A/N: Here is the next chapter, again, written by Mezzo_E_Mezzo (fanfiction username: MMEEMM) ^_^
Hope you all enjoy :)
Chapter 31 – Divide et Impera
[Longbottoms' manor]
She was clearly their leader; she spoke in a low voice to the Death Eaters and the Vampires, giving orders, then she turned towards them.
"Draco" she whispered, lowering her hood.
The boy lifted his face and looked at his mother with fearful eyes.
"Draco" called out Narcissa, the low, vibrating voice engulfed with emotions.
The boy didn't move, and Anna could feel him stiffening in her arms. No wonder; prolonged exposure to the Horcrux had distorted Narcissa's fine features. Her eyes were haggard with a wild light, her mouth grimaced in pain or disgust, and, overall, a shadowed face overlapped the witch's. For Draco, it was frightening enough: this scary woman was not the mother he once knew, but Anna shuddered with additional fear. She recognised the reptile facade of Voldemort, as if HE was wearing Narcissa's face as a thin, fragile mask.
Some seconds passed, or maybe they were minutes, and an odd sense of irreality engulfed them all.
Narcissa's impatience grew more and more visible, she clearly had imagined her precious son running into her arms, but instead he kept staring at her as if not recognising her, and was firm in Anna's protective hug.
"Draco!" shouted the woman, now angry. "Come here NOW!"
The shrill growl in her voice worsened the situation, and the child, now terrified, clenched Anna's robes in fear. Anna could sense a glimpse of what was crossing Draco's mind: just some minutes ago, he had met a Dementor, and in his emerged fears he had seen his mother turning evil and hating him, and now he experienced that reality. The boy would never move; he was in a state of pure terror.
And then, it happened.
One of the human hooded figures snorted, pissed off. A Death Eater, one of the older guards.
"Haven't you heard the Master, little brat? Do you need an obedience lesson?"
It could have been oh so easy to predict. They were used to Voldemort's logic, they had been trained to please their master in Voldemort's distorted ways, and lately they had interacted more with the Dark Lord's shadow than with his actual wielder: a mother, desperate for her son.
So, in Death Eater logic, to torture who bothers the master is always the best way to please.
Unfortunately, none of the women sensed the danger in time.
"CRUCIO!" shouted the Death Eater, aiming at Draco.
"NO!" cried Narcissa, trying to get in the way of the curse, but too far from the caster.
"NO!" yelled Anna, pushing the child away and taking the full force of the curse while shielding him, one last desperate look directly towards Narcissa.
The curse hit Anna.
And then, an explosion of pure chaos.
Everyone, the Death Eaters, the children, even the Dementors, were assaulted by an intricate and loud mess of thoughts, a wave of tangled voices and emotions tightened in a senseless cacophony that resulted in unbearable pain and loathing.
They screamed, falling on their knees or rolling on the floor. It lasted just some seconds, before even the caster of the Crucio was forced to lift the curse, but it seemed like hours.
At the centre of the hurricane, there was Anna's body, writhing in agony, but her gaze never left Narcissa's, as if she had thrown an invisible rope toward her.
And at the other end of the rope, there was Narcissa's consciousness, overflowing with feelings.
Narcissa couldn't move, shocked.
In a single instant, she saw it all.
O
[Monasterium Discidii – Jess, Harry]
Jess and Harry woke up on a cold stone floor, feeling weak and confused, with hands and feet tied. They moved stiffly, their chests felt heavy, their heads were numb. It was obviously because of some kind of magic, and after having looked around, Harry found the origin of the spell: they were in the center of a complicated runic circle, but there was more than that.
It was not just a series of runes painted on the floor; they were on a large, round altar bordered by low, stone relief frames, on which runes were carved and filled with -he knew it- blood. It was not something Voldemort had set just for them; the magic in it was ancient and dark, and it stank like something left rotting for centuries.
They were in the center of a large chamber. The only source of light was a series of high and narrow double-arched windows with decorated glass, but most of them were covered with curtains, leaving the far corner of the room pitch black. Harry could barely see that there were some tables filled with books and vials.
Jess groaned, still confused. "Ummm… I had a strange dream. We were together, hand in hand, but… it wasn't me. Just… another me?"
Harry sighed heavily. They had shared the same vision. "It wasn't a dream," he whispered.
Jess blinked, perplexed, and then woke up fully, although numbed by the rune magic.
She stiffened, now remembering.
"What… what's happened?" she asked.
Memories flew through Harry's mind, and he put the pieces together: the treasure hunt, Lovegood's betrayal, the potion, the vision. Grayback's voice… his reaction. He blushed at his own carelessness. He had knocked out the two of them, consigning them to their enemies.
"It- it was my fault, Jess. I wasn't myself. I'm – I'm really sorry."
Jess snorted. "You were poisoned, Harry, don't blame yourself. Damn, I feel like I'm being drained out of all my magic…"
Harry tried to understand the spell by reading the runes, although it seemed that his mind too was working very slowly. After some minutes, he had some idea of the kind of spell they were trapped inside: it had been created to weaken someone's will and magic: they would not be able to use a wand (well, Jess anyway) or using wandless magic in almost every way… if only he could understand the limits of the spell...
He mumbled his suspicions to Jess, who nodded. She, too, had recognized the runes.
"If only I could get… Where are we?" She loudly asked herself, frustrated.
"You are," answered a creepy, croaking voice, making the both of them jump in fright, "in the great and noble Monasterium Discidii, poor creatures."
They looked up to the far corner of the room, and just where they could have sworn there was nothing, a short, strange figure appeared.
At first Harry thought it was a talking creature, but, when he came across a shed of light, they could see a short, thin, hunchbacked person, dressed in a monk tunic. He was bald, and his face was a map of wrinkles, but his nose and his fingers were too long, his ears too pointy. And he seemed, to put it simply, older than Dumbledore itself.
"What… are… you?" asked Harry, too numb for making a more polite question.
The monk smirked, showing a row of sharp teeth.
"My name is Wilhelm, and I am the last keeper of this sacred place."
"Monasterium Discidii… Abbey of Separation?" translated Jess.
Wilhelm nodded, his dirty, flapping ears reminding Harry of Kreacher.
"You are right, young witch. Let me tell you the glorious history of this ancient tradition, practiced by the noblest pureblood families. This was a place of study and experimentation of the Dark Arts, and many were coming here asking for the solution to their problem."
"Problem? What problem about… separation?" asked Jess, echoing Harry's fears.
The word reminded him too much of the base behind Horcruxes for his liking.
But the answer was different. "The purification of the bloodlines, of course, obtained by the separation from the impure elements."
"The impure elements? Are you talking about.. H-halfbloods?" Harry forced the word out of his lips. The monk seemed crazy, it was scary. And what was he implying? Had Voldemort eventually found a way for "freeing" himself from the hated muggle inheritance?
But Wilhelm surprised him, exploding in a rusty laughter.
"Halfbloods? Don't be ridiculous, boy! Muggle blood had never caused collateral effects by mixing itself with magical blood. It's like water, it can dilute the power, but it's not dangerous. Furthermore, I am talking about very ancient times, where there were far more dangerous temptations..."
Now Harry was really confused. "Collateral effects?… Temptations?"
The monk came nearer them, not near enough to touch the border of the circles, but enough for Harry and Jess to see his yellowish, old, old eyes.
"Magical creatures, boy. I am talking about magical creatures."
O
[Somewhere - Seth and David]
Seth and David shared an anxious look. They were immobilized; the Death Eaters had been smart enough to tie their hands before leaving them in the cell. Of course they were wandless, they had been frisked and the enemy had taken all the suspicious objects after the incident with the gun. At this point, they were in a painful state of vulnerability. They were under the Death Eaters' thumb.
They heard the footsteps approaching the door. It was soon clear they belonged to the two evil wizards from before, as they were arguing about who was the caster of the anti-magic spell.
The door slammed open, and two men looked into the cell with doubtful eyes.
"Ah, you're awake, you wretched rats! Well, are we going to speed this up? I am not very patient."
"If you believe that one of us will reveal the spell that you want to give to Voldemort, you're a fool," grumbled Seth between his teeth.
The Death Eater wasn't perturbed at all by the Unspeakable's hostility. "Am I?" he giggled, with a wrinkle to his companion. Then he abruptly frowned. "Don't you get it, you imbecile? I'll have a quick answer, or, on the other hand, I am going to get some fun, making you two scream and beg for a merciful death. I win either way."
Seth and David clenched their teeth, glaring at the Death Eaters in hate and disgust.
They stared at each other for some time, the evil wizards waiting for the Unspeakables to speak up, but the silence was heavy and gloomy.
The other Death Eater grew impatient. "Marcus, let's just grab one and torture him until he speaks."
Marcus snorted, pissed off. "Er…. Ok, let's do it. Which one?"
The other one shrugged. "Heads or tails?" he asked, the Knut already in his hand.
At the proposition, both the Unspeakables lifted their head in worry, for different reasons.
They knew what 'heads or tails' meant. It meant luck. And there was no doubt who the luck favored.
"He is the creator of the spell!" Blurted out David.
"That's a lie! I'm the guy that invented the gun, and he knows everything on the anti-magic spell!"
"Seth, shut up! They're taking me, not you! They need you!"
"Don't listen to him, I am the-"
"No I AM THE-"
"SILENCIO! PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
The Unspeakables were suddenly and violently put into silence and completely immobilized, and fell on the floor stiffly.
The two Death Eaters exchanged a bored look. "Aurors."
"So naïve. So idiotic. Always eager to play the hero."
"The torture will end the show. So, which of the two do we torture first?"
"Heads or tails?"
o
[Werewolves Liaison Center]
They were everywhere.
The werewolves were fighting at their best, but it was as futile as if a bunch of puppies were put against adult, trained demons. Lupin, Provo and some other werewolves were fighting back the evil creatures, but for the most part they were on the defensive line, casting shields for the cubs and retreating. Rita was protecting a group of teens that had never been at Hogwarts, together with two witch-werewolves.
But after a little amount of time, it seemed that the Vampire's bloodlust was already set off; they already tired of playing with them.
Colin felt it coming just seconds before. It was just like an hideous whisper in his soul:
"Let's roast the beasts."
All around the building, he sensed the FiendFyre being released, while the fighting Vampires retreated, leaving the trapped werewolves inside.
The 1812 Overture echoed loudly in his head the moment he took the item from his cloak that he had brought with him just in case: the smoking sword on which he and Curt had worked for so long. The chaos in the place morphed almost instantly in a choir of anguish and terror, the moment the werewolves realized they were surrounded by demonic fire.
It's now or never, thought Colin. The fire was huge, and he was the only one now who could stand between it and hundreds of lives. It wouldn't surprise him if his entire life had been his preparation for this exact moment.
The music grew in his mind as he began an intricate path of movements that were the combination of his own pattern of gestures, with the new movements studied with the sword. He immediately felt the FiendFyre responding to him, just like a wild, huge beast that had turned its head towards him, doubtful about listening.
O
[Monasterium Discidii - Don]
Don was very nervous.
Voldemort had been so vague about what his plans precisely were, more than usual, he had selected a narrow circle of the most loyal people (Don, of course, among them) and he had sent them patrolling that creepy Abbey, where everything was surrounded by an evil and dark aura, just as if, in that place, magic itself was slowly, unavoidably rotting. The only person that they had originally found in that miserable place was an old monk, but he had spoken almost exclusively with the Dark Lord. The two of them held long conversations, but Don had not been able to catch the contents of those encounters.
The thing that was making him nervous was that Voldemort had not let slip about his purposes, nor about the role of this place in their game. Don knew that his plans had something to do with the Dumbledore kid, but the Dark Lord had been oh so vague about timings and intent. It was very dangerous. At last it seemed that the snaky snout had sniffed the presence of a spy among his most loyal followers.
Last, but not least, the fact that was making Don nervous as never before was that he didn't succeed in contacting Jess. He had tried and tried, during his patrolling around the perimeter of the abbey, careful to not raise suspicions, but isolated enough to use their special ring. Unfortunately, his precious wife hadn't answered the call. The worry was driving him mad.
Has something happened?
Or was the party too… distracting?
Was she in danger? What was he missing?
At the end of his shift, he came back into the little chapel they were using as a meeting room, where he found some bottles of liquor and a few of the others that were chatting about the news. Don knew immediately that something had changed. They were excited.
"Hey, Don! Come, finally we get to know! The Dumbledore's brat is here!"
"Have you seen him?" asked someone else.
"Have you seen the brat?"
"They arrived an hour ago, the Dark Lord said he wants his own fun with the little bastard, and when he finishes we will enjoy the torture!"
"If the brat survives..."
They laughed, and Don with them, while he was internally cringing.
His instinct was right. He needed more information. He needed it NOW. But he couldn't make direct questions, it would rise suspicions, so he followed their ranting:
"… The pleasure of seeing that little pest in agony!..."
"… No, I have not seen them, they had been portkeyed directly at the Dark Lord's presence, but Raymond was with the Monk when he sensed them coming!"
"That creepy monster! If only the Dark Lord wasn't so clear about not hurting him..."
"Wait! THEM? You mean that there is also Albus Dumbledore?"
"No, it's not possible, the trap..."
"The monk said that the brat was not alone!"
"There was a woman with him I heard! A brunette no one recognised..."
"A woman? I hope the Lord would give her to us for playing a bit, he refused to hand off Lovegood's slut..."
'Oh Merlin,' Don was stunned. 'Did they take Rebekah?! Was there an ambush at the Longbottoms'? They had Harry! And the woman with Harry… she couldn't possibly be...'
He felt numb and icy, just like his blood was freezing. Without a word, he left the room, as silent and swift as a shadow.
He had an idea about where Voldemort might keep his prisoners. There was a corridor in the abbey he had never been allowed access to, where just Him and the Monk entered; and the others were too frightened to try to steal a peek.
In a couple of minutes he was in front of the door.
Was Jess there? Was Harry?
"You know, I had my doubts about your loyalty, and I hardly get fooled," a gentle, dooming voice echoed behind him.
The Vampire was on him before he could move, sharp teeth sinking in his throat.
Don attempted to react, but Voldemort's immobilizing spell was too fast.
Don felt cold fingers wrapping in his hair and pulling up his head, his eyes forced to meet Riddle's. The Vampire bit him with more strength and, from Don's occlumency grasp, one single image escaped, the one that had brought him to such imprudence.
"Oh, is she yours?" chuckled Voldemort. "Yes, I can confirm that she's here and yes, she is going to die soon. Keep this in mind while you die too," the Dark Lord whispered maliciously in his ear, then turned to the Vampire. "Don't kill him on the spot, my friend. Just poison his soul without fully turning him, you know, that painful torture that ends with death… But, slowly, please. Let him rot alive."
With this silky, deathly order, Voldemort left Don in the hands of the Vampire.
O
[Longbottoms' manor - Narcissa]
Narcissa gaped as if in need of air, overwhelmed.
How could one feel all these different things at a single time?
On the other hand, wasn't it normal if we perceive simultaneously the light of the sun and its heat, the scent of a lover and his touch and his voice murmuring something and our own heartbeat and a hundred other different sensations? It was just that, in this case, all the different knowledge came all from the pair of eyes locked with hers, Anna's eyes which glowed in pain but never wavered from Narcissa's.
Narcissa abruptly became aware of many things.
Anna was a legilimens. A powerful one, and this ability was created by that infamous crucio that had overloaded her mind when she was a child. Now, in that moment, the crucio that had hit her had amplified her power, bouncing off everyone in a chaotic mess and confounding them all… everyone but Narcissa herself, in fact Anna was using all her efforts to maintain her ability and for Narcissa to share it -
Anna was doing it, while bearing the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus.
Narcissa's respect for the witch increased violently, but there was no time for this. She suddenly saw it all.
Anna loved Draco, and she wanted only the best for him, the best clearly not being involved with Voldemort.
Anna loved her. Despite all the evil things that she had done. She was hurt by them, but she desperately hoped in a way to protect both Narcissa and Draco, to save them both.
And then Narcissa turned to herself, and the thing that was now part of herself.
Voldemort was possessing her, he was gradually annihilating her consciousness and wanted to destroy her.
Voldemort hated her.
Voldemort hated everyone.
He was keeping some part of her alive because he needed her for dealing with the Vampires, but he had his own goals.
Voldemort hated Draco.
Voldemort would prefer Draco's death, because that way there wouldn't be any possibility for a "conflict of interest" in Narcissa's mind, and with the child out of the way, her grief and solitude would be a solid motivation for her to stay at his side.
Narcissa was filled with loathing, fully understanding what was happening for the first time since it all began. Fully awake for the first time in years.
It was all his fault. If her beloved son was now afraid of her, terrified of her, it was the horcrux's fault. She had to take it off NOW!
The sheer resolution took root in her, and at the same moment she felt the horcrux sensing it too, deepening its grasp on her mind and soul, in the stubborn attempt of not getting eradicated from its wielder. She knew that it was going to be a painful move.
But it was now, or never again.
Narcissa's scream was not audible in the general commotion.
The simple gesture of taking off the locket seemed to her like lifting a slimy and heavy weight upon her head, an alive and protesting thing with millions of sharp teeth held on her very soul. She felt herself being torn up, and she realized that maybe too little of her would survive that separation.
But she was determined anyway.
O
[Werewolves Liaison Center]
Dolores Umbridge had snuck out of the building, unnoticed, as soon as she had sensed the danger. Of course she would not be engaged in a disgusting brawl among beasts. Now she had just to reach the apparition-spot and flee.
But before she could approach the clear round of grass, a dark, slender figure, just as tall as she was, appeared in front of her.
"Where do you think you are going, madam?"
Merlin, its putrescent smell was assaulting her senses. What was it doing here, while its peers were all assaulting the Centre?
"Get out of my way, revolting creature, there's a building stuffed with prey you can feast on, just over there. Shoo!" Dolores blurted out with venom.
Instead, the figure seemed to set and, if possible, get more solid. The temperature around the witch became suddenly very cold.
"Excuse me? Were you not part of the team of people who were trying to (he snorted) integrate them into your society?"
The witch's face reached new shade of livid purple. "Oh PLEASE. You hate them just as much as I do, with the only difference that you do so because of your instincts, while I loathe all of you, inhuman wastes, with an equanimity dictated by reason. It's only natural that you will extinct reciprocally in this war while wizards and witches will remain the only beings worthy of ruling the world."
The Vampire seemed impressed by her reasoning. "It is indeed very interesting, madam..." he began, "That you feel so superior you don't sense at all the danger you're in."
He came closer with one step, and she could notice he was just a kid, he didn't even show a trace of a beard. The witch lifted her chin in pride, her eyes twinkling.
"Of course I am not in any danger, I am too much above your pitiful kind. So let me just pass and go to your party, you brat," she spat, now angered by that little orrid pest.
The Vampire smirked.
"Oh, madam, I am so, so much older than you. And about you being superior, how about trying something different? For example, if you were turned into something else, becoming part of the KIND that you -so reasonably- hate now, what will become of you?"
And, before she could understand or try to react, he was already at her throat.
O
[Monasterium Discidii – Jess, Harry]
"It was not unusual," the monk told them, proud of himself,
"In ancient times, some members of pureblood families were 'tempted' by a magical race, deciding to get married to an inhuman being… and, this way, came half breed children: Half-Giants, Half-Vampires, Half-goblins, Half-Elves… well, if the child didn't show any or just a little anomaly in his physical appearance, and he was the only one who could continue the bloodline, the family let him live. Then, with years and other marriages with wizards, the inhuman blood was diluted and forgotten."
"So, in this Monasterium Discidii, you purify the blood by separating it from the inherited inhuman one? But why?" asked Jess, now curious (and in order to buy them some time while they were trying to fully understand the runic design).
Wilhelm, on his part, was enthusiastic about telling: "Madam, there are races that are absolutely incompatible. Their blood was not meant to be mixed and, if forced into the same body, it has collateral effects on the magic and the life of the child."
Harry silently gulped, not having the courage of asking which could possibly be the 'collateral effects'.
"So this is how it happens: a couple of important pureblood families get married. They believe to be pureblood and totally human, so no problems. A child is born, but at some point, usually by the time he (or she) is seven years old, when his magic begins to show itself, it brings physical and magical issues. So the parents discover they have inhuman ancestors.
You know, for example, Veela blood, even in a remote descendant, must never be mixed with a Vampire's descendant… at six years old, the child becomes blind, and in a few months he burns himself with his own magic, till death. We usually call it The Inner FyendFire."
Harry and Jess inhaled sharply, terrified. They wanted to concentrate on the runes, but it was difficult not to be moved by the monk's words, or by the arrogant indifference he was using while speaking about those suffering children. Wilhelm seemed pleased by the attention, and continued:
"Do you know that the descendants of an Half-Goblin can't join together with a wizard that has drank dragon's blood? The children are born Squibs, but then, at eight years old they begin hallucinating, they become paranoid, schizophrenic, and have explosions of accidental magic that kill them in brief time.
"Moreover, there are families hit by particular hereditary curses, thrown against them by magical creatures, or self-inflicted through Dark Rituals in order to acquire some powers. These curses make their blood incompatible with inhuman blood. If a descendant of these families has a child with a descendant of any creature, the child will be doomed by certain death before puberty."
"You seem to know a lot about these cases… How is it possible that the History of Magic has not reported any of this?" asked Jess, skeptical and horrified.
Wilhelm smirked with arrogance.
"Because the noble families knew that, in such a case, they should come here to.. purify the children. We have developed the knowledge of the mixing species… These are Dark Arts, Madam, nothing people love telling to the public, but it was necessary… and I am the keeper of this tradition. I am the last one. We were the ones that practiced the separation."
Jess surprised Harry as she blurted out: "You are one of them, aren't you? You are not entirely human."
"Not that it isn't evident, madam," he answered promptly. "But you are right. My parents performed the ritual on my twin brother and me, but something went wrong and only my brother's blood was purified. Then, the family had their heir, and offered me to the monks as a sign of gratitude. As a result of the incomplete ritual, I survived as a Squib, but the monks adopted me as one of them, and they discovered that my life could be far longer than the average human's… I have survived my grandnephews, as far as I know."
So it was true, Harry thought, he was older than Dumbledore. But the service given by the Abbey couldn't be without shadows. If the purification was made through dark magic… he feared he knew where the trick was.
"What was the price?" he asked.
The monk gave him a piercing gaze. "If the child survives, his magic and his blood had to be purified. The influence of one of the parents had to be erased… with the sacrifice of that parent."
Harry felt the fear penetrating his bones, like the venom of the Basilisk in the Chamber… it seemed a century ago.
"I can imagine how a parent would sacrifice himself for the wellness of his child..." commented Jess in a bitter whisper.
The monk exploded again in his creepy laughter.
"Oh, you wouldn't imagine how many times where the GRANDPARENTS brought the child and the spouse of their son or daughter… it wasn't always a ritual done willingly."
Harry was exasperated.
"FINE. But my parents are already dead. What does this ritual have to do with me?"
"Oh, it hasss everything to do with you, Harry Dumbledore Potter," said a familiar, serpentine voice from the now open door.
A/N: Just one more chapter and the epilogue! :)
Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing.