Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter. Don't sue me.


CHAPTER 2 - DESPERATE MEASURES


Draco, Nick and Marc, who had more or less grown up together, under Luc's care, knew when something was worrying Luc. And judging by the cold impassivity of his features now, he was feeling decidedly grim.

They also knew that with twenty Death Eaters on the train, there was very little chance that all of the students would come out of this unscathed and unharmed - in fact, it was far more probable that they would all die - unless they had parents in the Death Eaters, in which case they would be taken and inducted into Voldemort's service.

Draco didn't want that, but he couldn't speak for some of the other students - Crabbe and Goyle especially. They were supposed to be loyal to him, but at the slightest sign that he would be less than loyal to Voldemort, they would turn on him and destroy him, if he let them. Voldemort's supporters among the students made a very dangerous situation even worse - and Draco was sure that Luc knew that, and had taken it into account. Inside, in his heart, he had the utmost faith that his uncle could do anything; even get them out of this. But logically, he knew that there was very little chance. All he could do was put his faith in Luc.

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With a cool, intense, clear voice Luc took control of the situation. "Draco, call for help." He waved his hand, and a fire appeared - he held out a twist of floo powder. "The rest of you," he indicated Nick, Marc, Harry Ron and Hermione, "come with me." Standing up, he peeked outside, watching the navy-robed figures, one at the entrance to the next carriage, and one at the door to the driver's compartment.

They stood still and silent, simply watching, but there was a palpable air of tension around them, as if they waited for a signal to attack. So if he could get rid of them before the signal, then perhaps they stood a chance of saving the other carriages...he would have to take then down silently, to keep the advantage of surprise.

And that meant quickly, efficiently, and without any noise. He'd have to use the Killing Curse, no matter that he preferred almost anything else. It was the best way. Calling on all the strength and agility he'd had fifteen years ago, he kicked in the door, so that it swung out into the corridor, blocking one Death Eater's curse, and rolled into the hallway, throwing a killing curse at the one at the other end. There was a flash of green light as the Death Eater died, and immediately Luc rolled away from the door, just avoiding the vicious explosion as it blew apart. Cursing, he dodged a beam of green light and threw one of his own, suppressing the noise of the explosion and throwing another curse out, this one succeeding because dodging the first curse had bought the Death Eater straight into the path of his second one.

And then, standing poised on his feet, he surveyed the damage, ignoring the screaming children around him, automatically soundproofing the carriage. They were both dead, and he had managed to keep the noise from the other carriages.

The trio came out of their compartment where he had left them, Harry Potter's eyes grim, the girl's eyes inquisitive, and Ron Weasley's eyes wide with almost awe.

"Wicked," he breathed. "You didn't even use a wand." Luc's smile turned distinctly sardonic. No, he didn't use a wand - his wand technique, such as it was, made using it less than useless for anything that required quick results. He'd never managed to learn to use a wand quickly - it was the only area of his education he'd never excelled at. Flitwick had called it a mental block - don't worry, my boy, it's quite natural, happens sometimes to others, but mostly in other areas of magic...

Luckily, he could fall back on his talent for wandless magic, which he could use quickly and well. As a result, he very rarely ever used his wand, preferring to rely mostly on the wandless, inborn magic of the Malfoy. Even the meanest almost-squib could use their wands, and he, a scion of the oldest of the High Clan Houses, couldn't use it for what it was really needed. It was galling, and it had never ceased to gall.

Calming the children down, he picked three of them to go with him, into the next carriage to warn the others. Hopefully the Death Eaters in the next carriage had no suspicions that their ambush had been found out - if he went in, disguised by illusion, he should be able to go through the whole train, warn every carriage, and perhaps even co-ordinate a resistance. But no matter how good he was, he was only one man. He needed backup. And that was where he was relying on Draco to be able to anticipate his needs and understand the situation.

Hopefully, Draco had summoned the Nine.

Nine elite handpicked warriors, born and bred beyond the Veil, in the Malfoy lands separated from the rest of the world by Brandon Malfoy's last enchantment. They were completely, utterly loyal to House Malfoy and the people who sheltered under their protection - they played bodyguard, defender and protector to every direct scion of the blood. They could be called, through fire or water or the air. And if all things were going well for Luc today, they would realize the urgency of Draco's Call, and all nine of them would come.

Otherwise they were all dead.

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In the London Headquarters of the Aurors Corps, a lean, hard eyed veteran lounged in his chair, feet propped on the desk, and stared absently out of the window. He was dark haired and dark eyed, with a quick, agile strength and a quick, agile mind - both of them assets which had seen him rise high in the Corps. He should have been concentrating on his latest case, the sudden reappearance of the Dark Mark above Hogwarts and the World Cup - but instead, he found himself more and more distracted, a tickling on the edge of his mind demanding his attention.

He knew the feel of that mind, of that magic, of that Call.

Abruptly righting himself, he stood up and pushed away from the desk, leaving everything exactly where and as it was, and walked out, striding quickly towards the apparition point, focused entirely on answering the Call. On his way he fell into step with a man in conservative, unassuming clothes, the very epitome of a mid-level office worker in an anonymous Ministry department, and acknowledged him with a little nod.

Another man, looking up as they passed through the department controlled by Lucius Malfoy, sustained eye contact, passing along a message, before dropping his eyes and any impression of fierce, controlled focus that might have been given.

He would stay, to protect the Lord.

Wasting no time, the Auror and the office worker apparated together - they'd both heard the desperation in the Call, and hoped they wouldn't be too late.

In Wales, in the green, silent and ancient land Beyond the Veil, three men strode in from different directions - one from each of the three villages on the estate - and gathered at the Castle, the ancestral home of House Malfoy. They had come immediately on hearing the Call, dropping everything to answer it - one had been in the local tavern, having a sociable chat; he'd simply drained his ale and, without a word, walked out - one had been working in the fields, bringing the harvest in, and was still faintly sweaty and covered in wheat chaff. The other had been in the woods, hunting - he still had his longbow slung over his shoulder, and was dressed in camouflaged hunting leathers.

Without a word, they apparated in the direction of the Call.

In Hogsmeade, a man got up off his stool in the Three Broomsticks and walked outside without a word. The locals took no notice - they were used to his curious behaviour. He'd come to Hogsmeade about five years ago, when Harry Potter had first started at Hogwarts, and had hung around ever since, disappearing occasionally, but causing no trouble and always paying his tab. Whatever was such an urgent matter to him was no business of theirs. They took no notice of the two other men who followed him out, and later apparated with him.

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Most people, when they apparated, made an audible "pop" sound - it usually gave a split second's warning, and in some situations, that warning could be the difference between life and death. Certainly, the sound had saved more than one Auror's or Death Eater's life - until one of Voldemort's top assassins had begun to teach the other Death Eaters the art of silent apparition.


Then, things had begun to change, and not for the better, in the Ministry's eyes.

Luc had originally been taught the method by one of the Nine - it was an ancient technique, not much used these days because of the amount of discipline needed to master it. Any fool could apparate, but it took real skill and discipline to do it silently. So the simultaneous, soundless apparition of eight men into the first carriage surprised everyone, including Draco and the two de Sauvigny boys, who had been waiting for it. They were perhaps the only ones who had the knowledge to understand what a feat it was - all the other students were too stunned.

After the explanations had been conducted, the eight men stood up and went into the corridor, eyes noting everything, moving with the kind of smooth, animal grace that went hand in hand with lethal skill. More students than the previous three had the knowledge to appreciate that.

Very soon, as though he had known of their arrival, Luc stepped back into the carriage, shedding the illusion of fair, sandy hair, blue eyes and sixteen year old features. It was an eerie effect, seeing the open, innocent and friendly face dissolve and change into sculpted, aristocratic features imbued with cool, impassive intelligence. The cheerful, laughing blue eyes faded into sardonic, watchful silver ones, and his whole body language and posture went from the lanky, slightly awkward stance of an adolescent not yet used to his growing body to the complete physical confidence and control of a fully adult, alpha male.
Harry wondered at the skill needed to accurately pull of such a complete transformation - High Clan aristocrat to awkward teenager and back again without letting a single hint of the other form through while holding the role.

He didn't look surprised to see only eight men here - he simply nodded and then started giving orders.

Luc, the eight new arrivals and Harry, Ron and Hermione, Nick, Marc and Draco would be the leaders of the resistance in each carriage - Luc and the eight would each get a separate carriage, and the six students would stay in the first one, where the Death Eaters had already been killed, and co- ordinate the others, watching what was going on and relaying information and communications.

At a pre-arranged signal, they would turn on the Death Eaters and take them out, hopefully before they could cause any damage or fatal injuries.

That was the plan. But Harry had learned by now that hardly anything ever went to plan, so a backup was always needed.

He made the mistake of asking Luc what plan B was.

Luc had merely smiled - and Harry had not asked any more questions.

He hadn't dared to.

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All went well at first - the eight companions, cloaked in schoolboy illusions, had infiltrated each carriage and had warned the other students to be ready. They'd picked the right positions, sat down, and waited for the signal to attack.

And then, just as Luc had reached the last carriage and was about to signal his readiness, disaster occurred, in the form of Trevor, Neville Longbottom's toad. As it had done the first year and all years since, Trevor had escaped from his cage and had taken off down the train. However, this time, it had stopped in the last carriage, and waited, shivering, until its master came and fetched it. As the train rounded a corner, Trevor lost his grip on the wall and came off, colliding with Luc's bare hands on his way to the floor.

Toadskin nullified illusions.

Watching in stunned disbelief as the previously innocuous student melted into a face the Death Eater knew very well, the Death Eater who was facing Luc panicked and pulled his wand, shooting off the Killing Curse at Luc, but his hands were shaking so much the curse went awry, striking the walls and ricocheting. The students ducked and screamed, the Death Eater tried again, and the one behind Luc caught on and drew his wand too.

Luc swore, and spun around, long, vicious poison tipped knife in hand, and ripped his throat open.

Alerted by the chaos in the other carriage, the Death Eaters in the ninth carriage looked in, and seeing Luc and the way he had dealt with one of their colleagues, joined in the fight, not noticing the pseudo student who came at their backs while they weren't watching. Things disintegrated after that - especially when what they had previously assumed were students turned out to be disguised Death Eaters - evidently Draco had missed them in his initial sweep. Outnumbered by more than two to one now, and with Death Eaters taking shots at students, they abandoned any pretence at secrecy or discretion.

It became an all out battle - each one of them against at least three Death Eaters, trying to protect themselves and the students from ricochets as well as directly aimed curses, while trying to kill their opponents. The green glow of the Killing Curse seemed to permanently stain the air, and the smell and taste of various other curses and hexes was acrid on the back of Luc's tongue - the students were fighting back, but they hadn't been trained in real combat, didn't have the reflexes or the killing instinct.

In his days as an assassin, Luc had occasionally made use of the muggle weapons called guns - he had never, in his whole life, seen a more efficient killing tool - not even the Killing Curse. Simply aim and pull the trigger - no need to face your opponent up close, to see the life leave their eyes and feel their life depart. And you could keep it up as long as your ammunition lasted, unlike the Killing Curse, which took a fair bit of energy to successfully perform. He wondered what that said about Muggles - whether they were really as harmless as some bleeding hearts claimed - guns, their technology, and what they called nuclear weapons...

He had been both repelled and fascinated by his guns fifteen years ago, and had been more than happy to put them away for good - but now, he would welcome the weight of one, welcome the cold efficiency they could provide. But he had to make do with his own power - and while he was a very strong, powerful wizard, with an enormous personal well of magic to tap into, it was not endless, and killing was always harder than creating. Not even he could keep this up forever.

Breathing deeply, senses expanded to slow down real time, to make everything unnaturally clear and precise, unnaturally detailed, he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears and could feel the rush of blood through his veins. He could follow the trail of spells as they left afterimages, streaks of light in his vision, and the empathic gift inherent in his ardeur allowed him to feel the pain every time a curse hit, every time a Death Eater or a student died.

Time slowed, expanded, became infinite as he lost himself in the dance, as he spun and killed with either knife or magic. And his heartbeat, steady, smooth and precise through the action, although a little faster than usual, suddenly stopped as he heard a cry not with his ears, but with his ardeur.

Draco.

The Death Eaters had reached the first carriage.

He dropped everything and ran.

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Draco had been the first to realise that something had gone wrong, had been the first to realise the monumental mistake he had made by assuming there were only twenty Death Eaters on the train. He'd been the first to realise that they'd broken through and were heading towards their carriage, towards the Boy who Lived and the Malfoy Heir. He had Harry had been the ones to assume leadership - the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the carriage would only listen to Harry, and the Slytherins followed only Draco. Putting aside their mutual antipathy, at least for now, they called a temporary truce and set about organising a defence.

Blocking the door seemed to be a good idea - pushing as much as they could against the door to keep it closed, and adding all the warding and locking spells the combined students in the carriage knew, and a few other nasty ones for good measure. They herded all the younger students behind them, hiding and sheltering them, despite an anonymous Slytherin's remark that they would make effective curse fodder. Even Draco rounded on her for that.

Draco, Nick and Hermione, who had read books detailing strategy and tactics in the original Latin and Greek and, in the case of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War", the original Chinese, had, cooperating reluctantly, worked out a rough plan. A Hufflepuff whose father was in the Muggle army and a Gryffindor whose father was an auror chipped in and organised them all into positions from where they could best defend and attack, maximising their chances of survival.

Harry had provided the morale, Marc the diplomacy that helped common sense temporarily bury House rivalry, and Nick and Draco the acerbic discipline. Crabbe and Goyle stood, watching Draco narrowly and consideringly, fingering their wands nervously...And then the Death Eaters came - hammering at the door, both physically and magically, unravelling the protective spells one by one, pounding on the door that was, underneath all the magical covering, only wood. A few, chosen students fired off curses through the widening shots in the door and were rewarded by shouts of pain, but the hammering continued.

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Eyeing each other nervously, they wiped their sweaty palms on their robes, drew deep breaths and briefly closed their eyes, praying for courage, or for survival, or perhaps simply praying to wake up in the next few moments. Then, gripping their wands tightly, as if they would provide security, they turned their eyes towards the door and their thoughts towards the men they would soon kill, or be killed by.

The Gryffindors, buoyed by their own courageous spirits, were even enjoying this slightly - it was an adventure! The adrenaline was pumping, and they found that they liked it, liked the feeling of nerves and preternatural alertness.

The Hufflepuffs, scared stiff and wishing they were anywhere but here, nevertheless held strong, because they were loyal, and would stay with their companions until it was done, because it was the right thing to do. No matter how afraid they were.

The Ravenclaws were fascinated despite themselves, despite their intellectual ideas that they should be above such things as excitement or fear - they stayed because they didn't want to die, and because they wanted to see how far the situation would go, and what they would experience next.

And the Slytherins, perhaps the only ones who knew the true consequences of capture and failure, were the most afraid of them all. But despite the fear, they would stay, and fight, because there was no other option - only death or capture, neither of which was particularly desirable. They couldn't even join them, because the Death Eaters would assume that they had known of the resistance and had actively countenanced it. There were no other options - and the only other thing as deadly as a Slytherin fighting for what he believed in was a Slytherin who had been pushed into a corner and been left no option but to fight. Once all other options were exhausted, and there was nothing left, they could freely throw themselves fully and wholeheartedly into the fight.

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The first man through the door went down under a barrage of curses, and Draco's clear voice could be heard, shouting. "Don't give away your positions! Keep to the plan!" The next man fell victim to only a few, but admittedly well-placed and planned curses. They remembered the plan Draco and friends had hammered into them - only a few at a time, never predictably, and from alternating positions. This would prevent the Death Eaters from tracking the curses back to their casters and cursing them in turn.

The Death Eaters attacked en masse, perhaps trying to overwhelm them now, while the adult defenders were being pinned down in the other carriages. Draco, involved in a real fight for the first time in his life and not liking it one bit, discovered the curious affects of adrenaline and fear on his body and his perception - like his uncle, time slowed down and crystallised for him, and his thought processes speeded up - he seemed to have forever to think about his next move, and his analysis was cold, clear and logical - he had never killed before, but it came to him easily now, so easily that he was a little wary of it.

But they just kept coming, and so little of the students could actually kill - the Death Eaters were starting to overwhelm them with sheer experience and strength. Recognising this, Draco reminded himself that he had no choice, and kept fighting, all the while calling out to his uncle, his godfather, his protector, who had never before failed him. At the same time, Harry was also realising that they were being pushed back. Unlike Draco's fatalism, he rebelled against the situation, unleashing more of his strength, fighting harder and faster. If only he could bring enough of them down, kill enough, then perhaps a miracle would happen and they would all be saved...

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They had almost broken down the door, and with it the student's resistance.

Running, Luc came up in the second carriage and, in a moment of pure, Gryffindoric recklessness he would no doubt regret later attacked the attackers from behind, diverting their attention from the students to him. He didn't spare a thought to the bodies lying in the carriage - the students, looking injured and horrified, frozen and protected by his shielding, by the eight's shielding, and the bodies of six of his eight companions. His whole focus, the whole focus of the remarkable will and determination that had taken him from bastard son to tai-pan of the House, was bent on keeping the students safe, and he would do anything, pay any price, to see it done. No matter what it took.

It had been a very long while since he had let go this much of his civilised, carefully crafted veneer - even longer since he had felt such primitive determination and been so single-mindedly bent on one, single goal. But for Draco, for Nick and Marc, even for Harry and all the other students, he would reveal this much of what he usually kept so well hidden.

Dipping deep, deep down into the untapped well of his power, he drew on the strength of his personality, of his soul, of the very Malfoy blood - and instead of wasting it and his time trading curses and getting nowhere, he took the enormous strength, focused it with the entire force of his will, of his determination, of his ambition, and unleashed it on every being on that train who bore the Dark Mark.

Including himself.

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