Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is another huge one, nearly 10,000 words, which is why it took 6 days to write. Hope that cliffhanger wasn't too painful.
WARNINGS: Intense bullying and VIOLENCE. This is a dark chapter, and I might've made myself a bit uncomfortable writing some parts, so tread with caution if stuff like this might trigger you.
CHAPTER NINE
SAMHAIN
o
Halloween morning brought the worst storm Draco had ever seen in his life. The very walls of the school itself gave little shudders every now and then, as if they were struggling to stay upright in the midst of an earthquake, and Draco's hearing was nearly drowned out by the howling gale. This was not a good sign, and he couldn't help wondering if the weather had anything to do Harry's forest problem.
At breakfast, Draco's eyes stung with exhaustion. Theo had wanted the Initiates, plus Zabini and Smith, all up before sunrise so they could wrap up their little prank before class started. Besides them and a few dead-faced older students who looked like they had pulled all-nighters, the Great Hall was empty.
Draco was privately pleased with the timing. He could finish punishing dirty-bloods and get back to Harry before the other boy even noticed he was gone. They'd planned to send the illusion outside at dawn, the time at which the day officially started in the old wizarding cultures, and Draco didn't want to miss it.
"Sleep well last night?" asked Millicent, taking a break from shoveling oatmeal into her mouth to sneer at Draco, who had dark circles under his eyes.
"Why is he here, anyway?" said Zacharias Smith with a scowl. "He doesn't help us with anything."
Theo placed his glass of pumpkin juice down on the table with a resolute thunk. "Don't worry, Smith. He'll be working with us more often from now on. Right, Draco?"
Draco hadn't agreed to that, but decided it wouldn't be prudent to argue with Theo in front of everyone. "Yeah. How exactly are we going to be doing this, exactly?"
Blaise Zabini snorted. "You don't know? Seriously? Why did we invite this pansy, tell me again?"
"Because," said Draco, making his tone as chilly and deadly as the Antarctic, "I am actually an Initiate, unlike you. I'm also a Malfoy, whereas you, Zabini, are the no-name bastard of a woman whose greatest ability is slipping poisons into her husbands' drinks." He rolled his eyes and returned to his breakfast. Puffed up wannabes did not intimidate him.
Zabini's mouth tightened, but he didn't dare say anything else. An awkward silence permeated the air, but Theo shot him an admiring glance, and Draco felt emboldened.
"Odd, Malfoy, that you'll go off on Zabini, a Pureblood, but take a half-blood to your room," said Millicent at last, pulling back her lips to reveal sharp teeth. "He's been there every day, hasn't he, that Potter fellow? Do you let him sleep on your bed? Did you think we all didn't notice?"
Draco went an ugly shade of red and balled up his fists. Damn you, Millicent. The bitch liked seeing his reputation burn for her own sick pleasure.
"We all saw Potter leave Malfoy's room really late last night. Nearly one o'clock," piped up Smith. A knowing chuckle spread throughout the Initiates, though Draco felt utterly out of the loop. Why had they all been up that late?
"What do you two do in there so late into the night, Malfoy?" Millicent sniffed in an exaggerated fashion. "Ugh, judging by the dirty-blood stench I can smell from here, I can guess. You must've not taken a shower this morning, Draco."
Everyone burst into laughter—everyone except Theo, whose gaze was fixed on his plate.
But Draco had resumed control of his mouth, and now they were all going to pay. No, he wasn't going to sink to Millicent's level and insult her about her family name or her looks, because he was above such childish antics. He would completely annihilate her—and all of the morons who were laughing at him—in the cleverest way possible: by elevating himself.
"You think I'm snogging Potter, Millicent? Please. Your unoriginality appalls me. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised, because you're hardly smart enough to figure out the truth. You must've been driving yourself mad wondering what I've been doing with him. So, I'll ease your suffering and tell you."
Draco leaned forward and, subconsciously, everyone else did too. He nearly started preening at the attention, but restrained himself.
"You see," he drawled, "while you fools have been hexing a bunch of snotty first years all day long, I've been relaxing and enjoying my personal slave. Anything I want, he does for me. He tells me all his secrets. I've been gathering useful information about Dolohov and the other dirty-bloods. I've been gaining his trust, and soon I'll completely control him. I'll probably be able to command him to attack his own kind. Oh, but you all can go on with your little pranks. I'm sure it'll get you far one day."
Draco had sort of just made this speech up on the spot, but now that he thought about it, using Harry sounded a lot better than breaking up with him for the Second Trial. Harry could be a valuable resource, and if Draco was going to put in the effort to befriend him, he would prefer not to throw it all away.
Trying not to think too hard about what Harry would think if he could hear him right now, Draco went on. "Why fight your own battles, when you can make others fight them for you? Why destroy the dirty-bloods and the blood-traitors and the filth, when you can own them? We're kings, not pawns." He quirked his lips into a lazy, crooked smile, one that he knew made him look completely irresistible. "Well, at least I am. Don't know about you idiots."
They all stared at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Theo put down his fork with a clatter, and Draco faced him eagerly, sure that he would get support. Theo had accepted his plan for the Second Trial, after all, and this was only a slight modification to it.
"Careful, Draco," said Theo, his voice icy. "Keep talking and someone might think that you don't agree with the Skulls' philosophy."
"I do agree with it," snapped Draco, trying not to show his hurt at Theo's automatic rejection. "I'm just saying that change could be a good thing. See, if the Dark Lord hadn't changed the world, the Muggles and the Mudbloods would've ruined wizarding culture. I want to bring about change, too."
"You're not the Dark Lord, Draco," said Theo, voice going even colder. "But I'm going to forgive that slip of tongue—"
"I don't need your bloody forgiveness," Draco snarled, standing up and stalking off, not in the mood to stay with these fools any longer.
Theo ran after him, so abruptly that Draco couldn't resist the urge to turn around. They were near the entrance of the Great Hall now, out of the earshot of the others. "So, that's it, then? You're not going to participate? Even after you promised me that you'd help me on Halloween?"
"All I wanted today was a little bit of respect, Theo," said Draco, quite sure he was near tears but hoping he didn't show it, "and this is what I get? A bunch of nobodies questioning me and ridiculing me, and you always looking down on me, always thinking that I'm wrong if I don't do things your way?"
"It's not just my way," Theo spat. "It's the way of the Skulls, of our fathers, of the Dark Lord. And do you know what I think, Draco? I think that you know, deep inside, that I'm right. You know that you're the one who's changing, who's going weak, and you're trying to justify it to yourself. And do you want me to tell you why you've become this way?"
"Oh, tell me," Draco said in a low hiss. "I dare you."
Theo walked over to him and leaned down to hiss into his ear. "You've been spending too much time with Potter," he said. "You've started to like him. You don't want to break him."
Draco faltered, and Theo stepped back, satisfied with himself.
"What? No!" Draco sounded faint and unconvincing, even to himself. "He's just a son of a Mudblood. I told you what my plan was. I just… it would be a waste of my time, to become his friend and then break it up with him for the Second Trial. I just thought there could be a better way."
"There isn't," Theo growled. "What were you going to do? Walk up to the Skull King and tell him that you want a dirty-blooded personal knight, and that he should let you pass the Second Trial with just that? Really? No, Draco, you're going to do things the old-fashioned way."
"Fine. I get your point. I'll drop—I'll drop the whole part about using him, for now. But I'm still keeping my plan for the Second Trial. It'll still work," said Draco shakily. "You agreed to it the first time, didn't you? Why did you change your mind?"
Theo shook his head. "I don't trust you, Draco. You'll grow too close to Potter, and then you'll chicken out at the last moment, and then you'll never become a Skull. You'll turn your back on us."
Draco gaped at him. "What? No! I wouldn't—what're you even on about?" He got ahold of himself, then pinned Theo with a fierce glare. "You're making stuff up now, assuming the worst of me. Why do you always do this to me, Theo? Why do you think so little of me? I can do this without your meddling. Leave—me—alone!"
Theo narrowed his eyes right back. "Say whatever you want, Draco, but I don't believe that you won't chicken out, come the Second Trial. You might grow too attached to your half-blood dog, like you already have."
"Look, if you don't believe me," Draco snarled, "then there's nothing I can do to convince you."
"But there is something you can do to convince me, Draco. Prove to me that you don't care about the blood-traitors and the dirty-bloods. Show me how well you can destroy them today, and I'll never doubt you again. I'll even trust your plan for the Second Trial, and I won't bother you about Potter anymore. Do we have a deal?"
Draco let out a huge sigh. "Look, Theo, I already agreed to this, two weeks ago. I said I'd help you today, didn't I? I've said it about three times now. I don't know what else you want from me."
"Just a little enthusiasm, Draco!" said Theo, dropping his calm demeanor. "Just once, I'd like you to show a little more interest in the Skulls, in Initiation, in me"—Theo's voice broke, but he recovered quickly—"instead of whatever you're doing with Potter."
"I'll show enthusiasm!" Draco stamped his foot. "I'll show it today, right now! And I'm not just going to show it, I'm going to feel it. Okay? And do you want me to spend more time with you, too, you whiny git? Fine, I will. Are you happy now?"
"Very. That's all I wanted you to promise. Was that so hard?" Theo reached out, maybe to run his hand through Draco's hair, but Draco smacked it away before he could, still fuming.
Theo's gaze hardened.
"Are you guys done arguing over there?" Millicent shouted all the way from the table. "I find it very rude of you to leave us out of the conversation."
"I find everything about you, Millicent—" Draco began, but Theo put a warning hand on his shoulder.
"It's time to start," he said. "Let's go."
So hungry. For thousands of years, I have been so hungry.
Wake up, Colossus.
Come here, Colossus.
Feed me, Colossus.
Harry stirred, groaning as he registered his aching joints and muscles, sure that he had been having the wildest dream. The first word that clinked into his mind was Samhain. What time was it? Was it already morning, or still in the middle of the night?
But all thoughts of Samhain were driven from his mind when he opened his eyes and saw nothing. He panicked for a second, sure he had gone blind, but then realized that it was too dark to even see his own hand in front of his face.
I do not have time for this today, Harry thought, trembling in rage. If he survived Samhain, he was going to shred Theodore bloody Nott and his gang into pieces.
After taking a few calming and deep breaths, Harry felt around in order to figure out where the hell he was, running his palms over the rough stone floor. His hand brushed against clothing that was not his.
"OI! Who's that?" said the person he had accidentally touched. It sounded a lot like Anthony.
"Nghhhh, where am I?" said a voice Harry recognized as Neville's.
"Why's it so dark? This must be one of the dungeons…" A girl's voice.
"Shit, shit, shit, the last thing I remember is that ugly Bulstrode girl hexing me in the back after class." This one was Ron, Harry was sure of it.
"Oh God, oh God, the Initiates put us here. I remember Smith coming up behind me, oh God, I can't do this anymore—" The voice was familiar, but Harry couldn't attach it to a face. Maybe the Macmillan guy?
"Everyone SHUT UP and say your names!" Was that Dean?
"Anthony Goldstein." "Neville Longbottom." "Parvati Patil." "Ron Weasley." "Ernie Macmillan."
"Dean Thomas," said the one who had told everyone to shut up, confirming Harry's earlier hunch.
"Harry Potter," he finished.
"Does anyone have any idea where we are?" whimpered Neville.
"As I was saying just now," Parvati snapped, "that this might be one of the dungeons. There's a glass wall right next to me, I think. I can feel it, but I can't see what's past it—or much of anything really."
"Glass wall?" said Ron. "Oh, shit. This must be Dungeon Two. It's separated into two parts by a glass wall, I've heard. My brothers—Fred and George, I mean—were taken here once or twice. The Skulls take rule-breakers here and put them on trial, to decide whether they're guilty or not, and what punishment they deserve."
"Do they think this counts as justice?" snorted Dean.
"Don't ask me! I guess some of them do. Does it look like I know how these loonies think?" Ron said. "Anyway, this room doesn't get used that often, I don't think. Only if the Skulls want to have a bit of fun, like they did with Fred and George a few weeks back. Now that I think of it, Fred and George thought the entire thing was hilarious, didn't stop laughing about for days. Don't know why myself, since they returned with about half their teeth—"
"What's the glass wall for?" Ernie interrupted, before Ron could get too far into his story.
"It's where they hold the people waiting to be put on trial," said Ron. "The glass is enchanted, Percy told me. We can see outside, but they can't see inside."
"Hypothetically, of course," Harry felt the need to point out, "since we can't see anything right now."
"Shut up, Harry," said about three people at once.
Then the lights turned on, and Harry blinked rapidly to adjust his vision. He squinted, trying to ignore the pinpricks of pain in his head, and saw they were in a massive rectangular room. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. They were actually in a smaller antechamber, cut off from the rest of the room by the glass wall.
Everyone pressed their face against the wall, eager to see into the rest of the room. It had a high and domed ceiling, like a church's, and resembled a mini-stadium or theater, complete with rows of seats of descending height, all arranged around a small raised platform in the very center of the room.
"A courtroom, my arse," said Anthony. "It looks like an execution chamber or something."
"Don't say that!" Neville wailed.
"Over there!" said Parvati, pointing unnecessarily at the clique of Elites that had just entered the room from the opposite end.
Harry's heart gave one weak thump and sunk to his feet when he saw who was among them.
Draco.
What?
Harry hadn't realized he was pounding on the glass hysterically, trying to get Draco's attention, until Ron grabbed his arm to stop him.
"Mate, they can't see or hear us," Ron reminded him with a little shake of his head. "I think the walls are like that so we don't distract anyone outside."
Harry slumped back, panting, still not willing to believe that Draco had aided in his kidnapping. Draco wouldn't do this, would he? He knew how important Samhain was. They had been preparing nonstop for it. He wouldn't agree to Harry's capture for this… this twisted game the Initiates were playing, especially not on a day like today.
But last night, when Draco had kicked Harry out of his room, Nott and some of the others had seemingly been expecting him in the Elite common room. The timing was suspicious, too suspicious to be denied. Draco had forced Harry to leave his room, almost like he had known Theo was going to be waiting for him outside.
It was so perfect, so obvious, that he felt like an utter fool for not seeing it before. Draco was playing him like a fiddle. Healing Harry, letting him sleep on his bed, helping him with Samhain, working with him on the bond, all of it was part of the Initiates' game, orchestrated to trap Harry in Draco's web—
Wait. The bond. Harry grasped at this lifeline like a drowning man. Draco wouldn't betray him because of the bond. He had tried too hard to make it work—for his own sake at the very least, if not for Harry's—and he wouldn't throw away all their progress for this game.
Would he? Would he throw me—and our bond—into a fire if it would help him join the Skulls? Harry asked himself desperately.
The answer came to him at once. Draco would. He'd let Harry burn and then stomp on his ashes if it got him that creepy metal mask. Harry didn't know Draco Malfoy all that well, but he knew this much.
But even then, today's Samhain, Harry repeated to himself, still unable to come to terms with Draco's betrayal despite all the evidence. He wouldn't break the truce so suddenly. It didn't make any sense.
Something just didn't add up.
A sudden movement on the periphery of Harry's vision drew his attention, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. Theodore Nott stepped behind the podium on the raised platform, and when he spoke, his voice rang out across the empty chamber. "Let there be justice, though the heavens fall! Fiat justitia, ruat caelum, Parvati Patil!"
The words were apparently some kind of code, because the glass wall separating the captives from the rest of the room rippled like the surface of a lake. Possessed ropes sprung out of the ground and wrapped themselves around Parvati, who shrieked as they half-dragged, half-carried her through the temporarily-liquid glass. After depositing her on the raised platform, they fell still, and the glass returned to its solid state.
Parvati wriggled feebly within the ropes like a moth stuck in its cocoon, whimpering. Theo looked down at her unpityingly. "Parvati Patil. State your blood status."
She glared up at him from the ground, her gaze hateful. She didn't bother to answer his question.
Theo didn't hesitate a single second. He gave her a swift kick to the head, and Harry, Ron, Anthony, Ernie, Dean, and Neville all winced as Parvati cried out.
"I don't think you understand your position, girl," said Theo, his voice emotionless. "You're a half-blood. Your mother's a Mudblood, and your father is a traitorous Pureblood. You're being brought here today to face up to their crimes against wizardkind, and your own."
"What crimes?" Parvati screeched. "What did I do? Your people killed my mother years ago! I never even knew her, and now you've brought us all here for a bit of fun, and you're pretending—"
Theo kicked her again, and Harry didn't think she was going to be saying anything else anytime soon.
"Time is running out for you, Patil. You haven't proven your innocence yet, and you're blaming us for your crimes," said Theo, his face still empty of all emotion. "We're the ones who cleansed the filth from your family in the first place. Your disgusting mother brought Muggle culture into your home, defiled your blood and mind. She stole magic from a more deserving wizard, and filled your head with poison about how she was a real witch. You're the one who owes us for killing her. Now, tell me one good reason why we shouldn't find you guilty and give you the same sentence we gave your mother. Prove to us, Patil, that you're not like her."
That's it, thought Harry. He's fucking insane.
The other Initiates burst into laughter, as if they thought Theo's little act at being judge was hilarious. They didn't take this as seriously as Theo did, and Harry wasn't sure if he should be relieved about that. They weren't as deluded as Nott was, but they appreciated the game for what it was—a chance to torment, and to be utterly in control. Draco—who had been blank-faced a moment earlier, abruptly started laughing, as if he had just remembered he was supposed to.
Harry's chest gave a pang of disappointment. Why did it hurt so much? He had always known what Draco was, had never fully trusted him. He had told himself over and over again in these past two weeks that Draco was going to become a Skull, but nothing really drove home the point except this. Seeing Draco standing there, a smile lighting up his face, made Harry feel like a hot poker was jabbing into his skin.
"Hurry up, Nott!" hooted Bulstrode. "Stop with all the theatrics. I want all the bitch's pretty hair cut off already! Can we make that the sentence, Theo?"
At this, Parvati finally broke and started crying. Dean and Anthony both had their heads buried in their arms, and tears were dripping down Neville's cheeks. Ernie stared resolutely at his feet, too afraid to look up. Ron, on the other hand, was glaring at the Elites with a look of blazing hatred. Harry supposed the expression mirrored his own. He didn't have much in common with Ron, but he had this.
"The jury has to vote guilty or not before we decide on a sentence," said Theo, yanking a half-conscious Parvati to her feet. He was still unsmiling, still dead serious.
While all the Initiates screamed out "GUILTY," including Draco, Harry gulped down his fury long enough to wonder how it was possible for nature to create someone like Theodore Nott. Then again, if Theo was even half as psychotic as his brother, Harry shouldn't have been surprised.
But at least Sebastian—from what Harry had seen of him at the Welcoming Feast, anyway—seemed to enjoy causing pain, as did the rest of the Initiates. But there wasn't the slightest flicker of pleasure on Theo's face, just a grim sort of determination, as if he really thought that he was nobly carrying out justice.
Unless it was all an act. And if it was, it was a very good one.
"Damn it!" Ron said, slamming his fist against the glass. Harry couldn't pry his gaze away as Theo's spell sheared off all of Parvati's waist-long, shiny black hair. It was an ugly and rough cut, and she barely had any hair left, just a layer on her scalp.
"Justice has been served," said Theo, over Parvati's wracking sobs, and the ropes wrapped around her sprung to life again, rolling her towards the glass wall. After she was back inside the antechamber and the ropes had released her, Anthony and Dean immediately started trying to comfort her, but she was crying too loudly to hear their words.
"Fiat justitia, ruat caelum, Ronald Weasley!" said Theo. And as the ropes bore Ron away, hissing, Harry turned down his boiling rage and let it simmer instead. He tore his gaze from Theo, who was now interrogating Ron and reciting a long list of his family's crimes against the Death Eaters, and focused it on the other Initiates. Draco was watching Theo with rapt attention, worrying his lip, but Harry wouldn't that horrible image distract him right now.
Harry needed to find—yes. Crabbe. Crabbe's back pocket was stuffed with wands, the captives' wands. Harry knew he could use his wandless magic to get out, but he couldn't do anything too flashy without his wand. If he revealed his power to these people, especially Theodore Nott, he was as good as dead. He needed to be careful, very careful.
His eyes roamed the room, and the gears in his head began to turn, achingly slow at first, then faster and faster.
Fiat justitia, ruat caelum, Harry thought, grinning nastily as the final pieces of his plan clicked and locked in place.
Draco couldn't shake off his discomfort. Theo kept shooting him glances out of the corner of his eye, watching his reactions. Draco knew his expression was disappointingly stoic, but he couldn't muster up any emotion. Millicent shrieked with glee as Theo began kicking Weasley, and Draco knew the Weasleys were a family of the worst kind of wizard filth, but now Theo's shoe was a bit bloody, and—
Draco swallowed down his rising breakfast and joined in the cheers, shouting "GUILTY" with the rest as they voted on Weasley. Smith and Zabini were watching him like Theo was, something a bit predatory in their eyes. If he kept acting like a little baby, they would be able to smell his fear, and he wouldn't be able to rely on his smart mouth to evade them forever.
"For his punishment, make every one of his freckles into boils!" yelled Millicent, pumping her fist up and down.
Weasley looked up, his face covered in blood but his eyes blazing, and Draco was impressed despite himself. "Pity that if you did that to me, you'd still be the ugliest person at this school."
Draco's breath caught. Millicent stiffened next to him.
Weasley was so, so dead.
Millicent stalked forward, hackles raised, looking like a bear rearing up for a fight. Theo stepped aside with just the slightest smile on his face, only visible if you knew where to look for it. Weasley's eyes widened, and Draco could tell from his hair-raising scream a second later that he hadn't been prepared for Millicent to stomp down on his arm and snap it clean in half.
"Ooohhh!" gasped the other Elites, their faces twisting with varying degrees of disgust and fascination as they caught sight of the bloody mess on the platform.
As Millicent brought her foot down again, this time on Weasley's leg, Draco couldn't hold back his wince, couldn't stop himself from clenching his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Weasley was being rolled off the platform by the ropes, and Theo was staring—no, glaring—straight at Draco, and Draco knew at that moment that his less than favorable reaction to Weasley's punishment hadn't gone unnoticed.
His icy gaze still fastened on Draco, Theo shouted, "Fiat justitia, ruat caelum, Harry Potter!"
And then the weight of what Theo had just said came crashing down on Draco like the sky falling.
Harry did not struggle as the ropes transported him to the platform, knowing he had to save his energy. He went over his plan for the millionth time, trying not to let himself think of—don't think his name, Harry.
But Harry couldn't resist. The moment the ropes plopped him down on the platform, he turned his head to face the Elites, who were all jeering as usual. He sought out Draco, locking eyes with him, and—
Harry wanted to cry with relief. Draco's expression was that of blank shock, one that melted into dawning horror when he realized Harry was watching him. He hadn't known anything about this.
"Dr—" Harry began, desperate to confirm that Draco did care about him, that he hadn't wanted this to happen, but at that moment, Theo's shoe caught him on the side of the head, hard, and Harry couldn't say anything—or think anything, for that matter—for the next few agonizing seconds.
"Don't you DARE speak to him!" Theo snarled, kicking him again, and again, his voice shaking with rage, and Harry realized through a haze of pain that this was the first time he had seen Theodore Nott show any emotion at all.
Then Draco's words, as sharp and hard and cold as the Justice Whips, rose up above the Elites' cheers. "I hate you, Theo, I hate you so fucking much—"
"If you take another step toward me, or say another word, Draco," said Theo, his voice cracking with something other than rage this time, "I'll tell your father what you've been up to."
The noise Draco made was somewhere between a sob and scream.
Fingers scrabbled at Harry's hair, and Theo harshly yanked his head up. Harry stared up into the other boy's dark and soulless eyes, unable to believe that he was on the receiving end of such black loathing. Snape had looked at him with distaste, Dolohov with disinterest, and neither of them could ever compare to this, this uncontrollable, insurmountable, insatiable wave of hatred, a wave borne on nothing but irrationality and insanity.
"State your blood status," said Theo, digging his nails into Harry's scalp.
"Half-blood," spat Harry. "Muggle-born mother, Pureblood father."
Theo kicked Harry in the stomach. "The term"—kick—"we"—kick— "use"—kick—"is"—kick—"Mudblood."
"M-Mudblood," Harry corrected with a broken gasp. He only had to stand this humiliation a little longer, until just the right moment, and then he would have his justice. He would rip this bastard apart limb by limb, would make Nott's funeral pyre the very courtroom he so worshipped.
"Good, Potter," said Theo with a humorless smile, putting his foot back down at last. "I could go into your parents' misdeeds for ages, but I figure it'd be more interesting to talk about your own crimes."
"What are they?" snapped Harry, and groaned when Theo kicked him again for speaking out of turn.
"Defiling the Elite dormitories, first of all," Theo continued a moment later, once he had calmed himself. His eyes were alight with a mad sort of fervor now, and dread curdled deep in Harry's belly. "Defiling Draco, brainwashing him, making him go soft. He's not the same since you two dueled that day on the Hogwarts Express, and it's because of you. You've ruined him, made him into one of you, stolen him from me, and I swear I'll punish you for it, Potter, I swear you won't get away with this—"
"Theo," Draco said, in a voice that sounded very faint and far away. "Please, Theo."
And when Theo turned to answer Draco, Harry struck. He writhed on the ground as if possessed, tearing himself out of Theo's grip. Subtly, he used his magic to unravel the ropes, giving the impression that he had managed to loosen them somehow earlier, and before Theo could even turn back around, before he could even point his wand, Harry was upon him like a force of nature. He knocked Theo to the ground, taking great care to ensure that Theo's head smacked against the podium on the way down, and ripped his wand out of his hand.
"Incarcerous," Harry said, panting hard, and the ropes bound Theo like they had once bound Harry, Parvati, and Ron.
After taking a second to admire his handiwork, Harry aimed his wand. "Release the others, or I swear I'll use Avada Kedavra." He knew he could, knew it wasn't an empty threat. All he needed was hatred, and he had enough hatred inside of him to last several lifetimes.
Theo let out a wordless scream, and Harry put a foot on his head and pressed down. "DO IT! NOW!" he screamed back.
Theo made a pained gasping noise, but did as Harry asked. The wall on the right side of the room rippled and turned into glass, allowing everyone on the outside to see into the waiting chamber. The wall slid aside like a screen, and the captives came shuffling out, Ron being supported by both Dean and Ernie.
"Reducto!" shouted one of the Elites while they thought Harry was distracted, and Harry turned to face them with what he knew was an eerie grin.
"Protego!" A glass-like shield blossomed around him, and the Reductor Curse bounced back towards the Elites, causing the ground beneath their feet to erupt into shards of stone and dust. The aftershock of the blast sent everyone in the room staggering, but Harry recovered quickest.
"Crabbe," he growled, his voice lower and more dangerous than he had ever heard it. "Come up here and give me the wands, or I'll slice what little brain you have out of your skull."
Crabbe waddled forward, eyes wide in terror, and handed the wands over to Harry without a single word. Triumph soared in Harry's heart, but at that very moment, Theo threw himself sideways, resembling a wriggling caterpillar in his ropes, and knocked Harry off the platform. Harry crashed to the floor, gasping, dropping Theo's wand but managing to keep ahold of the rest.
"Finite!" said the Bulstrode girl, and the ropes binding Theo disappeared. He lunged to his feet, his wand back in his hand, his gaze burning with bloodlust.
Harry got up too, gripping one of the other wands, more ready than he had ever been in his life.
But he wasn't ready for a duel. No, that would be far too easy. Instead, he deftly dodged one of Theo's curses and pointed his wand at the ceiling, knowing he was cackling and not really caring how it looked.
Everyone figured out what Harry was going to do a split second before he did it.
And everyone—the Elites, the captives, even Theo—bolted towards the exit, screaming.
"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
The ceiling cracked like a spider's web, then blew apart like it had been hit by a meteor. And Harry started running after the rest, still laughing as the perverse mockery of a courtroom was buried underneath layers of stone, crushed and flattened as if the very sky had crashed on top of it.
Fiat justitia, ruat caelum.
Let there be justice, though the heavens fall.
It wasn't even six-thirty in the morning yet, and Samhain had already been a disaster. Several Skulls were congregated around the entrance to the destroyed Dungeon Two, interrogating a hysterical but tight-lipped Theo about what had happened. The other Elites stood around Draco, whispering and muttering and nursing their cuts from the raining shards of stone. It was a miracle nobody had died.
Harry, along with the other captives, had fled down the corridor, and Draco intended to go after them. He definitely didn't want to confront Theo right now, or preferably ever, and he needed to talk to Harry.
"OI! DRACO!" Millicent called as he tore away from the group, but he ignored her.
He sprinted down the hall, clutching a stitch in his side, wishing his legs could go faster, and turned the corner—
A hand shot out beside him and dragged him behind a tapestry and into a secret closet. He opened his mouth to scream, but then Harry hissed, "Shut up, Draco, it's just me!"
But Draco didn't shut up. Instead, he started blubbering. "Harry, I promise I didn't know, I promise I had no idea Theo was going to do this—"
Harry's glare was cold and unforgiving. With a shiver, Draco remembered his mad cackle back in the courtroom, just before he had blasted the ceiling apart.
"But you knew what the Initiates were planning, didn't you?" said Harry, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "You would've let them play their game—with Parvati, and Ron, and Neville, and everyone else. You only said something when Nott brought me out."
Draco wanted to sink to his knees in despair, but kept himself upright with great effort. "What did you want me to do, Harry? Rush in and rescue the Patil girl like a knight in shining armor? Duel Millicent? Duel Theo? I'm an Initiate, Harry. I have to do this. There's no turning back, and there's no other way to go."
Harry stared at him for a moment, expression inscrutable. There was still a glint of that something not-quite-sane in his eyes. "Whatever. I don't really care." He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from Draco's, as if he couldn't bear to look at him any longer.
"Samhain," said Draco weakly, changing the subject. "It's almost dawn, I think. It's difficult to tell, because of the storm, but it should be starting just about now."
"I don't need your help sending out the illusion," said Harry at once. Draco noticed that his face was a bloody mess, and how was he still walking after taking so many kicks in the stomach from Theo?
"Okay," Draco choked out, and stepped out of the way as Harry swept past him and through the fake tapestry.
He didn't know how long he stood there, alone in that closet, wrestling with the urge to run after Harry and beg for forgiveness. But he didn't need Harry's forgiveness. He didn't care, just like Harry didn't care. They had worked together for Samhain, but they were done now.
Harry wasn't ever going to be his friend, and Draco was okay with that, was even happy with it, because he didn't deserve to be Harry's friend. If Harry had trusted him with friendship, Draco would have eventually betrayed him for the Second Trial, because Draco was an Initiate, a future Skull, the son of a Death Eater, and there was nothing else for him to be.
He hadn't even realized that he had started crying, or that he had finally let himself sink to the ground.
Then the storm howled, dawn broke out, and Draco's bond with Harry went taut.
The voice that called out to Harry was pure seduction. It traveled through his thoughts like a gentle pulse, driving everything else from his mind. He forgot about his plan with the illusion. He forgot about Draco. He forgot about the Purge.
Come to me, Colossus. I'm so hungry.
Harry's feet moved. His magic thrummed underneath the surface of his skin, eager to serve the voice, begging him to move faster. In minutes, he was out the castle doors, and the unrelenting gale buffeted him towards the Forbidden Forest. Soaked to the bone but unable to feel the wetness or the cold, Harry walked forward. The clouds were so thick that it was nearly pitch black outside, even though it was around dawn.
Nobody watching from the castle windows would be able to see outside in this storm. Nobody would follow him, nobody would even know he was gone. He would be just another disappeared student, and he would be free, free from this hell. The voice had promised him.
Come, now.
Harry went, smiling.
Draco stumbled out into the entrance hall as if he were being dragged by something, and took a second to thank Merlin that there was nobody around this early to witness his strange behavior. The bond was going mad, utterly mad, and where the hell was Harry? He wasn't in the entrance hall, where the bond's pull had taken him, but that meant—
No. Harry wasn't stupid enough to go outside. He wouldn't.
But the bond was still tugging, and Draco knew that he had.
He held back a scream by covering his mouth with his hand and started hyperventilating. He needed to go after Harry. Something told him that when the spiders had said they could kill him on Samhain, they had meant it. Something told him that the spiders were the least of their worries. Something told him that the storm was getting worse, and that Harry was running out of time.
The bond tugged one more time, and Draco steeled himself.
In hindsight, he should have thought about this a little more. He should have come up with a plan. Instead, he slipped out the castle doors and ran into the freezing, wet, and windy chaos like an idiot. The wind battered him, trying to throw him off his feet, making it impossible to see. Every inch of skin on his body exposed to the icy gale was stinging in protest, and after a few seconds Draco couldn't feel his face or his hands, and had to keep his eyes shut tight.
It didn't matter. The bond quivered like the string of a harp, and Draco knew exactly where he needed to go.
Long seconds passed. Then even longer minutes. Maybe fifteen. Now Draco was in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where the gale had nearly bent the trees in half, though admittedly the presence of all the foliage lessened the wind's pressure on Draco.
The leaves rustled ominously, but Draco kept moving. He wouldn't be intimidated now. He had fallen too far into the swirling vortex that was Harry Potter, and he knew he'd never have the chance to swim out if Harry died, knew that he'd be pulled right along through the bond to where the other boy was.
The leaves rustled again, and this time Draco knew it wasn't the wind. A serpent with three heads slithered out of the bushes, its three pairs of eyes all red and rabid. Draco fell back, seizing up with terror, trying to scream but finding that no sound would come out of his mouth. The thing approached him, hissing all the while. It reared backwards, preparing to strike, and Draco heard the clop clop of hooves, and now the owner of those hooves was grinding the serpent into smithereens on the forest floor.
Draco let himself breathe again, realizing that he had almost just passed out from lack of air. A centaur leaned over him, holding out his hand.
"Are you all right?" asked the half-man, half-horse.
Draco made a noise in the back of his throat like a dying cat. He had heard horrible things about centaurs, how they were uncontrollable beasts who deserved to be killed, and that most of them had indeed been killed. But here was one now, and he had saved Draco's life.
"F-Fine," Draco stammered. "I—I just—thank you, sir, p-please don't hurt me."
"My name is Firenze. And I will not hurt you," said the centaur, "It is a pity, to kill a creature as fine and as proud as a Runespoor, but it has fallen to the Insanitas now, like everything else in this forest."
"The Insanitas?" Draco repeated, lifting his head, his voice growing stronger now that he was sure the centaur wasn't going to hurt him.
Firenze raised his head to the sky, looking up into the swirling clouds. "The Lord for whom Pluto shines placed this Insanitas in the depths of the forest," he said, shifting his hooves. "And the new Lord, for whom Mars shines, has awakened it, and now the Insanitas has infected the mind of every living thing in this forest. My species has the mental strength to resist, but most others do not."
"What is it?" said Draco.
"Insanitas is a disease," said Firenze. "After today, I believe it will pass, but it will never be gone. It will lie dormant in our minds, until it is called awake once more. And next time, we may not be strong enough to fight it off."
"Does it make you want to attack Harry—I mean, the new Lord?" Draco gasped out. "Have you seen him, another boy?"
Firenze cocked its head to consider the question. "No, but he must be here. After today, he will be dead. The Hunger will not be denied him. It has needed to eat for millennia."
"What's that?" Draco asked desperately. "How do I destroy it? Please! You have to help me, please—"
"The Hunger is the source of Insanitas, and it is a creature that is enslaved by the Lord that Pluto favors," interrupted Firenze, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder to calm him down. "There is no way to destroy it. Ah—perhaps, but no."
"If there's any way—" Draco began, but stopped. "Can you take me there? Can you take me to where it is?"
"Its lair is in the depths of this forest," said Firenze, shaking his head. "Everything that approaches it will be consumed."
"Take me as close to it as you can," Draco begged, falling to his knees. The bond was pulling him, and it led further into the forest than he was willing to go alone.
Firenze stared down at him, and gave him a short nod. He lowered himself, allowing Draco to clamber on top of him. Infuriatingly slow, they ventured deeper into the forest, and the deeper they went, the more Draco could see the effects of the Insanitas. The leaves here were frayed and infected, the trees gnarled, their trunks covered in gloopy decay. Lines of glittering blackness, all pulsing in the same direction, were imposed over the dirt ground of the forest, shining through the layer of leaves.
"What are those lines?" Draco murmured. "They look like they're leading towards the same place."
"The lines are part of a giant web that covers the floor of the entire forest. They converge in its very center, where the Hunger waits," said Firenze. "If we follow them, we will reach it, but we can only go so far before we are caught in its gravity. And if we are caught in its gravity, we will never break free."
Draco's breath hitched. Harry wasn't caught in its gravity yet. He couldn't be. Draco would not let himself think up the worst case scenarios, not right now, not when he was trying his hardest not to panic.
At last, Firenze stopped. "I am afraid this is as far as I can go. Your weight is far less than mine, so you will be able to go further in before the gravity overcomes you, but the pressure at this point makes it unbearable for me to go forward."
"I understand," said Draco, sliding off the centaur's back and plopping onto the ground. "Thank you. And if there's anything else at all that you can tell me about the Hunger, please, please tell me now."
Firenze paused. "The Hunger does not only eat solid matter. I wonder if you had assumed that."
"I did," Draco spluttered.
"No," Firenze continued. "Its preferred meal is magic." Then he turned around, and disappeared into the leaves.
Draco stared into the pitch black darkness of the forest, trembling. The trees here were too thick for the storm to reach him, but it was still freezing. He knew there was nothing living left in this part of the forest, nothing that hadn't yet been consumed. Here, he would be safe from vengeful creatures, but there was a far more fearsome enemy in that abyss.
He needed to find Harry and drag him back as soon as possible. Was the Hunger after him, was that why it had infected all the creatures with Insanitas? Would their pathetic illusion even have worked on something that fed on magic like the Hunger? Why had Harry even come here? Surely he would have been safe in the castle, which was far out of the Hunger's gravity.
Draco took a step into the blackness, but kept to the edge. The bond was yanking him to the left, so he had no need to travel deeper right now. Thanks to Firenze's speed, Draco had caught up to Harry even though Harry had come here first.
Quietly, he crept through the forest, paying attention to the vibrations in his bond. And then, Draco could've sobbed with relief. Harry had emerged from a bush and lumbered past Draco, not giving him a single look.
And then Draco could've sobbed with terror, because Harry's eyes were blank and dead, and Draco knew he was trapped in what could only be the Hunger's gravity.
"Harry, stop walking," Draco tried, knowing it was in vain. He grabbed Harry's shoulder and tried to pull him back, but Harry tore out of his grip and kept walking. He didn't even look back at Draco, didn't even acknowledge his existence.
Draco took a deep breath. If Harry wouldn't stop, Draco would make him stop. It didn't matter that it was impossible.
He dipped into the bond and began summoning Harry's magic. Harry stiffened for a second, but the moment passed, and he did not attack Draco. He just kept going, and Draco kept conducting Harry's magic into himself, following closely behind him so he didn't lose sight of him.
Finally, the transfer of power was complete, and Harry's magic throbbed in his veins, singing and joyous. It wanted him to do something, maybe to go deeper into the forest, but it wasn't Draco's magic, so he didn't have to listen to it.
He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and assembled the magic around them like a cocoon of shimmering silver light. It was hastily and roughly made, but it was powerful, and Harry couldn't move an inch forward. Draco bit his lip, wondering if this possessed Harry had enough presence of mind to think of snatching his magic back. After minutes passed and he didn't, Draco relaxed.
He gently began to drag Harry backwards, still holding him by the waist. Harry struggled feebly, but Draco maintained the cocoon around them even as they backed out of the forest, so Harry couldn't take one step closer to that horrid center.
Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. They were out of the empty part of the forest now, and back into the wind, not that it mattered when the cocoon was protecting them from everything.
Dragging Harry was like dragging a rock, so Draco switched to pushing him instead. Harry twisted and flailed and tried to hit Draco as well as the walls of the cocoon, but he never made a sound, and his eyes were still frighteningly dead.
Draco had no idea what to do, and wasn't sure if Harry would ever stop struggling, if he'd ever break free of this curse. Would Draco have to hold him in this cocoon forever? All day? He was already growing tired, and wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up. Despite all his practice with the bond in these last two weeks, he still wasn't used to this much magic, and his body ached with the effort of controlling it.
Something banged on the walls of their cocoon, and Draco halted. Harry made a weak attempt to seize his throat, but Draco swatted his hand away in irritation.
"Who are you?" hissed the voice, its words interspersed with clicking. "You are not the Colossus, but the magic comes from you."
The acromantulas. Great. He would have to ignore them. Draco pushed forward, but the cocoon wouldn't budge another inch. Something was blocking it from moving forward, possibly a body of spiders.
"MOVE!" Draco screamed, losing it. "MOVE NOW!"
"We will tell the Hunger it will not be fed as long as you exist," said the spiders, clicking angrily. "We will shred your bond, and then the Colossus will be ours. We will infect him with Insanitas, and he will become one of us, and then he will kill you."
Draco dropped the cocoon and tightened his grip on Harry's waist. The sight that awaited him once the cocoon was down was a sea of spiders, all clicking, all staring at him. One of them jumped at Harry, its many legs scratching madly at his face, but Draco blasted it into a tree.
He clenched his eyes shut. If the spiders wouldn't get out of his damn way, he would destroy every single one of them. He raised the hand that wasn't gripping Harry and gathered as much of his energy as he could into a white-hot core inside of him.
Then he released the pressure he had on the core, and it exploded in a massive ring of heat and light, with him and Harry as its epicenter. The spiders all burned as the heatwave hit them, just like they had when Harry had saved Draco from them earlier that month, and Draco wasted no time in constructing the cocoon again. He couldn't let Harry slip back into the forest when they were almost out.
Damn it, he was so tired. Why wouldn't Harry stop struggling? What did he want?
And then Draco found out, because Harry leapt at him and slammed him into the ground. His eyes weren't dead anymore, Draco noticed vaguely as he jabbed his elbow into Harry's stomach. Now they had a red glint, like the creatures of the forest did in theirs, and his blows were far stronger than they had been earlier.
Somehow, he'd been infected with Insanitas. The spider that had attacked him must have given it to him, but now wasn't a good time to wonder about that, not when Harry's fingers were scrabbling at Draco's throat.
Despair nearly overwhelmed him then, but one last, desperate idea flickered on in his head. He reached into the bond, and started swishing the magic between them as violently as possible, trying to jolt some kind of reaction out of Harry. Taking his magic hadn't done it, but receiving magic—at least to Draco—caused a stronger reaction than getting it sucked out. This was the last thing that could work.
Draco closed his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Harry went still above him.
"Harry," said Draco, his voice as faint as his energy, "do you feel it? Your magic? If you stop now, I'll give it back. You want it back, don't you?"
Harry's eyes cleared, and he collapsed on top of Draco, shaking with silent sobs.
The Insanitas bug was very irked as the Colossus tried to push it out of his head. There was another who was helping him, who was bonded with him. That could not do. Master needed to eat.
So the Insanitas bug burrowed itself deep into the Colossus's brain and decided to stop fighting, letting its victim think he had won the war, when he had in fact only won this battle. The bug told its Master that it wouldn't get to eat today, because of the other dratted boy, and the Master released the Colossus, sighing in disappointment.
Meanwhile, the Insanitas bug would take a rest. It had a plan, a very good plan, and later, on Beltane, its Master would be very happy, and they would all get to eat the Colossus.
Harry remembered everything he'd done—and everything Draco had stopped him from doing—since that terrible moment Samhain had dawned. They lay in the forest in silence, him lying on top of Draco, Draco's arms around him.
Then Draco started telling Harry about his meeting with Firenze, and what the Hunger was. Harry realized that it had caught him in its gravity from far away—because, as the Colossus, he was not safe from it, not on Samhain—but Draco had done the impossible and dragged him back out.
"I think," said Draco, his hand threading through Harry's hair, where Harry wanted him to keep it, "that the Hunger won't bother you anymore. Samhain will be over. Its gravity can't reach you."
"It's not over yet," Harry pointed out. "But I don't feel the pull of the gravity anymore. Do you think it's given up?"
Harry felt rather than saw Draco smile next to him. "I bet I scared it off. I bet it said you were too difficult a meal, with me around to protect you. Maybe it won't bother you again."
Harry let out a sigh. "I think it will." He hesitated only a brief second before telling Draco everything he had heard Dolohov and Rowle talking about a few weeks ago. Draco deserved to know, especially after he had risked everything to bring Harry back to sanity. Draco deserved to know everything Harry could tell him, because he needed Draco's help. He could see that now, and had been stupid to ignore it for so long.
"Beltane," said Draco after he had heard the story, shifting underneath Harry, who rolled off him, suddenly embarrassed that they had been lying in that position for so long. "May first. We'll be ready by then. We know what we're fighting now. We know what the Purge is now. We can make a better plan."
We, Harry thought.
"Harry? Now that you've finally gotten off me," Draco said, grinning as Harry blushed, "let's go back to school and get you healed."
"It's still stormy out," Harry whined, not really wanting to leave this relatively warm little area in the forest. Yes, his whole body hurt, but moving it would hurt more.
"Oi! We'll miss class! It's probably almost nine. Do you want Dolohov or one of the other professors to notice that both of us are gone on Samhain? He'll be suspicious, you idiot!"
His crass tone should have annoyed Harry. It really should have. But, as usual, Draco Malfoy spoke sense, and Harry would have been dead a thousand times over if not for him.
