where the location charm had pinpointed Harry, bringing them face to face with the tip of Harry's wand. Draco hadn't been at all impressed, and left Weasel and Granger to deal with the preliminaries as he viewed his surroundings. They were in a fairly large, stone room of what he assumed was a cottage, with old, well cared for wooden flooring and surprisingly well furbished. Moss green furniture with iron black coffee table and dining table that would fit six. Why would Harry need a table to fit six? Draco scowled at himself, and what made him think Harry wouldn't need a table for six? Both area's of the room were fashioned to seat six comfortably, and there were two doors at the far end of the room, stairs leading up to a loft that also had two doors connected to it, and there was black swing doors on the near side of the room that appeared to be a kitchen. When Draco had finally his attention back to the sentient beings in the room, Harry had lowered his wand, not dropping it or putting it away, but warily holding it loosely at his side, ready for immediate use. But that hadn't been the first thing Draco had noticed. That had been the way the fire played across the lusciously tan skin of the man's bare chest and broad shoulders, and throwing contours of sharply toned muscles in to stark contrast. The Harry of old had been gaunt from periodic starvation, skin an unhealthy pallor under the tan from Quiddich and such from malnutrition, grief, guilt, and worry.
Not that everything about him was healthy now. Dark bruises spread across that naked chest, as well as a few, short gashes. That's when he realized no one had been talking as of yet, and the preliminaries had yet to begin. Draco cast an glance at his co-leaders out of the corner of his eye and saw both of them were struggling to find something to say. He bit back a sigh and turned back to Potter, letting his eye drift down his torso again before meeting the man's eye.
"You would think, Potter, after getting banged up, you'd stick around to let a mediwitch have a look at you." He said, drawing on his characteristic pureblood drawl.
Shrugging, then wincing from some pain or another- Draco was sure there were many of them- Harry said, "they had others to look after, and I can heal myself."
"And have been at it for hours, and used enough power that you're having to use a wand for concentration due to physical, mental, and magical exhaustion." Hermoine snapped tautly. "Which means the injuries you had were much more serious than this."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "As I said, healing myself is completely within my capabilities."
"Merlin, Harry." Ron said. "How did you get injured? Nothing ever touched you!"
"It was the spell I used." He said tersely. "It transferred the strength of the magic to that of a physical blow and redirected it to a place on my body where I could handle it."
Draco narrowed his eyes, he'd never heard of a spell like that, and, apparently, neither had Hermoine. "I've found no spell of that sort in my research."
"You wouldn't." Harry said. "I made it."
They said nothing for a moment, considering that. "You can make spells?" Ron said- reinforcing Draco's opinion that, brilliant strategist the man might be, he was still an idiot.
"No, Weasley," He sneered. "The spells we know now just popped out of thin air, and what those damnable twins do is nothing but mechanical appliance."
Hermoine sighed, holding up a hand to cut off whatever snappish reply Ron had in mind. "That was rather ridiculous, Ron." She turned back to Harry. "Why would you make a spell like that? Wouldn't it just be better to avoid spells all together?"
"There are several reasons behind the spell, which I'd be happy to answer after you tell me why you all are here."
Hermoine blinked, stung, then retorted angrily. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe you've been missing from our lives for three years, after promising to take us with you once you went searching for the horcruxes- which I assume you did, seeing as Voldemort is dead. You disappeared without a word, and without a word remained until now! Do you have any idea how worried we were about you? And then Remus went to the Dursley's and drew memories from the wall- Merlin, Harry, what that family of yours put you through! And everyone thought you'd gone insane, or just got tired of everything and left. Of course, Ron, Remus, and I knew the truth, but we didn't dare say anything- and after you didn't get in contact with us, we thought maybe you'd been killed-" she broke off after realizing she had been screaming for the last couple of minutes. Harry had pocketed his wand and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his head cocked in interest. Ron twiddled nervously at her side, and Draco had- typically- made himself comfortable on the couch, still courteously attentive to the conversation, such as it was. "We were worried about you, Harry, and then your came back, and you still didn't say anything to us."
Harry dropped his head for a moment, wild black hair masking his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes were calm, his face emotionless. "When I made that promise, 'Mione, it was probably the most irresponsible and stupid thing I'd ever done- that's on top of a long list of things that I forced myself to look at over that summer. When Shacklebolt sent me back to the Dursley's, despite knowing the protection on the place, on me, was null-"
"What!" Ron and Hermoine interrupted.
Harry grunted irritably. "The protection was of my mother's blood- which Voldemort used to bring himself back in the graveyard, and Dumbledore's spell, who died. It was a spell that needed to be renewed once every year, so it stands to reason it would take a periodic application, annually, in this case. The protection was nonexistent from the moment I stepped into that house. Anyway, when I realized that, I realized that I was nothing more than a weapon to the Order. That's something I refuse to be. I followed Dumbledore blindly, and I could have prevented a lot if I had thought for myself. And I'd lost all the parental figures in my life. Dumbledore had been my mentor, Sirius the closest thing to a father I've ever had, and Remus had to leave because no one would give him the WolfsBane potion, and they thought he was no use to the Order without it- ridiculous notion, really. Absolutely idiotic, the European view of werewolves… If the two of you were killed on a mission I was responsible for, it would have crushed me. Selfish, I know, but that's how it is. As to the reason I didn't write you; at first I was too busy tracking the damn things down, you have no idea how hard it was to get started, and then, after I'd destroyed the fourth one, Voldemort sent ten Death Eaters after me. They led me to the fifth one, but nearly killed me because I let my guard down getting to it. After that…" Harry shrugged. "I'd killed all but Goyle Sr., and, to Voldemort, basically disappeared… writing could have alerted him to where I was at, and I didn't want to do that, for obvious reasons."
"That's absurd, Harry. Absurd and unfair. I think we had every right to go with you, and you just up and leave without a word?" Hermoine snapped, still angry and not in the least mollified.
"Yes!" Harry shouted, so suddenly and loudly, Hermoine was shocked to silence. "Yes." Harry said again, just as forcefully, but at a normal volume. He pushed himself from the wall, coming to stand in front of her. He turned his left arm to her, where a white scar a nail's width wide traced it's way from shoulder to wrist. "I got this scar from the magical protection of the second horcrux, one I couldn't fight or see. It sliced my arm because I did not have Tom Riddle's blood, but it didn't slice me in half because I had a trace of his magic. If you or Ron had been there, you both would have been severed fully. I couldn't heal the wound, the only thing the kept me alive was the blood replenishing potion I'd kept with me. As I traveled further into the cave- and he had a fascination with caves for some cursed reason, I made it past some kind of barrier, when I passed over it, the blood that dripped- slewed- from my wound caused it to flash red, and my arm was whole again, except for this scar." He pointed to the scar that ran along his right hipbone. "This one's from a spell sentinel, after I'd made the conversion shield, who hit me with a curse equal to Avada Kedavra. Spells like that open wounds instead of leaving bruises- but the shield's saved my life too many times to count. I have no doubt in my mind the both of you would have been killed if you had come with me."
Hermoine was trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. "That's selfish." She said quietly.
Harry snorted. "We've already established my reasons were." He replied, striding back to the arm chair on the other side of the fireplace. "Sit down and make yourselves comfortable." He said, shooting an amused glance at Draco.
"How gracious of you, Potter." Draco enunciated with an equally amused sneer.
"It's a one time window." Harry said easily. "By tomorrow I'll have an anti-apparation ward on this place, as well as one for a portkey, and it's not connected to the Floo-Network. This place is strictly off limits for anyone. Had you been anyone else I would have stunned you and sent you back to where you came from- possibly killed you, depending on how startled I was."
"Why no one here, Harry?" Ron asked quietly.
Harry's eyes went chilly and distant in an instant. "Those reasons are my own." He said after seeming to deliberate with himself. The room was silent, and now Ron was angry, too. Harry sighed. "I think you'd better leave. If you want to get in touch with me later on, send word by owl. They'll be able to find me for a week more, at least. Once that's changed I'll send the proper means."
"Harry," Hermoine said stiffly. "There's a press meeting tomorrow at noon over the defeat of Voldemort."
"I won't be coming. I have other things to attend to- Hermoine, you might want to consider… there's a chance Death Eaters might escape justice by the same means as the last time…" Harry paused. "There is a way- by ways of Unbreakable Vows or Blood Oaths, that would prevent such an escape, and do more than that half-assed excuse for justice the ministry provides…"
"That would be illegal, Harry." The woman said coldly.
The man previously known as the Boy-Who-Lived shrugged, eyeing Draco speculatively. "Not by Pureblood custom. It was a thought, nothing more. Good evening."
Draco shook his head, now sitting in the armchair in the parlor of his own personal bedroom suite, staring into the fire and remembering the predatory look in the Hero's eyes, the feline grace of body, and the hidden ferocity in his voice when he proposed the Unbreakable Vow. Draco let a slow, deadly smile creep onto his face. He liked the suggestion, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. And the captives were still technically prisoners of war, seeing as Gryphon would not be handing them over until it was time for their trial. That would be plenty of time to phrase a suitable oath. As for those who wouldn't take it… They could easily follow their lord.