Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I just enjoy messing with her characters.
Warnings : strong language, lemon, rape (non descriptive and not H/D), dub-con, violence, drug use, hints of prostitution, multiple pairings, OCs.
Beta: The ever fantastic Avenalanon and the great MsLefay. Any mistake left is mine.
A/N: So sorry for the delay. What can I say, these last weeks were crazy and I had little respite. I can only promise the next update will be sooner. A big thank you to all the anonymous reviewers. Your words put a smile on my face and really motived me to put more time in this story.
So here's the new chapter, tell me what you think.
CHAPTER 20: THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE KING
September 29, 2004
Harry jerked and half-opened his eyes, but the light blinded him. He struggled to wake up completely, to no avail. He felt a pressure, like a vice around his head. He moaned, his mouth pasty and bitter. A blurry shadow was speaking above him yet he couldn't understand anything. He fell back into unconsciousness.
When he awoke a second time, he kept his eyes closed even so he tried to concentrate on his surroundings, listening to the sounds around him.
Footsteps ... a sputtering whisper, like a voice on a cell phone followed by a grunt.
Then a loud, "Potter, come on. Potter!"
Harry blinked despite himself, eyes rolling in his head, but it wasn't enough. The voice got angrier, "Come on Potter, wake up now! Stop pretending! "
The command prompted Harry to make a last effort. He managed to open his eyes again, though he couldn't clearly see the dreaded silhouette before him.
"About bloody time, princess!"
McCarthy of course. Talk about an unwelcome wake-up call!
The man was nervous, his hands digging in his pockets and his face tense.
Harry looked utterly small in his bed. He moved his lips, trying to formulate a question, "Wher… I… aco… is he…"
He coughed and as he attempted to shift his hand, he felt a discomfort in his wrist. On lifting his arm and saw the tube coming out of his hand, the stinging needle. He noted the white walls around him, the thin blanket and the rough sheets.
A hospital.
Harry was hardly comprehensible, his words swallowed up. He finally managed to articulate, "Draco…?"
A snigger, then McCarthy's voice, strangely low, unless his ears were playing tricks with him, "Sorry Potter, but your boyfriend is dead, like everyone else."
Harry's eyes darkened, but his face was already scrunched up with pain so his reaction went unnoticed.
"Oh yes, Potter, believe it! The fucker is dead at last!" McCarthy smiled and gloated, "It was a hell of a raid. Oh, yes, this is a grand moment my friend!"
"Draco…" Harry said again like a desperate plea. "No…"
McCarthy resumed nonchalantly, "There were only ashes inside. Everything's gone up in smoke. Several of the microchips we found were unreadable but I can tell you no one got out of the building alive. Mission accomplished. And no thanks to you!"
He leaned toward Harry, his mouth against Harry's ear, and said with a joyful tone, a bit perverse
"But don't think I'm finished with you. The deal hasn't been completed. As soon as you're on your feet, you're back at work. I have plans for you."
McCarthy visibly enjoyed this game. Even with Harry's condition, he kept toying with him. It was psychotic, there was no doubt about it. Harry knew that this man and his team had crossed the point of no return. They were unredeemable.
"You're not through with me," McCarthy slipped in his ear. "Not by a long shot."
Harry didn't rise to the provocation. And even if he had wanted too, he didn't have the strength to retort anything. McCarthy was obviously holding the power. The man stared at Harry with a frightening glow in his eyes, which told him his troubles were not ended. Abruptly, a nurse appeared and chided the agent, "That's enough, I already told you he needs to rest!"
McCarthy schooled his features and took on a honeyed tone, "Ok, ok, no problem. I'll go."
He turned to Harry and with a wink, threw a loud "Take care of yourself, son!"
Harry would have laughed at that but he was still slowly recovering his senses.
The man finally left the room. Harry already knew there was a guard outside the door, but he had no intention of staying in here. He was convinced that Draco was still alive and he wouldn't let it go. He needed to find him.
With this new motivation, he lifted his head but the movement was too brisk and his body ached all over. Seized with a coughing fit, he peered at the table near his bed and noticed the empty glass and pitcher of water calling to him. His mouth felt furry, his throat so dry... He wriggled, his muscles sore and his body stiff, trying to reach the glass, when the nurse came to his rescue.
Her hand wrapped around the glass and she tilted the jug to fill it, the melodious sound of the water echoing in Harry's ears. She brought the cup to his mouth, the brunet dipping his chapped lips into it and lapping at the water avidly. He coughed once more and had to stop drinking for a moment. The nurse placed it back on the table and turned to him.
"Don't overwork yourself. You've been through a great trauma," she said, rearranging the pillow under his head. "I hope you're comfortable. I'm afraid we had to put you in a double room since A&E is overloaded."
He turned his head aside, trying to get a look at his room companion, but McCarthy had gone to the trouble of shutting the curtain for more discretion. He sighed and glanced at the big clock. It was one in the afternoon.
"How long..." he muttered.
"Five days. You took your time waking up... Your friend was getting quite agitated," she added, arching an eyebrow.
Five days. Many things could happen in five days. Draco could be hiding somewhere... And what about the Organization? Was it still there? And Pansy, had she finally regained consciousness?
His head was throbbing now and he had to close his eyes to take a moment. The nurse perceived his pain and checked the IV bag hanging from the hook of a mobile stand. She gave him a sympathetic look. Her features were soft, giving her a kind appearance. Combined with the way she had said "friend" a moment ago… Harry could have sworn there was contempt in her voice. He swallowed and decided to take a chance.
"Please, I have to get out of here..." he pleaded.
The nurse regarded the closed door then lowered her eyes.
"I know… I could recognize these men anywhere, and I don't like what they do..." Harry's eyes lit with hope. "But I can't help you... I'm sorry."
Harry opened his mouth to speak but she walked out the room briskly. It was little more than running away. Harry sighed and examined the cannula in his hand.
Great...
As if it couldn't be worse, they had given him morphine. Might as well give him a fix while they were at it!
Harry pulled out the perfusion immediately, no matter the pain in his back and head that would surely come back later with a vengeance. His limbs were too heavy and sore for him to arise so he just surveyed around, weighing his options.
There wasn't much. He couldn't leave with the guard at the door and this exit was the only escape route. He gazed sideways again, wondering who the other patient might be. Harry knew he would need him to get out of here.
And a half-hour later, the perfect opportunity presented itself: visitors. And not discreet ones. A large family, four… no five children, a couple and another adult. The noisy type, a cyclone in the silence of the room. The nurse had gestured them to quieten down before they closed the door but the warning was hardly effective. The chubby lady put a finger on her mouth and shushed, before complaining about the stupid rules of the hospital. The man who appeared to be her husband gave a throaty laugh while the kids whined, dragging their feet along. Harry observed the cortege pass, through the small gap between the curtains, his lips curling into a conniving smile.
A plan concocted itself in his head.
Once the visitors began their torrential conversation, Harry lifted the bed sheet off himself and put his feet down on the cold floor.
"My darling... that bloody road hog, if I'd got him..."
Words reached him here and there while he was carefully making his way to the side of the bed. He took a minute, the time required for his head to stop spinning, then he opened the drawer next to his bed. His clothes were folded and bagged. The sweatshirt and jeans were smeared with grass and dirt stains. He dressed in his rumpled garments, wincing every now and then as the lady's shrill voice rang out. A hand over his forehead, he got back under the bed covers, patiently waiting for the right occasion. It seemed like an eternity before he heard the first goodbyes. He sighed, hopped off the mattress, opened the curtain and nodded toward the bed, pretending to leave an acquaintance.
"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. Take care mate!"
He tilted his head to the side, giving a small smile towards the little family. The kids grimaced at his apparel as they piled ahead of him. Harry waited a few seconds before blending in with the crowd. The first steps were uneasy. His legs felt numb and he tried hard to stop their shaking. The world was spinning around him but he kept walking as if nothing were wrong. The door opened onto a long and crowded corridor, the yellow neons and the greenish linoleum adding a deathly hue to the atmosphere of the place. Harry took care to lower his head, shrinking himself. With his smaller stature, he didn't need a great effort to pass unnoticed. He peered beneath his fringe toward the corridor and spied a suited man, sitting with a paper in his hands. The man turned his head in their direction and rose. Harry felt his pulse race, his frail legs threatened to give out and his head was pounding violently. He twisted his face away and forced a sympathetic smile to his lips.
"Hello. Do you have a hospitalized friend also?" he asked the family's mother. "My cousin got knocked down by a car," he said mustering a sad but angelic look. "Both legs in casts. He only just survived..."
The woman opened her eyes wide, seemingly delighted to have his attention. "Oh, poor thing, I know what its like," she responded loudly. "Our youngest got hit by a car too. He's been lucky, oh yes, God saved him. I thank Him e-very-day!" She took Harry by the shoulder and jostled him along, her face so close to him he could see the hair in her nose. "Those damned reckless drivers! And do you think justice puts those killers in jail? No, of course not!" she shouted. "And what a dreadful hospital. We'd been in the waiting room for hours before they let us see our baby!" Harry nodded, feigning outrage, and took a gander at the guard between the heads of the two younger boys. He saw the man roll his eyes and tiredly drop into his chair. "My little boy fractured his shoulder and he has a... a..." The woman waved her hands, searching for the word. "... a concussion, yes...We got so scared... Huh, Henry, we got scared, didn't we?"
Then the amicable husband happily joined the conversation. With a last look, Harry made sure that the guard had lost all interest in the group. Indeed the man had resumed his reading, with his legs crossed carelessly. Just like that, by dint of the talkative family's unknowing help, Harry had managed to slip past the guard's vigilance. It had been easier than he had thought.
Harry kept walking toward freedom, his face relieved when he disappeared behind the closing elevator doors, the voluble lady and her family still at his side.
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
The bus was driving at a slow speed. The journey seemed endless to Harry who was fighting to keep a clear mind in his fragile state. Everything was churning around in his head; he was trying to make sense of these recent events. There were so many holes to fill in this mad story. He couldn't fathom how the Division had been able to plan the attack so quickly, and why no one had seen it coming.
The bus stopped and Harry stepped off in a hurry. He rushed along the sidewalk and ended up in front of a dirty shop window, the same shop he had entered months before, unaware that his life was about to take a decisive turn: the Treasure Box.
The place hadn't changed, still as sinister as ever, but Harry didn't pay it much attention. The shop was closed and he cupped his hands against the filthy glass frontage to take a look inside. He screwed up his eyes but there was no one visible within. He tried his luck anyway and knocked at the door insistently.
"Snape!" he shot out, "Snape!"
He turned his head and looked down the street, at loss for what to do. Then a little light appeared indoors. Harry started, eyes widening with hope. He would finally get answers.
Snape's face popped up behind the door, somber and uninviting, wholly his usual self, yet the apparition brought a smile to Harry's face... The joy of seeing a familiar face, someone who might be able to guide him. Snape unlocked the door and opened it. He eyed Harry incredulously.
"Potter?" he asked, lips tight.
Harry stepped forward, his eyes glassy and his face dangerously pale. There was a fleeting moment when both just stared at each other, then Harry grabbed the man by the shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief. The gesture had been spontaneous and as soon as he realized the awkwardness of the situation, he pulled his hands away.
Snape scouted over Harry's head into the street beyond - a habit to watch his back - then pulled him roughly inside before bolting the door behind him.
Harry's back and head continued hurting but he was so excited and nervous that he was distracted from it. Putting his weight on one foot then the other, he spoke feverishly in fits and starts:
"I didn't know what to do, McCarthy wouldn't let me go and I know... I know Draco found a way to get out of the house, I'm sure of it! He's always so resourceful; he'd never have let them take him down like that! An explosion, it's preposterous! He can't go like that, huh, besides, Lucius is dead now, the Organization is no more, everyone thinks he's dead too, it's the moment to try something! I'm sure he's already planning his comeback somewhere. I thought he might have contacted you, or even hidden here..."
Snape's expression told him it was not the case. Harry shook his head, mirroring the silent 'no', and kept on, "I'm sure he will come soon. And I want to be here when he does, I need to speak to him one more time..." Through his rambling, Snape stepped closer to him, stone-faced. Harry knew what was going on in the dark man's head, but he didn't care and shouted "I know he told Lucius everything, but he wasn't in his right mind! He was confused! I need to see him."
Then Snape grabbed the brunet by his arm, silencing him. "Potter! Calm down."
Harry looked at him, mouth open and eyes unfocused. Stopped in his tracks, his confidence and energy left him, and he was no more than a lost boy once again. From up close, Snape looked subdued and tired… as lost as him. Snape must have felt the turn of his thoughts for his cold, stoic mask fell back in place a second later.
"Come," the man said before leading Harry to the dark backroom.
He shut the door behind the brunet and placed his hands flat against the table. He spoke slowly so his words would be engraved in Harry's mind
"I know about the Division's intervention, and it may be tough to hear, but what they told you is true: everyone died." A pause. His face clouded. "Draco is dead."
Harry shook his head instantly. The words felt wrong. It wasn't true, it just wasn't.
Snape leaned further onto the table, stressing the statement "I didn't get any news about him and I won't ever again. It's over Harry."
How Snape could say such a thing? Draco was alive; it couldn't be any other way.
"No...No," Harry muttered, his voice categorical. "You don't know what you're talking about. Draco's clever, he knows how …"
"Harry," Snape interrupted, his voice soft but firm, trying to pull him together.
The younger man shook his head again in denial. "No, it can't end this way. It can't…"
Harry was stubborn. Worse, he was in love. Snape was now taking full consciousness of it.
He looked the young man right in the eye, even though Harry didn't hold his gaze, too confused and shaken to do so. "They made a clean sweep of the headquarters, everything's gone. The offices are deserted. The River is closed, the cottage has been sealed up. Everyone got wind of the Division's dragnet .They all took to their heels. You can be certain they will find a new gang and a new leader to follow. It's the law of the pack".
Harry looked elsewhere, deep in thought, then suddenly snapped up his head. "What about Pansy?" he interjected, his eyes lighting up again.
Snape shook his head. "From what I heard, she's disappeared."
"But… she was in a coma…"
"I'm well aware of her condition" Snape sneered, "All I know is she's not at the clinic anymore. No one knows what happened, if she's alive or dead."
Harry winced and put his hand on the back of his head. He had cracked open his skull when he fell during the explosion and several stitches decorated his skin. He was only biting the bullet because he had to sort this situation out and he had no time to waste. To hell with the pain.
Snape continued, "It is as if the group had never existed. There have been seizures, access to the sites is sealed. I couldn't save anything... Memories are all that's left."
He uttered these last words with a contrite look, his arms dangling. Harry knew that Snape was suffering. Draco was important to him too. In fact, in Harry's opinion, he was possibly the only person that mattered to him at all. Alone in this dingy room, they made a sad pair, mourning the one they had lost.
Snape suddenly stamped his foot down. Harry regarded him and frowned. Then, Snape crouched on the dusty floor and ran his hand across the corner. He lifted the dirty linoleum and his arm disappeared underneath. Then, he pulled something out from the hiding place. When he stood up, he had a small safe in his hands. He set it on the table.
"And this," he announced, "Draco entrusted to me the morning of the attack. He knew the wind had turned and he wasn't untouchable anymore. I don't know what it contains; Draco didn't give me the key. I suppose he thought he would retrieve it eventually, but now..." His eyes wandered away.
"That will happen." Harry suddenly affirmed, chin lifted in confidence. "He will come back and open it himself."
Snape raised his voice, exasperated by Harry's obstinacy. "Potter, you're not a kid anymore! You know exactly how the story ends. This is not a soap opera; he is dead! Get that into your head, he won't come back!"
Harry's face fell. Despite all he had gone through, he still thought things could turn for the better, but Snape's brutal words and his unyielding countenance started to weaken his resolve and shake his beliefs.
His eyes shifted to the safe. He edged his hands closer and touched it gently as though he was afraid to damage it. The casket was beautiful, an antique. The decorations and the lock were cast in pure gold. It reminded him of an old jewellery box.
Jewellery!
Instantaneously Harry's hand flew to his neck, his index finger traveling down the golden chain that Draco had offered him once. At the end, the little key. Harry examined the safe, the golden patterns, the form of the dead lock, and then the shape of the key. Had Draco really done this? His eyes slowly crept up to meet Snape's. The latter caught on immediately. He hadn't moved but something shifted on his face.
Harry untied the knot behind his nape and cradled the trinket in his palm, his hands trembling with excitement. Letting the chain dangle from the key he inserted it into the lock. After a small resistance, the key turned and the mechanism retracted.
Draco had literally given him the key to his secrets. In one of their blissful times, Harry had taken it for a romantic gesture, but it represented so much more. Draco had given him his trust, preceding Snape or anyone else, and it hurt even more now. The blonde had taken the key back, and that was only fair; but now it was at an end, Harry felt he had the right to see what Draco had hidden. It was, after all, the only testimony he had left.
It was Snape who opened the safe. Harry was too apprehensive to go through with the motion.
Inside: papers, an envelope, notebooks.
Snape leafed through the documents then perused a red notebook. "All his operations and his contacts," he said by way of information.
He took a larger notebook, a blue one. He unclosed it and read a few pages before freezing altogether. He viewed Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry chose to stay silent and wait for Snape to voice his concern. He was apprehensive to discern the cause of the man's shock. Draco had preciously stored these documents to hide them. It had to be important. What secrets could they harbour?
Snape flipped the papers rapidly, then inspected the envelope. Photos. Harry could only see the back of them. There was an inscription, a date and a place: "Sullivan's."
No, it couldn't be!
Harry wrenched the photos from Snape's hands. His eyes rounded when he rested his sight on the snapshots and his fingers started to shake compulsively: there he was, on that infamous day when he had fled the villa and ended up in a small pub only to finally fall upon McCarthy's henchman.
Harry entering the car in the alley escorted by the man.
Harry coming out of the car onto the street.
Harry, later on, entering his apartment.
He let the photos fall on the table and picked up the blue notebook: words written by Draco, his notes about the other members of the gang, his theories and plans, the events of the day.
Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Pages and pages covered with Draco's elegant writing. He skimmed through a few passages to get to the date of his first meeting with Draco at Rosemary's.
April 20, 2004
Surprising encounter with none other than Harry Potter. Hard to believe he's hanging at Rosemary's. I can smell the trap from here. As I expected he tried to catch my attention all night and acted very forward. Let's see what the next days will bring...
April 25, 2004
… Severus told me he met Potter at the club. He's definitely trying to infiltrate our circle. If he thinks I will make it easier for him and welcome him in, he is sorely mistaken. I am pulling the strings. But might as well confront him now. It promises a good show!
Harry turned the pages frantically.
May 4, 2004
Pansy was up to her tricks again. Potter resides in the villa now. I'm not sure I can stand his presence any longer. He is hiding something, I can feel it. I know his record: arrests for drug use, soliciting, disorder in a public place, minor deals. It's been nicely set up. Goyle didn't find anything in his apartment, too neat to be true he said... And the phone line was dead. It's not a coincidence. I'm worried…
Harry sat on a steel chair as if in slow motion, his eyes riveted on the book. He was stunned. He could hear Draco's voice behind the words; he could see his forehead crease under the doubts and suspicions. He kept on reading, Snape silent and still behind him.
May 18, 2004
The moment I breathed this fouled air, I realized it would be a hard ordeal. All the memories assaulted me at the simple sight of this land. Seeing Matthew again, I had the impression I made a jump back in time, and the journey was most disagreeable. Lucius haunts me still…
… I think I came on a little strong with Harry, but he provokes me so... He unsettles me, and I haven't felt this way in a long time.
The encounter with a coke head of his acquaintance proved to be very interesting. Harry has a much darker past than I previously thought. His record doesn't look so fabricated anymore. Harry was shocked by the reunion. He didn't fake it. His story is getting more intriguing by the minute. I wonder how he ended up here… I can't seem to figure him out. Tonight, I felt this great urge to protect him. I tried to talk to him but he closed in on himself. I'm waiting to see his reaction over the next few days.
May 25, 2004
The situation with Harry is getting more and more confusing. My barriers have weakened and I don't think it is wise to let him get so close to me. I'm beginning to doubt my first assumptions. Harry is always so secretive, but considering the dark shadows of his past, I believe he is well and truly at a loss. I want to include him in our discussions, but I'm undecided. There are still grey areas in his story... I'm at a dead end.
May 26, 2004
I'm getting closer to Harry. As times goes by, I find it harder to escape his pull. And why should I? I used to have all the right reasons to doubt him, but I can't remember them now. A double play? It can't be. Division 8 is still after me, but I can't believe Harry is linked in any way with these extremists. But I don't want to repeat my past mistakes…
May 27, 2004
I'm going to give him a chance. I can't put him of my mind. I feel oddly protective of him now. Harry Potter, what were the odds… His presence here must be a sign. It might be the beginning of something great. Besides, he gave me no reason not to trust him. Fate may have decided to show clemency to me for once. It's time I take my chances.
Pages about strategies, ongoing transactions, his conflict with Ellis, his worries about the deal to come.
Then:
May 30, 2004
The Dawn's deal turned catastrophic. Accusations against Harry flew all night but I'm sure he's not involved in this mess. Ellis is a bastard, I know he's the one behind all this fuck up, undoubtedly. I could have killed MacNair with my bare hands. He's grown far too confident and I refuse to allow these men to doubt my authority and I can't let the gang doubt my authority… I won't let anyone harm Harry. I have to keep him from our businesses at all cost, if only to spare him.
June 1, 2004
Crabbe and most of our guys are dead. Flint confessed. It all makes sense now. There is no alternative. I have to get rid of him. I can't believe it was him all this time. I guess Lucius was right. Leadership is a lonely and bitter road. Harry mustn't know what's happened. Ever. He wouldn't understand. I'm a nervous wreck. I try to put on a strong front but this treason is a tough blow. I have to hit hard.
June 4, 2004
Harry left today. I knew it would end this way… Of course, he is not cut out for this. I don't know how I allowed myself to think it could be any other way. I'll just take it all in my stride and keep going, like I always do. Time will do its work. I need to be more solid than that. Was Astoria's lesson not enough? I'm waiting for Dennis' report. I have to make sure Harry won't do anything stupid. He can be so rash, and considering his mental state, I had better be careful. I feel as though I have lost something big. No, I will be alright…If I could just keep him out of my head.
June 5, 2004
The tailing gave what I expected. Harry was approached by an unidentified man. The car's plates didn't give anything. The drive lasted a while. I don't like it at all. If Division 8 is involved, they must have spotted him with the group and attempted to rally him to their cause. A first contact then. I don't want to consider the other options. I prefer to believe Harry has nothing to do with these dogs. I hope I won't have to intervene.
June 6, 2004
Lucius is back from hell. He offered me a deal: a real enterprise, contacts all over Europe... Difficult to refuse. He's thought it all out and that's what scares me. I can't resolve to work with him again. I have to be on the look-out at all times. Good thing Harry is around again. Something has been broken between us, but I am determined to win him back. It has been a tough few days and it kills me to admit it, but I'm not sure I can go on without him.
Other considerations about the new group, reports about different meetings. Words less and less bitter through the dates… His relief to be able to rely on his father's help. Harry felt sick. He had the impression of looking at the film of their life, some drama whose ending he already knew. As he was going through he last pages, reading the happiness behind Draco's words, he wanted to stop the course of time, to close the book and say: "There, that's how it ends," but he couldn't.
June 26, 2004
Harry is finally mine. Body and soul. As I had planned, Montague made him madly jealous. There is no doubt in my mind: he fully supports me and his feelings are true. I am aware I don't deserve his love, and it pains me not to be able to offer him a better life, somewhere safe without these vultures around us. He is the only one that matters to me now. I am finally allowed some happiness.
Such intense impressions and feelings… these words were upsetting Harry deeply. So many things had escaped him. He hadn't realized the turmoil his appearance had provoked within the blonde. The words traduced Draco's uncertainties, his weaknesses. It was entirely too hard to bear in the light of the recent events. All their hopes and dreams had come crashing down at their feet, through Harry's own fault. Draco was dead. Harry had killed him; Harry and no one else. Draco had placed his trust and love in him but Harry had betrayed all that, and Draco had returned the favour.
The duel had ended without any winner. They both died that day.
He couldn't keep on reading. It was too much to take. His head was hurting. A searing pain. He brought his hand against his ear. Snape frowned and asked, "Are you alright?"
But Harry didn't answer. His breathing was laboured and his vision wavered. His ears were ringing as if blocked, and then darkness engulfed him again.
When he awoke, he was shaking and sweating profusely. He darted his eyes around him, his body felt cold, the surface hard beneath him, but his head was resting against a soft fabric. With his hands, he reached behind his head and felt the delicate velvet, the smoothness of the foam rubber. A small cushion. He couldn't regain his bearings, or remember the last few minutes. Then Snape came into view, a glass of water in his hand.
Harry lifted his head, regretting the move immediately, feeling dizzy and weak. He felt Snape's hand on his nape and the simple touch felt strange. It was so kind and intimate. He was glad he couldn't look at the man right now. He felt the glass on his lips and opened his mouth to take a sip. Letting out a breath he asked: "What happened?"
Snape pointed at Harry's head with his finger. "Your head wound. Idiot boy, you should be in the hospital now."
Well, that was the Snape he knew…
Harry touched the stitch points in the back of his skull and explained,
"I was, but I had to get out. McCarthy would have held me captive. I escaped his custody, but he'll track me. I need to hide for a while. If he finds me, he won't ever let me go." He grimaced with pain and massaged his neck. "He said he had 'plans' for me, but there's no way I'll let him control me this time. The Division can go to hell! I'm tired of their blackmail."
Snape sat on a chair, his hand gripping the wooden table's edge, visibly preoccupied. "Harry, I don't know what McCarthy told you, but he lied to you," he said in a monotone. "He's no longer part of Division 8."
Harry stared at Snape as if he had spoken in another language.
"What?" He straightened and pushed himself backwards until he was flush against the wall. "I… no, I…." His eyes swept left and right. "I saw the files, I saw his guys! McCarthy's working for the Division, I know it!"
Snape sighed and began to explain, "He has still ties with the Division and he knows his way around, but I carried out my investigation and with the help of old contacts, I traced his path. His expulsion had never been official, they hushed up the scandal. After Lucius' fiasco, there had been too many hitches. They had to get rid of him."
"But I saw his badge…" continued Harry, still stunned.
"McCarthy's over, but he does them services once in a while. He delivers them fugitives, and in exchange, they close their eyes to his personal affairs. The man has his ways, but he's not covered by the Division anymore. He has no weight on their decisions."
"Since when?" Harry ran a hand over his face. He gathered the facts. What had he missed, what were the signs, the lies? When did it all begin? He sighed, his eyes lingering on the floor, then he uttered: "The Division, they've got Remus you see…. He was arrested in January. McCarthy promised me they had transferred him to a safe unit… But who's to say that's not a lie as well! I… I don't know any more!"
"Remus…" The name escaped Snape's mouth in a whisper. Harry's eyes snapped to Snape's. The man in black sat across the table, in front of him. "Harry, Remus didn't get caught until a month ago."
Harry lifted his head in a dazed state.
"No, he was with me. McCarthy said…" His lips opened but no words came out. Flashes of his arrest came flooding back to his mind: Remus' anxiety attack, his empty bed in the morning. McCarthy in front of his door. His own shouts: "Where is he? What did you do to Remus?" No trace of his friend.
He had never seen Remus being taken away. He had trusted McCarthy's words.
Remus had been restless for weeks, saying he was endangering Harry's life. Of course… Now it all made sense. Remus had left, thinking it was the best solution for Harry. McCarthy had quickly assessed the situation and made up a story to blackmail Harry.
Harry's eyes were blank, fogged by the memories, as Snape went on, "And there's nothing McCarthy can do about it."
Harry felt drained. He couldn't have been fooled again. It all had been for nothing. All these betrayals, these massacres, it was just hot air.
"How?" croaked Harry. "How do you know all this? This is… this is top secret information! What's going on? What are you still holding from me?" he said with narrowed eyes, leaning on the wall in a suspicious manner.
Snape showed no uneasiness. He joined his hands on the table and began, "I told you McCarthy blackmailed me too." He paused, eyes intent, and finally confessed without shame, "I've been working for the Division."
His declaration was welcomed by an incredulous gape, but Snape kept a placid stare. "I was interned in their first center here. Several werewolves revealed that I was one of the few able to make the Wolfsbane potion. The Division deduced I possessed a first hand knowledge about their condition. They ascribed competences to me that I didn't have. I told them I wouldn't help them, but evidently, it wasn't the answer they were hoping for. They killed several prisoners before my eyes and blamed me for their sacrifice. I was merely a tool in their hands. I had to obey. I tried to help, but they showed no pity. We're not men to them, we're human guinea pigs."
Harry had a horrified scowl but Snape showed little emotion.
"I am guilty of nothing. I took no part in their tortures, and when they realized I was no use to them, they let me go. My role was confidential but I'm still on their files. Moreover, they contact me sometimes."
"They asked you about Remus…" Harry whispered, his voice hardly audible.
"Yes. "
"What did you tell them," asked Harry, inquisitive.
"Nothing they didn't already know. That he was posing no danger, that he had endured severe trauma and that it was premature to make him go through new tests." Harry lifted his head, a ray of hope flashing through his green irises. A hope Snape broke instantly. "But they never listen."
Harry's head dropped back against the wall, his eyes facing the ceiling.
"That's heavy…" he mused. "So that's what McCarthy's got on you…"
Snape nodded. "He threatened to reveal my involvement. No one knew about me and McCarthy would have taken great pleasure in outing me. I couldn't take that risk. Draco wouldn't have forgiven me. I betrayed our people; I collaborated with the enemy."
Snape's words rang familiar to Harry. Indeed, Draco wouldn't have accepted the truth. Treason was the worst sin in a gang's life.
"So I searched for a way to double cross McCarthy. I asked every contact I had, looked through Draco's documents. That's how I found out he had been thrown on the scrapheap. But that's not all. They erased him from their database, it's like he doesn't even exist anymore."
Harry shook his head and massaged his temple. Anger flared inside him.
Secrets again. The truth was always hidden from him. He had thought he was the one lying but they all were. It was just a big fool's game, and McCarthy had played them once more.
A strange smile grew on Harry's lips as he shook his head. He chuckled and his face disappeared between his hands. His shoulders started to shake and a muffled laughter rose in the room to the bemusement of Snape. It took a few seconds for him to understand that what he took for giggles were in fact heavy sobs.
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
Hurried steps on a zebra crossing. Red light. A honk. The steps accelerated. A phone booth. The door swing, a few coins in the slot, fingers dialing. He knew it by heart. The forbidden number.
"McCarthy."
A harsh breathing. Harry could recognize it, his eyes closed.
The voice instantly enraged, "Where are you? And what possessed you to call me on this number!"
Harry attacked, "I don't give a shit about your fucking rules. I know all about you."
A sneer on the other end of the line. "Please Potter, don't make me laugh."
This only fueled Harry's anger more. "I know you don't have a say in the Division's decisions any more! You're a pariah, a ghost agent!"
The hissing voice, "You don't know what you're talking about."
Harry refused to be intimidated and kept on.
"You have no authority! How could have I fallen for your bullshit! Remus is dead, I know it!"
"Oh no, I assure you he's alive."
"Yeah. Well if that's the case, there's nothing you can possibly do for him! It's over, everything's over! There's no more deal. And if you want to kill me, then go ahead! I'm waiting for you with open arms!" Harry yelled into the receiver, trembling with anger. "I have nothing to lose anymore! So you can shove your sick plans up your ass and find another mug for your shitty affairs."
"Potter…."
Harry violently hung up, hitting the receiver on its cradle with force and banging the cabin door on his way out.
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
Later, that evening, back in his suddenly very sinister apartment, Harry lay in bed, the blue notebook in his hands. He was tired and his eyes were burning, but he kept reading anyway.
July 31, 2004
Those idiot Weasleys turned up at the club. I can thank Lucius for the lovely attention. Does he really think I will fall for his twisted plans? He doesn't get that Harry is not another fuck. The obstacles Lucius puts in my way only strengthen our relationship. I now will protect Harry till the end.
August 20, 2004
Berlin is a cold and boring city. Or maybe it is Harry's absence that turned me so melancholic these last days. In any case, business is going well, with the exception of the Schuller gang who gives us some difficulties. Montague's more optimistic than me, he thinks they will yield soon. He shows great strength and determination. Lucius knew what he was doing when he hired the guy. He's one cocky bastard, but he knows the job. We're making a pretty good team.
September 11, 2004
Harry's insinuations stuck with me all night. I thought he would have more confidence in me but I was obviously wrong. I don't like the way he calls my word into question, asking me to account for every little thing I do. Past is in the past. We both made mistakes, there is nothing more to say. And now, I fear he will throw himself at MacNair for the sake of revenge… Can't believe this bastard had the nerve to make a move on Harry. I called him and gave him an earful. If he touches one hair on his head, I'll make him swallow his family jewels. Harry is so impulsive, and so far from me. Only one month left.
From there, blank pages. Nothing more.
After the Berlin blood bath, the events had surely been too chaotic for him to continue his prose.
Harry wanted more.
These white pages were a fateful reminder of Draco's death. Draco wouldn't write anything else. His last words were troubled and uncertain, left in suspension. Harry flipped each page in the hope of a sequel, a last addition, a final word which would bring some closure; but even then, he knew nothing would do.
He threw the notebook on the floor with rage and scratched his head. The pain was still there, persistent.
He opened the drawer of his bedside table and looked at a little bottle of pills. He grabbed it and shook it lightly, looking at the white drops clanking together. He uncapped the bottle and swallowed two pills without water. A muscle relaxant. The effect was immediate and soon he was appeased. He looked at the blue notebook lying open near the wall and chided himself.
What are you doing…?
He threw off the sheets and crawled on the carpet, preciously gathering the notebook in his hands and dusting it lightly. He held it close to his heart, stroking the cover with his fingers. It was all that remained now. He ensconced the notebook back in the drawer, right next to his meds, and sank underneath his sheets. He was soon carried away by dreams filled with his blonde lover, Draco's name crossing his lips more than once in his sleep.
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
March 22, 2005
Winter had passed in a blur of cold and loneliness.
A new house in the North West of Surrey. They went there for the big occasions. The place was less cosy than the hideouts they had during Draco's reign. To Harry's eyes, it was a pale imitation of the Reading Property. But those days were over. There was a new sheriff in town.
Harry descended the lavish staircase with sloppy steps, black suit, white shirt, crisp black tie and all. He slid his finger beneath the starched collar and sighed. The outfit felt like a costume, but he was getting used to it by now. He entered the big living-room, the guests reunited around cocktails and petits fours, wearing best attire, smiles plastered on their faces.
They were celebrating their new association with the Mannings, a rich and influential family who they had coveted for months. They had put on an extravagant spread for the function: expansive tables, embroidered tablecloths and chandeliers, flowers in crystal vases, waiters in uniform. A refined style.
Harry walked like an automaton, accustomed to this kind of gathering. Some guests acknowledged him in passing. He was part of the furniture now. He strode across the room with his usual nonchalance, his mind already miles away.
He spotted the man of the evening in front of one of the long richly decorated tables and snatched a glass of rosé from a passing tray before coming close. MacNair turned around, grabbed him by the waist and claimed his lips with voraciousness. Harry was pliant in his arms.
MacNair's ruggedness didn't surprise him anymore. They had been lovers for the past three months. The man was rarely gentle with him; even his tender gestures were brusque. MacNair liked to assert his domination in all things. His rough hands pressed against the small of Harry's back, possessive.
The sensation wasn't unpleasant. Harry felt numb, indifferent to this circus. He didn't even notice when Greyback joined them. The coke he'd railed earlier had bucked him up for the day. It was all that kept him going.
The addiction was easy to pick back up. From the first week of his new mission, he had known he wouldn't make it without help. He found his way back to a seedy nightclub in Soho. Like every other time he'd visited such an establishment, he spotted the cokeheads and the dealers right away. Like radar, it never failed. The first fix had felt like coming home. And just like that, he had plunged himself back in.
Was it just a yearning to empty his head, or was he trying to punish himself somehow? It didn't matter. He needed this boost for the job. But he knew addiction, and it was bad. Now, the craving had become regular. He shot up twice a day, back to his old habits... Hadn't he once sworn he'd never touch these drugs again? He didn't dare imagine the reactions of Ron and his family if they were to become aware of it… He had been in a deplorable state when they had found him, years before, and he was travelling quickly down the same road over again. He could feel the effects of withdrawal when he hadn't had a hit yet that day. He was conscious of it, but he no longer cared. While he was crumbling inside, drugs gave him the illusion it was alright. He knew that at this stage, he wouldn't hold on long, but what could he possibly hold on to anyway? Perhaps he would fall, perhaps he would let himself waste away. Maybe then, he would finally be free.
It was all nothing but an immense indistinct blur. Noises, tips, dreams, schemes, caresses, murders, nightmares. This was his new life.
Harry tried to concentrate on the good things: the music was nice, the room was beautiful. The Elders would be occupied for the whole evening and MacNair would surely be too tired to do anything later in the night.
His new lover was aware of his "disease" of course. Harry had first refused to go through him to get his fix, but MacNair was not blind. He had quickly noticed Harry's growing addiction and had taken great pleasure in encouraging him down this dangerous path. Harry was much better company when he let himself go, so he allowed himself to wallow in a semi conscious state. Both were getting something out of it.
MacNair let his hands wander across Harry's bum and squeezed playfully, his adventurous tongue mapping the shell of the brunet's ear. Harry was impervious to his gestures, his mind slowly drifting away.
"You look ravishing… I made a good choice," MacNair said with his dark voice, sliding his finger down the suit's lapel.
Harry offered him his usual smile, the one he displayed when he had to act as the perfect lover. This expression came naturally to him now. Greyback leered at him, an amused glint in his eyes. Once in a while, Harry had to put up with the man's forthright flirting, but MacNair had established his authority over the group and over him, and Greyback never overstepped his boundaries. Harry was MacNair's favourite. No one else could touch him.
After Harry's desperate phone call, six months before, McCarthy had found Harry swiftly. He wanted to bring down the last survivors of the gang. Draco and his father had ruined his career and he had sworn to himself he would break up every last link in the chain. He wouldn't settle for a set-aside, only a complete and total victory would satisfy him. Division or not, McCarthy was powerful. He had contacts, he could pull some strings. More dangerous than the system, he didn't obey any rules; and he was insane.
As Harry had predicted it, he had used the Weasleys as a way of pressure. And at that moment, Harry knew he would never escape this vicious circle. There would always be someone to threaten, someone dear to him that McCarthy would use to blackmail him. Harry was between the hands of a maniac who would go all the way to destroy the last bastion of the Organization. If Harry was honest with himself, he would admit he didn't particularly care about his own life anymore. The only reason he had agreed to this job was to keep the ones he loved safe.
McCarthy had taken Harry away to one of his hideouts, put together a dossier and staged a trial. Following the seizure of a hundred of blood beans, scavenged from the rubble of the X-Stacy, Harry had been "arrested" for narcotics trafficking. Conveniently, during his trial, a procedural defect had been identified, and Harry was released immediately. What a joke…
Then Harry had been sent to the nightlife again. The goal was to immerse himself back into the seedy clubs and the dirty deals, an attempt to lend more credibility to his transition before returning to the Elders when they resurfaced. McCarthy's bet was that the Elders hadn't been clued up about Harry's double game while they were abroad. It all had happened too fast and Lucius had certainly not foreseen his dreadful end.
So Harry had hung about in their usual places but he had come home empty-handed. They definitely had changed scenes. Then their luck turned: a tip sent McCarthy to a bar where MacNair had been seen frequently. After a few weeks, he had finally showed up and it was with no trouble that Harry had caught him in his web. Apparently, the man's previous advances hadn't been motivated by Lucius' incentives alone. MacNair had confessed a strong attraction for him, but Harry suspected the man also took pleasure showing off Draco's former lover akin to a trophy. And just like that, MacNair had taken him under his wing. Barely a week later, Harry was sharing his bed. Soon, he was spending almost all his nights with him.
Harry emptied his drink and mingled with women who giggled and smiled until their jaws hurt, and men who stirred each other up with puffed out chests. Between slaps on the back and sideways smiles, he wandered aimlessly across the room. Known as MacNair's pretty accessory, he had to bear their hypocritical faces, their glances and polite handshakes. A true viper's nest.
While wandering among the guests, Harry met Adams, the dealer who had once provoked heated discussions between MacNair and Draco. It seemed MacNair had finally got what he wanted.
After Draco's demise, the aspiring successors had been fewer than expected. There had been too many jarring notes, too many deaths, and they feared the cursed throne. But MacNair was a different breed. When he heard the news, he had showed no hesitation and took the first flight back to London, on the heels of his own recent success in Ireland. Along with his henchmen, he was the last representative of the late Organization, but he had withdrawn quickly from this affiliation. His ambition was and always had been to take the lead and become the only commander in charge. A strong and radical force. That was how "The League" was born, a new gang that had gathered, not without shame, the different contacts and deals that had been settled with the Organization to re-inject them into MacNair's new empire. The kingdom was his now.
When Harry had arrived, the machine was already well oiled. McNair had taken on his new role with ease. He was born to lead. He was more imposing than Draco, and most of all, more dangerous than his predecessor. He had already made a name for himself. From the beginning, the League had eliminated the undesirables: the weak, the half-hearted followers and the threatening ones. What they lacked in subtlety, they made up for in effectiveness. Violence was their only language. Exit Draco's wit and charm; MacNair was all brute force and intimidation. He had managed to impose himself nonetheless.
Adams wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders and mocked, "My dear Harry, where's your master?"
The man took the liberty of patting his shoulder in the most condescending way. And he thought he could get away with it?
In a moment like that, Harry felt only emptiness. He couldn't hear his heart beat. After Draco, everything had frozen. No desire, no joy. Was his heart still there? He couldn't say. He hadn't felt alive for so long.
Harry spurned Adams, slapping his hand away, the movement clumsy but efficient. He might be immune to their mind games, but he wasn't going to let himself be insulted.
"I'm not a dog and I take orders from no one; but if you want MacNair, he's waiting for you to kiss his ass over there," he bit out in a breath.
Adams' lips thinned into a tight line, and Harry took a brief satisfaction in seeing him lose face. The man stiffly stepped away, leaving Harry on his own. The brunet was about to zone out again, eyes lost in the crowd.
Then suddenly, a whisper in his ear, "That was rude. Who taught you to talk with such a dirty mouth?"
Harry had barely heard the words, carried away by his irritation and the drugs fogging his mind. He turned around and everything faded away.
Draco was there, in front of him, as beautiful and dashing as in his memories.
An apparition. Only an apparition, right?
"Did you miss me, baby?" Draco said with a slurring voice.
That voice he had dreamt about, night after night.
But what was that noise in his ears, so close… this insistent tom-tom?
Oh yes, my heart. It's beating still.