Whee. That was fun. I put up 23, and I had a review within five hours.
Thank you, Jordan! I tried not to leave you with a cliffie for very long
this time. Honestly, I almost had 25 done when I posted that. Between my
new job and my mom haggling me to get a career instead of a job, it's been
a little nuts. I've changed my mind a little bit about the whole Black
family thing. Poor Sirius will have to put up with certain of the people
JKR has him related to in the books. Other OotP characters will also make
cameo appearances. Plus, like I said, the boys would not play nicely.
However, Harry and Sev had a lot of fun with this chapter.
*smirks* Indeed I did. Very fun. New talents.
Hey, you're not supposed to tell them, they're supposed to read the chapter and find out.
*pouts* Go ahead, Potter, spoil my fun.
Hey, now, let's just get on with the chapter. Of course, all the readers know Beth doesn't own us.
Of course I don't. If I did, there's a lot of things that would be different.
*sighs* Here we go again.
11-12- *sighs and tries to format a little different* I can't believe the dragon-speak didn't show up. Hopefully this works. Argh.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which there is a lot of fighting
Ten days had passed with the school's student population reduced to a scant few handfuls. It was Christmas Eve, and Severus spent much of the morning carefully wrapping a gift for his godson. Though he could easily have used a charm, he folded the glaring orange paper by hand. Why the boy had chosen a losing team-a century of losses, in fact-to be his favourite escaped the Potions Master. A silver bow topped the double C's and cannonball paper, the gift tag peeking out underneath.
As he set aside the finished package, Severus heard his fire whoosh with the heightened flames of Floo Powder. He turned to find his mentor waiting to speak to him.
"Severus, I have your robes for tonight's mission." The headmaster held out a bundle wrapped in plain brown paper. Grimacing, the younger man took the twine-wrapped lump. Wondering what colours the older wizard had decided would look good on him this time. Of course, if he showed up in anything else, Albus would delay the mission while sending Severus to change. The embarrassment would be nauseating.
"Yes sir. Five thirty at Hagrid's, you said?" The hut on the grounds had been mentioned as a possibility for their pre-mission rendezvous. Charlie Weasley was utilizing his unique talents to gather a group of draconic allies for transport. Mundungus Fletcher, a wizard only a few years older than himself and known to be on the shady side of many things but never Dark-a few bricks shy of a load, though-would be joining Severus and the two remaining Marauders in their attempt to retrieve Minerva's wand.
"Correct, Severus. We should arrive at the castle shortly after dark. Until then, my boy." With a popping noise, Albus was gone. Six hours. Damn. He had time to eat lunch and then perform a good warm-up before getting changed and leaving the castle. He knew he had corned beef in the icebox for sandwiches, and there were probably crisps and Pepsi around somewhere. He was practically addicted to the sugary Muggle drink.
At quarter before five, Severus stretched one last muscle and strode into his bedroom to open the package from Albus. Twine and paper fell away to reveal robes constructed in layers of gauzy yet durable fabric, roughly cut in the shapes of flames. The colours ranged from brilliant red-orange to a vivid green. Silver and gold stitching trimmed some edges, sparkling in the light. Holding the garments up, the sallow professor could see that anyone clad in such robes would seem like moving fire, and the cut, while loose, was close enough not to impede motion. Very important when going into battle. A green cloak lay in the bottom of the bundle, and silver flashed through the fabric as he lifted it. Slytherin colours, but bright and determinedly cheerful in contrast to the Dark Lord's preferred hues.
Well, at least Albus was somewhat sensible. The cloak would hide the brightly coloured robes as he walked across the grounds. Any student who spotted him would assume he'd gotten out a fancy cloak for some occasion in Hogsmeade. Within ten minutes, the Potions Master's quarters were vacant.
Severus escaped the stone walls and crossed snow-covered hills without seeing a single student. He was met at Hagrid's hut by two figures cloaked in a red that gleamed gold where the light hit it strongest. One gestured around the side of the building to the pen where the half-giant had penned hippogriffs two years earlier. Both followed him, dropping their cowls when the castle atop its frosted hill was out of sight. It was Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, as expected.
It's a good thing I've patched up relations with these two, Severus thought wryly. It would be a mite difficult to trust my life in the hands of the pair I knew in school. Twelve years in Azkaban had matured and mellowed Black somewhat, as years of werewolf transformations by himself had done to Lupin.
"Ready to do this, Severus?" Remus asked, his eyes gleaming in the fading sunlight reflected from the snow. The Potions Master nodded and looked to the third man, puzzled by the worried look borne by the former convict.
"I'm ready, I'm just not sure if Harry's going to be all right. He's only fifteen-"
"And he's been through at least as much as any of us, Padfoot." Remus' calm tone broke into Sirius' rant.
"You didn't see the way he handled himself at Halloween, either." Severus shivered as he recalled the panther in action. "He'll be fine, and so will his friends. They can take care of themselves. Has Fletcher arrived yet?" He hadn't been particularly fond of the Hufflepuff during their years in school, but, then again, he hadn't been fond of many save Wen and Arabella.
"He's late, as usual," Remus growled. The sound was faintly reminiscent of the wolf that had held him in thrall for thirty years.
"I think he said something about cauldrons falling off the back of someone's broom. He hasn't changed a bit," Sirius commented, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
"And Charlie Weasley?" Severus wanted this damned mission over and done with as soon as possible. Maybe the Dark Lord would be out for the evening.
"Waiting with eight dragons in the Forest. Firenze has. persuaded. the other centaurs to leave them alone for now." The way the ex-convict smirked at "persuaded" gave the lean professor chills. He had met the strange palomino centaur and did not want to see him mad.
"Ahoy, there!" The fake pirate salute caused the heads of the three wizards to snap around. A man in gaudy yellow and black swooped in to land his broomstick and was met by a trio of identical glares.
"You're late." The declaration of the three men was simultaneous and scornful. Though Dung, as he liked to be called, was a full three years older, he had all the maturity of the average first-year, if not less.
"By Jove, did you think I'd pass off an opportunity like that?" the rotund Hufflepuff replied, his false pirate accent thick.
"No," Severus snarled, "but Minerva's safety is more important than stolen cauldrons. You should have been here ten minutes ago."
"Lighten up, Sevvie me lad. She's a braw lass." The Slytherin choked. Sevvie? Eurgh!
"Let's just get going. I hope Harry's group is there already." Sirius stormed into the undergrowth, followed by the other three wizards.
Halfway to the clearing where their transport waited, a thunderous roar shattered the winter quiet. To Severus, it was a vaguely familiar roar.
"Sounds like Flame is out and about," Remus remarked. "The others will be with him for sure. It's hard to get them apart these days."
"Don't tell me they have nicknames like the lot of you did," Severus groaned. Oh yes, he knew all about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs now, though he hadn't two years ago when Potter's piece of parchment had insulted him. He glared when Black snorted with laughter.
"They do," the blue-eyed wizard sniggered. "Flame you can probably guess. There's also Prowler, Powder, Redwing, Honey, and Sage." With a groan, Severus decided to look out for anything with one of those nicknames attached to it. They might be as dangerous as anything produced by the Weasley twins.
Reaching the clearing at last, Severus' breath caught in his throat. Eight dragons stood in the clearing, one a gigantic Norwegian Ridgeback, the rest Hungarian Horntails. Though of a much smaller breed, the Ridgeback was nearly the same size as its companions.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Charlie called from where he leaned against the Ridgeback's foreleg. "Make yourselves familiar with a few of our friends before we leave. They'll not bear anyone they don't know by smell, and I'd rather not leave anyone behind if we have to leave in a rush." Nodding, Severus watched as the two Marauders and the Hufflepuff held out their hands to be inspected by the Horntails.
After a few minutes, nothing spectacular had happened. No one had been eaten, so the Potions Master felt safe enough to approach on of the female Horntails. The creature looked remarkably like the one Potter had flown against in the First Task, but he hadn't been looking that closely at the time. The great lady whuffed on his hand, lowering her head to nudge him playfully in the stomach.
[I would be honoured to carry you, lord,] a lilting voice told him as the dragon grumbled deep in her chest. He blinked. Did she just talk to me?
[We can make humans hear us when we wish, lord, but you can hear us even when we do not try.] The new information-he no longer doubted that it came from the majestic creature before him-took a moment to sink in.
Wait. Me, a Dragon-speaker? Incredible! I never would have thought of it.
[Not just a Dragon-speaker, lord,] the female corrected. [A Dragon Lord.]
How? Severus thought. There had not been a Dragon Lord recorded since the Middle Ages. Even the Dragon-speakers were rare, though the professor had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie Weasley might have the dubious honour of the talent.
[I do not know, lord.] With a graceful movement, the dragon had laid her head on the ground at his feet, her wings along the ground to either side of her massive body. [I abase myself before thee, Dragon Lord. With humility, Stenriya of the Black Sea offers her service.]
I accept thy service, Stenriya. In turn, I pledge to thee what protection and care I might give. The thought came to him of whole cloth, phrasing and all, and he placed a hand on the scales between the great golden eyes. A surge of powerful magic-he could feel it binding them-flowed between Severus and the dragon. When he regained his senses, Stenriya stood over him, wings wrapped protectively around them both and her massive head over his shoulder.
"Erm, Professor Snape?" At Charlie Weasley's voice, Stenriya quickly pulled back and furled her wings. Obviously, Albus and the Dream Team had arrived at some point. Eleven pairs of eyes stared at him, some with wonder, some in confusion, and some in plain old fear.
"It's all right," he said shakily. His voice didn't betray him for long. "Shall we get a move on? The longer we stand here, the longer Minerva remains in his clutches." Galvanized by his statement and the accompanying glare, Charlie and the six students began to mount, the older Weasley on the Ridgeback and the Dream Team in pairs on Horntails.
[Denyan should be honoured that Harry Potter is in his charge,] Stenriya remarked. [The boy wizard is a superb flyer, despite his unfortunate lack of wings.] The dragon lowered her shoulders towards the ground in order to aid Severus' clamber to her back. Mundungus and Albus each claimed their own perches atop the other two females, and the two Marauders shared the fifth bull dragon. With a few sweeps of sixteen mighty wings, the group was airborne, bearing south and a bit east. Severus had just gotten used to the odd up-and-down motion of flight when Stenriya turned her head to view him with one golden eye.
[Hold on tight, my lord,] she cautioned. He had only just managed to tighten his grip on her spinal ridge when everything lurched and he found himself momentarily in the deepest blackness and cold he had ever seen or felt. With another gut-wrenching jerk, the dark was replaced with snowy peaks sparkling in the light of the waxing moon. A castle, dark and brooding, perched on the sheer side of a mountain straight ahead. Severus only peripherally noticed the other dragons blinking into existence on either side.
That was unsettling, to say the least.
[One of the reasons the people rarely use such a method of travel.] Stenriya sounded half-exhausted. The Potions Master smacked the thick scales in front of his knee a few times in both congratulations and thanks. The flight landed gracefully in the centre of the keep, the Ridgeback gleefully toasting a group of Death Eaters on the ground.
Severus was startled when Potter's group leaped from their dragon allies with wordless battle cries. Watching as they charged the castle doors, he noticed their armaments for the first time. While they wore cloaks similar to his, underneath they wore armour instead of robes. The metal gleamed and pulsed with protective enchantments, and they bore an assortment of weapons. He wasn't terribly surprised to see the gleaming silver sword of Gryffindor in Potter's hand, but the giant bastard sword Draco bore shone with blue and bronze magic. It could be nothing but the legendary blade forged by the boy's ancestress. The knowledge that his godson was well protected made him a bit easier as he slid down Stenriya's flank.
"Go!" Albus shouted at him. Obediently, with his wand drawn, Severus sprinted to join his three comrades as they stormed through the portal opened by the Dream Team. The thick oaken door was shattered, splinters as long as his forearm scattered through the vestibule. Several black-robed wizards lay in the hall, either groaning in pain or lying eerily still. The quartet turned away from the destruction. Their target, Minerva's wand, lay in the opposite direction.
Later, Severus would recall that Dung had begun singing a particularly bawdy pirate ballad at that point. He would never be sure of how long they fought in the twisting corridors, hexes and curses flying in almost every direction. A few minutes, however, would stand out in his memory.
At the base of a tower-part of their goal-a black-haired woman confronted them, announcing herself by grazing Lupin with the Cruciatus. The man did not scream, nor did he fall to the floor writhing in pain as most were wont to do. He simply shook himself briefly.
"Not much compared to a werewolf transformation. It lasts much longer," he said offhandedly. Sirius, however, squinted briefly and then openly glared at the woman, who wore neither mask nor cowl.
"Bellatrix," he snarled. "Fancy meeting you here." The woman scowled back at him.
"Blood traitor! Scum!" she hissed. "You should have died! Crucio!" The spell's red sparks flew towards the Animagus, only to shatter as a wall of electric blue flames spread from his empty left hand.
"No wonder you became an Auror, with a shield like that," Severus murmured. Blue was near the top of the scale, only surpassed by the exceedingly rare silver.
"His ego doesn't need inflation," Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's big enough as it is."
Sirius snorted as Dung lazily stunned two Death Eaters who were trying, very unsuccessfully, to sneak up on them. "I never did like you, Bellatrix. Of course, I've known why for a while now." Turning away from the witch, he turned a fleeing wizard into a statue. "She's always been my least-favourite cousin." Severus smirked in reply and flicked a stunner, causing Bellatrix Lestrange to crumple. She hadn't even the most rudimentary shield in place. So much for one of the Dark Lord's best minions.
Mundungus, in his juvenile fashion, kept up the pirate act, kicking in the door that had been guarded by Bellatrix. Just two hits from the powerful man proved sufficient to knock out the bar on the other side, and a third sent the door bouncing off the stone wall.
"Dung," Remus said patiently, "would you please put a sock in the pirate schtick?"
"Ach, no, matey. Variety 'tis the spice o' life!" The three younger wizards groaned as they followed the Hufflepuff up the winding stairs. Minerva's wand was at the very top, and dozens of Death Eaters attempted to accost them on the stairs. The fiery blue shield flared more than once, absorbing some spells and reflecting others.
Upon finally reaching the tower's pinnacle, Severus was a bit surprised to find that the only furnishing inside was a short wooden column, topped with a velvet pillow bearing fourteen inches of cherry and dragon heartstring. The scene was suspicious.
"Looks like a trap to me," Sirius muttered. The Potions Master, knowing what he did of the dark lord's mind, was quite inclined to agree.
"Finite Incantatem, then?" Remus queried. He was answered by three grim nods. On a count of three, four spells hit the wand, and it bounced into the air and hovered. Dark green flames of magic licked along the length for a moment before similar crimson and gold tongues of fire overwhelmed them. When the emerald had completely gone, the red and gilt subsided to a glow around the wood. Safe.
Severus reached out carefully and plucked the wand from mid-air, sighing in relief when there was no adverse reaction. The magical glow simply went out, but there was still a warning tingle of the wand telling him it didn't belong to him. The length of cherry went into a pocket in his robes as the lean man turned to his erstwhile companions.
"What say we get out of here, gentlemen?" The suggestion was met with hearty agreement. The place was cold and depressing, and it was Christmas Eve. The quartet was soon fighting their way back to the courtyard where transport waited. If only the children have as little difficulty, Severus thought briefly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Waking late in the dormitory on Christmas Eve, Harry found a bulky parcel at the end of his bed, identical ones waiting for Draco and Ron to rise. He glanced quickly at his pocketwatch, propped up on the nightstand. It was half eleven, and nearly time for lunch.
"Gerrup, you two," he growled. Draco, the light sleeper of the trio, sat up and stretched, but Ron slept on. "Armour's here, and it's almost lunch," the dork-haired boy explained to his blond friend.
"Well, let's wake Sir Temper Sleeps-a-lot, then." The former Slytherin stood shakily on his bed before leaping onto the third occupied four- poster, bouncing Ron a half metre into the air. The redhead jerked into consciousness in mid-flight.
"Oi! Dragon!" the indignant teen bellowed. "Why'd you wake me up? I was having the most wicked dream-"
"About Hermione," the other two boys chorused, causing Ron to flush. It was far too easy to tease him.
"Well, for one," Draco stated, "it's just about lunch time, and we all know how you get when you miss more than one meal a day."
"And two, Dumbledore's sent our armour. He did want to meet in that clearing at half five, right?" The redhead nodded as he gathered the package to himself. Dumbledore had involved the teen heavily in the planning of the raid on the Alpine castle once he discovered just how acute the young wizard's mind really was.
Putting their lessons with the headmaster out of his mind, Harry tore into the brown paper of the parcel. Brilliant purple was the first thing to meet his eyes. The brightly coloured cloth turned out to be a cloak large enough to fit him for years, with a silver thread woven in that gleamed when light hit it just right. The armour underneath-breastplate, greaves, a complete suit save helm and charmed to be light, durable, soundless, and to deflect many spells-shone gold and was partially lacquered in red and violet. The colours of his ancestry.
"Wicked," Ron murmured. Harry looked at his friend. The red cloak over the other boy's shoulder had gold highlights, and the teenager was holding up a silver breastplate, a coat of arms enamelled on it in red and gold. Draco had gently folded a similar blue cloak with bronze flashes over his lap and was methodically removing his own armour from the packaging. The bits Harry glimpsed matched the cloak.
The raven-haired Gryffindor looked again at his golden breastplate. Enamelled in crimson, a lion rampant roared, a violet halo topping its voluminous mane. Gryffindor crowned with Merlin's power. His parents had died for those bloodlines, but Voldemort was going to pay.
Just over four hours later, the Dream Team had once again retreated to their dormitories to prepare for battle. In silence, the boys buckled on the gleaming armour. It weighed no more than the robes they wore to classes, and made even less sound, even when pieces of metal knocked against each other. Yet more charms substituted for the padded suits knights had once worn beneath their own protection.
Harry swung his violet cloak over his shoulders and looked at his two best mates. Draco was ready, just checking the buckles again with the dark blue cloak shimmering bronze as he moved. Ron was crouched to tighten his left greave, his cloak gold across the expanse of his back. The green-eyed Gryffindor looked down his left arm to check his wand strapped to his forearm and saw a flash of silver from his own cloak.
"Ready, mates?" he asked. Both older boys nodded. They silently filed out of the room and down the stairs, meeting the other half of the group in the common room. Wordless yet meaningful glances were shared before hoods were pulled up and the edges of cloaks gathered together. Undisturbed, the Dream Team reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest fifteen minutes later and pushed through the underbrush at the edge.
"We could get to the clearing faster if we transformed," Hermione commented. Harry nodded.
"Draco and Lav should probably ride, though," he suggested. "We'll move faster, and they won't be exhausted afterwards." Flashing a grim smile, Harry quickly became the huge black panther that had spawned his nickname: Prowler. The blond in blue became his reptilian self-Powder-moments later, easily sliding up a furry leg and settling his not inconsiderable weight around the massive black neck like an exotic necklace.
~Oh, so that's what dragons smell like,~ the great cat 'pathed to his companions as he sniffed the air. ~Not you, Draco. The ones Charlie has brought. I can smell him, too.~
Ron blinked briefly before stroking the back of SkyStrike, who was perched on his arm. With a quick heave, the berserker hawk was in the air, and Ron transformed. The girls followed suit, Lav leaping to Flame's shoulders. With Sage and Redwing trailing SkyStrike, Flame roared and leapt forward. Honey cringed at the sound but maintained her perch. Prowler was quick to take the lead on the ground, Powder not hampering his movement at all.
Upon arrival at the clearing, Harry was greeted with a stranger sight than he could ever have imagined. Hermione and Ginny were human again, standing with Sirius, Remus, Charlie, Dumbledore, and a man he didn't recognize. A female Horntail-looking oddly familiar-stood near the centre, her wings spread to encircle something-or someone. Her head was not visible, and Harry didn't see Professor Snape around.
~Have to change back, mate. You're too heavy for me as a human, Draco. Ride's over.~ The constrictor quickly slid off before Harry changed forms. Ron and Lavender arrived then, rapidly doing likewise.
"Where's Uncle Sev?" Draco asked, worry in his voice. Charlie wordlessly pointed at the Horntail. {Shite.} Finally, Charlie found his voice.
"Erm, Professor Snape?" The strangled words caused the dragon to furl her wings and raise her head. Snape stood just before her, completely unharmed. He did look a bit shaken, but otherwise fine.
"It's all right. Shall we get a move on?" The lean professor's voice was almost normal. "The longer we stand around here, the longer Minerva remains in his clutches." The wizard glared. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Harry headed for one of the Horntail bulls. He cautiously allowed the vicious-looking male to smell his hand before climbing the scales of its foreleg and settling himself between two of the spinal ridges. He turned to give Ginny a hand up and noticed the Norwegian Ridgeback in the group. It looked almost small in the midst of the Horntails, but the raven-haired Gryffindor tried to estimate its actual size. The figure he ended up with was nearly a quarter again what he remembered as being the average size for the species. Then he added in the fact that the Ridgeback looked familiar.
"Hey Charlie," he called to the older Weasley. "Is that Norbert?" A crazy grin spread across the dragon handler's face as he nodded. "You might take him to see Hagrid later. It would make his day!" Charlie gave him a thumbs-up as the dragons began to lift into the air with great sweeps of outstretched wings.
[Sir Prowler, Lady Redwing, hold on,] a deep voice warned in their heads as they rose above the treetops. Startled, Harry wrapped his hands firmly around the ridge in front of him. Ginny's arms wrapped around him securely just before a jolt nearly unseated them both. Complete darkness and cold surrounded him, and he couldn't feel or see the ridge in his grip, Ginny against his back, or the scaly shoulders upon which he sat. It only took moments, but it felt like an eternity. With another yanking motion, darkness became twilight over a snowy mountain range. A dark castle perched on a slope dead ahead, one tower marking each end. Little was needed for Harry to recall Myrtle's information.
"When you approach, she's in the right-hand tower, at the very top."
The emerald eyes were drawn inexorably toward that tower. A large window broke the expanse of stone just under the conical roof. Faint light shone through the glass in the falling night. He could almost feel the professor's rage and despair. Had some sort of link been forged between them on the night she summoned him while he dreamed?
Pushing aside his speculations for the moment, Harry prepared himself for the landing. He made sure both his daggers and his sword-all the same artefacts that Godric Gryffindor had carried a millennium ago, of course- were just a little loose in their sheathes, ready to be drawn at need. His wand was bound to the inside of his left arm, easily accessible.
As they winged into the keep's courtyard, Norbert keened and belched a great fireball onto a cluster of dark-robed defenders. The six students cheered, turning the cry into a battle roar as they leapt from their mounts. From that moment, Harry did little thinking and much acting. For a moment, it seemed as if magic coursed through his body, and the castle doors exploded inwards. Death Eaters screamed as they were skewered by chunks of oak.
Instinct led Harry to the right along the corridor, long hours of training against the golems causing his blades to dart from target to target on reflexes. Nearly blind in his fury, the dark-haired Gryffindor was still able to avoid striking his bright-armoured companions.
There were times, however, when Harry was lucid enough to capture details in his memory.
Flash.
Ron, moving so fast in the thrall of the Blood Rage that he was a blur of cloak and metal, his quarterstaff invisible as it cracked skulls and arms.
Flash.
Ginny, surrounded by a flurry of small, sharp blades, each dagger resting in its target for only a few seconds before flying back to its sheath on one of the two bandoliers or the belt worn by the petite redhead.
Flash.
Himself and Hermione, fighting back-to-back, swords and dirks flashing like serpent's tongues and twice as deadly.
Flash.
Lavender, her nunchaku forming circular blurs, one hand rising to crack a jaw..
Flash.
Draco, by for the most elegant in their elaborate dance of death, pulling blows to cause irritating nicks and cuts and driving his opponents to attack recklessly.
Flash.
The clearest vignette was Draco reflecting a spell from his polished blade, then whirling as a Death Eater leapt at him from behind. The Dark wizard was impaled in mid-air.
With no proper sense of time, Harry had no idea how long they had fought when the spiralling tower stairs ended at a heavy oaken door. An iron- bound beam rested in hooks across both door and jamb to prevent it swinging inward. It was the work of a moment to heave aside the obstacle. The green-eyed teen didn't even bother with the latch, instead lashing out with a powerful side kick that shattered the stone jamb and bounced the door off the stone wall behind it just a few centimetres.
"Who--?" The startled exclamation in the voice that had been stalking his dreams for six months stoked the rage inside Harry to fever pitch. A look around the room added unnecessary fuel to the fire. Voldemort had backed Professor McGonagall into a corner. The witch's black hair flowed down her back, her grey-green eyes wide with terror. To Harry's dismay, she was clad only in a thin shift.
"Tom," he snarled, "Leave her alone." He crouched in front of the doorway, Godric's sword in his right hand and one of the daggers in his left. The violet cloak cascaded down his back, his armour gleaming in the faint candlelight. For a moment, he could see the skin of Voldemort's hairless scalp creep, as if trying to raise nonexistent fibres.
"Care to make me, boy?" The menacing tone held just a shiver of uncertainty. The young Gryffindor stepped further into the room, his friend spreading out to either side. Draco and Ron stood to his left and right and just a step back, as if wingmen in an aerial battle. Each of the young women took up position beside her soulmate. "So, poor little Ginny Weasley has finally been able to snare her 'hero.' You'll watch him die, girl." The sneer aimed just over said hero's shoulder trembled a fraction.
"Not likely, Tom, now or ever. You don't know this Harry Potter." He felt Ginny's left hand descend on his shoulder. "This Harry Potter is confident, well-trained, and backed by his friends, not frightened, ill- prepared and alone as you've always encountered him before." The words form the auburn-haired witch strengthened him.
"Besides," Ron added casually, "We're all powerful in our own rights as well." SkyStrike, now perched on the lanky redhead's shoulder, mantled and shrieked.
"Enough of this nonsense," the pale Dark Lord growled. Thirteen and a half inches of yew and phoenix feather pointed at Harry. "Crucio!" The spell jetted red sparks. Instinctively, the young wizard raised his left hand, still clutching the sinuous dagger. A curving wall of translucent silver flames sprang to life between the students and their foe, and the crimson was absorbed.
"I'm not going to waste my magic on you, Tom," he sneered as the hand fell and the gleaming shield disappeared. Harry stepped forward and grinned when Voldemort took a corresponding step back. "Are you afraid, Tom? Of a fifteen-year-old? Were you afraid of me when I was one?"
With a suddenness that nearly startled everyone in the room, the Dark Lord dashed past Harry for the door. The supposedly fearsome wizard stumbled and almost fell, but windmilled his arms and managed to stay on his feet. The green-eyed Gryffindor saw the cause a split second later. Ron had casually extended his quarterstaff along the floor, and the enemy has intersected it at ankle height. With lightning reflexes, the redhead snapped the cedar rod up for a humiliating and painful strike across the backside, propelling the megalomaniac wizard down the stairs.
"Well, that takes care of him for now." Draco's nonchalant statement seemed to snap the professor out of a trance.
"Oh, Circe." The witch's moan was followed by a brief movement. Harry found himself wrapped in her arms, her tears trickling through his armour to dampen the crimson turtleneck underneath. He stood there dazed and absently sheathed the dagger he held, using the hand to pat his professor's back.
Confused, the raven-haired teen looked around, his emerald eyes catching Draco's polished silver orbs. A glimmer of laughter shone in the metallic eyes.
{And the hero comforts the victim, yet cannot assuage the pain in his own heart.} The thought was a mere whisper across the bond, accompanied by a dry chuckle full of sympathy.
~I don't know what to do with her, mate,~ he replied. ~Give me a hand here, will you?~ Wordlessly, the blond quirked a half-smile and gently took hold of one long, delicate hand.
"Professor," the other boy murmured, "let's get you out of here." Somehow, the former Slytherin detached the woman from her death grip on the younger boy and gathered her, weeping, into his own arms. {She's freezing. Let's get her to Dumbledore.}
The older boy made sense, so Harry unclasped his cloak and draped the warm but light fabric over the dark-haired witch's shoulders. She barely noticed, sobbing into Draco's shoulder. Without the faintest idea of how to deal with a traumatized woman, Harry simply turned towards the door, sword in hand. Any Death Eater who got in the way would pay dearly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Hush, Professor," Draco murmured as he stroked the wavy black hair. "Come on now, it's time to go home." His arms still around McGonagall, he steered the witch out the door and down the stairs.
"Harry," the woman sobbed. Draco felt a stab of pity, not knowing whether it was for his best friend or his teacher.
"He's all right. He doesn't know how to cope with the situation, is all. It's frustrating him no end." The blond could feel the rage boiling beneath the surface, despite the excellent mental shields Harry had built.
"Careful. His minions are everywhere-" A wracking cough halted the warning.
"We know, Professor. We fought through them to get to you. They won't want to get in the way." In fact, the group left the stairwell moments later, surprising a clump of Death Eaters at the other end of the corridor. The dark-robed adults hesitated only a moment before fleeing in terror.
Ron, his worry leaking through the Frateris bond, glanced at Draco and his charge briefly and dropped back.
"I'll take her, Dragon," the redhead offered. Draco nodded, and Ron continued to speak softly as he picked up the teary-eyed witch. "We can move faster this way. It's all right, Professor. Mum's waiting for us all at the castle. She'll be so happy to see you." McGonagall clutched the teen's neck like a lifeline.
It was only a matter of minutes before the group emerged into the moonlit courtyard. Draco breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his godfather's bright green cloak and the crimson of the two Marauders. The strange man in yellow was also with them, and they seemed unhurt. Thank the gods.
The Potions Master was the first to see the teenagers and their teacher and stepped forward, holding out a familiar wand. As the older woman accepted the fourteen-inch length, Draco recognized it as the Transfiguration Professor's primary wand. Her spare was probably still strapped to Harry's arm underneath the armour. Then Dumbledore came up behind the newly rescued witch.
"Minerva?" the wizened headmaster said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. A hint of fright in her eyes, she turned her head. The sight of the wizard melted the fright into joy, and she burst into tears again.
"Uncle Albus," she sobbed, flinging her arms around his torso. A little shocked, Dumbledore began to make soothing sounds, stroking his protégée's black hair.
"I haven't needed to comfort you since you were in school, my dear," Draco heard the venerable wizard whisper. "Everything will be all right, my dear." With a nod to the two generations of students around him, the headmaster guided his deputy to one of the female dragon's , who immediately crouched as low to the ground as she possibly could. The remainder of the group quietly clambered atop the other dragons as the female leapt from the ground with a mighty sweep of her wings.
[Hold tightly, Sir Powder, Lady Honey. Here we go again.] For the second time that night, Draco wondered how the dragons knew their codenames. Perhaps the creatures he was named for could read their minds. Regardless of what he was thinking, his grip on the spinal ridge tightened and Lavender's arms about his waist became comfortably snug. Seconds later he was submerged in inky blackness and biting cold. Again, he barely had time to take in the strange surroundings before the jolting motion of transfer came a fourth time. A three-quarters full moon shone down on the eight dragons and their passengers as they winged over the tangled treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
Instead of landing in the clearing they'd left, the flight continued over the snow-shrouded grounds to land in front of the great oaken doors of the castle.
"Thank you," the blond said as he gave the shoulder before him a firm whack. His namesakes didn't have to do anything for them, after all. The bull snorted as Draco slid down the scaly leg, the hot breath producing a large cloud of steam. The fifth-year was catching his honey-haired companion when the doors flew open and five very worried witches rushed out to greet them.
"You did it!" Madam Pomfrey crowed, embracing both Dumbledore and McGonagall. Mrs. Weasley promptly began to fuss over her three offspring, as well as Hermione and Harry. Professor Figg was wrapped around Sirius, and his Aunt Rita had appeared from somewhere to thoroughly snog Moony.
Wait. Aunt Rita and Moony snogging? Draco looked again. Yes, they were, and they looked as if they were quite enjoying themselves. He shuddered. For some reason, his godmother with anyone felt slightly off. For the man to be a second godfather to his best friend-if such a thing was possible- made it even stranger.
Joining Pomfrey in cosseting the deputy headmistress was Professor Sprout. While her presence was mildly surprising, it made a certain amount of sense. Both witches were Heads of their particular Houses, and had worked together for years. They might even share a fairly close friendship, unknown to the students. Draco's speculation was suddenly halted by Lavender's elbow in his ribs.
"Professor Snape looks a bit lonely, don't you think?" the girl whispered. The Potions Master was indeed drooping, and the boy knew why. Wen Altair wasn't there to coo over the wizard. A half-smile quirking his lips, Draco moved to stand by his godfather.
"Thanks for helping, Uncle Sev," he said quietly. The pale man jumped slightly, but relaxed immediately.
"You youngsters did the important part," he demurred. "You deserve the credit."
"It was a two-pronged attack. You and the others got her wand back. And you kept us from being overwhelmed by Death Eaters. Besides, what would Wen say if she heard you talking like that?" The little jab was rewarded by a faint blush colouring his godfather's features. "Go fire-call her and wish her a Happy Christmas for me." Uncle Sev rolled his eyes, but Draco saw him smile a bit as he swept into the castle.
"Oh, Harry!" The sound of Professor McGonagall's voice made the blond turn and look. Still wrapped in only her shift and Harry's violet cloak, the woman had wrapped herself around the young wizard again. "This is the best Christmas present I could have gotten!"
"Oh, Circe," the former Slytherin muttered to himself. "Not again." His best friend was going to be 'adopted' by yet another person. Of course, the Weasleys had first claim on the boy hero. Hagrid, according to Harry, was somewhat like a tornado in some Muggle story about a girl named Dorothy. Draco didn't understand much except that the half-giant had swept his friend from his horrible life with the Dursleys into the wonders of the wizarding world.
He knew now just how bad an impression he had made that day in Madame Malkin's. Compared to him, the Weasleys must have seemed like a flock of descending angels. Strange angels, but angels regardless. It explained Harry's reaction on the train very well.
It was going to be a strange Christmas, as far as Draco was concerned. At least he'd have good use of his present fund this year.
Next chapter may seem a bit sappy and dull to many of you after this action- packed instalment, but I promise some plot twists you may not be expecting! See you next time!
Beth Weasley
*smirks* Indeed I did. Very fun. New talents.
Hey, you're not supposed to tell them, they're supposed to read the chapter and find out.
*pouts* Go ahead, Potter, spoil my fun.
Hey, now, let's just get on with the chapter. Of course, all the readers know Beth doesn't own us.
Of course I don't. If I did, there's a lot of things that would be different.
*sighs* Here we go again.
11-12- *sighs and tries to format a little different* I can't believe the dragon-speak didn't show up. Hopefully this works. Argh.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which there is a lot of fighting
Ten days had passed with the school's student population reduced to a scant few handfuls. It was Christmas Eve, and Severus spent much of the morning carefully wrapping a gift for his godson. Though he could easily have used a charm, he folded the glaring orange paper by hand. Why the boy had chosen a losing team-a century of losses, in fact-to be his favourite escaped the Potions Master. A silver bow topped the double C's and cannonball paper, the gift tag peeking out underneath.
As he set aside the finished package, Severus heard his fire whoosh with the heightened flames of Floo Powder. He turned to find his mentor waiting to speak to him.
"Severus, I have your robes for tonight's mission." The headmaster held out a bundle wrapped in plain brown paper. Grimacing, the younger man took the twine-wrapped lump. Wondering what colours the older wizard had decided would look good on him this time. Of course, if he showed up in anything else, Albus would delay the mission while sending Severus to change. The embarrassment would be nauseating.
"Yes sir. Five thirty at Hagrid's, you said?" The hut on the grounds had been mentioned as a possibility for their pre-mission rendezvous. Charlie Weasley was utilizing his unique talents to gather a group of draconic allies for transport. Mundungus Fletcher, a wizard only a few years older than himself and known to be on the shady side of many things but never Dark-a few bricks shy of a load, though-would be joining Severus and the two remaining Marauders in their attempt to retrieve Minerva's wand.
"Correct, Severus. We should arrive at the castle shortly after dark. Until then, my boy." With a popping noise, Albus was gone. Six hours. Damn. He had time to eat lunch and then perform a good warm-up before getting changed and leaving the castle. He knew he had corned beef in the icebox for sandwiches, and there were probably crisps and Pepsi around somewhere. He was practically addicted to the sugary Muggle drink.
At quarter before five, Severus stretched one last muscle and strode into his bedroom to open the package from Albus. Twine and paper fell away to reveal robes constructed in layers of gauzy yet durable fabric, roughly cut in the shapes of flames. The colours ranged from brilliant red-orange to a vivid green. Silver and gold stitching trimmed some edges, sparkling in the light. Holding the garments up, the sallow professor could see that anyone clad in such robes would seem like moving fire, and the cut, while loose, was close enough not to impede motion. Very important when going into battle. A green cloak lay in the bottom of the bundle, and silver flashed through the fabric as he lifted it. Slytherin colours, but bright and determinedly cheerful in contrast to the Dark Lord's preferred hues.
Well, at least Albus was somewhat sensible. The cloak would hide the brightly coloured robes as he walked across the grounds. Any student who spotted him would assume he'd gotten out a fancy cloak for some occasion in Hogsmeade. Within ten minutes, the Potions Master's quarters were vacant.
Severus escaped the stone walls and crossed snow-covered hills without seeing a single student. He was met at Hagrid's hut by two figures cloaked in a red that gleamed gold where the light hit it strongest. One gestured around the side of the building to the pen where the half-giant had penned hippogriffs two years earlier. Both followed him, dropping their cowls when the castle atop its frosted hill was out of sight. It was Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, as expected.
It's a good thing I've patched up relations with these two, Severus thought wryly. It would be a mite difficult to trust my life in the hands of the pair I knew in school. Twelve years in Azkaban had matured and mellowed Black somewhat, as years of werewolf transformations by himself had done to Lupin.
"Ready to do this, Severus?" Remus asked, his eyes gleaming in the fading sunlight reflected from the snow. The Potions Master nodded and looked to the third man, puzzled by the worried look borne by the former convict.
"I'm ready, I'm just not sure if Harry's going to be all right. He's only fifteen-"
"And he's been through at least as much as any of us, Padfoot." Remus' calm tone broke into Sirius' rant.
"You didn't see the way he handled himself at Halloween, either." Severus shivered as he recalled the panther in action. "He'll be fine, and so will his friends. They can take care of themselves. Has Fletcher arrived yet?" He hadn't been particularly fond of the Hufflepuff during their years in school, but, then again, he hadn't been fond of many save Wen and Arabella.
"He's late, as usual," Remus growled. The sound was faintly reminiscent of the wolf that had held him in thrall for thirty years.
"I think he said something about cauldrons falling off the back of someone's broom. He hasn't changed a bit," Sirius commented, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
"And Charlie Weasley?" Severus wanted this damned mission over and done with as soon as possible. Maybe the Dark Lord would be out for the evening.
"Waiting with eight dragons in the Forest. Firenze has. persuaded. the other centaurs to leave them alone for now." The way the ex-convict smirked at "persuaded" gave the lean professor chills. He had met the strange palomino centaur and did not want to see him mad.
"Ahoy, there!" The fake pirate salute caused the heads of the three wizards to snap around. A man in gaudy yellow and black swooped in to land his broomstick and was met by a trio of identical glares.
"You're late." The declaration of the three men was simultaneous and scornful. Though Dung, as he liked to be called, was a full three years older, he had all the maturity of the average first-year, if not less.
"By Jove, did you think I'd pass off an opportunity like that?" the rotund Hufflepuff replied, his false pirate accent thick.
"No," Severus snarled, "but Minerva's safety is more important than stolen cauldrons. You should have been here ten minutes ago."
"Lighten up, Sevvie me lad. She's a braw lass." The Slytherin choked. Sevvie? Eurgh!
"Let's just get going. I hope Harry's group is there already." Sirius stormed into the undergrowth, followed by the other three wizards.
Halfway to the clearing where their transport waited, a thunderous roar shattered the winter quiet. To Severus, it was a vaguely familiar roar.
"Sounds like Flame is out and about," Remus remarked. "The others will be with him for sure. It's hard to get them apart these days."
"Don't tell me they have nicknames like the lot of you did," Severus groaned. Oh yes, he knew all about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs now, though he hadn't two years ago when Potter's piece of parchment had insulted him. He glared when Black snorted with laughter.
"They do," the blue-eyed wizard sniggered. "Flame you can probably guess. There's also Prowler, Powder, Redwing, Honey, and Sage." With a groan, Severus decided to look out for anything with one of those nicknames attached to it. They might be as dangerous as anything produced by the Weasley twins.
Reaching the clearing at last, Severus' breath caught in his throat. Eight dragons stood in the clearing, one a gigantic Norwegian Ridgeback, the rest Hungarian Horntails. Though of a much smaller breed, the Ridgeback was nearly the same size as its companions.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Charlie called from where he leaned against the Ridgeback's foreleg. "Make yourselves familiar with a few of our friends before we leave. They'll not bear anyone they don't know by smell, and I'd rather not leave anyone behind if we have to leave in a rush." Nodding, Severus watched as the two Marauders and the Hufflepuff held out their hands to be inspected by the Horntails.
After a few minutes, nothing spectacular had happened. No one had been eaten, so the Potions Master felt safe enough to approach on of the female Horntails. The creature looked remarkably like the one Potter had flown against in the First Task, but he hadn't been looking that closely at the time. The great lady whuffed on his hand, lowering her head to nudge him playfully in the stomach.
[I would be honoured to carry you, lord,] a lilting voice told him as the dragon grumbled deep in her chest. He blinked. Did she just talk to me?
[We can make humans hear us when we wish, lord, but you can hear us even when we do not try.] The new information-he no longer doubted that it came from the majestic creature before him-took a moment to sink in.
Wait. Me, a Dragon-speaker? Incredible! I never would have thought of it.
[Not just a Dragon-speaker, lord,] the female corrected. [A Dragon Lord.]
How? Severus thought. There had not been a Dragon Lord recorded since the Middle Ages. Even the Dragon-speakers were rare, though the professor had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie Weasley might have the dubious honour of the talent.
[I do not know, lord.] With a graceful movement, the dragon had laid her head on the ground at his feet, her wings along the ground to either side of her massive body. [I abase myself before thee, Dragon Lord. With humility, Stenriya of the Black Sea offers her service.]
I accept thy service, Stenriya. In turn, I pledge to thee what protection and care I might give. The thought came to him of whole cloth, phrasing and all, and he placed a hand on the scales between the great golden eyes. A surge of powerful magic-he could feel it binding them-flowed between Severus and the dragon. When he regained his senses, Stenriya stood over him, wings wrapped protectively around them both and her massive head over his shoulder.
"Erm, Professor Snape?" At Charlie Weasley's voice, Stenriya quickly pulled back and furled her wings. Obviously, Albus and the Dream Team had arrived at some point. Eleven pairs of eyes stared at him, some with wonder, some in confusion, and some in plain old fear.
"It's all right," he said shakily. His voice didn't betray him for long. "Shall we get a move on? The longer we stand here, the longer Minerva remains in his clutches." Galvanized by his statement and the accompanying glare, Charlie and the six students began to mount, the older Weasley on the Ridgeback and the Dream Team in pairs on Horntails.
[Denyan should be honoured that Harry Potter is in his charge,] Stenriya remarked. [The boy wizard is a superb flyer, despite his unfortunate lack of wings.] The dragon lowered her shoulders towards the ground in order to aid Severus' clamber to her back. Mundungus and Albus each claimed their own perches atop the other two females, and the two Marauders shared the fifth bull dragon. With a few sweeps of sixteen mighty wings, the group was airborne, bearing south and a bit east. Severus had just gotten used to the odd up-and-down motion of flight when Stenriya turned her head to view him with one golden eye.
[Hold on tight, my lord,] she cautioned. He had only just managed to tighten his grip on her spinal ridge when everything lurched and he found himself momentarily in the deepest blackness and cold he had ever seen or felt. With another gut-wrenching jerk, the dark was replaced with snowy peaks sparkling in the light of the waxing moon. A castle, dark and brooding, perched on the sheer side of a mountain straight ahead. Severus only peripherally noticed the other dragons blinking into existence on either side.
That was unsettling, to say the least.
[One of the reasons the people rarely use such a method of travel.] Stenriya sounded half-exhausted. The Potions Master smacked the thick scales in front of his knee a few times in both congratulations and thanks. The flight landed gracefully in the centre of the keep, the Ridgeback gleefully toasting a group of Death Eaters on the ground.
Severus was startled when Potter's group leaped from their dragon allies with wordless battle cries. Watching as they charged the castle doors, he noticed their armaments for the first time. While they wore cloaks similar to his, underneath they wore armour instead of robes. The metal gleamed and pulsed with protective enchantments, and they bore an assortment of weapons. He wasn't terribly surprised to see the gleaming silver sword of Gryffindor in Potter's hand, but the giant bastard sword Draco bore shone with blue and bronze magic. It could be nothing but the legendary blade forged by the boy's ancestress. The knowledge that his godson was well protected made him a bit easier as he slid down Stenriya's flank.
"Go!" Albus shouted at him. Obediently, with his wand drawn, Severus sprinted to join his three comrades as they stormed through the portal opened by the Dream Team. The thick oaken door was shattered, splinters as long as his forearm scattered through the vestibule. Several black-robed wizards lay in the hall, either groaning in pain or lying eerily still. The quartet turned away from the destruction. Their target, Minerva's wand, lay in the opposite direction.
Later, Severus would recall that Dung had begun singing a particularly bawdy pirate ballad at that point. He would never be sure of how long they fought in the twisting corridors, hexes and curses flying in almost every direction. A few minutes, however, would stand out in his memory.
At the base of a tower-part of their goal-a black-haired woman confronted them, announcing herself by grazing Lupin with the Cruciatus. The man did not scream, nor did he fall to the floor writhing in pain as most were wont to do. He simply shook himself briefly.
"Not much compared to a werewolf transformation. It lasts much longer," he said offhandedly. Sirius, however, squinted briefly and then openly glared at the woman, who wore neither mask nor cowl.
"Bellatrix," he snarled. "Fancy meeting you here." The woman scowled back at him.
"Blood traitor! Scum!" she hissed. "You should have died! Crucio!" The spell's red sparks flew towards the Animagus, only to shatter as a wall of electric blue flames spread from his empty left hand.
"No wonder you became an Auror, with a shield like that," Severus murmured. Blue was near the top of the scale, only surpassed by the exceedingly rare silver.
"His ego doesn't need inflation," Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's big enough as it is."
Sirius snorted as Dung lazily stunned two Death Eaters who were trying, very unsuccessfully, to sneak up on them. "I never did like you, Bellatrix. Of course, I've known why for a while now." Turning away from the witch, he turned a fleeing wizard into a statue. "She's always been my least-favourite cousin." Severus smirked in reply and flicked a stunner, causing Bellatrix Lestrange to crumple. She hadn't even the most rudimentary shield in place. So much for one of the Dark Lord's best minions.
Mundungus, in his juvenile fashion, kept up the pirate act, kicking in the door that had been guarded by Bellatrix. Just two hits from the powerful man proved sufficient to knock out the bar on the other side, and a third sent the door bouncing off the stone wall.
"Dung," Remus said patiently, "would you please put a sock in the pirate schtick?"
"Ach, no, matey. Variety 'tis the spice o' life!" The three younger wizards groaned as they followed the Hufflepuff up the winding stairs. Minerva's wand was at the very top, and dozens of Death Eaters attempted to accost them on the stairs. The fiery blue shield flared more than once, absorbing some spells and reflecting others.
Upon finally reaching the tower's pinnacle, Severus was a bit surprised to find that the only furnishing inside was a short wooden column, topped with a velvet pillow bearing fourteen inches of cherry and dragon heartstring. The scene was suspicious.
"Looks like a trap to me," Sirius muttered. The Potions Master, knowing what he did of the dark lord's mind, was quite inclined to agree.
"Finite Incantatem, then?" Remus queried. He was answered by three grim nods. On a count of three, four spells hit the wand, and it bounced into the air and hovered. Dark green flames of magic licked along the length for a moment before similar crimson and gold tongues of fire overwhelmed them. When the emerald had completely gone, the red and gilt subsided to a glow around the wood. Safe.
Severus reached out carefully and plucked the wand from mid-air, sighing in relief when there was no adverse reaction. The magical glow simply went out, but there was still a warning tingle of the wand telling him it didn't belong to him. The length of cherry went into a pocket in his robes as the lean man turned to his erstwhile companions.
"What say we get out of here, gentlemen?" The suggestion was met with hearty agreement. The place was cold and depressing, and it was Christmas Eve. The quartet was soon fighting their way back to the courtyard where transport waited. If only the children have as little difficulty, Severus thought briefly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Waking late in the dormitory on Christmas Eve, Harry found a bulky parcel at the end of his bed, identical ones waiting for Draco and Ron to rise. He glanced quickly at his pocketwatch, propped up on the nightstand. It was half eleven, and nearly time for lunch.
"Gerrup, you two," he growled. Draco, the light sleeper of the trio, sat up and stretched, but Ron slept on. "Armour's here, and it's almost lunch," the dork-haired boy explained to his blond friend.
"Well, let's wake Sir Temper Sleeps-a-lot, then." The former Slytherin stood shakily on his bed before leaping onto the third occupied four- poster, bouncing Ron a half metre into the air. The redhead jerked into consciousness in mid-flight.
"Oi! Dragon!" the indignant teen bellowed. "Why'd you wake me up? I was having the most wicked dream-"
"About Hermione," the other two boys chorused, causing Ron to flush. It was far too easy to tease him.
"Well, for one," Draco stated, "it's just about lunch time, and we all know how you get when you miss more than one meal a day."
"And two, Dumbledore's sent our armour. He did want to meet in that clearing at half five, right?" The redhead nodded as he gathered the package to himself. Dumbledore had involved the teen heavily in the planning of the raid on the Alpine castle once he discovered just how acute the young wizard's mind really was.
Putting their lessons with the headmaster out of his mind, Harry tore into the brown paper of the parcel. Brilliant purple was the first thing to meet his eyes. The brightly coloured cloth turned out to be a cloak large enough to fit him for years, with a silver thread woven in that gleamed when light hit it just right. The armour underneath-breastplate, greaves, a complete suit save helm and charmed to be light, durable, soundless, and to deflect many spells-shone gold and was partially lacquered in red and violet. The colours of his ancestry.
"Wicked," Ron murmured. Harry looked at his friend. The red cloak over the other boy's shoulder had gold highlights, and the teenager was holding up a silver breastplate, a coat of arms enamelled on it in red and gold. Draco had gently folded a similar blue cloak with bronze flashes over his lap and was methodically removing his own armour from the packaging. The bits Harry glimpsed matched the cloak.
The raven-haired Gryffindor looked again at his golden breastplate. Enamelled in crimson, a lion rampant roared, a violet halo topping its voluminous mane. Gryffindor crowned with Merlin's power. His parents had died for those bloodlines, but Voldemort was going to pay.
Just over four hours later, the Dream Team had once again retreated to their dormitories to prepare for battle. In silence, the boys buckled on the gleaming armour. It weighed no more than the robes they wore to classes, and made even less sound, even when pieces of metal knocked against each other. Yet more charms substituted for the padded suits knights had once worn beneath their own protection.
Harry swung his violet cloak over his shoulders and looked at his two best mates. Draco was ready, just checking the buckles again with the dark blue cloak shimmering bronze as he moved. Ron was crouched to tighten his left greave, his cloak gold across the expanse of his back. The green-eyed Gryffindor looked down his left arm to check his wand strapped to his forearm and saw a flash of silver from his own cloak.
"Ready, mates?" he asked. Both older boys nodded. They silently filed out of the room and down the stairs, meeting the other half of the group in the common room. Wordless yet meaningful glances were shared before hoods were pulled up and the edges of cloaks gathered together. Undisturbed, the Dream Team reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest fifteen minutes later and pushed through the underbrush at the edge.
"We could get to the clearing faster if we transformed," Hermione commented. Harry nodded.
"Draco and Lav should probably ride, though," he suggested. "We'll move faster, and they won't be exhausted afterwards." Flashing a grim smile, Harry quickly became the huge black panther that had spawned his nickname: Prowler. The blond in blue became his reptilian self-Powder-moments later, easily sliding up a furry leg and settling his not inconsiderable weight around the massive black neck like an exotic necklace.
~Oh, so that's what dragons smell like,~ the great cat 'pathed to his companions as he sniffed the air. ~Not you, Draco. The ones Charlie has brought. I can smell him, too.~
Ron blinked briefly before stroking the back of SkyStrike, who was perched on his arm. With a quick heave, the berserker hawk was in the air, and Ron transformed. The girls followed suit, Lav leaping to Flame's shoulders. With Sage and Redwing trailing SkyStrike, Flame roared and leapt forward. Honey cringed at the sound but maintained her perch. Prowler was quick to take the lead on the ground, Powder not hampering his movement at all.
Upon arrival at the clearing, Harry was greeted with a stranger sight than he could ever have imagined. Hermione and Ginny were human again, standing with Sirius, Remus, Charlie, Dumbledore, and a man he didn't recognize. A female Horntail-looking oddly familiar-stood near the centre, her wings spread to encircle something-or someone. Her head was not visible, and Harry didn't see Professor Snape around.
~Have to change back, mate. You're too heavy for me as a human, Draco. Ride's over.~ The constrictor quickly slid off before Harry changed forms. Ron and Lavender arrived then, rapidly doing likewise.
"Where's Uncle Sev?" Draco asked, worry in his voice. Charlie wordlessly pointed at the Horntail. {Shite.} Finally, Charlie found his voice.
"Erm, Professor Snape?" The strangled words caused the dragon to furl her wings and raise her head. Snape stood just before her, completely unharmed. He did look a bit shaken, but otherwise fine.
"It's all right. Shall we get a move on?" The lean professor's voice was almost normal. "The longer we stand around here, the longer Minerva remains in his clutches." The wizard glared. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Harry headed for one of the Horntail bulls. He cautiously allowed the vicious-looking male to smell his hand before climbing the scales of its foreleg and settling himself between two of the spinal ridges. He turned to give Ginny a hand up and noticed the Norwegian Ridgeback in the group. It looked almost small in the midst of the Horntails, but the raven-haired Gryffindor tried to estimate its actual size. The figure he ended up with was nearly a quarter again what he remembered as being the average size for the species. Then he added in the fact that the Ridgeback looked familiar.
"Hey Charlie," he called to the older Weasley. "Is that Norbert?" A crazy grin spread across the dragon handler's face as he nodded. "You might take him to see Hagrid later. It would make his day!" Charlie gave him a thumbs-up as the dragons began to lift into the air with great sweeps of outstretched wings.
[Sir Prowler, Lady Redwing, hold on,] a deep voice warned in their heads as they rose above the treetops. Startled, Harry wrapped his hands firmly around the ridge in front of him. Ginny's arms wrapped around him securely just before a jolt nearly unseated them both. Complete darkness and cold surrounded him, and he couldn't feel or see the ridge in his grip, Ginny against his back, or the scaly shoulders upon which he sat. It only took moments, but it felt like an eternity. With another yanking motion, darkness became twilight over a snowy mountain range. A dark castle perched on a slope dead ahead, one tower marking each end. Little was needed for Harry to recall Myrtle's information.
"When you approach, she's in the right-hand tower, at the very top."
The emerald eyes were drawn inexorably toward that tower. A large window broke the expanse of stone just under the conical roof. Faint light shone through the glass in the falling night. He could almost feel the professor's rage and despair. Had some sort of link been forged between them on the night she summoned him while he dreamed?
Pushing aside his speculations for the moment, Harry prepared himself for the landing. He made sure both his daggers and his sword-all the same artefacts that Godric Gryffindor had carried a millennium ago, of course- were just a little loose in their sheathes, ready to be drawn at need. His wand was bound to the inside of his left arm, easily accessible.
As they winged into the keep's courtyard, Norbert keened and belched a great fireball onto a cluster of dark-robed defenders. The six students cheered, turning the cry into a battle roar as they leapt from their mounts. From that moment, Harry did little thinking and much acting. For a moment, it seemed as if magic coursed through his body, and the castle doors exploded inwards. Death Eaters screamed as they were skewered by chunks of oak.
Instinct led Harry to the right along the corridor, long hours of training against the golems causing his blades to dart from target to target on reflexes. Nearly blind in his fury, the dark-haired Gryffindor was still able to avoid striking his bright-armoured companions.
There were times, however, when Harry was lucid enough to capture details in his memory.
Flash.
Ron, moving so fast in the thrall of the Blood Rage that he was a blur of cloak and metal, his quarterstaff invisible as it cracked skulls and arms.
Flash.
Ginny, surrounded by a flurry of small, sharp blades, each dagger resting in its target for only a few seconds before flying back to its sheath on one of the two bandoliers or the belt worn by the petite redhead.
Flash.
Himself and Hermione, fighting back-to-back, swords and dirks flashing like serpent's tongues and twice as deadly.
Flash.
Lavender, her nunchaku forming circular blurs, one hand rising to crack a jaw..
Flash.
Draco, by for the most elegant in their elaborate dance of death, pulling blows to cause irritating nicks and cuts and driving his opponents to attack recklessly.
Flash.
The clearest vignette was Draco reflecting a spell from his polished blade, then whirling as a Death Eater leapt at him from behind. The Dark wizard was impaled in mid-air.
With no proper sense of time, Harry had no idea how long they had fought when the spiralling tower stairs ended at a heavy oaken door. An iron- bound beam rested in hooks across both door and jamb to prevent it swinging inward. It was the work of a moment to heave aside the obstacle. The green-eyed teen didn't even bother with the latch, instead lashing out with a powerful side kick that shattered the stone jamb and bounced the door off the stone wall behind it just a few centimetres.
"Who--?" The startled exclamation in the voice that had been stalking his dreams for six months stoked the rage inside Harry to fever pitch. A look around the room added unnecessary fuel to the fire. Voldemort had backed Professor McGonagall into a corner. The witch's black hair flowed down her back, her grey-green eyes wide with terror. To Harry's dismay, she was clad only in a thin shift.
"Tom," he snarled, "Leave her alone." He crouched in front of the doorway, Godric's sword in his right hand and one of the daggers in his left. The violet cloak cascaded down his back, his armour gleaming in the faint candlelight. For a moment, he could see the skin of Voldemort's hairless scalp creep, as if trying to raise nonexistent fibres.
"Care to make me, boy?" The menacing tone held just a shiver of uncertainty. The young Gryffindor stepped further into the room, his friend spreading out to either side. Draco and Ron stood to his left and right and just a step back, as if wingmen in an aerial battle. Each of the young women took up position beside her soulmate. "So, poor little Ginny Weasley has finally been able to snare her 'hero.' You'll watch him die, girl." The sneer aimed just over said hero's shoulder trembled a fraction.
"Not likely, Tom, now or ever. You don't know this Harry Potter." He felt Ginny's left hand descend on his shoulder. "This Harry Potter is confident, well-trained, and backed by his friends, not frightened, ill- prepared and alone as you've always encountered him before." The words form the auburn-haired witch strengthened him.
"Besides," Ron added casually, "We're all powerful in our own rights as well." SkyStrike, now perched on the lanky redhead's shoulder, mantled and shrieked.
"Enough of this nonsense," the pale Dark Lord growled. Thirteen and a half inches of yew and phoenix feather pointed at Harry. "Crucio!" The spell jetted red sparks. Instinctively, the young wizard raised his left hand, still clutching the sinuous dagger. A curving wall of translucent silver flames sprang to life between the students and their foe, and the crimson was absorbed.
"I'm not going to waste my magic on you, Tom," he sneered as the hand fell and the gleaming shield disappeared. Harry stepped forward and grinned when Voldemort took a corresponding step back. "Are you afraid, Tom? Of a fifteen-year-old? Were you afraid of me when I was one?"
With a suddenness that nearly startled everyone in the room, the Dark Lord dashed past Harry for the door. The supposedly fearsome wizard stumbled and almost fell, but windmilled his arms and managed to stay on his feet. The green-eyed Gryffindor saw the cause a split second later. Ron had casually extended his quarterstaff along the floor, and the enemy has intersected it at ankle height. With lightning reflexes, the redhead snapped the cedar rod up for a humiliating and painful strike across the backside, propelling the megalomaniac wizard down the stairs.
"Well, that takes care of him for now." Draco's nonchalant statement seemed to snap the professor out of a trance.
"Oh, Circe." The witch's moan was followed by a brief movement. Harry found himself wrapped in her arms, her tears trickling through his armour to dampen the crimson turtleneck underneath. He stood there dazed and absently sheathed the dagger he held, using the hand to pat his professor's back.
Confused, the raven-haired teen looked around, his emerald eyes catching Draco's polished silver orbs. A glimmer of laughter shone in the metallic eyes.
{And the hero comforts the victim, yet cannot assuage the pain in his own heart.} The thought was a mere whisper across the bond, accompanied by a dry chuckle full of sympathy.
~I don't know what to do with her, mate,~ he replied. ~Give me a hand here, will you?~ Wordlessly, the blond quirked a half-smile and gently took hold of one long, delicate hand.
"Professor," the other boy murmured, "let's get you out of here." Somehow, the former Slytherin detached the woman from her death grip on the younger boy and gathered her, weeping, into his own arms. {She's freezing. Let's get her to Dumbledore.}
The older boy made sense, so Harry unclasped his cloak and draped the warm but light fabric over the dark-haired witch's shoulders. She barely noticed, sobbing into Draco's shoulder. Without the faintest idea of how to deal with a traumatized woman, Harry simply turned towards the door, sword in hand. Any Death Eater who got in the way would pay dearly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Hush, Professor," Draco murmured as he stroked the wavy black hair. "Come on now, it's time to go home." His arms still around McGonagall, he steered the witch out the door and down the stairs.
"Harry," the woman sobbed. Draco felt a stab of pity, not knowing whether it was for his best friend or his teacher.
"He's all right. He doesn't know how to cope with the situation, is all. It's frustrating him no end." The blond could feel the rage boiling beneath the surface, despite the excellent mental shields Harry had built.
"Careful. His minions are everywhere-" A wracking cough halted the warning.
"We know, Professor. We fought through them to get to you. They won't want to get in the way." In fact, the group left the stairwell moments later, surprising a clump of Death Eaters at the other end of the corridor. The dark-robed adults hesitated only a moment before fleeing in terror.
Ron, his worry leaking through the Frateris bond, glanced at Draco and his charge briefly and dropped back.
"I'll take her, Dragon," the redhead offered. Draco nodded, and Ron continued to speak softly as he picked up the teary-eyed witch. "We can move faster this way. It's all right, Professor. Mum's waiting for us all at the castle. She'll be so happy to see you." McGonagall clutched the teen's neck like a lifeline.
It was only a matter of minutes before the group emerged into the moonlit courtyard. Draco breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his godfather's bright green cloak and the crimson of the two Marauders. The strange man in yellow was also with them, and they seemed unhurt. Thank the gods.
The Potions Master was the first to see the teenagers and their teacher and stepped forward, holding out a familiar wand. As the older woman accepted the fourteen-inch length, Draco recognized it as the Transfiguration Professor's primary wand. Her spare was probably still strapped to Harry's arm underneath the armour. Then Dumbledore came up behind the newly rescued witch.
"Minerva?" the wizened headmaster said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. A hint of fright in her eyes, she turned her head. The sight of the wizard melted the fright into joy, and she burst into tears again.
"Uncle Albus," she sobbed, flinging her arms around his torso. A little shocked, Dumbledore began to make soothing sounds, stroking his protégée's black hair.
"I haven't needed to comfort you since you were in school, my dear," Draco heard the venerable wizard whisper. "Everything will be all right, my dear." With a nod to the two generations of students around him, the headmaster guided his deputy to one of the female dragon's , who immediately crouched as low to the ground as she possibly could. The remainder of the group quietly clambered atop the other dragons as the female leapt from the ground with a mighty sweep of her wings.
[Hold tightly, Sir Powder, Lady Honey. Here we go again.] For the second time that night, Draco wondered how the dragons knew their codenames. Perhaps the creatures he was named for could read their minds. Regardless of what he was thinking, his grip on the spinal ridge tightened and Lavender's arms about his waist became comfortably snug. Seconds later he was submerged in inky blackness and biting cold. Again, he barely had time to take in the strange surroundings before the jolting motion of transfer came a fourth time. A three-quarters full moon shone down on the eight dragons and their passengers as they winged over the tangled treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
Instead of landing in the clearing they'd left, the flight continued over the snow-shrouded grounds to land in front of the great oaken doors of the castle.
"Thank you," the blond said as he gave the shoulder before him a firm whack. His namesakes didn't have to do anything for them, after all. The bull snorted as Draco slid down the scaly leg, the hot breath producing a large cloud of steam. The fifth-year was catching his honey-haired companion when the doors flew open and five very worried witches rushed out to greet them.
"You did it!" Madam Pomfrey crowed, embracing both Dumbledore and McGonagall. Mrs. Weasley promptly began to fuss over her three offspring, as well as Hermione and Harry. Professor Figg was wrapped around Sirius, and his Aunt Rita had appeared from somewhere to thoroughly snog Moony.
Wait. Aunt Rita and Moony snogging? Draco looked again. Yes, they were, and they looked as if they were quite enjoying themselves. He shuddered. For some reason, his godmother with anyone felt slightly off. For the man to be a second godfather to his best friend-if such a thing was possible- made it even stranger.
Joining Pomfrey in cosseting the deputy headmistress was Professor Sprout. While her presence was mildly surprising, it made a certain amount of sense. Both witches were Heads of their particular Houses, and had worked together for years. They might even share a fairly close friendship, unknown to the students. Draco's speculation was suddenly halted by Lavender's elbow in his ribs.
"Professor Snape looks a bit lonely, don't you think?" the girl whispered. The Potions Master was indeed drooping, and the boy knew why. Wen Altair wasn't there to coo over the wizard. A half-smile quirking his lips, Draco moved to stand by his godfather.
"Thanks for helping, Uncle Sev," he said quietly. The pale man jumped slightly, but relaxed immediately.
"You youngsters did the important part," he demurred. "You deserve the credit."
"It was a two-pronged attack. You and the others got her wand back. And you kept us from being overwhelmed by Death Eaters. Besides, what would Wen say if she heard you talking like that?" The little jab was rewarded by a faint blush colouring his godfather's features. "Go fire-call her and wish her a Happy Christmas for me." Uncle Sev rolled his eyes, but Draco saw him smile a bit as he swept into the castle.
"Oh, Harry!" The sound of Professor McGonagall's voice made the blond turn and look. Still wrapped in only her shift and Harry's violet cloak, the woman had wrapped herself around the young wizard again. "This is the best Christmas present I could have gotten!"
"Oh, Circe," the former Slytherin muttered to himself. "Not again." His best friend was going to be 'adopted' by yet another person. Of course, the Weasleys had first claim on the boy hero. Hagrid, according to Harry, was somewhat like a tornado in some Muggle story about a girl named Dorothy. Draco didn't understand much except that the half-giant had swept his friend from his horrible life with the Dursleys into the wonders of the wizarding world.
He knew now just how bad an impression he had made that day in Madame Malkin's. Compared to him, the Weasleys must have seemed like a flock of descending angels. Strange angels, but angels regardless. It explained Harry's reaction on the train very well.
It was going to be a strange Christmas, as far as Draco was concerned. At least he'd have good use of his present fund this year.
Next chapter may seem a bit sappy and dull to many of you after this action- packed instalment, but I promise some plot twists you may not be expecting! See you next time!
Beth Weasley