This story contains slash (adult male homosexual content). Avoid if this squicks you. Please post your reviews!
To Topple the Pillars of Heaven
"Wicked"
The leader of the dragon riders looked down at the remains of Durmstrang. Nothing was moving, except the flames, towering unchallenged into the sky. He shook his head sadly and signaled to his two companions. Wheeling their huge reptilian mounts they turned and flew toward fairer land.
Madame Pomfrey was awash in patients. Mediwitches and mediwizards had arrived from Hogsmeade to assist, but Poppy was glad for any hands to help, including Harry and Draco's. Huge tents had been conjured across the Quidditch Pitch to comfort the injured and dying. Within the tents, the horrible sounds of the aftermath of battle reverberated in the ears of the wizards. "Good, but more swishing and less flicking," said Madame Pomfrey, demonstrating the proper bone-setting technique. Harry copied the movement, while Draco rolled his eyes at the pedagogy.
Neither boy got a chance to put the spell in practice. A patient being treated behind them sat up groggily, as blood gushed in scarlet fountains from his mouth. Mortally wounded, the boy began thrashing wildly.
"Assessareum!" cried Poppy. "Harry, Draco, hold him down!" she exclaimed, her voice beyond urgent. At a loss, they complied.
"Tear in the superior vena cava, fissuring, complete failure of— Vitae Suspendium!" she shouted, but in vain. "He's too weak, oh, too weak"she whispered. Passing mortal assistance, the boy shuddered and slumped down into death. Harry looked up tentatively as Madame Pomfrey closed her patient's wide, staring eyes. She folded his arms gently and murmured "Gods rest you and keep you." Without looking at Harry or Draco, she said, dully, in a voice frightfully alien, "Next."
Harry staggered outside the tent and noisily vomited. Draco followed him into the emptiness of the pitch. Silencing spells kept the hell of the field surgery confined to the tents, so that the only sound was the moan of the wind through the grass and Harry's strained breath. Draco knelt down behind Harry and rubbed his shoulders. The madness of the field of blood that had overtaken Hogwarts spun in Draco's mind. Escape—and there was a way to do it—maybe.
From out of nowhere, Draco asked, "If we could leave, would you?'
"What do you mean, leave?" questioned Harry.
"I mean, leave, the two of us, and go away, away from the war, away from everywhere."
"Where? It sounds like suicide. I don't know what you're talking about, but no, even if you could get us far enough, I wouldn't go."
"I didn't think you would. All my routes out of this are closing down, Harry. Damn."
Harry retched again, this time only dry-heaving. When he had recovered he said, "I don't know what to tell you. I can't leave. I won't leave. You'd be a Malfoy wherever we went, and I'd be the Boy Who Ran. Leaving would be wicked, Draco. It'd be the worst thing I could do."
"Some people would say it was wicked to change sides for the sake of love, or for the sake of whom you love," replied Draco, dully.
"You had a side that was picked for you, Draco. Your parents changed their allegiance when their love for you was stronger than their lust for whatever Voldemort was offering. In either case, I think it's what you chose to do that matters."
"That's sentimental twaddle, Harry. My parents were pissed off about being betrayed and decided to do some betraying themselves. It's just like them to throw enough chaos into the mix that even from death they're still meddling in my life. If things had been a little different, that would have been me on the field today delivering an ultimatum."
"And that would have been you getting your arse dragon-fried, so don't go thinking that your switching sides turns the tide of the war. Just quit wringing your hands and brooding," said Harry, leaning in and speaking with a ferocity that surprised them both. "Look, I want you here, the Order wants you here, and your own father, for whatever reasons, sent you here. No one else can give you any clearer sign. Make up your mind however you need, but I'm staying." Harry cleaned himself with Purafacicum and took a deep breath.. "If you do go, I expect you to tell me," he said. Not looking back, he returned to the tent.
Draco felt the doors of his life close around him. He had not looked for personal attachments. Harry was supposed to be frivolous diversion—but early on things had gone less than well for that plan. Harry challenged him, angered him, and contradicted him. Even after the physical hunger for each other abated briefly—and it abated only ever briefly—he could still talk to Potter, of all people. Harry Potter, the champion of Mudbloods, of impure magic and poor associations. Harry Potter, of the perfect green eyes and the horrible imperfect hair; he wouldn't squash a butterfly but could dispatch a basilisk. The gentle, lovely and cursed Harry Potter would certainly be the cause of Draco's undoing, in this war for which there was no hope, neither under earth nor under heaven. Draco saw ignominy waiting for him at every turn and curve. Goddamn you to the lowest hells Harry James Potter, you and your Muggle-hugging friends, he fumed as he returned to the tent. Wicked, am I? You have no concept of wicked.
As the day wore on, one horror was replaced by another. With a cancerous sense of dread, Draco kept imaging Harry choking out his last breath, mouth and throat filled with blood, dying as the first boy had. As he cast spell after spell under the assistance of the Mediwitches, every screaming mouth became Harry's; every dying breath accused him.
Finally, he could bear no more charity to the ill and slipped out.
Draco sat there in the middle of the field as blood dried on his hands. He sat quite still and entirely alone as no one came looking for him. The rage of his impotence in the face of scudding, shifting conditions began to drain away, as the resonance of his earlier escape plan re-formed. Like the glowing tendrils of light from his mother's See-All he had so recently witnessed, letters shaped themselves in his wind. An old song, bits of verse, and the prologue to the spell he had used to make the Battle Lance clouded his mind. What if mythology wasn't myth? What if, indeed? His nebulous thoughts were disrupted when he noticed Lady Tae watching him intently as she crossed the Quidditch Pitch, laptops in tow.
The sky opened and dazzling light flashed as three blood red dragons soared overhead, their clarion cry echoing from the castle walls. Draco's thoughts went from Fucking terrifying as they circled overhead, coming ever lower, to Magnificent! I want one.
All thought of such reptilian splendor was lost as the reptiles touched down. In the air they might be the Wind Gods personified, but they lacked much to be desired as land animals. On contact with the earth they pitched forward, digging their hind claws into the ground and sending the riders careening. It was obvious only long years of practice kept them seated.
The riders were dressed in tan leggings and swathed in robes, which they cast aside as they undid their facial coverings. The trio walked toward the tents, while the man in the lead strode directly for Draco, who rose and met him.
"I know you," said Charlie Weasley, extending his hand.
"And I you, at least by reputation," replied Draco taking the hand and releasing it quickly. God. How many more Weasleys would he have to endure?
"Show me to Dumbledore. We've come to sign up," said Charlie.
"Grand. We're in the midst of a catastrophe, as you might have guessed, with your snappy Weasley acumen."
"Draco…Draco," Charlie said warmly as he wrapped a large arm around Draco's shoulder. "I've heard lots about you. We're going to be chums, but I have to warn you," he said as he suddenly grabbed Draco's shoulders and lifted him off the ground. "I'm not my brothers. A lifetime of working with vicious man-eating flame-spouting reptiles has taken off a lot of the jolly edge, so remember that, there's a good man."
Then he plopped Draco back on the ground and smiled.
"Fine!" huffed Draco, as he shoved Charlie aside and stormed off to Dumbledore's tent. Charlie followed the infuriated Pureblood, still smiling wryly.
By late afternoon, the weary Order of the Phoenix had reconvened. The wizards of Hogwarts were powerful, but so many injured overwhelmed their resources. The deaths around them served to underscore to the staff their general inability to cope with the outcome of a war.
The Great Room was cast in shadow, as if no one cared enough to bring light into the severity of the cumulative mood. As Dumbledore crossed the threshold of the chamber, he cast a quiet lumos and brought illumination with him.
By now, Harry had exchanged his blood-soaked garments for fresh robes. He eyed Draco, was leaning heavily against a wall and fussing at a large splash of blood that remained visible against the gray of his cloak. "It must be Squib blood," said Draco. "It's entirely oblivious to magic."
"You might have to have it laundered."
"I might commit suicide first."
"Why bother? Apparently you've got enough remaining family to do it for you," said Harry, brushing past Draco, who gaped internally. Unusually sharp. I think that almost hurt, he reflected.
After wearily taking their seats, they turned their attention to Dumbledore.
"Poppy, please report on today's events," he began.
"Out of two hundred thirty total persons received from Durmstrang, fifty-nine have perished. Another ten remain in grave condition with poor prognosis. Sixteen are guarded. We have tentatively identified twelve students among the dead, ten instructors, and thirty-seven Dragoons of Durmstrang militia. The Dragoon's leader, Elena, is among the survivors, by a whisker.
She paused a moment while gathering her voice, then continued. "Much of the injuries we saw today were magically inflicted and designed to be impervious to healing."
As she sat, Dumbledore got to his feet and addressed the room.
"Members of the Order of the Phoenix, it is apparent that we cannot engage in protracted conflict. We must bring a decisive end to the War. After today that goes without saying. However, I have additional news. This afternoon, Platform 9 and Three-Quarters was attacked. It was attacked on our side of things, so the non-magical world remains largely unaware of the damage at this time. Nonetheless, the Hogwarts Express barely escaped. Five Aurors died safeguarding the train's departure. Due to the nature of the ongoing threat, the Express is following a more circuitous route than usual."
"What was so valuable aboard? Why didn't the passengers TransApparate?" asked Lupin.
"The passengers are safeguarding items from the remains of the Ministry that cannot be easily TransApparated, due to a number of binding spells. Also, at the time of their departure from the platform, we were unable to TransApparate due to the, ah, equipment issue," replied Dumbledore.
"Which, I might hope, is solved?" said Snape, acidly.
"It's reasonably fixed. I have a few technical bugs to work out over the next few days," replied Tae, unruffled.
Abruptly, Draco stood. "We have to go to the Manor," he said. "There are items there that will prove useful."
"Yes," replied Dumbledore. "With the information you have provided us, a team of Aurors will go tomorrow and—"
"No, Headmaster. No Aurors and not tomorrow; we go right now," replied Draco, an unfamiliar urgency in his voice.
"Do you know what we're looking for?" asked Professor Sinistra.
"And who exactly, is we supposed to include?" asked McGonagall.
"We means me. And when I see it, I'll know. Mr. Weasley, did you make any maps of the Manor after the attack?"
Appearing a bit startled, Arthur replied hesitantly. "Yes, I have several maps here."
"Lay them out, please."
Arthur glanced to Dumbledore for approval. Then he fumbled through stacks of magical vellum until the maps he sought danced into view.
Draco walked around the table and stood behind him. "Project this map," he said, tapping one map that was skirting a little jig in front of Arthur.
The map's image appeared in the air over the center of the grey marble table. "My father didn't allow the House Apparation charm to collapse all at once. That would have made for lax tactics, and my father was never lax. He would have put 'cuts' in the spell in certain locations to control how the Death Eaters got into the Manor. The cuts would allow the overall charm to give way only in those areas, while other areas would maintain their own, independent Apparation spells. I believe my father's diaries are hidden in an area that maintained its own Apparation spell. They'll help you to decode the information in the See-All."
"That's not logical, Draco," said Lupin. "What about that heap of—well, things, that your father had sent here the night he died? Why didn't he just hide the codes there? Besides, it seemed as if your mother and your father expected that you could decode the See-Alls without any assistance."
"That may be what they thought, but I can tell you, it's not happening. I have to have some idea as to how I'm supposed to do that. Nothing in my experience tells me what to do with those See-Alls beyond what I've already done," replied Draco. "As for the junk he sent, I imagine that's all it is. Trivial garbage probably sent as a ruse to draw off any Death Eaters who might survive the trap at the Manor."
"What?" interjected Professor Vector.
"Can we just get on with it!" exclaimed Draco crankily.
"Explain further, Draco," said Dumbledore.
"It's simple. Lord Voldemort and many higher-ranking Death Eaters have a very good idea about the contents of the Manor. By displacing certain objects, it gives the appearance that at least some of those items might be potentially valuable, maybe even the Crown itself, in disguise."
"Suspicious by virtue of absence," mused Dumbledore. "But you say the inverse is true. The valuables are potentially still there."
"Yes."
"Then undoubtedly you should go, with a team of Aurors to accompany you," replied Dumbledore serenely.
Draco started to object when Harry's hand clamped firmly on his shoulder. "We're going to step out for just a moment, with your permission, Headmaster?"
"Five minutes, Harry," said Dumbledore, as Elise leaned over and began whispering in his ear.
As the door clanked shut behind them, Draco rounded on Harry only to find Harry's finger pointed straight in his face.
"You will accept the Aurors going, and you will accept me going, or you won't go," said Harry, in a voice of granite determination.
"Try to stop me," replied Draco, as he folded his arms over his chest.
"I don't have to. Dumbledore will. You know he can and you know there isn't time to argue."
"For the love of God, Harry, why are you always opposing me?"
"I don't know, but it comes naturally nowadays. Now quite being a prat and get back in there."
They stepped back into the Great Room.
"Aurors. Fine," said Draco. "Let's get on with it."
Harry coughed in the background.
Draco looked around and replied through clenched teeth, "There is a small proviso that Potter accompanies me. I didn't say it was a wise proviso; please feel free to deny it."
Dumbledore looked somewhat dubious, but a strange look from Elise seemed to give him an idea. "Not at all, Draco."
"Lovely," he thought, but aloud he said only, "The Aurors can't enter the Manor. There really is no telling what curse could be set off by armed Aurors clomping around."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Very well. It will be in your hands." He turned to McGonagall and asked, "Is Coventry Tor evacuated?"
"Yes, Headmaster, all staff and the remaining members of the Ministry are bound for Hogwarts," she replied.
"Divert one battle group to the grounds of Malfoy Manor. They are to stay one hundred meters from the Manor itself."
"Yes, Headmaster.. They can be in place in thirty minutes," she said, looking over the sheath of papers in her hand.
"Unless there is any further discussion, this meeting is adjourned. Harry, Draco, make ready for departure."
Thirty minutes became two hours as relaying information to the Aurors in transit proved more difficult than anticipated. Draco was nearly incandescent with trapped energy; Harry was frazzled simply being near him. Finally, at sunset the call came to TransApparate. Standing in front of Tae and the recovered Sephone, Draco and Harry stepped out of Hogwarts and into the swirling void of TransApparation. With the outlines of a devious plan glowing brightly in his mind, Draco Malfoy found himself at last going home.
End Chapter 6
Thanks to Beth for co-writing!