Er. So. Yeah. Sorry. Got a bit... delayed. If it makes you feel any better, I dead-dropped out of both the last (sad!) paperlegends and smoochfest (which I'm sure Cheryl will, literally, roast me alive for, since she lives just a wee ways down the road...) both because of something fantastic. This Something Fantastic also caused this to get sidetracked. Perhaps you will all forgive me if I tell you this Something Fantastic is not a new job, or a new puppy, or even the fact that we're keeping six baby chickens in an old-lizard-tank-converted-into-a-nursery until they're old enough to go outside at my mum's place (they ARE fantastically cute, though) - but something even MORE fantastic.
Yeah, Jad's started writing a book. Y'know, those things that created fandoms in the first place.
Rosie assures me it's going to be fabulous. Which is all I needed, really, was her approval. But the big RUSH OF IDEAS HOLY SHIT MY BRAIN ISN'T LARGE ENOUGH is over, so I was able to do some of the things I was supposed to. Like this!
Huge thanks to Shan, CC, and Mab for taking the time to go through it and make it fit for general consumption. Unfortunately all of my go-to Britpickers were swamped, so rather than make you wait longer, I decided the hell with it, and please just point out any glaring Americanisms in the comments for fixing. For those of you new, this is the sequel/continuance to Bad Faith, the first part in this series. If you haven't read BF, none of this will make a lick of sense, but hopefully will be fun anyway. However, BF's about 300k of words for you to amuse yourself with while you wait for the next bit. This bit takes place immediately following BF, and sets up the first chapter to follow. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for waiting!
- Interlude -
Amazing Grace
if i die young
bury me in satin
lay me down on a bed of roses
sink me in the river at dawn
send me away with the words of a love song
: : :
It was a starless, stormy night when Narcissa learned she was going to die.
She was riding Kay's Psylouette, a lively, three year-old progeny to a world-famous stud known (even in the Muggle world) as Padron's Psyche. In sunlight, the young mare was a breathtaking golden chestnut, always tossing her head and kicking up her heels in that arrogant Arabian way; tonight she was dyed black by the darkness and the rain, only given shape by the torches set at quarter-mile intervals around the track. The fire glanced bronze off powerful shoulders as she ran, mud splattering up her legs, disguising the three white socks. Narcissa was riding her rather hard, but this was a sixty-thousand Galleon race horse—she was up to it. Narcissa actually preferred older, warm-blooded mounts to the vibrating energy of race horses, but Alessandro did not keep anything in his private stables that didn't have a pedigree almost as long as his own.
Still, the mare did remind Narcissa a bit of her son, and she missed him terribly.
She had no reason to suspect anything was amiss—she had no doubt that Potter would do everything in his power to keep her son safe. Snape may have taken a dislike to Potter, but he had been right about his character at least. Whatever Potter's faults, he could be relied on for his loyalty. He would protect her son because Potter trusted Dumbledore, and Dumbledore had shown Draco mercy. It was more than Narcissa could have hoped for, for she knew she could not protect Draco on her own. If anything, she was a liability. Her son's affection for her would be his undoing.
The mare pulled up suddenly and reared, spooked by a sudden flash of white light on the dark track. Narcissa kept her bearings, just barely, as her mount whinnied and pranced in agitation. She was forced to turn the mare into tight circles just to keep her in place.
The white light turned out to be a Patronus in the shape of a small doe. Narcissa's hands tightened in the reins.
"They are coming," the doe said in Severus's dissonant tones. "I will do what I can for him. I am sorry, Narcissa. "
The doe melted away into the darkness. Narcissa allowed herself a moment to breathe, then spun her mount around and dug in her heels.
She inadvertently broke every record the track held.
: : :
The moment Harry had the office under control he turned away from his desk and stalked down the hall, Arthur and Hermione following him quickly, nearly bowling into him as he paused to stick his head in a cubicle housing Justin Finch-Fletchly. "Get a team together: you, Ron, Tonks, Doge and Bones," he told the young Auror. "You're to meet us at Yaxley's estate."
"We are?" Justin said, blinking up at him, then flinched when he met Harry's gaze. "Er. Right. When?"
"Yesterday."
"Er," said Justin, jumping to his feet. "Right."
Harry continued down the aisle towards one of the Emergency Apparation ports Magical Law Enforcement had in the office; they weren't frequently used, but served well when something urgent was going on and Aurors didn't have the time to waste riding down a lift and sprinting out the front doors.
"Oh," Arthur said, apparently catching on. "Oh, dear."
"What?" Hermione said. "Why are we—oh my God, Narcissa."
"You're not coming," Harry told her. He opened the broom closet beside the Apparation ports. There were about a dozen standard brooms inside and there, at the back, his old Firebolt. He tossed a Cleansweep to Arthur and hoisted the Firebolt over his shoulder. "I need you here; someone has to sift through all the nonsense and find me something to go on."
"If you think for an instant I'm going to sit here pushing paper around while you and Ron are—"
Harry didn't wait for her to finish. He stepped inside the port and spun on the spot.
: : :
"Well, this is big shitstorm that's stirred up," the Muggle-Malfoy said. "Pass the chips, would'ya?"
Blaise learned the Muggle's name was actually Noah Foster. He was some sort of solicitor (Blaise's mind corrected his vernacular: lawyer), which at least explained his attitude.
It took Blaise a moment to realise Noah was talking about the crisps; his fluency with American lingo was sloppy, at best.
"To put it mildly," Blaise remarked, passing the crisps after stealing a handful for himself. "At least the coffee is decent."
It was, too. Blaise was surprised to see the coffee delivered in a dozen cardboard containers all with green circular logos bearing a merperson. He almost asked if it was some sort of special merfolk blend before he remembered where he was. It was dark and bitter, and suited the mood.
"Mm," Noah said, swallowing. "So, what is it you do then?"
"Emissary for the Prime Minister."
"In other words, you're his spy," Noah remarked, tossing the empty crisps package aside. "No, it's cool. Look, I get it. This is a mess. I imagine he's got guys in China and Russia, too. But look at them," he went on, pointing at the glass separating the rooms.
About an hour prior, the military-man-named-Phil (Blaise had learned he was the Deputy Secretary of Defence for the United States) had pulled about a dozen people—many also in military dress—into an adjoining room for a private meeting. Blaise had retreated to one of the many side-offices of the boardroom, hoping to listen in. Unfortunately, his newly-found Muggle friend had followed him.
"They're worried," Noah went on in a loud whisper. "They wouldn't be worried if they had a clue. This wasn't us."
Blaise had an Eavesdropping charm on the room, but it was hard to follow the conversation with Noah whispering conspiratorially in his ear. Still, the Muggle was more right than he knew. "Somehow I doubt the Chinese will give a damn."
"They'll want blood either way," Noah agreed. "The trick'll be—"
Noah stopped talking and just stared; Blaise, who had been watching the men behind the sound-proof glass, followed his line of vision and froze.
A ghostly hyena had materialised in the room. It looked from Noah to Blaise and then spoke with Goyle's deep voice: "They have him."
The hyena let out a high-pitched series of anxious yips, and then disappeared into a wisp of mist. Blaise stared at the spot for a long moment, as speechless as his company but for an entirely different reason.
"Uh," Noah said eventually. "Did you just—what the fuck—"
"I'm truly sorry about this, but," Blaise said, pointing his wand at the Muggle. "Imperio."
: : :
and i'll be wearing white when i come into your kingdom
i'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger
i've never known the lovin' of a man
but it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand
: : :
Theodore had left Draco alone in the dark.
For all the trouble the Dark Lord had apparently gone through to get his hands on Draco, he didn't seem to be in a terrible hurry to kill him. Draco was pretty sure the snarling, snake-like lupines panting heavily on the other side of the cell could have taken care of that. Aside from the occasional flash of golden eyes in the darkness, he couldn't see anything. But he could hear them; feel their presence in the room, causing him to shudder when one passed too close. Apparently, the Dark Lord wanted him alive.
For now.
It was hours before the door opened again, or perhaps it just felt like hours. Draco couldn't really tell, having spent the majority of the time against the wall, knees pulled tight against his bare chest, fingernails cutting into his knees. There was just a small light, at first, from the tip of a wand—the beasts snarled, unfurling from the wall, bodies lost in shadow, so that all Draco could see were their eyes and dripping white teeth—and then a soft incantation, lost beneath the resonating growls.
A blindingly white doe burst forth from the wand, tiny and dainty next to the beasts, but radiating so much light the creatures roared and fled back into the safe confines of the stone wall.
Draco could have wept with relief.
"Quiet," Snape hissed when Draco started to speak. "We have little time; if he discovers I was here, there will be no one left to help either of us."
Draco drew in a sharp breath and nodded, climbing shakily to his feet while Snape closed the door. His Patronus lingered by the wall, prancing softly back and forth to keep the unseen monsters at bay.
"Where am I?"
"Russia," Snape said. "Or China, or rather Mongolia, depending on who you talk to. More specifically, you're somewhere deep in the hell that is shadowed beneath Khüiten Peak."
"Mongolia?" Draco repeated. "Wait—what?"
"The mountain range creates the border between the three countries; it is also notoriously known as the most inaccessible place on the planet, aside from the bottom of the ocean."
"Oh," Draco said in a small voice. "Well. That's—excellent."
"Hardly the word I would choose," Snape said, without any trace of his usual snark. It made Draco uneasy, more nervous than he had been when he was alone. "What happened to Potter?"
"Harry?" Draco asked, wincing when Snape glared at him. "I don't—we were at the Manor, and then—"
"You were at home?"
"When they came," Draco said, eyes darting to the empty wall still guarded by the ghostly doe. "Why?"
"It doesn't make sense," Snape said, apparently to himself, eyes narrowing. "Why did it take so long for them to find you? Where were you before the Manor?" Draco opened his mouth and quickly closed it again. Snape didn't have to ask why he was hesitating, however: "He found it?"
Draco nodded. "Destroyed it. He—we destroyed them both."
Snape closed his eyes and let out a long breath, and muttered what sounded like about bloody time.
"All right," Snape said, opening his eyes. "We don't have much time. I need you to concentrate on the memory of our conversation outside of Hogwarts."
"What?" Draco said. "But what about the—"
"There are only three left, by my count," Snape told him. "One still lost, and two that must come last. But Potter will have to deal with them on his own; right now, you have bigger problems. Now concentrate."
But he couldn't deal with them alone, Draco wanted to tell Snape, but knew he was right. Right then, Draco wasn't in a position to help anybody. Not even himself. So he closed his eyes and concentrated.
He flinched when he felt the tip of a wand touch his temple, but didn't pull away as Snape drew the memory from his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw the tiny silver thread of a memory dancing in the bottom of a bottle in Snape's pale hand; he suddenly realised exactly what Snape was doing.
"I'm an Animagus," Draco blurted, causing Snape to pause and raise an eyebrow. "I was bored," he went on, when Snape's look turned piercing. "It's equine in form. Nobody except the Order knows. Should I—"
"I don't think it will be necessary," Snape interrupted, "to undo years of training in the off-chance the Dark Lord decides to dissect every inane corner of your mind. The Manor is full of the beasts; blur the memories together, and he isn't likely to notice. He is not as adroit at Legillmency as he likes to think he is," Snape continued, a little bitterly. "And the ability may come in handy should you live long enough to use it again."
Draco shivered and nodded. "So... now what?"
"We're not finished," Snape said, and hesitated; Draco tensed. "Think back to the moment of your father's death, and everything that happened between then and when you woke up here."
Draco nodded again, then paused, looking up at Snape. "Everything?"
Snape looked at him for a long moment; he almost looked sad, but then narrowed his eyes. "Think, Draco. What, do you imagine, is the first thing he's going to be looking for?"
Harry. He'd be looking for Potter, because like the rest of the world, he knew Draco had gone straight to Potter. And when he did, as much as Draco would resist it, he would use every dirty trick he knew until he found out—everything.
Despite the sickness welling in his throat, Draco closed his eyes, and concentrated.
The tip of Snape's wand felt so cold against his temple it burned.
It actually hurt when Snape started to siphon the memories away, the ache jolting through every nerve in his body, each one screaming, begging to remain. The scar across his chest felt white-hot and he had to grit his teeth or risk biting off his tongue. Draco squeezed his eyes closed tighter, bowing his head as hot tears slipped unbidden down to his jaw.
The pain went on forever, like a perpetual headache, and Draco didn't even realise he had sunk to his knees until the pain abruptly stopped.
: : :
Behind the curtain of clouds, the moon was waning, but not enough that Remus couldn't feel it tug at his bones. Even with the Wolfsbane potion Slughorn had been Owling him every month, this part of the lunar cycle still made his teeth ache.
Remus was rapidly approaching that time in every werewolf's life that changing was less dependent on the moon. The stress and sorrow of life may have made Remus look older, but his body had many years ago given up on the worries of time; aging was no longer a concern. If he wanted to, really wanted to, he could make the shift whenever he desired. Even with the potion to keep him in his right mind, it was still too dangerous. The moon made the change easier and, when it was full, inevitable.
Still, there was something to be said for a man who could turn into a direwolf at will.
The Palazzo was dark and quiet, but the smell was off. There was something metallic, something tense, in the air that sent chills down Remus's spine. He had been in tune with the lupine part of himself long enough to know never to doubt the wolf's instinct.
Something was wrong.
He crept closer to the west side of the building. A large pool adjoined the open halls along the ballroom, the water splattering gently with rain. Aside from the Anti-Apparation wards that came standard with any wizarding residence larger than a flat, the mansion lay unguarded. Yaxley was smart, but arrogant. Anyone who thought to cause him trouble would stop short with the (unofficial) knowledge of where his loyalties lay.
That was, of course, with the exception of the very people Yaxley was supporting.
Not for the first time, Remus severely missed James's Invisibility Cloak. Not for the first time, Remus also severely missed James; he missed Sirius. Wild and reckless though they may have been, together the three of them had always come out on top in the worst of scenarios. They had always worked seamlessly as a pack, always there to have each other's backs, always able to wiggle out of the hairiest of situations. They were each other's weakness and yet, they were at their weakest only when they were apart.
The aftermath of the death of James and Lily had been testament to that.
That smell. Something canine and furious inside of Remus stirred, hackles raising. Wormtail.
Remus immediately stopped worrying about being careful and took off at a run.
He was halfway down the west wing when he heard it; the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor upstairs. Taking the first staircase he came to, Remus followed the scent all the way to the bedroom at the end of the hall. He was reaching for the handle of the double doors just in time to hear the incantation and drop to the floor.
Remus rolled to his right, wand drawn, crouched and waiting.
For a moment, there was silence on the other side of the door. Then a man's voice said, "What an idiot."
"Never underestimate the cunt of a Black," said another, female.
Bellatrix. Damn.
"Speaking of cunts," the man went on. As he approached the door, Remus recognised his voice and his smell at the same instant: Rabastan Lestrange. "Seems you've put yours to some use."
"Is that jealousy I detect, my dear brother?" Bellatrix cawed, flinging open the doors. Rabastan was beside her, and a third, hunched figure followed them like a shadow. "If you're so anxious to please our lord, I'm sure we can find use for one of your orifices —"
Remus pressed himself against the wall. The mansion was extravagant, and it worked to his advantage; in the shadow of the pillars framing the doors, he remained hidden while the trio moved down the hall, heading for the stairs.
"I daresay your nephew's orifices are likely the only ones of interest to him at the moment," was the last thing Remus heard before they rounded the corner.
Her nephew? But Malfoy had been with Harry... If Voldemort had gotten to him...
His Patronus was barely out the window and gone when Remus moved to follow, weighing his options. If Bellatrix and Rabastan were here, Rodolphus wouldn't be far behind. Even then, there might be more—even as a wolf Remus didn't stand much of a chance four-on-one, never mind if there were more of them. That, and he might harm somebody he wasn't trying to.
What he needed to do was find Narcissa and get her somewhere—anywhere—else, and fast.
This time of night she'd be riding. She always was, because it was the easiest way to avoid Yaxley's advances. She obviously hadn't been in the room with him, or they wouldn't still be there. But they were also ahead of Remus, and Bellatrix knew her sister; it wouldn't take her long to figure out where to look. He didn't have a chance of finding her first; he only needed to get to her first.
Remus paused at the top of the stairs, and concentrated on the moon.
His heartbeat became the only sound he could hear, filling him; the reverberating lub-dub lub-dub coming faster and faster, louder and louder. His skin itched as fur began to roll across his skin like a wave over shifting bones, shredded robes falling to the floor. His jaw ached as it stretched, teeth lengthening around a lolling tongue. The darkness became lighter, greyer, obscured by the bright trails of colour left by scents over a washed-out navy landscape. The wolf raised its head and sniffed the air once, twice.
Yellow eyes narrowed and the wolf leapt down the stairs, taking them six at a time. Too-long claws scrambled for purchase against the slick marble floor as the wolf landed, nose focussed on its target. Wolves did not need to worry about doors; an open window suited his purpose, and he was out in the night and surrounded by the smell of rain and sawdust and horse.
He cut across the lawns towards the long, low building that housed two dozen hearts larger than the wolf's own. The stables were awash with smells that confused the trail; horses snorted and stamped nervously as he prowled inside, nose to the ground, eyes glowing in the darkness.
Outside to his right, a horse screamed. The wolf snarled and lunged into motion, setting the horses in the stables wild. The wolf ignored the noise, heading for the track.
Narcissa was in the middle of the muddy ring, clinging to the back of a rearing mare, wand in hand. Bellatrix and both Lestrange brothers stood before her, shooting hexes at the terrified animal's feet, causing it to toss and whirl backwards towards the figures behind it—three of them, all recognised by the wolf on scent alone: Avery, one of the Notts—
Lupin rallied against the wolf's instinct; there were six of them, and one of him. With the element of surprise, he could take two, maybe three at the most. Even with Narcissa's help, he didn't stand a chance. But with the wolf's speed and strength, he could just manage to get to her before they realised what was going on. He could give her the distraction to get clear. Narcissa was smart; she wouldn't wait for him. She'd know he could take care of himself.
The wolf rallied against the human logic, eyes and nose all focussed on that last smell—
—Wormtail.
The wolf raised its hackles, and charged.
Wormtail whirled at the sound of his snarl and screamed, toppling backward into Avery, who turned at the noise and let Wormtail fall, frozen by fear, watching the wolf bear down on his comrade with open jaws.
The young Nott raised his wand calmly, and the Cruciatus curse hit him in mid-air; Lupin went down hard and snarling.
Narcissa did exactly what she was supposed to; her mount sailed over the fallen figure of Wormtail and charged down the track before the wolf could even get back on its feet.
The Cruciatus curse hurt, but the pain was an afterthought. The moment the wolf had hit the ground, the youngest Nott raised his wand, releasing him. The two men left standing were shouting and following Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers down the muddy track with the rest, sticking to their target. The wolf wasn't so easily deterred. It snarled again and struggled to its feet, ever-focussed on Wormtail.
The distantly human part of the wolf fought the animal, willing it to turn and intercept the others trying to follow Narcissa; she was the objective. The human inside needed to protect her. The wolf didn't care— too much anger, too much sorrow, too much love was directing his animal mind, the deep part of every wolf that mated for life, that lent its unfaltering loyalty to its domesticated cousins, that remembered the pack it had loved and lost.
The wolf remembered James and Lily.
The wolf remembered Sirius.
The wolf bared its teeth, and lunged.
: : :
through many dangers
toils and snares
i have already come
'twas grace that brought me
safely thus far
and grace will lead me home
: : :
As soon as they took to the air, they could hear the horses screaming.
It was a terrible sound. The terrified cries were oscillated by the stables, echoing down the track, smothering another noise; a human scream, cut short by a snarl.
Harry didn't even bother giving a signal; he tipped his Firebolt to earth and dove.
Arthur was right behind him, but even if he'd had a better broom he'd never hope to catch Harry. Harry didn't care. He'd already failed to keep Draco safe; he couldn't bear to break another promise. Draco would never forgive him.
Harry would never forgive himself.
It was hard to see by the meagre light of the torches along the track. This low to the ground, Harry could hear hooves and shouting—the high-pitched shriek of Bellatrix rang out below him, falling behind as he accelerated.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, he was no longer blind in the darkness.
He surged towards the figure retreating on horseback. They had reached the curve in the oval track, and the rider leaned in with her mount to take the turn. Harry pulled up alongside of her, shouting. Narcissa's head whipped around as she looked at his outstretched hand before reaching out to take it.
Her eyes found his and she hesitated. Before Harry could grab for her, the horse beneath her made a deep, sickening sound and stumbled, crashing to the ground and taking Narcissa with it. Harry pulled up as quickly as he could, spinning his broom so fast it left him dizzy. Standing before the fallen horse was a tall figure clad in black robes. It turned its wand on Narcissa's fallen form.
By the time Harry got in range, Narcissa had rolled behind the fallen horse for cover. The curse from the figure hit the dead horse instead. Narcissa's wand was in her hand when she pulled herself to her feet; the figure attacking her went down screaming.
Something exploded further down the track from where they'd come, flames roaring to life even in the rain. The noise was horrific now, the screams of the trapped animals mingled with the shouts from the other Death Eaters. Ron must have shown up with the team in tow. Harry itched to join them, but knew that getting Narcissa out of there was more important. He trusted Ron and the others to take care of themselves.
Narcissa saw him coming, and this time did not hesitate. He actually had her hand clasped in his, ready to pull her onto his broom when Bellatrix hit her sister with a spell. Narcissa screamed and crumpled, taking Harry down with her.
"Oh, no you don't!" Bellatrix was skipping towards them as Harry coughed up mud and rolled to his feet. "C'mon, Cissy! Don't be such a spoilsport! We just want to chat."
Bellatrix stopped when she saw Harry with his wand aimed at her chest. She was only about ten feet away. He could do it, he thought. He'd done it before. She deserved it more than any of them.
"Is that little Potter?" Bellatrix cooed, biting her bottom lip. He could barely hear her over the noise; as the fire spread, the horses grew more panicked, and the Death Eater Narcissa had hit was still screaming. "Look at you, Potter! All grown up! Hah, look at you, a little Dark Lord in the making! Did my little sister woo you with her cunt, too? You could do better, you know, than this wrinkled old—"
Bellatrix screeched and collapsed under Narcissa's hex; the woman had got to her feet beside Harry, teeth bared. "Who are you calling wrinkled, you snake-fucking whore!"
The screech gave way to a gleeful giggle as Bellatrix rolled herself onto her stomach and rose to her knees. "Language, Cissy! I know mother raised you better than that—hey!" Harry had bent down to retrieve his broom; Bellatrix's spell sent it spinning off into the foliage beyond the rail. "Where are your manners, little Potter! I'm trying to have a chat with my sister."
Harry was on her before Narcissa could stop him, before Bellatrix could take aim again, his wand at her throat. "Give me a reason," he said, deathly calm. "Please."
"That's better," Bellatrix drawled, lowering her wand and snickering. "Come on, Potter. You know you want to. You know your godfather would want you to—"
Too late, Harry realised she was stalling. He'd been so focussed on her, so focussed on not killing her, that he didn't hear Narcissa's sharp intake of breath, didn't feel the presence behind him until the tip of a wand pressed into the small of his back.
A hand twisted in his hair, yanking him back sharply. Bellatrix giggled, jumping to her feet and snatching Harry's wand out of his hand before he could recover. "Now, now, Theo—careful you don't break the merchandise."
Harry had run into the younger Nott before. He was the one that got away, that night years ago when they'd come for Marius's family the first time. Harry had hesitated to kill then, too. Each time, Harry told himself he wouldn't make the same mistake, no matter how sick the feeling left him.
So much for that.
"Two for the price of one," Theodore said. He sounded as gleeful as Bellatrix, but his one good eye was devoid of any emotion altogether. It gave Harry the chills. "I never did repay you for this," Theodore said, motioning to his left eye with the point of his wand. "Have you got your Portkey? Let's—"
A flash of red light grazed the unscarred side of Theodore's face. He cursed, letting go of Harry reflexively to protect his one good eye. Harry dropped to the ground, taking Bellatrix back down as he went. She screamed and clawed at him with her nails, but she was small and he was stronger. He pinned her hands down, shoved a knee into her midsection and twisted his wand out of her hands.
More spells flashed over his head. He could hear Ron shouting, muffled beneath the sound of the fire and the screaming animals in the background. Bellatrix cursed underneath him, face contorted in fury, fingers scrambling across the ground for her wand, nails ripping into his skin. Harry hit her, hard, relishing in the damped crack of her nose and the warm feel of blood against his fist. She stopped struggling and he pushed to his feet, only to get yanked to the side and down again as the red light of a Stunning spell shot past his ear.
"Thanks," he muttered, when Ron pulled him back to his feet. "Where's—"
Pain happened. Harry could sense nothing else; just endless, endless pain coursing through him, jolting his bones like a full-body toothache. He must have screamed because the pain stopped as suddenly as it started, and Ron was over him, sending the Death Eater sprawling.
"Well, good news is, they still seem to be under orders not to kill you," Ron said, checking the Stunned figure on the ground. "It's one of the Lestrange brothers. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Harry lied, blinking away the spots in his vision. Everything was dark again, the sudden pain of the Cruciatus Curse having shocked him out of his hold on his night-vision. "Where's Narcissa? We need to—"
The darkness exploded around them. The shockwave from the spell threw them both sideways; Harry staggered, just managing to stay on his feet, but Ron ended up in the dirt, cursing. Somehow, the curved railing of the track had been set ablaze—Harry realised with some horror that the fire from the stables had spread to the track, unnaturally aggressive and potent, causing the metal to glow white-hot. Fiendfyre.
There were a dozen dark figures moving along the track, but it was hard to tell who was friend or foe until their faces became clear in the firelight. Harry could see Tonks in the distance, pink hair singed but otherwise whole; she was duelling with a short figure—Avery—but seemed to be holding her own. Harry spun around, eyes searching for Narcissa, and found her twenty feet away—next to Hermione.
"What the hell is she doing here?" he heard Ron hiss below him, but Harry was already moving.
Not fast enough. Bellatrix got her hands on her fallen husband's wand, aimed it at her sister, and before Harry could react, a bolt of purple light hit home.
Only, not on its intended target. Hermione saw the curse coming, threw herself in front of Narcissa, and brought up a shield just in time—the curse plowed right through it, hitting her in the stomach.
Distantly, Harry heard Bellatrix's pleased laughter turn into a scream. Harry barely managed to get to Hermione before she staggered and fell, catching her as she went down.
Above them, Narcissa stood pale and trembling. "Is she—"
"She's breathing," Harry said, just as Ron came sliding to a halt beside him, pale-faced. "Get her out of here," he continued, handing her over. Ron took her with shaking hands, Hermione hanging limp in his arms. "I'll take—"
"I'm not leaving you—"
A bolt of white light lanced right over his head and Harry shoved him hard: "Go!"
Ron gathered Hermione in his arms and went, disappearing into the darkness, leaving Harry alone with Bellatrix and Narcissa, and the stirring form of Theodore Nott.
"Accio Firebolt!" Harry snapped, and nothing happened. Bellatrix's wand felt cold and lifeless in his grip, like an ordinary twig. Go figure.
Tucking the wand away, Harry cast his eyes around for his own wand—even with his night-vision, it was impossible to spot it amongst the disturbed dirt of the track.
Narcissa seemed to be paying attention, at least, and shot Theodore back down with a solid stun as he tried to sit up. Bellatrix was still recovering from whatever curse Ron hit her with, and Harry kicked the wand by her limp hand away before closing his eyes and concentrating.
Accio wand!
The reaction was so immediate he wasn't ready for it; his wand thwacked against his elbow and hit the dirt. Harry crouched to retrieve it, just in time to dodge the jet of red light that had been aimed at his chest.
"The broom!" Harry shouted at Narcissa over his shoulder as he returned fire with another hex. The Death Eater attacking him ducked and rolled, which was a bad idea; they rolled right into the Fiendfyre along the rail, which instantly set their black cloak ablaze. But there were two more coming, to take his place. Harry could still see the distant figures of the other Aurors down the track, fighting the others—
Dirt was shoved into his mouth and eyes and Harry lashed out, coughing. Someone tried to snatch his wand and he kicked, shoving the figure away. The two figures in cloaks approaching were past him by the time he wiped the last of the mud out of his eyes, and had Narcissa cornered.
"Why the fuss, Cissy?" Bellatrix sneered at her sister. "Don't you want to see your baby boy?"
Narcissa cast a shield just in time to block the Disarming charm from Avery, who was off to her left. "I will die before I am used against my own son."
"You always did like doing things the hard way," Bellatrix cooed. A heartbeat later she went down cursing under Harry's Stinging Hex.
The other figure whirled on him, and Harry found himself looking up at Rabastan Lestrange's wand under a dark smirk. "Mind your manners, Potter. This is a family affair."
: : :
Draco opened his eyes, and felt empty.
His chest still throbbed, a deep ache through his heart and stomach, but he couldn't remember why. He watched as Snape capped the bottle in his hands, trapping the silver swirl of things forgotten before sealing it with a spell.
They looked so pitiful, grey and... insignificant. Draco tried to remember what they were, but all he recalled was pain, so he stopped trying.
"Now," Snape said, tucking the bottle away in the folds of his robes. "I want you to open your mind to me, and think back to the day your father died."
Draco didn't bother standing. He wiped the wetness from his cheeks, wondering how it got there; had he been crying?
Snape leaned down and Draco stopped thinking about it; instead, he thought of the day his father died.
That day, Draco had mostly been thinking about sex. He'd thought about sex rather a lot, actually, but that month was the worst. He'd just turned twenty-one, and was getting worried he'd never get a chance to have it. He could feel Snape listening in over his proverbial shoulder, but he didn't really care when he felt (rather than saw) Snape roll his eyes. After all, he hadn't done much of anything in four years, and at that age, sex was pretty much at the forefront of his mind.
The weather that night had been historically violent; thunder boomed overhead as lightning cut the sky into pieces, the rain coming down so hard Draco had initially thought it was hailing. The walls of the Manor took the assault without so much as a shudder, but Draco could see the destruction nature laid outside. Thankfully, the stables were magically reinforced, so the horses were safe, but his mother had spent the night by the window with her hands clasped tightly in agitation anyway.
Draco couldn't stand to watch her, so he had retreated to the library, purposely letting his weight make the Nightingale floor sing in sync with the storm raging outside. He had closed his eyes and let his feet move on their own, tracing the lines in the floor blindly, until the room sang louder than the gale.
When Draco had opened his eyes, he saw the Valaetas flicker violently, as if exposed to the wind slamming into the windows. It flared brightly for a heartbeat before suddenly going out, leaving a wisp of smoke curling in the glass orb.
And then, all Draco remembered was a vast emptiness full of pain that made the scar on his chest burn. He tried to cross the distance, but it was too long—too deep; a black hole of pain, sucking in every ounce of light. He felt himself fall into the darkness, and the ache in his chest twisted his insides like a dagger. In the darkness, all he could see were green eyes laced with yellow that turned gold, grew teeth, and charged.
Distantly, he heard himself scream.
"Draco," Snape hissed, and Draco opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor, half in Snape's arms. He blinked twice, and quickly sat up. Snape shoved a small phial into his hands, which were clammy with cold sweat. "Drink this."
Draco drank it without thinking. Immediately the tension in his limbs eased and his stomach settled. The ache in his chest remained, though fainter now. Draco rubbed at it with his free hand. "What was that?"
"The last few weeks of your experiences, or rather the absence of them. Try not to think about it," Snape went on, and Draco wondered why he bothered; as if he'd willingly submit himself to that again. "The effects will be temporary," Snape continued, "provided the memories are returned before too long."
Draco thought of the deep, dark cavity of pain, and wondered why he'd ever want to remember what had filled that space. "How long?"
"It's different for everyone," Snape said, helping Draco to his feet. "It depends on how quickly your subconscious forgets. Once that happens, your mind will reject the re-insertion. However tempting it may be, you need to resist closing that part of your mind, Draco."
"I'll try," Draco lied, because he planned to forget as soon as he could.
He never, ever wanted to feel that pain again.
Snape made sure he could stand on his own before stepping back. He looked Draco over, and grimaced. "I need to leave."
Draco thought of the golden eyes and white teeth, and immediately flinched. "Please."
"He will be coming for you, and soon. It must be as if I was never here," Snape says, and squared his shoulders before raising his wand. Draco recoiled, but his back hit the wall; Snape looked like he wanted to be sick, but pressed his lips together in a thin line and took aim anyway. "I'm very sorry, Draco," he said, and then: "Obliviate."
Suddenly Draco only remembered the thunder and rain. He remembered the floor signing as his father's flame went out, and he remembered green eyes laced with gold, and white teeth in the darkness.
And then, all Draco remembered was pain.
: : :
Harry wasn't afraid of the Lestrange in front of him. Even if he'd never fought the man directly before, he'd yet to run into anyone who could best him in a duel aside from Snape.
Too late, Harry realised he'd made a mistake. The younger Lestrange brother may not have been better than Voldemort, but he was faster than Harry had counted on. Before he could even think an incantation, he felt the Cruciatus Curse seize his body, starting at his chest and blossoming out like a full-body case of pins and needles on fire.
The pain seemed to go on forever, and it was all Harry could do just to keep his grip on his wand, barely aware of the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as his teeth snapped shut on his tongue. And then just as suddenly, it stopped.
Above him, Rabastan snarled, "Stay down, you idiot."
Harry couldn't exactly argue, not while his body was still recovering. Getting hit by the Cruciatus Curse three times in ten minutes wasn't something you could just bounce back from, even if you were Harry Potter.
Ahead of him, just out of reach, Narcissa was trapped between the growing Fiendfyre along the railing and the three figures before her. Harry could barely distinguish them behind the spots still clouding his vision, but he could see Narcissa was still armed.
"Such an awful fuss," Bellatrix muttered, dusting off her robes. "This only has one ending, Cissy. You can't out-hex all three of us."
Harry opened his mouth as Rabastan, behind Avery, raised his wand. Narcissa shook her head sharply, but she wasn't looking at her sister. She was looking at her brother-in-law.
"Don't make this any harder than it has to be, dear sister," Bellatrix sneered, all the laughter gone from her voice. "You know He will get what he wants from your boy, with or without you."
Narcissa surprised them all by laughing. "Without me, He has nothing!"
Harry had just started to stumble to his feet when Narcissa raised her wand to her own neck. "No!"
Bellatrix and Rabastan both echoed his shout, but it was too late; the flash of green re-blinded Harry and left his mind reeling and eyes stinging from the smoke. Narcissa's limp form was sprawled in the dirt before them, framed with Fiendfyre.
Harry had heard about people who suffered shock, how they describe everything happening in what seemed like slow-motion. He had never experienced it himself, and now was no different—if anything, everything seemed to speed up and happen too fast. It was as if he was standing in the middle of an explosion; a shockwave reverberated outward, flattening the three Death Eaters face-first into the thick dirt of the track. The Fiendfyre roared, soaring up and away from him, lighting up the sky.
Bellatrix was the first to stir, and Harry was on her in an instant. The decision not to kill her only took a split second. She didn't deserve death. His Stun hit her square between the shoulders and her body crumpled.
He turned his wand on her brother-in-law, who threw his hands up and dropped his wand. Harry Stunned him anyway, and looked for Avery and Nott—both were gone. At some point between then and the explosion, they;d escaped into the darkness. Harry was about to Summon his broom and hunt the bastards down when someone grabbed his shoulder.
He whirled around and found his wand pointed in the face of Arthur, who winced. Harry lowered his wand. "They're gone, Harry," he said, as if reading Harry's mind. "We saw them—must have had an emergency Portkey like the others. I'm sorry."
Harry turned back around to find Doge kneeling by Narcissa, checking for a pulse Harry knew wasn't there. Tonks was standing behind him, crying. Justin had one arm around her, and sent out a Patronus with the other to call for backup to help contain the fire.
Behind them all, framed by the dark silhouettes of two escaped horses, Lupin sat in the mud staring at the fire. His clothes were torn and ragged; dark blood was smeared over his mouth, neck and shoulders.
Harry wanted to scream. They had been so close—he started to look around for Ron, and then remembered why he wasn't there.
Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. "She did what she felt she had to. There was nothing you could have done, Harry."
But Harry wasn't really listening; he was remembering Draco's warning words.
"She's all I have left! And I swear to Merlin if anything happens to her, I will have nothing to lose... and you'll find out just what kind of bastard I can really be."
"Get this trash back to Headquarters."
Arthur blinked. "You mean back the Ministry?"
"No," Harry said, "Malfoy Manor."
: : :
The creatures guarding him were growing restless. They circled him now, trapping him blindly in the centre of the room. They crept closer at each pass, so close he could feel the rough fur brush his hands as they snarled past. Occasionally a thick, scaled tail whipped against his back.
They never attacked, though; they just watched him, their glowing golden eyes the only part of them visible in the lightless chamber. They looked hungry, and Draco wondered why they didn't just get it over with. Each time one met his gaze the eyes seemed to pierce him, reading every inch of his soul, searching.
Whatever they were looking for, they never seemed to find it. Instead they just stalked circles around him, snapping but never biting, whipping but never clawing, shoving but never pouncing. By the time the door opened again, Draco didn't even care who it was—even if it was Nott —only that it had to be better than this, because he didn't know where he was, how he had got there, only that death would be a mercy next to doing this for a minute longer.
That was, until the figure stepped through the door and was illuminated by the dim light of its wand, and Draco suddenly wanted to be alone with the beasts again.
"Mr Malfoy," the man said, his smile wicked and sharp. "It's been a long time."
He looked nothing like Draco remembered. The same height (taller than Draco and his father, both), but more human; handsome, even, if you ignored the fact that his eyes were a deep red and his smile was bordering on manic. The snake-wolves growled when they saw him, forgetting Draco and converging around him.
The Dark Lord turned his gaze to them and uttered a warning hiss. The creatures cringed and snarled, slinking off into the gloom.
"Don't mind my pets," the Dark Lord said, the smile reappearing on his face. "They are just... hungry. I do trust they did not harm you?"
Draco was aware that he was shaking, and closed his eyes to concentrate and forcibly made himself stop. The ache in his chest helped; he focussed on it until his heart slowed to match his breathing. When he opened his eyes, the Dark Lord was standing directly in front of him. Draco flinched.
The Dark Lord clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Now, now, none of that. I just want to talk."
Draco just stared at him, incredulous.
"Come," the Dark Lord said, and swept an arm towards the door. "Walk with me."
It wasn't like Draco could refuse; he knew he either complied, or got compelled to. He had had enough pain for one day (one lifetime), so he bowed his head, and let himself be led down the long stone hall.
He had been in the cell longer than he realised. It was immediately apparent, upon moving, that he needed the loo. His mouth was also dry, and his stomach ached all on its own beneath the throbbing of his scar. The light from the few tall, thin slits that served as windows was blinding. Wherever he was, it was at least midday, but it was colder than Draco could ever remember feeling. Snow slipped in through the slits, gathering in the corners and sticking to the soles of his shoes. The hallway was long, but the trip was over too quickly. At the end, he followed the lone figure of the Dark Lord (he wasn't even watching Draco, just expecting him to follow, and Draco hated him for it) through the door, and into a large antechamber made of the same rough, grey stone of his cell.
On the floor was a large, circular engraving of spellwork so old Draco couldn't hope to read it. The Dark Lord led him to the centre of the circle, one hand gripping him tightly by the shoulder before speaking in a litany of hisses that made Draco shiver.
The engraving glowed blue, and then—they were standing on a large, covered balcony, on top of an identical spell-circle. The stone was the same colour, but smoother, polished like marble. Shielding his eyes against the blinding light of the sun, Draco looked off the edge of the balcony, and all he could see was whiteness.
"I must apologise for the rather morose accommodations my servants left you in," the Dark Lord said. His tone was cordial and liquid, and somehow a thousand times worse than hissing. "Really, most of them aren't much better than beasts themselves. We'll find you something more fitting to your... station. But first, I wanted to show you something."
"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked, because he was beginning to feel like he was in some kind of fucked-up nightmare despite the numbness in his limbs. "What do you want from me?"
"So many questions," the Dark Lord said, smiling insanely again and taking Draco by the elbow, leading him to the edge of the balcony. "Relax, Draco; what I want is nothing you will miss. But enough of that. What I want right now, is to show you what your father failed to realise—I am sorry about his death, you must know Lucius was my most treasured ally until he, most unfortunately, became lost to sense."
Draco grit his teeth, and said nothing.
"When I first met Lucius, he was much like myself—a man of vision. He saw a world without taint, a world where wizards did not hide their power, nor dilute it with the filth of those unworthy. He saw, in short, a dream I will shortly come to realise. But over the years, his strength waned, his loyalty strayed—he left me with little choice, you see. But you, Draco, you have... so much potential, to be a greater man than your father could have ever hoped to be. Don't you see?"
The Dark Lord waved his free hand, still clutching his wand, over the expanse below the balcony. Draco followed his hand, and all he saw was a twisted range of mountains caked in white, untouched snow, glowing beneath the sun. Directly beneath them was a deep valley, covered by a glacier. Draco looked and looked, before turning his gaze back to the Dark Lord, still silent.
The Dark Lord sighed, and slipped the hand on Draco's elbow up to the back of his neck. His fingers were colder than the air, causing Draco to shudder. "Open your eyes, Draco, and look; see what I have done, see what will come—see that only fools dare stand in the way of my vision."
Draco closed his eyes, shivering against the cold touch before opening them again, and looked down.
The glacier was gone.
In its place was the most horrific thing Draco had ever seen. The worst kind of creatures filled his vision as far as the valley stretched, everything from giants to ghouls to Inferi to—dragons, tethered and angry, roaring their defiance in white-hot jets of flame into the sky. Dark creatures Draco had only read about in the Restricted Section at school, beasts he couldn't even begin to name, monstrosities so grotesque they were painful to look at—they filled the snowy valley like an infection in the mountainside, and even this high up, he could smell the blood-curdling odour of blood and death.
"You see," the Dark Lord said, looking down on the infestation like a proud father, "no one, not even Harry Potter," he snarled the name, hisses interlacing the syllables, "stands a chance."
Draco believed him. "You're mad," Draco whispered. "They'll kill us all."
The Dark Lord clicked his tongue again. Draco winced, but the pain never came. He was being extremely... tolerant, which only served to terrify Draco more. "There is a very fine line between insanity and genius."
"I see you've managed to erase it." If only that terror extended to his bloody mouth.
The Dark Lord merely looked amused. "You have the Black sense of humour," he observed. "And Bellatrix spoke so poorly of you. Come," he continued, and Draco blinked. The valley once again contained a glacier, pure and smooth against the landscape. "We will discuss business over dinner, after you've bathed. You must be starved."
Draco followed in a daze, until the Dark Lord showed him into chambers that, while still carved from stone, at least were warmed with a fire and housed a bed and bath. He shut himself in the loo and bathed mostly to feel the warmth of the water, flinching at every noise, wondering how long this charade would last. When the water failed to run cold and Draco could feel the tips of his extremities again, he reluctantly left the warm confines of the bathroom.
On the bed were a fresh set of robes, all in black. The fireplace had been replenished with wood, and a meal was sitting on a tray on a small table.
Draco figured if the Dark Lord was going to kill him, poisoning would be too kind, so it was probably safe to eat. The robes were warm, made of thick wool and inlaid with some sort of fur that managed to keep out most of the chill. Draco curled up by the fire anyway, and let it soak into the fabric. He didn't think for a second the fireplace was connected to a Floo network, or one that would be of any use to him, anyway.
Whatever Voldemort wanted, no matter what he said, Draco knew he couldn't give it to him. But then again, the Dark Lord could be very persuasive when he needed to be. Draco decided he didn't want to think about that, and thought instead about the terrors hidden beneath the glacier below... and then suddenly felt much worse as the realisation hit him.
He was never going to leave this place alive.
: : :
If you'll note, this was only about 10k. I except the following chapters to be the usual 20-30k.
Credits:
Quoted lyrics 1 and 2 from If I Die Young by The Band Perry
Title and quote 3 from Amazing Grace by Ani DiFranco
Drawing used stock photo as reference (note to self: drawing horses lying down is hard w/o one), but as it was saved in one of my misc stock folders, I can't seem to find the source.