Now in the home stretch.

The Lies the Bind

Chapter 10: A Distorted Arrangement

Above, the clouds loomed, foreboding and deadly, with flashes of light sparking between them. The stars and moon were hidden from view as a party of ten Aurors and three prisoners flew above calm waters. Five of the Aurors were positioned on brooms surrounding a large flying carpet, where upon the prisoners sat in chains. They looked nervous and scared, not by the destination they were heading, Azkaban, but by the time it took to get there. Two more Aurors flew behind while two more flew ahead. The last was a mile in front, scouting the way ahead for danger.

Before the recent upgrades in security to Azkaban, there were three ways to the island. Through the floo-network, a portkey, or by broom. Two of those methods had been eliminated, making the only way in over the sea.

The broomriders in front flew in sync, their eyes watching the sky and waves. A spell existed between them so their words could be heard over the sound of the wind. "You hear about Yaxley last night?" Asked the leader to the junior officer.

"Yaxley? No, I didn't. I thought he had been transported to Paris? Trying to sniff out the Death Eater presence there, right?" Responded the younger man.

"Yep. He made it, and they caught a couple people, but nothing along what they had feared. He didn't make it back, though."

"What? I didn't hear about that in the paper."

The leader of the expedition chuckled. "They're trying to keep it secret. Don't want the public to get wind of it, yet." His voice lowered. "When everyone portkeyed back to the ministry, the only thing that came through of Yaxley's was his head."

The other man's eyes widened. "The DE-Killer again?" He whistled. "He's one piece of work." They both glanced back to their cargo. In the past few days, since Daphne Greengrass' pardon, over a dozen Death Eaters had come forward, confessing to gruesome crimes. Many begged to be placed in Azkaban, among that lot these three. Five had already been successfully transported, leaving these three and two others still held in custody at the Ministry.

"How many Death Eaters do you think there were?" the junior officer asked.

His officer answered. "I'd say about sixty altogether."

"That many?" He sounded awed. "There were already a dozen or so in Azkaban, plus this next dozen. How many more are out there?"

His commander smiled gruesomely and turned to him. "A dozen were killed in that last battle involving Voldemort, so that accounts for thirty-six. Remember how some people have been disappearing lately? No bodies and such?" The younger man nodded. "I think a few of them were Death Eaters."

The man did the math. "So…that's all of them. What we have and what's in Azkaban already?"

"Maybe one or two still lose, but basically."

The conversation lulled and the party flew in silence for a time. The trip took a total of five hours; they were not taking a direct route, but one of four possible ones, and it was always the patrol leader's choice which to take.

The leader frowned as he spotted something up ahead. It looked to be a giant spider web attached to the clouds, where a man and a broom were dangling from. As they neared, they saw the crimson robes of an Auror. "Keep flying!" The leader barked. "Stetson," he called to one of the men in the back. The man flew forward. "Take Jung and Horatio and see if you can get Marley untangled."

The man flew back to the rear and recounted the orders. Three broomriders left the formation and approached the web that had ensnared the scout.

The junior officer noted they were now down four companions. "Do you think that's a wise idea?"

"Yes. I'm not leaving one of our own dangling over the ocean while we escort these scumbags to safety. Besides, they'll catch up with us in time." He paused in thought. "Let's take her down to ocean-level, just in case there are any more of those spider webs."

As one they lowered, the carpet followed the junior officer's motions. He was the Anchor to it, and in case of an ambush, he was the one who was supposed to fly onward.

For a time salt sprayed up from the gently moving waves, wetting their faces. The junior officer was growing nervous, his eyes checking the darkness for any sign of trouble. He flinched when one of the men from the back came upon him. "What?"

The man held his wand to this throat. "I'm not trying to complain or anything…but we've been smelling something bad back there for most of the trip. It's coming from the carpet."

"What's it smell like?"

"Fish."

"So?"

The man looked about nervously. "Ever since that web thing we saw, we thought maybe it's a problem. I mean, how often does a carpet smell like fish?" His voice rose.

The senior officer butted in. "Stop being so paranoid! If the carpet was a giant trap then I'm sure it would have exploded by now. Now get back in formation!"

Cowed, the rear-guardsmen left the front, still scared out of his mind. None there wanted to get between the DE-Killer and his prey.

Suddenly, a whistle came from the junior officer's robes. He pulled out the mirror that kept him in contact with the Ministry. He canceled the spell between him and the senior officer and recast it to the mirror. The sound of the wind died. "Rawlings here."

A shaky voice responded. "I-is Officer Lerriby leading the mission." A bald and frightened face filled the mirror. "I mean is he flying next to you?" The man held his breath.

Rawlings looked to the left and verified the man's presence. Confused, he responded. "Yes, he's right here. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Oh, Merlin." The man whispered, then recalled the question. "No! Don't tell him! Listen very carefully."

Rawlings was curious. "Okay."

"We found Officer Lerriby tied-up in his office with his hair shaved an hour ago."

The junior officer quickly did the math. They had been flying for three hours. Cold dread settled into his stomach and it took him a moment to find his voice. "What should I do? We're already down four members."

"Why?" Came the man's cry.

"Our scout got caught in a web, and he sent three members to untangle him." He paused. "Are you sure the man you found is Lerriby?"

"We're pretty sure. Ask the man next to you how his wife is."

Rawlings switched the spells again. "Hey, Lerriby, sir. How's the wife doing?"

The man smiled easily. "Pretty good. Wish she would quiet nagging me about working so many late nights." He chuckled. "She's been spending most of her time at her cousin's place. I don't blame her, being in that old house all alone."

Rawlings sighed in relief. He addressed the mirror, after switching the spells again. "He says she's fine, visiting with a cousin."

The man paled. "He isn't married."

"Oh…" The fear returned twofold, and it took some effort for him to keep his hands from shaking. There flying beside him was the DE-Killer disguised as his leader. "W-what do I do?"

"Okay. Are you any good at casting portkeys?"

"Some. Where do you want me to send him? It has to be a place I've been before." He shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not that good."

"Send him to the Ministry's Atrium. Give us about ten minutes before—" the voice was cut off as chaos erupted from the water.

A giant serpent, stretching some two hundred meters, rose into the air, its long snout, laced with vicious teeth, snapping at the flyers. Screams and shouts were heard as they desperately flew to avoid its maul. Two in the back flew low, only to be greeted by the leviathan's tale. The force sent them reeling into the waves.

"Protect the prisoners at all costs! Protect the prisoners!" The imposter was shouting, while sending cutting hexes against the beast. A few landed, and it roared in pain. Rawlings collected himself and remembered the original plan. He gripped his broom and let the magic fly. Like a comet, he jetted away, leaving the scene behind him. His was the only firebolt issued broom among the lot. He was also an accomplished broomrider, having turned down a chaser's job to become an Auror. Those two put together meant he could outstrip almost anyone.

He glanced back to check on the prisoners, only to find they were not following him. "Where…" His confusion was only momentary when he realized what had happened. Somehow, the imposter had switched the anchoring spell from Rawlings onto himself. Cursing his own shortsightedness, he turned around and shot back towards the serpent.

As he neared his stomach sank at what he saw. There, dangling from a rope and hanging off a large hook, were the three Death Eaters; the carpet was wrapped snugly about them. It took a moment for the junior officer to realize the men had been impaled on the hook through their chests. Their screams of agony increased as the serpent, lured by the scent off the carpet, snatched them up in jaws with one bite. The hook was then set into the serpent's cheek, and the imposter, with the rope tied to his broom, began wrestling with the leviathan.

Rawlings was speechless. He observed the imposter, laughing, swing back and forth, trying to force the serpent one way then another. The beast chopped with its mouth, attempting to dislodge the embedded hook. It had no luck, but it did cause the hapless Death Eaters to be diced into pieces by its vicious teeth. Rawlings lost his lunch when those bits flew from the mouth and splashed into the sea below. He desperately looked around for any other Aurors, but their absence added to his fear.

He eyed the scene once more before shaky resolve formed and he pulled out his wand. I'm not ready for this. He flew forward and launched a severing spell at the rope. It struck but had no effect. It did alert the imposter to his presence. Soon a bevy of spells was coming his way and only through skill with his broom was he able to survive. Until a large web came for him. "Incendio!" It had no effect.

At the last moment, he tried to flee, but it enveloped him. The more he struggled the more it constricted. Within seconds he was falling towards the water, his concentration on flying broken by pain. As salt water rushed to fill his lungs, he saw the flying figure leading the giant serpent away.

Living with a murderer was not as difficult as Daphne had first thought. He came and went as he pleased, sometimes not even bothering to say hello. He kept odd hours, sleeping in the morning and evening. During the day he visited with his friends, sometimes taking her along for appearance's sake, and sometimes just to run a few errands. At night, he would venture out and continue his crusade against her ex-fellows. She really felt little remorse at their deaths, but she did feel sad at what she had lost when the Dark Lord had died.

Harry's recent exploit two nights gone had gotten the biggest reaction so far, considering he had jeopardized the lives of innocent Aurors. The spectacle of him fishing with Death Eaters, hooking a two hundred meter leviathan with them, was the talk of the entire Wizarding World. Some people lambasted the Ministry for failing to provide protection for its criminals, while others laughed at the incident. Most, though, were beginning to see the threat the DE-Killer posed, because he could kill indiscriminately.

This was no more apparent than when Harry had introduced her to his closest friends; Ron and Hermione. With Hermione it had been apologies and affirmations of getting to know her. "I had no idea you had been forced into it. I'm so sorry! If Harry had told us, we would not have thought so terribly of you."

Ron was interesting in that he still held doubts about her, regardless of her acting and Harry's words. That just affirmed what she thought of him: he was an idiot. It was his views on the DE-Killer that she thought interesting. Harry had explained how happy Ron had been that someone was finally giving it to the Death Eaters like they deserved. Until, one of his family had been caught in the crossfire of the last attack. The junior officer, Rawlings, who was a 'damn fine flyer,' was apparently a cousin of his.

Thinking of family reminded her of her own's reaction to her plans. She had always been honest with them about wanting to be a Death Eater; especially, when her godmother had come knocking. They themselves were too cautious to throw their entire support behind Voldemort; they had seen him fall once before, but they did not hold her back from her dream. They had cautioned her about rushing in, but she had bid their views no mind.

Now, she came back to them dating her Dark Lord's vanquisher. It had not set well. She had turned to lying in order to keep their support. The story she fed them had been simple and similar to what Harry told Kingsley Shacklebolt. Fearing for her life, she turned herself in, hoping to get into Azkaban, like what most of the Death Eaters were currently doing. Harry showed up out of nowhere, begging to know if what they had in Hogwarts was true love. Daphne explained to them that she told Harry she had been forced to do those horrible things to him by her godmother as punishment for loving him. Harry had been convinced of her true feelings and talked her way out of the jail.

Her family had been convinced and even congratulated her on her cunning. After that Harry met her family and was welcomed with open arms. Her father had hinted at a marriage, which Harry had made no commitment to. "Me and Daphne are going to take it slow for now. We've both been through a traumatic time and don't want to rush things. Maybe, once this whole mess has settled we'll think on it."

Her mother had innocently asked if there were any children involved yet. Daphne's reply was a succinct, "No."

The very thought of having children with Harry terrified her. Not the giving birth part, which she was not thrilled about, but him raising them. She thought she could do a decent job of it, but he was out of his mind.

Memories came unbidden from her mind of the day they took their oaths together. How he had just tossed her about, drowning, bruising, and slicing her. Every now and then she would be forced to huddle in a corner and hold herself, until the dark thoughts drifted away. When with him, it was difficult to forget what he could do, the sense of feeling her life drain away from a cut in her neck was an especially difficult one to forget, but she managed. She suppressed a shudder and forced the thoughts away; she did not want to breakdown again, and it was best not to dwell and better to pretend it never happened.

She instead focused her mind on cleaning more of the dark room. Their current place of residence was Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Most of the main rooms had been cleared by Harry and his friends the summer of his fifth year, but a few of the other rooms were still in horrible condition.

Sirius had expanded the original efforts as well, but Kreacher, Harry believed, had reversed some of those. Daphne shuddered again, recalling the house-elf's fate and the ensuing argument. For his part in Sirius Black's death, Harry had ordered the house-elf to commit suicide in the most horrible way Kreacher could think of. The elf's remains had been left in the living room, below a plaque that read: Here lies my retribution.

"I don't want to stare at a rotting carcass for the rest of my life!"

"I don't care what you get to stare at. The bugger deserved it and I'd like to remember it."

That had been the start of their shouting match.

"You're not the only one that lives here! Don't I get a say in it? Especially, when it comes to dead bodies?"

For a moment, she was afraid she had overstepped his boundaries; until, he sighed and backed down. "I'll get rid of it." Had been his quiet response, his eyes promising pain.

For hours afterward she waited for him to seek retribution against her, but it never came, much to her relief and confusion.

She waved her wand and began to clear away the cobwebs, catching the spiders that tried to run away as well. As she got them into a ball, she banished them into a large metal chest, where a quick flash of fire vaporized them. Next, she made sweeping motions with her wand, whispering, "Dust it." Not a very complicated spell, but one her mum had taught her. She had been taught the basics of a household, how to clean and the like. She directed the dust into the chest as well.

She recalled Harry's words about her role in the relationship. "I like food and a clean house. Since, I was a child that's all I did. Now that I have you, I don't ever want to do it again. So you get to clean and cook. You know, what a wife's supposed to do." His sexist comment had not gone unchallenged, but her response only caused him to laugh.

She decided the room was finally done, seeing as how the furniture had been removed and shrunk and the walls cleaned. She was not going to bother cleaning the furniture, it was dreadful looking anyway, replacing it would be much easier. For now, she was going to eat. While she was at it, she would get his lunch ready for when he returned from the Ministry. The interview with the Daily Prophet was today. The Minister had insisted she attend, but Harry corrected him of that view. "She's been through too much already."

She scoffed. You just don't trust me, yet. Not that he had any reason to; she had tried to think of a way out of her vows, but so far no luck.

She entered the kitchen and set to work. She was no culinary master so went for Hippogrif pie and a salad for a side. She poured herself some icewine, Magdelane's Best, to help herself relax. She readied some for Harry, knowing how much he despised doing the interview. He had bitched about it enough during the past few days.

It was there sipping on her wine, waiting for her fiancé to return, that a moment of reflection seized her. Of childhood days running around with her sister on little ponies, while their mother watched from a distance. Her father always giving them wonderful presents and a letting them kiss him on his bearded cheek. How her godmother had come for her one night with promises of glory. The year of planning and the final pay-off; Harry Potter's capture. How the greatest moment of her life had been receiving the mark now emblazoned on her arm. Then everything had come tumbling down.

In the dark basement, she was overjoyed to be taught by Bellatrix, and had not cared what happened to Harry as she learned. Save then, she did not know of Bellatrix's unstable persona, had thought people were only exaggerating. Then she witnessed her madness firsthand, enduring her fatalistic and sadistic side. The moment had been sobering. Afterwards, Bellatrix dismissed her as weak, and the other Death Eaters pounced. Snide remarks and little chuckles, despite her doing what none of them had done.

Then Harry Potter had escaped and killed her godmother along with the Dark Lord. Killed her future. She had bolted, desperate to not get caught, choosing to hide behind Draco. All he had asked were a few favors, something she was more than willing to give. Then rumors of a killer murdering Death Eaters began to circulate. Draco had assured her that the fate could not befall him; he had Albus Dumbledore's protection.

He disappeared and she ran to the Ministry, scared out of her wits. To her, it seemed death hounded her every step, and even waiting in that small cell, she feared the next to open that door would be the DE-Killer.

Oh, how far she had fallen. From rising star among the Death Eaters, to being enslaved by the very man she tortured, and who had visited the same upon her.

Her life was never meant to turn out like this.

She returned the half-empty glass of wine to the table. Slowly, her head fell and tears crawled from her eyes.

In the quiet house of Black, she wept for herself and her lost dreams.

It was to this scene that Harry Potter returned. A cold pie and salad awaited him on the table, next to a sobbing fiancé. He brought a hand to his head and walked from the room, placing his satchel and robes in the drawing room. He returned to find her dabbing the tears from her eyes. She forced a smile. "You're home late."

He did not bother answering. He took a seat and went to eating, trying to ignore her feeble attempts at conversation. Another sob escaped her lips, but she kept the tears back. It was in that awkward moment that they realized nothing about their current arrangement was normal, no matter how hard each tried. He wanted someone to be with that cooked and cleaned and kept him from being lonely. But, he knew the woman before him would as soon slit his throat the first chance she got. The dysfunction had not been apparent till now.

He had been a fool to expect her to just accept her role without reservations.

It doesn't matter! She deserved this! Take her now and show her what she thinks doesn't matter! He held his head, fearing another headache coming on. He drained his icewine in one gulp, hoping to curtail it. He truly wished his darker thoughts would not be so loud. He drew a breath and addressed her. "Do you feel better?"

"No."

"I'm out of sympathy for you." He lied, hating himself for feeling sorry for her. Compassion, my one weakness it seems. Another hold over from his days before the torture. "You did bring this on yourself."

She looked to the ceiling after looking him in the eye. It was foreign for her to see such emotion there. "I know. I don't have to like it, do I?"

He leaned back. "No, I guess you don't."

Silence fell between them.

"How can you care?" She blurted, her curiosity overcoming her.

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. I can see it. Why else try to comfort me?"

He looked indignant for a moment, but it passed. "Okay, I do on some level."

"Why? It's almost like your two different people." She leaned forward. "One a merciless killer and now this!"

He drew a deep breath. "It's complicated." She could see a coldness creeping into his face, banishing the warmth. "What you're experiencing, and what saved your sorry arse, is a remnant of the Harry you tricked. Remember him, full of love and always wanting to help?" She nodded. He tapped his head. "Well, he's still in there and sometimes he drives me. Now, opposite him, we have the ruthless DE-Killer." He smiled wickedly, and she shivered. "He wants me to get revenge on every single Death Eater, make them pay for what was done to me. He's basically me wanting to externalize all the trauma I suffered at your and Bellatrix's hands." He paused for a moment. "See, it's complicated, but the madness has its meaning."

She slowly shook her head in disbelief. "You're crazy." She whispered. "It sounds like you have two personalities."

He shrugged, not liking being called that. So long as he had control, he was sane. He thought about telling her of Voldemort's memories but dashed that idea. "Doesn't matter what you think, only that you obey."

She stiffened and once more tears threatened her eyes, but she held them back. He groaned. "Please, stop the theatrics. I'm not in the mood for it."

"I'm not acting."

He looked uncomfortable for a moment but returned to his meal. As he finished his salad, Daphne was able to compose herself. "How did the interview go?"

He swallowed a bite. "Well enough," he responded, glad now for the inane chatter. "They asked the general things. Was it true love? Did I know how many hearts I was breaking? Were you the reason I killed the Dark Lord? Once the tripe was done with, the bigger ones came next. What was my opinion of the DE-Killer? Why didn't I speak on your behalf before now? Did I think Azkaban safe? I fed them a few lines and everyone was happy."

He resumed his meal as Daphne stood and began to clean up. Once both were finished she took him to inspect her progress for the day. He marveled at her efficiency.

"Mrs. Wealsey always had the roughest of times getting this place clean." He walked around the spotless room, eyeing the dark green wallpaper with a critical eye.

"I'll give her credit; she got most of the big rooms just fine." She chuckled. "Besides, any little pests there might be in the furniture get roasted. So much easier to just to destroy the little bastards and start anew." She caught his appraising look.

"I like the attitude. What were you planning on doing with this room?"

She shrugged. "Guest bedroom, I think. Unless you want a room to keep your Quidditch supplies?"

He gave her a quizzical expression. "Why would I need a room for my supplies?"

"Uh…for when you went pro?" His confusion prompted her to elaborate. "I just assumed that was what you were going to do with your life. I mean you can't really kill Death Eaters much longer, and you were always amazing on a broom."

He was quiet a moment more. "I don't know. I really haven't planned that far ahead. For now, I have two goals in mind. One is to kill the Death Eaters."

"And the second?"

Should he tell her of the Horcruxes? "I need to finish off a few loose ends that Voldemort left behind."

"Like what?"

Harry cautioned himself, but a revelation struck him. "How close were you to Bellatrix?" He stepped closer to her.

She took a step back. "Very close, until she turned on me." He titled his head to the side and peered closer. "What?" She asked wary.

"She didn't have any children, did she?" She shook her head, growing nervous. "Did she choose you as her successor?"

"Yes, she did."

Harry gave a sudden cry that shocked the young lady. "Perfect." Now, I don't have to break into Gringott's. "There's something in her vault that belonged to the founders that I'd like to get my hands on."

"Something Voldemort entrusted to her?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but I'd like it and you're going to help me get it."

"Now?" She asked, not sure of his sudden jovial attitude. It's just an old relic.

He shook his head and left the room, forcing her to follow him. "No, not right now, but eventually. I first want to finish off the Death Eaters. Then I'll move on to my next project."

"When are you going to hit the jail?" Daphne asked from behind him.

They entered the drawing room. "I have one more trip to make before I'm ready. One of your former brethren thought they could slip the country and escape me. I want to kill him before I move against the jail and finish the rest of the vermin off." Harry took a seat by the fire and brought out an old tome, something he had found among the odds and ends in the house.

Daphne stood a moment before speaking. "There are a few things I need to get at the Alley. Do you need anything?"

Harry waved his hand in her direction. "Not really, go on."

She waited a moment more before clearing her throat. He sighed and looked up from his reading. "Yes?"

"I'd also like to pick-up a House-elf from the trader's."

He gave her a blank stare. "I've known three house-elves and each one has been a basket case. No."

"It'd make getting this place cleaned much easier. And, they'd be able to cook better meals than me." She took a step forward and gave him a provocative pose.

He was unmoved. "I'd like better food but no. Besides, if we were to get one I'd bind it to my blood and not yours."

She saw an opening and took it. "So you do want better food?"

Harry growled. She plays the part of nagging wife rather well. "Yes, fine, you can have a damn house-elf, but not today and not until after Azkaban. Can I finish my reading now?"

She gave him a victorious smile. "Sure, I've gotten what I want." With a small chuckle she left the room to collect her things and with a pop she was gone. Harry grunted before going back to his reading. A detailed account of how and why the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black used to dismember Irish wizards before the Statute of Secrecy.

a/n:: With the overwhelming response from the last chapter, any fears I have left for this fic have died. There is maybe one more wrinkle in the climax chapter, next week, that I need to iron out, but besides that I'm hopeful. Thanks again for everyone's support in this. I'm not the best writer by far, but I'm working on it.

-byl, out.