PLEASE READ: School is starting up and the story will slow down again for a while. I'll try my hardest to update quickly, but I can't make any promises. So, I decided t slip in some light HP/DM as an apology! Gomen Nasai! Well, READ ON!
Rating: M, for language, graphic violence, chronic evilness, HP/DM goodness
Warning: SLASH Draco x Harry, Evil/Dark Harry, Weasley/Granger/Dumbles bashing, OC
Declaimer: We've been over this before—I do not, nor have or will I ever, own Harry Potter or its characters. Got it? Good.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Playing Games
10:25am—Number Twelve Grimmauld Place; London, England (Harry's POV)
It seemed that the entire universe was out to ruin his last two days of summer vacation. First, Marlonne showed up, playing him for a helpless child like only he could. Next, the goddess hailing from the States strolls into his house, barking orders and generally exploiting his debt for all it was worth. The Weasleys found the nerve to return, having called the Order because they were "concerned for his well-being", then disregarding him to interrogate Marlonne on the old man's request. His only break was when said smiling daemon left for an "appointment" and he was allowed a time to relax...until he fell asleep. His whole day went downhill from the moment he found out Diosa could invade his dreams because of that place called Here. He figured nothing could beat that bombshell until she told him he was dying.
Alright, not dying, he corrected himself, ignoring Remus' ridiculous claim that he wasn't listening. My soul's just broken, that's all. Then, even after he was diagnosed with an untreatable, incurable condition, he had to live and work with Draco Malfoy to kill a man no one could find. And, on top of all these treats, he was anemic because his relatives didn't see the need to feed him.
"Worst. Weekend. Ever," he mumbled. The high point of the whole ordeal was that his partner, though as frustrating as a splinter under his fingernail, was the finest person for the job of all-around sneak. Both of them were young, barely adults, and wouldn't be suspected of much devilry on their own. Plus, not only was Malfoy a Slytherin, born for shadow work, but his mentor was the Order's own double-spy. Paired with Harry's own cover as a hero and the sympathy from his uncle's death, their mission was bound to go unhindered.
He wiped the grin off of his face when Malfoy met his sidelong stare, and fought down a blush. When his new partner turned back to Diosa, he went back to stealing glances at him, eyebrow wrinkling on its own pureblood stood with his back straight, his shoulders set, his chin firm and his arrogance aglow. He was the opposite of the lost cause he saw before—the teenager that hated existing so much that Harry briefly believed he was a spy for Dumbledore. Thinking about the hopeless look in those eyes made him take a deep breath, glad to be alive.
He's like a different person as a human than as a daemon, he thought. I've never seen someone look so desperate before.
"Harry, you're not listening again!" He grimaced, withholding the comment that burned at the tip of his tongue. The werewolf was a normally quiet man, keeping to himself most of the time, and strong as steel the rest of it. Remus didn't deserve his anger, since he did nothing to wrong him. Harry turned to him, sighing and keeping his head down, the symbol of submission.
"You're right, Remus," he whispered. "I'm sorry. There's just...so much going on...I c-can't..." He bit his lip, avoiding eye contact with the older man and covered his face as if he were going to cry. He made sure to hunch his shoulders, so he'd look even smaller, and appealed to Remus' alpha wolf instincts. Harry felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and didn't shake it off, genuinely wishing he was comforted by Remus' understanding. He couldn't deny that he wasn't the same Harry anymore, but Sirius' murder had changed him, most would say for the worst. Guilt should've eaten at him for manipulating the man's fatherly love, but a growing part of him lost that old compassion.
"It's alright, Harry," the ex-professor smiled. "I'm not angry with you. I think we're all stretched a little thin. Maybe we should all rest."
"He can't," stated the goddess of eternal bossiness. "We're goin' out."
"Excuse me," Molly Weasley retorted, maternal instinct kicking in. "I'm sorry, but these children need sleep. They have school tomorrow, Miss..."
"Call me Dee, and I don't see why I can't take two, growing boys out for a lil' walk. It ain't even noon yet, and they won't get drowsy 'till two or three." Harry wanted to mention that he was tired already, but he figured there had to be a reason for this surprise trip. The last time he left the house with her, he returned looking like an angry emotive kid with a bag full of anti-everything music. Not that he was against it—it was actually his idea—but he was sure they'd be out all day, despite the exalted woman's reassurances.
"Well, Miss Dee, I'd have to advice against this outing. Besides, you've seemed to have chosen the two boys that happen to be the easiest fatigued."
"Okay, and I respect ya advice as a habitual mother," Diosa smiled bright enough to blind a rock. "Harry, Sickle, find ya coats and let's get to gettin'." Harry tried to play his laugh off as a cough at the shocked befuddlement on the blonde's face when he heard the nickname. He had to admit: the name fit in two ways. On one hand, Malfoy's looks and tone were surely sharp as a scythe; on the other hand, his eyes, in the right light, flashed silver like the coin. Ugh, did I just think that? I'm already dropping my guard, and we haven't shared three civil words with each other!
Blowing his bangs out of his face and sidestepping Hermoine, he plucked his denim jacket off the foot of his bed and navigated threw the shattered glass to Diosa's side. The woman wrapped an instinctual arm around his shoulder and urged him through the door, Malfoy at their heels. The trio bolted out the house, waving Kreacher out of the way and nodding a quick farewell to the laughing pair of Messengers on the stoop. As they slammed the door, Diosa climbed behind the wheel of a shining, cherry red Ferrari California that lit up the entire street.
"C'mon, get in the back seat before that busybody Molly comes and eats us," she called half-believing it would happen. He smirked and grabbed the hesitant Slytherin's hand, dragging him to the curb. Harry reveled in the softness of the leather interior, waving his free hand above his head to enjoy the freedom of the drop top. The car purred to life, sending a thrill up his spine that made him sink into his seat, brimming with excitement. He hardly rode in a car at all, much less one that made pedestrians gape as they sailed over the asphalt.
I wonder what it's like driving this beauty on the open road, he pondered, momentarily lost in teenage fantasies of wind rushing through his hair and the smell of the ocean in his lungs. I have to buy one of these!
"Hey, ya listenin' back there, kid?"
"Huh?"
"I said, where d'ya wanna go? I just needed outta that house, with all them creaky floors and shit." He made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror. "What, ya wanna watch a movie or somethin'?"
"I thought there was a more pressing matter to attend to than goofing around," Malfoy murmured to no one in particular. Harry felt him try to slip his hand out of his and dropped it like a lead ball, jamming his own offending hand into his pocket. He could feel Malfoy's stare on his reddening face, curious and...was that disappointment? Impossible.
"Lighten up, Sickle," the goddess laughed. "It's the last day of summer! Don't cha wanna live it up?"
The boy let loose a bitter chuckle, discreetly flexing the hand that lay between him and Harry. "No, I can't say that I do, though you certainly seem raring to go. I'm guessing you have an adventure in mind."
"Ah, nothin' more than a few errands. A lil' runnin' around here and there, y'know."
"That sounds more like the schedule of a housewife than that of the goddess of Death. How can I be sure you're not a poser who says she's some powerful being?"
Diosa laughed again, reaching into the glove compartment. "Damn, no smokes," she mumbled to herself. They stopped at a red light, Diosa kneeling in her seat to look over the head rest like a child. "Hey, ya wanna hear a secret?"
Harry, who was sitting behind the driver's seat, poked her forehead experimentally. "Hmm, you don't feel holy, Missy. I'm feeling a little betrayed!" She snapped at his finger, plucking his forehead, then slid back into her seat just as the light changed.
"I'm tryin' to explain myself, but someone wants to interrupt people!"
"What's this so-called 'secret'," Malfoy sneered. "It can't be very well-kept if you're willing to offer it up so easily."
"Yeah, ya right. I tell pretty much any agent willin' to listen, so they get all the facts straight. The truth is I ain't much of a goddess: I was just the first daemon born with green eyes after my old man. I can't control the passin' of souls all by my lonesome, so Death is more of an organization and I'm the head bitch in charge." Harry scowled in confusion.
"I don't understand. What does green eyes have to do with that?"
"Gracious, Potter, don't you know anything about daemons?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, was I talking to you, Malfoy? But since you're so ready to spread your almighty knowledge, I might as well hear what you have to say."
"Well, if you must know, the color of a daemon's eyes is representative of their level of magical power. Only daemons of a certain power have the same eye color, despite relation or species. Green eyes means the person has an indefinite amount of raw power from birth."
"Well shit, Sickle—ya got quite the brain, don't cha? Glad I picked ya for the job!" Harry was thinking along those same lines, but refused to stroke the Slytherin Prince's ego. However, he still had questions that needed answering, so he decided to swallow his pride.
"So let's say a person has...oh, I don't know...silver eyes: would that mean they're weaker than a person with green ones? Hmm, Malfoy?" Okay, maybe not all of his pride would go down without a fight. Malfoy gritted his teeth, and he could almost see the vein throbbing in his temple.
"It doesn't work quite that way, Potter," he hissed. "Silver eyes note a different type of power, though it could be same amount of, if not more, magic. That person has more refined magic—"
"Lemme guess: only pureblood daemons have silver eyes." Malfoy didn't answer, choosing to glare at him in fuming silence. "Am I right, oh Wise One?"
The slamming of a door interrupted their glaring match, and he noticed Diosa walking around the car to Malfoy's window. She whispered something in his ear that made the blonde sputter wildly, her striding off into the professional looking building they were parked in front of. Harry snorted at his partner masking his emotions, figuring it was a waste of time to be passive aggressive when the woman was involved. She, similar to Marlonne, took it upon themselves to do whatever they wanted, though she held the reigns and couldn't be reprimanded. If someone was indebted to her, she'd insure that the debt be paid. Since he had taken a life before his time, he dedicated his life to serving her with no protests. However, that brought to light the question of what Malfoy had done to owe a debt to Death.
"Hey, Malfoy...," he trailed off. The other boy was bent over in his seat, his head resting on his lap and shoulders shaking. His sudden depression struck Harry dumb, his question dying on his tongue. The thought that Diosa said something overly upsetting left a sour taste in his mouth, and he tried ignoring his partner's sobs as a courtesy to his pride.
Although Malfoy tried to stifle his cries, Harry couldn't take the muffled hiccups after mucheffort. After messing with the car radio, Harry figured he could jumpstart the car to listen to anything but the crying that rattled him in a way he didn't expect in his worst nightmares. He reached into his back pocket for his wand, pausing when he saw that quiet desperation on the boy's face again. He could almost see his partner ending himself right there and then, radiating an emptiness Harry hadn't felt in for half a year...since the moment Sirius died.
"Stop that," he rasped. Malfoy didn't respond, silently begging him to do something he couldn't. "Stop it! Stop wanting to die, god dammit!"
"I-I..."
"Why now, huh?! You've never wanted to die before!" The comment paralyzed his partner, dammed his tears, and left him staring at his shoes through his fingers. "Why all of a sudden?!"
"You know nothing about me, Potter," came the frosty reply. "Don't act like you do."
"I'll never get a chance to know you if you off yourself, genius," he growled. Malfoy returned his contempt tenfold.
"Oh, fuck off, Golden Boy! You have no idea what I'm going through! The whole of the dark world expect me to be some great Death Eater now that I'm seventeen!"
"And I have to save the whole world from darkness. So? "
"If I can't live up to their expectations, You-Know-Who will kill my family!"
"Ha, you're preaching to the choir, Malfoy! He murdered mine when I was one. The last memory I have of my mother is her dying for me. You'll get over it and move on."
Malfoy gaped at him, appalled. "Who are you?!"
"You know, I've been asking myself the same thing." He had only wanted to end the crying, but seeing Malfoy stare at him as if he was a monster disturbed him all the same. No matter what, he felt as if he was doing something wrong.
Okay, telling a depressed person to let their family die and get over it is strictly a Slytherin move, he chastised himself. But what's done is done. Neither of them talked for a while, though they both prayed Diosa would return already. Malfoy sat as far from Harry as the back seat allowed,
"Look," he sighed. "I went a bit overboard."
"No, you don't say," the blonde drawled, though he still stayed out of arm's reach. "I hadn't noticed."
"I'm trying to apologize here, Malfoy!"
"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it! Just...forget it, Potter. This conversation never happened."
"But—"
"Never happened!"
"I get it! Damn!" They refused to look at each other after Diosa walked out of the building, waving them out of the car. Malfoy was the first one out of the car, not sparing a single glance his way. Harry growled, thoroughly annoyed. Their superior made a comment about him scowling, but it barely registered in his mind as he was intent on burning a hole through the back of the moody Slytherin's head.
While he was busy sending evil thoughts, they had been led though several floors of the building to a quiet waiting room. From the corner of his eye, he saw the lavender wallpaper and vases of white lilies adorning the room. Soft, near subliminal music played from hidden speakers, It was difficult for him to imagine any of the Messengers sitting in the overstuffed chairs, twiddling their thumbs.
"Why are we here?" Harry's scowls deepened at hearing the object of his loathing speak, fleetingly considering kicking him in the head. "I thought you had errands to run."
"Did I say that?" Diosa batted her fan of lashes, smiling innocently.
"Yes. You did."
"Oh, yeah! Well, I say a lot of things," she giggled. The curtain in the back of the room fluttered and an odd young woman came out, grinning like a cat. Diosa hugged her, since they appeared to be old friends, and Harry felt the other woman looked like a college version of her. The woman's hair was the same deep red, though she was a head shorter and spoke without the American accent. He could hardly see the skin of her arms past the festival of tattoos depicting different scenes: wolves dancing on her shoulders, tailed children laughing on lush grass, and golden-eyed men watching green-eyed women cradle their infants lovingly. The younger woman even rolled the sleeves of her dress shirt up for the best view of the art work.
"Boys, this's my cousin, Michael," Diosa beamed. "She's a tat artist, the best in London!"
"You should know, sending your people here every two weeks," Michael reprimanded jokingly. "These two are kids, anyway. Unless we have some consent, this is never going to work."
"Nah, it's cool! Sickle over there is seventeen already, and don't cha recognize this one?" Diosa's cousin scrutinized him from his bright bangs to his sneakered feet, face blank of anything other than curiosity.
"No, who is he?"
"Ya still ain't got it?!"
"HE'S HARRY BLOODY POTTER! Sweet Merlin, just tell us why we're here!" The goddess and her cousin glared at Malfoy in unison, pupils narrowing while Harry smirked behind his hand.
At least I'm not the only one in a shitty mood, he snickered internally. Diosa told her cousin to explain, who waved them behind the curtain into the main room. The lighting was a bit dimmer, and there were no windows. Posters of different rock bands and R&B singers hung on the walls, in the heat of fervent live performances and seducing the microphone with words they couldn't hear. He watched as one group in dramatic school uniforms screamed into the mike, pounding on their instruments and cursing out the crowd as they did through his headset. Their name emblazoned the top of the poster: Mindless Self Indulgence.
"I should've known you'd be into that fiendish death howl," a voice sneered in passing.
"Stuff it, Malfoy," he spat at his back.
"Chill ya'll," Diosa warned, no longer joking. "It's time to be serious. Michael, d'ya mind startin' on it today? Sickle's the only one gettin' it, anyway."
"Then why am I here?!"
"Support," she ordered. "He's ya partner, now, and ya gotta get used to bein' around him. Plus, I want cha to watch, 'cause ya gettin' the same thing when ya hit seventeen."
"What exactly am I having done here?"
Diosa kneaded the bridge of her nose, fist on her hip. "Listen, 'cause I'm not gonna repeat myself: to free ya of Voldemort, the Dark Mark has to be drained of magic. Then Michael's gonna hide the Mark in plain sight so ya won't be arrested if it's seen."
"By hiding you mean—"
"Tattooing around it, yes," finished Michael. She revealed her own left wrist, and nestled in a graveyard of skulls was the one and only Dark Mark. "I haven't served the You-Know-Who since he went after you, Harry Potter. It's easier than just covering it with glamour, since you won't have to concentrate on that one patch of skin constantly."
"Does he have to have that many tattoos?"
"No, but the more, the better. Ya can choose the design and everythin', Sickle, but I advise sleevin' the whole arm, at least. I don't wanna have to save ya from Azkaban in the middle of the mission." Malfoy was silent for a few seconds, staring at the wall of samples in front of the artist's chair.
"I have one condition," he said, condescendingly. He looked at Harry, telling him his demands without speaking a single word.
"You can't be serious," he grumbled, face flushed with embarrassment. Malfoy smirked subtly, waiting for his answer.
"Whatever it is, do it," Diosa demanded. "We don't have time for games." Sighing, Harry slouched forward, hiding his pink cheeks under his long hair. Like ripping off a bandage, he thrust his hand into his partner's expectant palm and looked at the far wall, gripping Malfoy's hand in his.
He lives to make a fool out of me, he screamed in his head. What is he, a five year old?!
"Okay," Malfoy announced nonchalantly. "I'm ready."