Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. The title of this chapter comes from a novel by Mary Renault, of the same name. The idea of a king/prince/consort dying to renew the land is a major mythological/religious theme.



CHAPTER 16 - THE KING MUST DIE


Still holding on tightly to his charges, Luc ran through the Ministry building, heedless of the screaming or the aurors shouting, or of the blind terror all around. The nightmare had come true - Voldemort had indeed returned, and so publicly it was impossible to deny it any longer. Luc was human enough to only feel a small sense of triumphant vindication - the genuine terror on the fleeing faces smothered any real pettiness.

It was human nature to ignore distant shadows on the horizon, if the sun was shining overhead.

Not all the Death Eaters had apparated with Lucius (Lucius! Oh brother, I couldn't save you...) some had come after them, and he could hear them running, feel their cold breaths on the small hairs on the back of his neck.

Instinct. Training. Experience. They all told him he couldn't have saved both Lucius and the children - he could only have saved one of them, and if Lucius was the Lord, then Draco was the Heir. The Unmarked, flawless Heir who was the future and the continuance of the Clan - he would lead them out of the shadows and into the Light.

But for that to happen, first the King must die.

Running out into a relatively clear room, he spun around, pushed Kate and the children behind him and gathered his power, still slightly out of control, to face the Death Eaters. Three of them - not, he was happy to see - veterans from the days Before. They couldn't have been long out of school, because they still assumed the approved Dueling pose (rather like a fencer going en guard) and paused momentarily before letting fly.

Luc had no such scruples - as soon as he had made sure his charges were behind him and his shield, he held up his right hand, palm first, and clenched it into a fist, squeezing. The three amateur killers collapsed on the ground screaming, every bone in their bodies cracking, every blood vessel bursting, everything that could be squeezed was forced tighter and tighter until it burst, snapped or was crushed.

It took all of three seconds.

He didn't look back as he strode out, his horrified, sickly fascinated charges hurrying reluctantly after him.

Outside, all was chaos - he cast a light distraction spell on them that would cause the eye to slide around them and focus elsewhere, and he hurried them ruthlessly, relentlessly towards the apparition point. There were nine of them - he and Kate and seven children - and out of them only Kate, himself, Draco and Miss Granger could apparate. They would have to hold hands. He hoped it was enough.

He took hold of Nick and Marc's hands, Kate took Harry's because he didn't trust Draco, Draco took hold of Brandon's hand, and Hermione took Ron's. Then, linking hands so they stood in a circle, Luc took hold of his magic, took hold of the spells Kate, Hermione and Draco formed but didn't release, and bound them to his controlling apparition spell. Hopefully, they would all end up in the same place, if no one let go...sending off a quick prayer for luck, for skill, for control, he closed his eyes and willed them all away.

When he opened his eyes, wincing at the "pop" he hadn't made during apparation in ages, he looked not upon Diagon Alley, but on a calm, lush valley bathed in sunlight and a sense of peace and prosperity. This was the country estate of the de Sauvigny - not the ancestral one in Brittany that had been destroyed in the muggle French Revolution, but the one that had been built by Jean-Marc himself when he had decided to settle in England two hundred years ago. The first time he'd seen it almost twenty- five years ago, he'd coveted it, its peace, its prosperity...but it couldn't take away the need for high, Welsh valleys and the timeless land beyond the Veil - nothing could. But this land would do, if he couldn't have the Malfoy land.

He looked around him, saw the almost imperceptible shapes of the shadows who guarded this place, saw them register his identity, saw them fade back into their hiding places. He smiled - he had picked well. No one would come onto this land, at any point, without being seen by the shadows, and if they were a threat, without being eliminated.

Following his gaze, Harry and surprisingly, Hermione saw something of what he had seen -Brandon suspected but, by the crease between his brows, hadn't seen it, and Ron saw nothing and suspected nothing. Luc sighed - he thought he had taught Weasley better than that - the boy had potential, but hadn't yet managed to tap into it. Draco, Nick and Marc, rigorously trained to the same standards, the same expectations, had all seen it less than a heartbeat after he had - he had expected no less.

Watched over by the shadows, blessed by the midday sunlight above and the life and fertility all around, they went down the hillside to the House that he had taken, and built into an empire.

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"What is this place?" breathed Ron, fascinated by the sense of history and power, by the wealth he could feel oozing out of the very walls of the house, an eighteenth century mansion done in the magnificent Italian style. He half expected to hear Malfoy's taunting voice mocking him on his poverty and his lack of worldly experience - indeed, he was waiting for it - but it didn't come.

Shocked, he turned to face the boy who had been his nemesis for four years and more, and realized that he was paler than usual, and not nearly as composed as he was pretending to be. He could see that Nick de Sauvigny was watching him like a concerned hawk, and for a very brief moment he felt a sense of soaring triumph to see Draco Malfoy at last knocked off his superior perch. But then he remembered the undisguised look in his eyes as, looking back, he saw his father overwhelmed and taken by Death Eaters.

He had a soul after all - and it had been there in his eyes, unmasked and unveiled, for all to see. The sheer depth of the emotion and intensity had made Ron look uneasily away.

For once, Hermione didn't have a ready answer, so Marc answered - his aristocratic bearing no longer slightly out of place and incongruous as it was in Gryffindor - he looked as if he were right at home here, among all this money.

"This is the main seat of House de Sauvigny," he said absently, watching Luc with slightly narrowed eyes. The man was far, far too composed...the way he had killed those Death Eaters meant that something very, very dangerous prowled under that mask.

Ron was impressed, despite himself. He had grown up poor, but not poverty stricken - he had never, ever seen riches like this. He looked to Malfoy, who seemed at home here. The Malfoy were wealthy, incredibly wealthy, but their Clan was geared towards power and protection of their land. The de Sauvigny were traders, merchants - they lived for the acquisition of money and riches. Of course, the differences had blurred a little since Luc, with his Malfoy mindset, had taken over, but the de Sauvigny did tend to flaunt their wealth, rather than their power. Hence this showcase of a house.

A lone house elf, dressed in a clean, well tended smock, came and took their cloaks - as he handed his over, Luc asked him where everyone was. The elf bowed low, cringing slightly - Ron noted that he didn't seem to be afraid of Luc like Dobby had been of Lucius, but he was definitely wary of Luc right now. "They is all going overseas, master. They left as soon as you sent word, sir."

Luc nodded, still eerily controlled and the elf fled - and Ron finally noticed what had been bothering him about the house since they'd all walked inside. It was too quiet - it had the echoing feeling of a place where people no longer walked. So they had all gone overseas? Considering that the Death Eaters had been hell bent on bringing Luc down, it was probably a good idea for the rest of his family to make themselves scarce...

Leading the way into...a drawing room? A sitting room? Ron didn't know what to call it - Luc walked to an antique carved wooden cabinet that would probably cost what Ron's father made in a whole year, and poured himself a very, very stiff drink. Watching this, Draco Nick and Marc, who knew him best, suddenly sat very still and concentrated on not being noticed. Ron had learned to watch those three to gain warnings about Luc's mood - and it seemed that it was best to follow their actions, at least for now. Despite his and the Weasleys' reputation, Ron did have some discretion, at least enough to know when not to disturb someone who could make Draco wary.

Kate watched with cool, calculating eyes and said nothing - as she had been doing all the time since they had escaped the Ministry building. It was damned disconcerting to see Harry's eyes so cold and...Slytherin.

So here they were, all sitting quietly, wary of provoking Luc in any way - but Brandon, who had for some reason been enraged ever since they'd left the hearing room, was reckless enough to try it - either that, or he was angry enough and passionate enough to forget about the consequences.

Finally he could contain himself no longer. "Why did you leave him like that?" he burst out, all the resentment at learning about his parentage, all the resentment at seeing the man he thought of as his father shamed in such a public manner and all the resentment at Luc's infuriating control bubbling over uncontrollably, lashing out at the alpha male, whom he blamed, perhaps with some cause, for everything that had gone wrong in his life lately.

Luc, still damnably composed, only looked at him and raised an insufferably superior eyebrow. He didn't even bother to say anything, just looked, and for some reason, that sent Brandon's temper over the edge.

"You just left him there - you didn't even try to save him," he said softly, but working himself up into hysteria. "He's your brother, and you left him to die! You watched as they dragged him away - you could have saved him, could have killed them all with one flick of your finger - but you did nothing! NOTHING!! You gave him to Voldemort, so he could be killed..." he paused for breath, but didn't seem to notice the way Luc had stood up and moved closer, a very different aura surrounding him now.

Draco and his two sidekicks had somehow faded into the woodwork, trying desperately not to be noticed. Hermione was watching them, puzzled - she thought Luc had all but raised them? Why were they so afraid of him? Harry was just watching Brandon the way he watched Neville in potions - except he sensed that Luc would do more than verbally abuse him and his potion making skills.

Kate, who as Brandon's mother should have been more concerned about protecting him, was watching with cold, Slytherin eyes - she would do nothing to stop what was coming, either because she didn't want to defy Luc or she wanted Brandon to learn some kind of lesson. Ron eyed her with curious fascination - she was one cold woman.

Heedless of everyone else's fear, Brandon continued. "You've always wanted to be the Malfoy, but you were a bastard - did you think that with Lucius out of the way, Draco would be easy to kill? You were always jealous of him, afraid of him, you hated him - did you hate him enough to hand him over to the Death Eaters?"

Luc cut in. "Enough," he hissed softly, dangerously.

"No, it's not enough," Bran shouted - shouted! - "You did nothing to stop it! But then you've made a practice of killing your brothers, haven't you Luc the bastard, Luc the whore, Luc the kinslayer..."

Crack!

Brandon suddenly crumpled to the floor, Luc standing over him, breathing heavily, his whole body vibrating and his ruined control in his eyes. The dranath was still effecting him - he could almost taste the blood, could imagine the thrill of the violence, of breaking this insolent fool...he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, desperately fighting for control.

Bran had a hand pressed tight to his lower face, blood leaking from between his fingers as he whimpered, stunned - looking up at the man he had thought safe to lash out at his eyes were shocked, betrayed, and confused. He held out his fingers and looked down at the crimson blood dripping from his nose, from his lips, shocking against his white skin.

Luc had struck him. Backhanded him with all the strength of a fully mature man in his prime, with his whole weight behind his hand. His father had hit him - and from the look in his eyes, would have done much more...

"Now are you ready to listen?" came the soft, very dangerous voice. Brandon nodded frantically, and the rest of them were all too stunned to do anything but agree.

"I could not save both him and you both," Luc said evenly. Calmly. As if he hadn't just knocked Brandon off his feet and nearly broken his nose. "Given the choice, I chose all of you. Lucius will die - it is inevitable, and has been ever since Voldemort was resurrected. But his death will allow all of you to live." He squatted down until his face was level with Brandon's and he was looking him in the eye. "And as for Draco, Lucius' death will put a new, unmarked Lord not bound to Voldemort in any way into the High Seat - and it will break the Malfoy association with him for all time."

"So that's it," said Hermione, sounding displeased. "Mr. Malfoy dies, and you do nothing to stop it, saying the sacrifice was worth it and it's all better now? You want him to die!" she accused.

Ron exchanged a pained look with Harry. Hermione was brave, yes, she was supposed to be - but couldn't she show a little discretion?

Apparently Luc had himself under control now. "Yes, Miss Granger, cold and callous as it may sound, that's it."

"So now that Lucius is gone, the Malfoy are as politically pure as driven snow and can regain all they had lost?" she demanded, shaken at such ruthlessness. "The Ministry will suddenly favour them again?"

He smiled slightly. Apparently Miss Granger had learned something - cynicism, at least - from his teachings. But in this case, she had misread the situation. "No, Miss Granger. This is much, much older. The Lord, the King, is the life of the people and of the crops. If the crops fail, if the land is infertile, the King must die, and his blood will make the crops grow again."

"And are the Malfoy crops failing?" she challenged, indignant.

"No. But the Malfoy land is - the Veil is fading, the Covenant is deteriorating, the very fabric of life beyond the Veil is slowly but surely becoming unraveled. Only death, only the Lord's blood, will stop it, and renew it as it was once more."

She looked stunned and horrified. So did the others, except Kate and Draco - Kate because she and the two brothers had discussed this, years ago, when they had debated the benefits and drawbacks of joining Voldemort, and Draco because he had known, instinctively, when he had seen Lucius loosen his grip on Luc's hand, when he had looked into his father's eyes, calm and collected and determined, as they had dragged him out the door.

Even Nick and Marc, High Clan as they were, were children of a Clan younger and more innocent than the Malfoy. They were not so steeped in the shadows, in the darker practices and truths of the 13 original Clans, founded by full blooded, fully initiated Sidhe warriors of the Unseelie Court.

Hermione, child of muggle dentists, brought up in the modern world, had very little understanding of the shadows and shades of grey that ran throughout the magical world. But she knew better than to argue with the look in Luc's eyes.

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They took him to the border, to the edge of what was now known as modern- day Wales and the intangible, invisible barrier known as the Veil. It was an edge indeed - the Veil began an arms length over the side of a very steep, thickly forested cliff - or what looked like a cliff, until the Veil was opened and it was revealed for the narrow crevasse it was. One only had to step over it - but unless a scion of Malfoy blood opened the Veil, it remained a cliff, and it obeyed all the natural and inevitable laws of cliffs.

Lucius had been expecting to end up here - he'd known of Voldemort's and Pettigrew's plans for a while; plans to destroy Luc, to punish Lucius' disobedience and insolence, and to finally accept Draco's allegiance in return for what was left of his land and people. And as for the method, for the way they would punish him - well, he had been having Dreams for weeks now, and he had come to accept that some things were inevitable.

Indeed, some things were for the best. His death would bring about a renewal, a rejuvenation - Draco was more than capable, with Luc's help, of dealing with the rest. Now all he had to do was make sure Voldemort didn't find out he wanted them to kill him, to shed his blood. If that happened, all was lost.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him - soft, almost inaudible footsteps accompanied by swishing and almost billowing robes, and he smiled despite the pain his split lip caused him. Snape. No one else walked like he did, even when he was in stealth mode.

Snape bent down behind him, holding his head up, placing it on his lap because he was bound hand and foot - they didn't petrify him because then they couldn't see him flinch and jerk - and wiped a soft, damp cloth over his brow, trickling some water into his mouth. His touch was oddly gentle, even tender, and Lucius' smile turned half bitter, half self-mocking, even as he drank the water eagerly. It was only water - he'd checked before drinking.

"Believe me, Lucius, I'm so sorry," came the velvet voice, filled with guilt and self-loathing and bitterness, and a plea for him to understand. Lucius laughed soundlessly, shallowly, because any more and it would hurt his cracked ribs.

"I know, Sev," he murmured almost inaudibly. "Divided loyalties are hell, aren't they?"

He could feel Severus flinch, almost involuntarily, before he regained control. "How did you know?" came the very, very soft question.

"I've always known."

"Then why..." he didn't finish. He didn't need to.

"Because I'd have done it too, if I didn't have too much to lose. Because...because you're my friend." And that sounded ridiculous - but it was the truth. Despite all the mistrust and all the lies and deceptions, Snape was his friend.

How Gryffindoric of him.

Snape's indrawn hiss was long and thoughtful, and slightly regretful. "I'm glad," he said, hesitating slightly. "But...but I'm afraid that Luc may not see it that way anymore..."

Lucius' smile twisted. "Ah, Kate...that is something between you and Luc alone, Sev."

Severus laughed soundlessly. "You will have to mediate for us when we do talk about it," he said, amused.

Lucius said nothing. Snape listened to the silence, and his amusement faded. Finally he said, almost desperately, "Lucius, I'll get you out of this. I just need a little time and trust."

Again, Lucius remained silent. And then he spoke, his voice impassive. "Would you compromise your cover for me, Snape? Would you choose me over Dumbledore's light and love?"

Snape opened his mouth impulsively, but then thought, and slowly, wearily, closed his eyes. He said nothing - there were no words needed.

"Voldemort is determined to see me dead tonight, Sev. Voldemort is already suspicious of you - he chose this test deliberately. If I escape..." he trailed off, not willing to tell Snape of the true nature of this test. It would come soon enough.

Severus sighed. He couldn't compromise his cover, not now when so much was at stake. But if he didn't he would have to watch his oldest friend/companion/partner die...he would have to watch everything, and show nothing, and he would bear Lucius' eyes on his conscience forever more. But Lucius was right - his role as a spy was the most important thing. In the choice between two evils, he would have to choose the lesser, the choice that would lead to the greatest good, no matter the cost to himself and his soul...

He would suffer Purgatory on earth so that he might one day be worthy of heaven. It was the only thing he had to live for now.

"Ah, Lucius...forgive me, please..." He closed his eyes, struggling for control, because he couldn't afford the slightest misstep.

The bound, battered, bloodied angel in his arms only laughed softly. Soon, Snape thought absently, he would be broken. The eyes opened and looked straight into his - clear, endless silver, so unfathomable and so vital, so calm now, when the end was so near. He smiled, a genuine, true smile with no hint of mockery or any other qualification. "Ah, Sev," Lucius whispered, "for what it's worth, I forgave you long ago." A hint of the old snobbery came back into his voice. "Teaching Potions at Hogwarts is punishment enough for any number of sins..."

Snape scowled involuntarily. Then, irrationally, he bit down sharply on his lip, struggling not to laugh. When he had it under control, he heard his Lord's hissing, malevolent voice calling him. Leaving Lucius with a last, lingering look, he walked confidently, slowly over to reality and unpleasant truth. Kneeling at Voldemort's feet, he bent his head and kissed the hem of his robes, and kept his head bowed as the Dark Lord grabbed him by the hair and pulled his masked face up to meet his gaze.

"Take off your mask," came the hissed order. Snape stilled - this meant no good - but he obediently reached up and with the pads of the fingers of his right hand, he gently pulled his mask off, exposing his true face to the bonfire, to the circle of Death Eaters and to the Lord.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort's voice was amused and expectant, sending a shudder down his spine, and suddenly he knew that something very, very bad was about to happen.

"You have been given a chance to prove your complete loyalty to us and our cause," Snape felt a brief spurt of amusement at the use of the royal "we", but it faded as the implications of that statement caught up with him, "by personally displaying every bit of your considerable expertise to make a definitive example of the traitor. Make him long for death, Snape, for as long as you possibly can. We will be watching, and judging you."

Unmasked, he had to employ every art he had not to betray his horror - he had the feeling he was only just successful, judging by the malicious gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes. But there was really only one thing he could do. He bowed his head, forced down any vestiges of Severus Snape and became, for the first time in a very long while, wholly the Potions Master, the Dark Lord's Chief Inquisitor. When he looked up again, he was cold, inside and out, and completely impassive and unfeeling. He was not a man, he was a tool, a blade, with no emotions and no pity or mercy - he felt nothing, and nothing affected him. Nothing at all.

He met Voldemort's eyes boldly, fully, and said, "As you will it, my lord, so shall it be."

Voldemort smiled, cruelly, evilly. "And then," he all but purred, "When there is only the tiniest spark of life left in his broken body, he will be sacrificed and his death will bring down the Veil and let us into his own heartland." His smile boded no good for the Malfoy heartland.

Bowing again, the Potions Master, cruel and emotionless, made his way over to the traitor, to make an example of him. Only he had seen the briefest flash of life in Lucius' eyes as Voldemort spoke of killing him - a teasing wisp of memory tugged elusively at his mind, a bit of ancient lore, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

He had to save Lucius, to save the land Beyond the Veil, but he couldn't do it without compromising his cover. As he tied Lucius to a frame and stripped him of his shirt and coat, he heard perhaps the worst thing he could ever have thought to hear.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Malfoy, and young Draco, too. And who else is it? Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weas0ley, Messieurs de Sauvigny, and Mr. Greyson...please, be welcome." Voldemort's hiss was all too triumphant. "By all means, come in out of the forest and join in the festivities..."

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