The Enemy Walks
Author's Note: A nice long chapter for you! There are extended notes at the end of the chapter explaining how Order of the Phoenix will/won't affect this story.
Nothing could have prepared them for this. In a world filled with wars, in a world where human savagery and brutality are all too common you'd think it would be impossible to shock anyone anymore. Especially those who worked in law enforcement.
But the officers of the police station in Great Hangleton were far more used to dealing with petty vandalism by the local youths, stuff like that. The scene of a massacre was certainly not one they ever thought they would encounter. But they would. Oh, they would.
It all started the previous evening when they had received dozens of 999 calls from the distressed villagers of their sister town Little Hangleton. From what the phone operators could discern from these calls was that the village, the entire village, was under some kind of attack.
Despite the absolute absurdity of this situation the police just could not ignore it, so they drove the few miles to the village to see what was what, joking about how some stupid teenager had obviously spiked the water supply or something on the way.
That was when things started to get rather strange. The very first sinister twist of something that would turn out to be macabre and horrific, such that even Dante could not have conceived the hell that would await them the next morning, was that their vehicles had seemed utterly unable to get into Little Hangleton. They kept ending up on the wrong road and no amount of reversing and retracing of their steps seemed to work. It was if someone were deliberately preventing them from reaching the village.
An idea, of course, that was patently impossible.
About as impossible as the idea that the entire village had been destroyed, flattened, along with nearly all the inhabitants who had lived there mere hours ago. Only a handful remained and there was no apparently reason for why they had been spared. There had been no compassion for young or old in this senseless murder and the survivors themselves were in no fit state to tell them (if indeed, they even knew) why they had been allowed to live.
It wasn't a bloodbath per se (although curiously, some stained the rain gutters) yet for every officer, investigator and medical examiner who saw the destruction the next day when finally they were able to get through to it they would always remember it as the most distressing and profoundly disturbing sight they had ever seen. Would ever see in fact
Meaningless slaughter – that's what made it so chilling.
No, nothing in their lives could ever have prepared them for this.
His head rested lazily on the painted wood frame as he gazed out of the open window, wind ruffling his flaxen hair a little. He found the cool wind very soothing.
Draco Malfoy had always thought the countryside was beautiful and highly under appreciated. Once upon another time in his past he had spent hour after hour gazing at the beautiful scenery beyond the large, high windows of his former manor home in Wiltshire, thirstily drinking it in as if were the most quenching of liquid.
Draco hated to admit it but Granger and Weasley had found a nice place here. The cottage was peaceful but not too far from the nearest town so essential supplies were easy enough to get when they desired them. Draco knew he was being unfair by resenting these two for doing better than he would have guessed, but he couldn't help it.
Some habits really do die hard then.
Another habit that hadn't died was his desire to be alone. Never exactly a social butterfly before, he found he preferred his own company despite the fact that loneliness had nearly driven him mad in prison.
Maybe it's because I've always been the only one I trust, Draco mused.
Right on cue, the door to the bedroom opened and Harry stepped in, hair askew as always.
"You ok?" Potter asked quietly. It wasn't accusing or suspicious yet Draco still flinched as the question.
"As ok as I can be. You do realise they will catch up with me eventually?" Draco replied sharply, giving voice to something that had been bothering him ever since the night of his escape.
"Yes," Replied Harry bluntly. "It can't be helped though and I managed to clear Sirius' name before they found him."
"That's because he was an innocent man. There's no pardon awaiting me at the end of this Potter, if that's what your thinking." Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "You'll be lucky if they don't throw you into jail with me."
"Oh, I expect they shall," Said Harry nonchalantly. "As for pardons, well, you already know the answer to that don't you?"
Draco looked astonished that Harry had the nerve to state their situation so baldly. He knew what was to come and yet it didn't seem to faze him in the least.
Playing by the rules obviously wasn't an attractive option for the Golden Boy anymore but that made sense upon reflection since he had never had that much care for rules at Hogwarts either. In real life colouring ever so slightly outside of the lines was the only way to really achieve something. But this was hardly 'slightly.'
"So, not a believer in the law anymore?"
"Nope. Just in getting the job done."
Draco took that in. He strongly suspected a lot of this went all the way back to Voldemort's return eleven years ago. That had been when the true impotency of the magical authorities had been exposed and if it hadn't been for Dumbledore...Draco's thoughts came to an unpleasant, shuddering halt there. He swallowed hard. He had been in custody when the aged Headmaster of Hogwarts had been struck down but it was still hard to think about the wizard. Mainly because he had always mocked and belittled him so unfairly and now he couldn't take any of that back. Ever.
Harry's stomping over the magical authorities now was clearly because he did not trust them to act accordingly to their new threat. He was probably right to do so although it certainly put Hermione in a somewhat awkward position.
Then again, it seemed pretty clear where her real loyalties lay and she didn't mind going behind her boss's back at all.
"Is there anything else you would like to ask me?"
Draco finally looked Harry directly in the eyes. Grey met green.
"Yes actually," He replied softly.
"That night, I asked why you chose to come to me for help and you said I was the only one in that prison that you trusted. I want to know why that is since you never explained it."
A smirk crept up Potter's face. For whatever reason, he seemed pleased at the question.
"I'm glad you asked me that, since, to be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure myself," He said carefully.
"That's helpful," Draco snorted.
Harry huffed. "Do you want to know or not?"
Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, go ahead."
"Well, this will sound strange Malfoy but I think the reason I trusted you, and only you, was because I know you...in a manner of speaking." It was the truth – Harry may not know Draco well but through time and constant feuding he had certainly come to learn a few things about him at the least.
Draco crossed his arms, not satisfied with Harry's answer.
"Your going to have to elaborate for me Potter. I'm very much in the dark on what the hell that's supposed to mean."
"Fine. What I mean to say is, you were the logical choice if we were going to seek help from a former Death Eater against our new enemy." Harry had begun to pace as he talked which Draco found a rather irritating distraction. "Those other Death Eaters in the prison? I don't know a thing about them. If I had asked them for help how would I know if anything they told me was true? I wouldn't, because I wouldn't know the first thing about them – whether they are sorry for what they've done, whether they in fact still uphold their beliefs, stuff like that.
"You Malfoy, are a different matter altogether."
"How so," Draco queried, not sure how much he was looking forward to Harry's answer. He suspected it would be something very backhanded.
"Because I know several irrefutable facts about you. The first and foremost being that you are very much afraid of me."
A series of indignant splutters erupted from Draco, seemingly more from habit than anything. Malfoys did so hate to be insulted.
Harry cocked his head and fixed Draco with a piercing stare. "Are you contesting this?" Although it clearly went against every fibre of his being to admit it Draco spat out a firm, "No."
"Right, now where was I?"
"I believe you were about to tell me the other reasons why you trust me or the reasons behind them, something like that. Given what the first one was, I absolutely cannot wait to hear the rest!" And for just a moment there, in front of Harry, was the cocky teenager Malfoy had once been. The caustic tones, folded arms and straight backed arrogance, they were all present and defiant. All that was missing was Draco's trademark smirk yet it's absence made all the difference.
It reminded Harry of something Sirius had once told him – "People don't change Harry, they merely evolve."
This Draco Malfoy might still have traces of the arrogance of his rather misspent youth but there was simply no denying that he was capable of being humble, grateful and certainly remorseful. All things nobody would have accused Malfoy of possessing in his teens that was for sure.
Pushing his thoughts aside for the moment, Harry continued. "The other fact is that I know the one person you look out for is yourself. You would have jumped at the chance to leave that prison even if it was with the devil himself," He explained. Draco certainly could not deny that was a rather self centred individual but prison had eroded some of that away, hence his refusal to help those who wanted questionable magical favours from him, promising his freedom in return.
"I think 'God' would have made a better analogy," Draco noted dryly. Harry quirked a smile.
"Yes, I see your point."
After a slightly awkward pause, Harry wandered towards the door. Before he left though he asked of Draco, "Anything else?"
There was but he didn't think this was quite the right time to voice such a question. He was somewhat afraid of what Harry's answer would be.
"No, Harry, nothing."
Harry nodded and walked out of the room.
But the tentative use of his first name has not been lost upon him.
Tiberius stood cloaked in ebon shadow and watched as the last of the Muggle emergency vehicles left what remained of Little Hangleton.
Many families would be weeping tonight.
The thought did not disturb him in the least. In fact, it made him smile although there were non there to witness this show of malice and contempt for human life.
The mistress did this, He thought gleefully. He had reason to feel particularly smug, as he was one of only three who knew the real nature of their 'master.' It was most pleasing to know Micaela Riddle had trusted him, along with Augustus and Natalia, above all the others. Especially so given that she was the mother of one of the most powerful and feared wizards that had ever lived, Lord Voldemort, and thusly she was a blood descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin.
It seemed truly fitting the Tiberius has never encountered a woman so formidable as Micaela was. Her self imposed exile, during which she had never realised the great dark wizard Voldemort was in fact her own son, she had honed her abilities, hardened herself in preparation for a glorious re-emergence. Cultivating her darkness until she blossomed into one that all would soon fear.
The parallels between mother and son were not lost upon him.
Micaela may appear aged but her power w as great. Very great. She had shown how great it truly was the previous night. And soon she would do so again.
Tiberius couldn't wait.
He turned and walked away, barely a shadow imprinted in the gloom.
"I think you are taking a bit too much on guesswork here Harry," Commented Sirius with a disapproving frown. His godson was so impulsive at times and it had got him into an awful lot of trouble in the past.
"I know, but it's a plan and the only one we've got at the moment."
"There is that," He conceded.
That afternoon, after Harry's chat with Draco, Sirius had taken him aside to discuss plans of attack against their new foes. Mostly they would be looking to ambush them, catching them in the act so to speak, and take things from there. It was hardly an easy task though when one knew so little about them.
Normally they would have had Hermione here too, but she had received an urgent owl from the Ministry and had left several hours ago. Ron had gone out to repair something, although why it was taking him so long when he had magic to fix anything in seconds no one knew.
Lastly, Draco had seemed to want some alone time so Harry had left him be for now.
"Still, I think we should wait to see what the others think before we rush into anything," Sirius added. Harry nodded in agreement. It was certainly true that his plan wasn't much of a plan at all really.
Hermione would probably come up with something better. She had after all been in this field longer than Harry now.
"We can't just assume they will show themselves," Sirius was saying. "We have to know they will."
Harry shrugged. "This is really more Hermione's area," He said, echoing his own thoughts from mere moments ago.
"Yes. Shouldn't she be back by now?"
The door to the living room creaked open and Ron sidled in.
"Actually, sometimes she can be gone till late at night or even the next morning," He supplied, settling his long, gangling frame into an unoccupied chair. "These emergency cases can be pretty nasty business."
"I can imagine," Sirius muttered, more to himself than anyone. He'd had plenty of dealings with dark wizards in times past. Harry felt inexplicably alarmed about this but Ron, who was perfectly used to it, seemed unconcerned.
As if he had read Harry's thoughts, Ron said, "Don't worry, she'll be fine. She always is," But there was the tiniest trace of doubt in his voice. Because one day she wouldn't be fine, she would get hurt, maybe even killed and Ron could never stand to even think about it.
Or maybe she'll end up looking like Mad-Eye Moody, He thought. Not that it would matter, he'd still love her no matter what she looked like.
Love was like that.
"I think we should leave this for now," Sirius said finally. "But I would like to look at that information Hermione had last night. She wouldn't mind would she Ron?" He asked politely, but Harry knew he would filch it anyway if the answer was no. The Marauder was still very much alive in him, despite everything.
Ron shook his head. "Nope. She was gonna let you, Harry and Ferret Boy have a look at it before you left anyway." Harry decided not to bother corrected the 'Ferret Boy' remark, which was technically inaccurate since Malfoy...no, Draco, he felt he should return the favour on that, was grown up now and in fact bore far more resemblance to a stringy piece of seaweed.
Plus name calling when you're in your mid-twenties is just rather childish.
Ron left to go get the parchment whilst Harry and Sirius waited in silence. A few minutes later he returned and placed the pile in front of them.
It seemed to be a collection of rather haphazardly scribbled notes and other assorted information such as dates of attacks, drawings and the like. Hermione had obviously not had a lot of time to look through it all since some of it was repeated more than once.
Sirius took one half whilst Harry flicked through the other. Ron fished out the drawing of the tattoo again, trying to puzzle out where he had seen this before. Then, completely out of the blue, he remembered.
"Divination!" He burst out, startling the other two.
"Pardon?" Asked Sirius, bewildered. He had never taken that class at Hogwarts and from what Harry had told that had been a very wise decision. His godson though, seemed as non-plussed as he was.
"This mark," Ron explained excitedly, tapping the paper with his index finger. "I'm sure we did something about it in Divination."
"No offence Ron, but I'd rather keep repressing my memories of those lessons." Nevertheless, Harry took the drawing and studied it, trying hard to recall if they had ever learnt anything about such a mark.
Quite suddenly, as if a light switch had been flicked on in his head, Harry found he did remember it now. To Sirius' further astonishment, he burst out laughing.
"Oh Ron! Don't you remember what Trelawney said this was?" Harry asked.
Ron shook his head.
"She said this was the symbol of the 13th sign of the Zodiac – Ophiuchus, the serpent bearer." A stunned silence followed this proclamation. Then it was Sirius' turn to laugh.
"But...there's only the twelve surely?" He asked.
"Exactly," Harry replied. "People have been debating for ages over whether it truly exists – very few true Seers and Astrologists believe in it."
"Which naturally begs the question – why are they using a Zodiac sign as their marker?" His godfather asked, thoughtful again.
Nobody ever got a chance to answer that question because at that moment the door to the room burst violently open and Hermione rushed in, a look of genuine shock in wide, brown eyes and tears streaming unnoticed down her face. Malfoy came in after her, clearly confused and startled.
Ron leapt up and took his wife into his arms. Thoroughly alarmed by her state.
"Hermione, what-?" He started to ask, but she cut him off.
"It's happened!" She shrieked hysterically.
"What's happened?" Harry coaxed gently.
It took a few moments for her to compose herself enough to answer the question. Slowly and with sudden, amazing calm she told them what had happened. What she had seen.
It was a horror beyond anything they could ever have imagined.
How one does miss the glorious ecstasy of grief. Micaela had not witnessed it for a long time. Too long. As she watched the horror, rage and pain play upon the faces of Ron, Harry, Sirius and Draco as the young women Hermione told them about what she, Micaela, had done, she savoured the sweet taste of victory once again.
So she had struck the first real blow, it would be interesting to see how they would choose to respond. Good, honourable people were so boringly predictable but perhaps they would surprise her.
And one never gets tired of seeing the purity of hatred.
It was there, his countenance burned with it. It made Micaela pleasure increase ten fold to see it.
Harry Potter's hate though was nothing compared to hers.
To the silent, empty room she intoned, "I will be the end of you Harry Potter."
"Yes," Said the voice of the demon, startling her for he was no longer speaking in her mind. But how…?
"We shall," It told her.
The silence was horrible.
It was the day after Hermione had come home and told them of the evil that had occurred and yet the truth was still in the process of sinking in.
Almost an entire village gone. Inhabitants' dead. Only those of wizard families had been left and there had not been many of them. The horror of what they had seen had rendered those survivors unfit for questioning about it. At the moment anyway.
Draco felt more isolated than ever from the others. The only relief was that they would be going back to Lupin's the next day. It was a relief because Draco didn't think he could stand another day of looking up and seeing accusatory looks in everyone's eyes – at least he could guarantee that Remus would remain neutral when he heard about it. At the moment it was if they all thought he was somehow responsible.
How idiotic can you get? Draco thought savagely. To hell with what was grateful! How could they ever be foolish enough to think this was his fault?
Because they need someone to blame. Someone who isn't faceless.
This person, whoever and whatever they were, was even more of a coward than he had ever been. At least he had always been prepared to face someone himself, even if it had required the presence of his two thuggish cronies Crabbe and Goyle before he felt brave enough to actually do so.
This wizard could not even do that.
Perhaps it seemed more sensible for him to hide his identity but to Draco it seemed more like mere fear and cowardice and he knew from both of those.
Unless the wizard had actually been there that night. But they could not know for sure until the witnesses recovered enough to be questioned.
"Draco?"
Draco jumped as suddenly as if he had been scalded.
"Must you sneak around like that Harry," He snapped, more out of surprise and fright than anything.
"Well, I do apologise your majesty!" Harry growled angrily. Draco swallowed hard and chewed his lip. He really was going to have to learn to set aside his pride from time to time.
"I'm sorry Harry. What did you want?" He asked politely. Now that he had the opening, Harry seemed rather unsure of how to proceed through it.
"I, um, just wanted to, well...you've been so quiet about all of this."
Draco shrugged. "Yes, well, I haven't got a lot to say. Especially when those around me keep glaring at me as if this is somehow my fault!"
Harry blinked, taken aback at this accusation. Had they been doing that? Not that he was aware, but it wasn't impossible. Draco, whether he liked it or not, was a strong, unpleasant reminder of what has been done to then the last time they had had such an enemy to deal with. He owed them all, in Sirius' case possibly more than he could ever repay.
Harry in fact explained this to the Slytherin, with several tactful omissions of course and Malfoy's anger seemed to dissipate a bit. Although he had been rather angered at Draco's lashing out, nerves were so badly stretched at the moment that Harry decided to let it slide.
"I understand, but...well, the Dark Lord never actually did something quite that audacious and, well...cruel," Draco was saying.
"What about the church? Remember that?" Harry reminded him, shuddering inwardly at the memory. Voldemort had made sure he'd seen every moment of that massacre through the connection they shared. He had seen it through the Dark Lord's very eyes, as if he rather than the Dark Lord had been the killer.
Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Painfully. Father was there and he…well, he took a lot of pleasure in telling me all about it," He explained, disgust evident in every syllable. Back in their school days, Harry had always viewed Draco, with good reason, as being a simply carbon copy of his father – cold and cruel. It was moments such as this however that it became obvious that Draco was not like the late Lucius at all.
Well, not anymore. He proved he could take real delight in cruelty just as much as 'father' could.
Harry sighed, pushing these thoughts aside.
"Don't worry, I know you weren't involved," He said, having not overlooked the subtle point Draco had made with his statement – he had not been anywhere near the church. That wasn't surprising though since he would have still been at school at the time. This raised some uncomfortable questions about whether he would have been there otherwise but it was no use dwelling on 'what ifs.' What might have been was irrelevant, what 'had' been was important.
"Besides," Harry added as an after thought. "Your not the only one who's been on the receiving end of accusing looks recently." Draco was momentarily confused by the comment – why on earth would anyone be staring accusingly at Harry? – Until he recalled Potter's argument with Sirius before they left and the sly dig Hermione had made at him when they had arrived. This probably wasn't the best time to ask and strictly it really was none of Draco's business at all but he couldn't help it.
"Mm, so I noticed. Am I right in assuming you went to live in the Muggle world after the war and this has somewhat miffed your friends?"
To his surprise, Harry didn't get angry at Draco's prying and eavesdropping. In fact he got the distinct impression that Harry had been praying for the opportunity to discuss this with someone neutral.
"Yes, you would Draco. And 'somewhat miffed' is a big understatement." He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly black hair, messing it up even further. Draco thought the look rather suited him.
Not that I care what look suits him of course.
"Couldn't see any point staying," He continued.
"Because you vanquished the Dark Lord and that's all you'd ever had to offer to our world – heroics." Draco guessed. Harry stared at him for a long moment, taken aback by the shrewd deduction. The way Draco had phrased it reminded him rather unpleasantly of fifth year. Voldemort had played on Harry's desire to be the hero in order to gain knowledge that would lend him a possibly crucial advantage. Basically, Harry had been well and truly set up and worst of all it had worked.
It was a miracle any of them had got out of the Ministry of Magic building alive that day. The vision of Sirius had not been incorrect though – he was being tortured. Just not by Voldemort. It had been Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' own cousin no less.
They had all made sure she had paid for that in the end.
Harry had vowed to keep Sirius, the only thing close to a parent he'd ever known, safe from that moment onward.
He'd failed miserably.
"Yes well," Harry replied stiffly. "I've had my attitude revised since then."
"I'd imagine hiding out from all your problems and friends gave you ample time to do so," Draco sniped before he could stop himself.
"That is not what I – what business is this of your anyway?" Harry snarled defensively. Draco held his hands up in a placating gesture, reminding himself that Harry had a hidden vicious streak and (never mind hexing him into an oblivion) could punch him across the room and not even consider it exercise.
"None at all. And it's not like I can talk," He admitted.
I'm the very last person who should be judging anyone.
"No," Harry snapped. "It's not. And someone like you will never have the faintest idea what it is like to be me. I've always thought bravery was omitted from the Slytherin dictionary."
Without another word, Harry stormed out. Draco wanted desperately to say something; anything back at the Gryffindor but his voice didn't seem to want to cooperate. He settled for raging in silence at himself as well as Potter.
Forgiveness by those he'd wronged seemed a much greater distance away now than it had that morning.
If indeed, it had ever been feasibly within his reach.
"Master," Micaela breathed, unable to keep the uncertain, fearful tremble from her voice. "How is this possible?"
In front of Micaela, in what had once been the drawing room of the Riddle House but was now nothing more than a dilapidated wreck covered in the mould and dust of many decades of abandonment, was something that looked like a dark, indigo coloured pool suspended in mid air. A breach in the fabric of the world.
Lurking in the depths of that pool was Ophiuchus, her demon master whom she had a struck a bargain with all those years ago. She had pleaded with the entity for her life, pledged to do anything in return.
What he had wanted in return, as was common with demons, was souls. The world was, after all, filled with billions of them. There were simply never enough souls of the dead to satisfy the hunger of these base and most terrible denizens of the dimension known as hell.
Give them the mortal world and he would never go hungry again. Ophiuchus would glut himself on the souls of the living.
And I will sit at his right hand like a queen.
"Why, your glorious massacre of course," The demon replied from behind the breach, sounding rather amused. He was a giant step closer to entering this world than he had been merely a day ago but he was not there yet. Micaela was secretly glad of that.
His answer to her question however, bewildered her.
"But that-"
"Was done by people bearing my brand and therefore was perpetuated in my name," Ophiuchus interrupted. Judging from the change in tone, he knew what Micaela had done had been for her own reasons alone and he was clearly angry that she was not dedicated in full to fulfilling her end of their agreement.
Of course, Micaela thought furiously. Why didn't I realise that before? It was he who had suggested the use of his own symbol (with an incantation to seal and ensure the loyalty of those who wore it) instead of the Dark Mark as she had originally planned. Micaela had not considered that there had been any kind of ulterior motive behind the suggestion.
"I am sorry master, I –"
"Don't be sorry Micaela. See what the bloodshed has accomplished! You have achieved in one night what I thought would take a great deal more time to do! I am willing to overlook the fact that it was unintentional."
There was pregnant pause before the demon continued in a deadly tone.
"This time. I would strongly suggest Micaela, that you set aside your desire for vengeance against Harry Potter and concentrate on fulfilling what you promised me – I gave you your life woman, I can take it away just as easily."
"I will let it go master. I promise," She replied sincerely.
But she lied.
Harry found himself stood in a cemetery. It was dark, so black that it seemed to have blotted out the moon and stars.
Turning around he saw a house on a hill in the distance. Two things came together at once – one, he was dreaming. Two, he had been here before.
This was where Voldemort's rebirth had taken place. Right on his father's grave.
Right on this very spot, He realised with an unpleasant jolt as his eyes fell on the headstone just off to his left inscribed TOM RIDDLE.
As if the thing that lurked in the ebon shadows had merely been awaiting his cue, he emerged right in front of Harry. Tall and thin, white as chalk, face still a truly horrible countenance to look upon, Harry found himself staring at Lord Voldemort once again. He'd seen the wizard so often – in both his dreams and his waking life – the horror his presence invoked should have worn off.
Yet even after eight years it had not. Harry shook his head in slow denial of what he was seeing.
"I killed you." It was meant to sound firm, sure of the truth in this statement. It came out the exact opposite of what he intended. Because, for the first time since their last and final battle, he wasn't at all sure if he had really defeated Voldemort once and for all.
"How can you be so sure of that?" Taunted Voldemort in his high, cold voice that caused thrills of fear to track chillingly up his spine and the hair on Harry's neck to stand on end.
"I saw you die!" Harry snapped insistently.
"Are you sure you saw what you thought you saw? No, of course you cannot be. You cannot be sure just how much of my former power I got back after I was reborn." He smiled then and the effect upon his already disfigured face was unbelievably horrifying.
"The truth is, Harry Potter, that you cannot be sure of anything. At all."
"Except for the fact that I did see you die! I killed you myself!" Harry raged.
"So sure are you that you have enlisted the help of one of my followers against what you think is a new enemy? One, I might add, that I rather favoured." Draco (for it had to be him) had neglected to mention this. Voldemort clearly read the expression on his face and laughed his terrible laugh.
"I'll be seeing you again Harry Potter," He promised before the image faded and Harry awoke in his darkened room. His eyes immediately fell onto Draco in the bed across from him, sleeping peacefully. Untroubled by horrible nightmares.
For the first time Harry found himself seriously questioning whether seeking out Malfoy's help had been a wise thing to do after all.
How could he ever (despite what he had said before) really trust, much less forgive, someone who was apparently so favoured by Voldemort? According to his past experience Voldemort had only ever shown favour to those who were the most fanatical and most cruel.
Harry simply stared at the sleeping young man. Draco looked rather angelic when he was asleep.
He couldn't think of anyone who could be anything less.
The seeds of doubt had been planted. Now all Micaela had to do was watch them grow. She would destroy the one who had killed her son from the inside – through his very heart. By the end he would doubt everything that he had ever known, believed and trusted in. Especially himself.
Malfoy was merely a useful starting point. He had been a traitor to her son and for that he would pay eventually. But he was not Micaela's biggest concern.
She would reduce Harry Potter to less than nothing.
And then she would kill him.
Author's Note - Extended.
First things first - will Order of the Phoenix effect this story at all? The answer is not really. I will incorporate some events into the narrative (as you will have already seen) and in one particular part i had to do some serious canon fiddling. However, mostly i will continue working within books 1-4 canon. And can i just say - killing SIRIUS? The HELL?
Other Notes -
Ophiuchus - Is indeed the disputed 13th sign of the Zodiac, however the symbol used in this story is entirely my own invention.
Tiberius - Obviously nothing to do with the character of the same name who appeared in OoTP.
Augustus and Natalia - I'm a big fan of Roman history so i often use names gleaned from those times. Augustus was the name of a Roman Emperor. Natalia is obviously the Italian variation of 'Natalie.'
About Slash -
I have made a decision about that - it is going ahead, but it probably won't be for a while. I also promise to have some serious air clearing in the next chapter.
