Harry Potter and the Shard of Magic.
By Wihstrum
Chapter Nineteen: Merry Belated Christmas.
Part Two: BitterSweet
The cheerless cold of the bitter winter hung in thin strips of gray fog over the seemingly dead plains surrounding the Malfoy Manor. The once majestic mansion stood now solitary in the dark night cloaking it, and the once so vibrant green nature encircling it had decayed and withered away, claimed by the shroud of death oozing the atmosphere. The Manor was no longer what it had been; the times of glory long past and forgotten. Only despair and hatred could remain here. All was silent, as dead as the permeating evil aura from the Dark Lord residing in the house.
A long, cloaked figure of black stood unmoving in front of one of the high arched windows, the reflection of the misshapen face reflecting in the clear glass. At the long wooden dinner table, his most loyal Death Eaters gathered. His expression contorted with vexation as his servants shouted heatedly, still arguing over what should be done to bend the course of the war back to their favor.
"We must get rid of Potter at once!" hissed Bellatrix, venom soaked into every word, "Even if only he lies dead in our hands, we have already won."
Nott shook his head irritably, "And how do you propose we do that? That old fool has a small army defending him, we stand no chance."
Bellatrix's upper lip drew up loathingly, "You are such a coward, Nott. Remember that I am watching your every move closely, it suits me nothing that you have not yet let your son –Theodore- be initiated."
"How dare you," he growled and sent his chair skittering backwards as he pushed himself away from the table, standing up in one swift motion, "Theodore told me himself that he is merely too young to be granted the honor of being marked, that he finds himself still unworthy for such a glory!"
"Both Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle have been initiated, so why not your son?" Bellatrix pushed on angrily.
Lucius let his fist fall heavily on the polished surface of the table, "Enough with your senseless quarreling! We must con-"
"Hold your mouth, Lucius!" Bellatrix interjected, glaring at him from under the heavy eyelids, "You have failed our Lord already once. Obviously you have been a complete imbecile if your own treacherous blood is being a whore for none other than Potter himself!"
The gray eyes of the blonde haired man went glacial and before either of the company had caught the movement, Lucius held the tip of his wand at Bellatrix's throat. It was then that the Dark Lord himself lost his patience, and without any audible whisper he had both of them seized in a Cruciatus curse. He entertained himself briefly by watching them spasm and shudder violently on the floor, before having to release them if he did not wanted them to be beyond sanity. Besides they were too useful to already being discarded of. Both their forms shivered and convulsed from the aftershock, and the rest of the assembly was staring shaken at their comrades. "Now, now, my friends," Voldemort shushed mockingly, a parody of a gentle smile crossing his snake-like features, "This is no time for strife. Not when I have thought of a solution for our problem." He glanced disinterestedly at the bent shapes of both Lucius and Bellatrix groveling obediently at his feet.
"What is this plan you have worked out, my Mighty Lord?" Avery ventured quietly.
Voldemort's red eyes lingered on him, long enough to make him flinch, before continuing with a satisfied smirk on his face, "Potter's life is out of our reach for now, so we must turn to the next problem at our hands: the girl." He paused, giving their pathetic little brains the opportunity to take in the information, "It seems that they have not just yet realized how powerful a weapon they are holding, but that will take not long anymore. From the events on Christmas's Eve my worst fears have been confirmed: soon all of them will feel the changes and we must strike now when they are still vulnerable.
"I do not know all of who were involved in the summoning of Draco Malfoy, but I am certain that Potter himself and the girl were involved. Without realizing what she has done the girl has altered their fates and handed them the key to gaining the upper hand. Soon all of them will begin to realize just what the consequences will be, and how they could be able to use them against us. We must annihilate her now –when they are still weak and oblivious to the power she has unknowingly offered them."
The Death Eaters were hanging on his lips, hoping to be involved in their Master's plans, "We could have my son sneak in the castle, my lord, and I strongly doubt that they would have been smart enough to take precautions in case one of them would sneak in at night. He would be able to slip by the wards unnoticed and Avada Kedavra the girl while she sleeps." Goyle offered eagerly, wishing to get in his Master's good graces.
"Have you not listened, Death Eater?" Voldemort said with a deadly calm, before pursing his lips as if he were chiding a disobedient child, "I already have a plan." Yet as he spoke with the honey-slick tone, he waved his wand idly, as if his hands were itching to wring the life out of him.
Goyle spluttered to offer his apologies, but Voldemort quieted him with an impatient gesture of his skeletally thin hand, "I will generously offer Lucius a second chance to prove his worth," he turned to the so-said man, pinning the frightened creature under his poisonous glare, "Fudge is a desperate man, Lucius… maybe you should offer him your support. He is losing popularity and is willing to accept every given chance with both his dirtied hands."
Lucius blinked at him non-understandingly, but wisely remained mute, knowing that if he dared to interrupt now, something more permanent than Cruciatus would come his way.
"If you act quickly, and donate generously for his good cause. And maybe with some persuasion," The Dark Lord smirked wickedly, "He will grant you the authority to confiscate a certain bothersome weapon of war held in Hogwarts. A weapon forged by blood magic, disguised as an innocent girl, hidden between all those poor, vulnerable students…" he clasped a pale hand over the place where his heart should be, in mock concern, and several Death Eaters snickered dutifully. "Besides, Avada Kedavra will not be sufficient to dispatch of her completely."
This time Lucius carefully voiced his question, "But I thought that we had left her unguarded to Avada Kedavra, in case something went wrong and we would have to exterminate her… as has happened now."
Voldemort nodded, "True, the vessel will not withstand the Killing curse, but the spirit will. That's when we are in trouble; you see, the night that they summoned Draco Malfoy, I suspect the girl possessed Potter. He alone would have been able to heal Malfoy, for the girl has no such abilities strong enough to save him. She does not possess someone like Imperio; no, she abandons her vessel completely and merges her magic spirit –her very core- with that of the other person. If we take away her vessel, there is no doubt that she will seek out Potter's body as her host –thus easily tripling the boy's magic capacity. And that is the very thing we are trying to avoid happening here."
"Then how will we kill her?" Bellatrix asked anxiously.
The Dark Lord licked his thin lips and shook his mutated head, "Not kill, my dear Bellatrix." An ominous glimmer lighted his scarlet eyes, "We will break her." a chilling laugh rolled out of his soulless body into the night air.
Miles away from Wiltshire and the Malfoy Manor, in Ottery St. Catchpole…
"Oh c'mon, Malfoy," Harry challenged as bend down, scooping up a handful of snow, patting it quickly into a ball and eying Ron wearily from his shelter behind a large oak, "Don't be such a girl."
Draco –still bonded to Harry through life-force- was holding the Gryffindor's upper arm loosely. Having slept bare-chested with him for the night had boosted their resistance strong enough that just making contact was enough for now. "Shut up, Potter." he sneered, doing his best to look menacingly, "Snowball-fights are such a primitive form of entertainment"
Not having paid much attention to Draco's complaints, Harry sent his snowball sailing straight at Ron, who futilely tried to duck the projectile thrown with Seeker-accuracy.
"I can't believe you Gryffindors," Draco droned on irritably, "Playing around like infants." He threw up his free hand in aggravation and scowled.
"Hey Ferret-face!" Harry's best friend called out from over a distance away.
In a completely instinctive reaction, Draco turned his head, teeth bared and ready to snap a withering remark. "What is it Wea-"
Splat!
"Eat that Malfoy!" Ron bellowed, safely out of the Slytherin's range.
With a violent move of his hand he wiped the snow from his face and spit out the half-melted cold water, revealing a face flustered with humiliation, "Why you…you…" grabbing a hand of snow, pressing it together and casting a banishing charm he send it straight at Ron who barely ducked it.
Harry having watched the brief interaction with profound amusement promptly received a shower of snow against the back of his head, and whirling around he was just in time to see Ginny and Hermione duck away behind some barrels, giggling, "Hey!" he shouted indignantly.
The avengement followed instantly and within seconds the snow-covered fields surrounding the Burrow were converted into a battlefield of chaotic white missiles thrown at everything that dared to move. Harry and Draco effectively managed to from a strong team, rivaling against the twins, with Ron, Ginny and Hermione running havoc in between them all. Before any of them was aware of it, there were shrieks of laughter, screaming and snow-wrestling, none of them caring whether they were getting soaked wet.
It was when Draco finally managed to pelt one of the twins, which one was unclear –with their caps they looked even more alike- that he and Harry joined hands in a high-five for victory.
"Nice move there, Malfoy." Harry commented in what he imagined to be an obnoxious way.
The blonde gave him an incredulous look, "Of course, I'm a Slytherin." He glanced furtively around to see where his foes had gone, "One of us has to have style here."
Before Draco managed to locate the twins, he was tackled from behind by no one else than Harry himself, the Gryffindor determined to get him back for the remark. He landed gracelessly into a heap, Harry somewhere on top of him, trying to turn the Slytherin into a snowman in record-time. After a struggle, Draco managed to reverse the positions and was doing a pretty good job of filling Harry's sweater with the icy snow, drawing choked cries from the Gryffindor at the cold contact.
Their companions briefly halted their own warfare to check whether to two of them were really fighting again –like old times. And they were just about to interfere, when Harry rolled them both over and pinned both Draco's hands next to his head into the snow. The blonde let out a startled squeak, causing Harry to grin triumphantly and then –rather clumsily- he bent down and seized Draco's lips. Gray eyes flew open momentarily with bewilderment, until –how they had gotten there he did not remember- Harry's hands were on his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones softly, reverently.
Particularly Ron let out a strange whimper and turned to look the other way, the twins stood there rather shocked, jaws hanging open, and both Hermione and Ginny were holding back a giggle.
It was the first time they had actually so openly displayed any affection, and certainly nothing as passionate and intimate as this. Until now they had merely talked civilly and only a tentative comforting hand or word had been exchanged from Harry's side in the company of others.
The blonde wizard squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively trying close of the part of his soul he was threatening to bare, just as Harry's nose moved to nuzzle his cheek, lips brushing over Draco's as he did so; a silent plea for trust. Draco could deny him that no longer and he wound a hand in the ebony tresses, pulling him closer. Everything started to spin around; all of his senses were lost on the sea of emotions. They kept on kissing, their lips meeting with an incredible force, just able to feel, when accidentally their tongues met. Harry, absolutely not very experienced at all –were it kissing a girl or boy-, drew back, completely puzzled and dazed.
They gazed at each other intently, when abruptly the delicacy of the moment came crashing down on them when they realized they had an audience. Harry spluttered incoherently and tried to look anywhere but at him. Draco swallowed and then in a brief moment of inspiration to break the awkward silence, the Slytherin pushed a handful of snow in Harry's face.
Scrambling quickly to his feet, Draco tried to avoid the counter-attack the Gryffindor unleashed on him, quickly aided by the rest of his house-mates. By the time revenge had been taken and the awkward moment overcome the whole group was sopping wet and the biting temperatures were numbing their limbs.
"I surrender!" Draco yelled from under his arms trying to protect his face, as both Harry and Ginny continued to dump armful of snow unto him. His captors brought an end to their proceedings, stumbling to their feet laughing. "Heathens," Draco muttered, as the youngest Weasley couldn't resist rubbing one last handful of snow through his hair.
The word had barely left his mouth and Harry already had another pack of snow ready to bestow on him for the comment. Holding his hands up in surrender he said dryly: H"Okay, okay, I know! Powerful is the vengeance of the mighty Gryffindor."
A satisfied smirk curled the raven-head's lips -an expression that made him look rather like Draco himself- and he helped the blonde back to his feet. A few yards away from them Ron was finally being released from the thorough torture his twin brothers had placed on him and he scurried towards the house, looking a little blue and teeth rattling from the cold.
When rubbing his hands together to chase of the
cold did not work, Draco moved to tuck them in his pockets. Before he
could do so, Harry took both his hands in his own freezing ones and
then, slowly, shyly, guided them under the hem of his own soaked
sweater, pressing them against his abdomen. Harry let out a hiss at the
sudden cold contact, before ducking his head to hide his flushed
cheeks. Draco himself jumped from the bloody intimacy of the gesture.
It took Harry a lot of his famed Gryffindor courage before he actually
dared to meet Draco's eyes, inwardly cursing himself for the impulsive
reaction. The Slytherin however offered a smug smirk, his face a
careful mask of aloofness; yet leaving his eyes open to convey what he
was feeling.
Just as he turned his hands over, pressing the backs
of his hands against the warm expanse of Harry's skin, grinning when
the latter jumped again at the cold, there was an explosion of furious
profanity. Both of them closed in the distance between them and the
group of bustling Weasleys, the tirade coming from none other than Ron,
soon joined by both the twins.
"HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE AGAIN! YOU TRAITOR! YOU LEFT MUM WITH A BROKEN HEART AND YOU COME HERE TO ASK FORGIVENESS!" roared Ron.
"-YOU THREW IT ALL BACK IN HER FACE! YOU PATHETIC LI-" screamed George.
It did not take long for Harry to realize what was going on here, and when he moved to peek over a growling Ginny's shoulder that this suspicion was confirmed: futile were Percy's attempts to voice whatever it was that he wanted to say. It seemed that only Harry cared about how awful the young man looked, his clothes torn and he was sporting a large head wound where scarlet blood poured from liberally. His body quavered with barely concealed exhaustion, both emotional and physical, and while he seemed determined to say something, guilt was written all over his face.
"Guys!" Harry tried whilst raising his voice.
Nobody acknowledged this pursuit to reason, and the verbal offense simply continued.
"Hey c'mon guys!" he tried again, frowning irately.
Again, nothing changed, and it seemed rather than quieting down that the Weasley siblings continued with even more furious vigor.
Percy spluttered and silent tears traced his cheeks. Harry clenched his fists, his emotion reaching new highs; "SILENCE!" a magical outburst rolled heavily through the air, clearing in a wide circular diameter the whole area of snow and generally every sound. The mouths of the redheads moved unfaltering for a few more seconds before realizing they had lost their voice. Ron's mouth formed the words 'what the bloody hell?' but that was as far that he managed to express himself. Still trembling and unaware of the tendrils of pure, uncontrolled magic circling around his body, stirring his coal-colored hair, Harry's chest rose and fell laboriously. It wasn't until Draco managed to quell his shock, grab the Gryffindor's shoulder and shake him that Harry snapped out of it, that all sound returned immediately with an almost deafening impact: birds twittering busily, the air stirring the bald limbs of the trees, the crunching sounds of their footfalls in the snow, and the Weasleys' ragged breathing.
"What the bloody hell?" Ron did manage this time, voicing everyone's opinion. All the attention was transfixed on the perplexed boy-who-lived whom was trying to understand himself how he had just silenced basically a part of the world with a display of wandless magic he did not even know.
"Er…" Harry hesitated, at a temporary loss for words, "w-why don't we go inside to, you know, eh..." He stuttered, clearly shaken himself.
Hermiode put a tentative comforting hand on his shoulder, and steered Harry towards the house to do what he had just proposed himself.
So that's how they ended up twenty minutes later around the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, with an hysterically sobbing Molly clinging to an unmanly sniffing Percy, each of them offering each other apologies. Yet the reunion wasn't all that celebrated by the entire Weasley household: Harry sat faithful besides Ron, his mere presence offering the support the redhead needed, Hermione whispering soothing words to Ginny, who appeared torn between ripping out Percy's liver or hugging him to suffocation, the twins surprisingly still all of a sudden, yet their eyes betraying no good, Arthur cleaning the wound on Percy's temple, doing his best to hold back the tears of joy himself and finally Draco, leaning casually back in his chair, a leg hooked around Harry's and watching the scene with divided interest between said-scene and his piece of chocolate.
After a while Percy finally attempted to escape his mother's death-grip on him, and tried to say what he had come for in the first place, "I know I do not deserve your forgiving, but at least let me try to explain… I-"
But before he could go any further, Ron raised himself, his hands clenching the wooden tabletop with such force that his knuckles turned white, "Damn right you don't deserve it! Only when you have nothing left you come crawling back to us!"
Now he was slowly rounding the table, to the other side where Percy was sitting struck on his chair. Before it actually happened, Harry, Hermione and Draco could feel the hairs in the back of their necks rising, and miles away from there Alex, Finbar and Blaise halted their proceedings for the same reason. It was a ripple of uncontrolled magic pouring from Ron, which rose the temperature in the Burrow with easily ten degrees in barely a fraction of a heartbeat.
The emanation of this energy continued, exactly as Ron went on, "You are a pathetic traitor; turning on us for the prestige your position at Fudge's side provided you…" he halted right before Percy, their faces barely a inch apart, and everybody in the room was sweating purposefully, all except Ron himself "You even denied all what we were working so hard for to defend; our beliefs! YOU DISGUST ME!" at those last shouted words the fire in the hearth blazed upwards in a roaring torrid of consuming rage. The flames spilled over the floor, and still Ron went on, screaming his disgust in Percy's pale face. As if fueled with this fury, the flames ate their way closer, the crackling eerily resembling a gleeful chuckle.
Harry, who had scrambled of his own position at the table and therefore had forced Draco to move with him, had now made his way over to his erratic friend. The fire set alight the whole room and it was when Harry started calling Ron's name that the rest snapped out of the stupor and tried to put a stop to the untamable fire. "RON!" Harry cried shaking the arm of the latter. When Ginny's shrill scream reached his ears because the fire scored her delicate skin, Harry bit his lower lip, yanked Ron none too gently to face him and slapped him full-force in the face.
The impact of the blow was so strong that Ron's head jerked sideward and he stumbled to one knee.
As if released by a spell, the fire died out…
At the Quiddich Pit…
Finbar clutched his Nimbus 2000 when a wave of nausea undulated in his stomach, and a few meters higher above him in the air; Alex did the same, dropping the Quaffle. Blaise, who had been watching the high-pitched one-on-one swayed on his legs and sought out the support of the stands to balance himself. Meanwhile Alex staggered off her broom, or rather Draco's –the only thing that he had left at school and had therefore not been lost- and started to mumble something about fire and Ron. When both Finbar and Blaise queried what she was talking about, Alex closed her eyes, clutched her forehead and held her breath.
"They are okay." She murmured, "Draco says that the whole place is in chaos…"
Blaise and Finbar exchanged a look, "Alex," the Slytherin started diplomatically, "Draco is not here, remember? He is still at-"
Pushing away his hand on her back, Alex snapped, "Yes Blaise, I know!" and then realizing that neither of her companions knew about the telepathic link she and the blonde youth shared, she apologized, "Sorry… I'll explain later…"
At the Burrow…
Shaking violently, Ron stared numbly at the black charred floor marking most of the living room. He was a monster; was the endless mantra droning on in his head, and he was even oblivious to the gentle words coming from both his best friends. It had controlled him like some sort of drug, the anger, it had poured from his very being and he was aware of what was happening, but did not recognize it until Harry had literally punched him out of it. It was as if he'd gone berserk and he absently wondered whether it was similar to what a werewolf experienced every full moon. For what must have been the twentieth time a flood of apologies came from his mouth and Hermione soothingly ran a hand over his face to calm him.
Draco, who was holding Harry's free hand, was frowning studiously, trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Meanwhile he conversed mentally with his fellow Slytherin, giving her access to watch through his eyes. His friend insisted that they needed to tell the rest of the company about 'her', that it was vital for them to know. And when he finally gave in, even though he thought it was none of their business, Draco promised that he and Harry would tell Weasel and Granger, while Alex would tell Finbar and Blaise. Something big was happing here, and Draco's intuition told him that the consequences were already taking place. The consequences of the reason he was still alive while he should have been dead.
Unable to explain, even though he tried, his family ensured Ron that it was alright. Yet their faces belied their own conviction of that statement, and all of them kept glancing worriedly at the young redhead.
When most of the damage wrecked by the fire had been repaired with combined force, everybody sat down in the living, and though they all tried to force their expressions to be relaxed, a certain tension dominated the atmosphere. A subdued fire had been cast in the hearth again, and the red flames seemed so innocent and small compared to the sea of murderous inferno from barely an hour ago.
At first a tentative hushed conversation took place, which strayed subsequently from the mysterious fire back to the source of all things: the arrival of Percy. This time though, Ron remained impassionate when Percy started talking and his attention was even aroused when his older brother came to the bottom of things; "Fudge has gone mad," he rasped, blue eyes glazing over as he recalled what had happened the very morning, "Things have been going bad for quite some time now, after the battle at the Department of Mystery, making the return of He-who-must-not-be-named official. And after the clearing of Black's name, which meant there had been an innocent man been locked away in Azkaban, and after the betrayal of the dementors, even though Fudge had proclaimed they were on our side… "
Though he tried, Harry couldn't suppress a snort and was surprised when Draco did exactly the same in unison with him.
Percy faltered briefly in his explanation at that, and his eyes fastened on the unexplainable presence of Draco Malfoy. Then he ploughed on, "When I arrived this morning, I entered the minister's office to hand in the reports I had to finish…" he was staring openly at Draco now, the Slytherin returning the gaze coldly with dawning understanding of what had happened, "A-and," Percy went on, "Sitting there, talking calmly with Fudge w-was…"
"Lucius." Draco finished for him, his voice deceivingly steady.
Percy nodded eagerly, slumping back in his armchair, "I was shocked and I tried to ask… why there was a man that had been proved a Death Eater in the office… b-but when I said that, he went crazy. He said that Lucius was an honorable man, who had just been at the wrong place on the wrong time. I countered by saying that he had been questioned under Veritaserum and thus had confessed his allegiance to the Dark Lord, but he cursed me…" a trembling hand moved to touch the mended wound on his head.
His eyes were closed while Draco's mind rushed at top speed through the meager information he had. At long last he turned to the raven haired Gryffindor, "Harry, do you think this has something to do with your scar this morning?" That very same morning, Harry had awoken Draco as he laid turning and twisting among the covers, grunting in agony. Even in his sleep he was unconsciously covering his scar with a hand.
Hermione opened her mouth to demand why he hadn't told them, so that they could have consulted Dumbledore about it, but Harry silenced her with a stern look, "Yes, very possible," he said slowly, "He was pleased."
Through narrowed eyes, Draco squinted absently into the fire, "Why would they risk such a thing?" he questioned no-one in particular, "The whole society will oppose him, what does he possibly hope to accomplish in such a short notice?"
There were no answers to these questions, and all of them sat in a tense silence, each one of them brooding on their own doubts and suspicions
That same evening, at Hogwarts…
Alex's throat was dry after she had retold exactly what Harry and Draco had learned to both her companions. After the Gryffindor had snuck late at night into the Slytherin common room, Finbar and Blaise had breathlessly listened to every word Alex had said to them. And how incredible the whole tale might seem, it made a lot of sense to Gryffindor. For one; now he understood why his Auratic Sight was so controlled around her: the additional magic that radiated from her allowed the little extra he needed to rein this ability.
The brown haired Slytherin's face gave no single emotion away. His gaze was intense, and he looked at her from under hooded eyelids. Also, Blaise was the first to break the silence with rather a statement than a question: "So, actually, that makes Lucius your father, does it not?"
Her reaction was not what he expected: her head whirled around to choke his aloofness with burning green eyes. The answer was partially hissed in scarcely repressed anger, "Don't you dare to speak of that man as my father. He is a murderer," with sharp movements she stood up and paced to the other side of the dorm to vent her disgust on something else, "Innocent blood stained the hands of Lucius as they created me." Alex turned and she opened her arms in emphasizes when she said, "My flesh is being supported by the skeleton of a young dragoon girl and within me beats the stolen heart of a dragon. My innocent appearance was created by the maiden blood of a virgin, taken by force!
"I am a goddamn abomination! Lucius did not want to give life, he sought to create death." Were the uncharacteristically bitter words coming from the young woman standing before them.
Finbar leaned back into the pillows and tilted his head sideward, his loose dark hair brushing his cheek, "And yet you stand here as our friend."
Then Blaise cut of any protests she might have had by saying; "If that is so then I suggest you'd better not throw away those sacrifices, but use them to give back what was taken." Was his blunt advice, yet as always rang true.
Alex didn't even get to murmur a reply, but instead lowered herself heavily next to Blaise. Holding her head in both hands, feeling as if it were going to burst, she sighed deeply, "I know," she whispered barely audible, "I feel so hollow."
Both young men felt their hearts ache for this creature, and Blaise, in a rare display of total un-Slytheriness caressed her white locks soothingly.
Finbar tried to steer the conversation to a slightly less dire topic; "I always thought dragoons were a legend."
In a horrible attempt to appear less repelled, Alex tried to joke: "Sure they are… and Tolkien was a muggle."
"Wasn't he?" Blaise said with a smirk, revealing perfect pure white teeth, his brown eyebrows cresting in taunting query.
Alex allowed her thoughts to stray and gratefully continued this meaningless conversation… A topic so much safer than the origin of her grim existence. She reached over to the bedside table and picked up that book that she had gotten from Hermione for her Christmas, "This my dear Blaise," she said, whilst waving her copy of Lord of the Rings in front of his face, "is the perfect proof of alternate dimensions."
The Slytherin snorted, "Right. Sure it is."
"Oh c'mon Zabini!" Alex said with a disbelieving laugh, "You don't actually think he made all of this up? No muggle could possible do that! This is the proof of a wizard that was granted a glimpse of an alternate universe!"
"Eeeeh…nooo," Blaise interjected, "That is the proof that wizards with no life and an unhealthy supply of fire whiskey do eventually go mad."
He's right you know… Came Draco's dry interjection in her mind. Giving him a mental swat over the head she countered, Shut up blondie, and busy yourself with boy toy over there. Muttering vehemently Draco grudgingly retreated and Alex grinned to herself in silent victory.
When she turned back to her friends, both young wizards were raising their eyebrows. "I take it that was a mental conversation?" Finbar smiled at her.
She nodded her confirmation and stretched her arm so the still nameless lizard would crawl leisurely its way up to her shoulder.
The next morning, it was Saturday by now, Harry finished a similar explanation to both his best friends. Both of them were shaking their heads incredulously, amazed that the truth could be so harsh. The girl they had accepted as a friend was originally created a weapon for war, and had been awakened this summer in order to gain control over her again to annihilate Harry.
Draco voiced his suspicion about the progress of the consequences.
"So you think the whole fire incident yesterday was because of Christmas?" Ron asked confused, frowning because it seemed so surreal.
The blonde Slytherin barely wasted a glare on him, but continued nevertheless; "Yes. Think about it: Alex, the true Alex, is pure magic. The same magic that runs through both your and my veins. When she united the lot of you to summon me back, she acted like a catalyst… modifying and increasing the rate of a magical reaction without being consumed in the process. It sounds implausible but what if she not only modified the given energy, but also the initial source." He paused meaningfully, gauging their confused reaction, "Us."
Both male Gryffindors were gaping in a rather goldfish-like fashion at him, and only Hermione seemed to be with him, "I think that you might be closer to the truth than you think…"
Draco interrupted briefly be murmuring 'of course, I'm a Malfoy, I'm always right' in a very superior tone, but Hermione wisely ignored it.
"You see; there was a… something like a shock, a spark, which went through all of us… as if…" Hermione trailed of, unable to describe what she had felt.
"As if something awoke in us." Ron murmured softly.
Harry nibbled his lower lip while his fingers threaded their way through a ruffle of unkempt black hair. "The wheel of fate turns…" he repeated Finbar's words softly, "It doesn't make any sense…"
The statement however was not followed by a much desired answer, but by a deep stillness. The four of them were waging a war against their inner turmoil, trying to tame it in order to get some answers.
Harry himself was deep in introspection. His chin was propped up the palm of his hand, the other resting on Draco's knee. Opposite of him sat both his friends, Hermione rubbing the pad of her thumb over a distressed Ron's wrist. The werewolf's words lingered in the middle of his jumbled thoughts. The prophecy. What if Alex had unconsciously not only modified their magic, but also their fates? Immediately Harry felt very guilty; how could he be so cowardly to wish for someone else to fulfill his destiny? Besides, it was unlikely that Alex had saved him from becoming either a murderer or a murdered one himself.
"Another thing," Hermione spoke up suddenly, and her deep brown eyes traveled over the gap between herself and Ron to the two young men. Her gaze lingered on the hand Harry was still resting on Draco's knee, "What are you two going to do when we go back?"
Both of them followed Hermione's pointedly glance at the hand on Draco's knee. The Gryffindor sighed deeply, and squeezing softly the warmth of the Slytherin's leg, though rather possesivly, "We thought it would be better if we tried to pretend like nothing's happened."
"Right," Ron spluttered, "You forgot the mushy farewell kiss." Again, he spontaneously shuddered.
Draco shook his head, "Alex has persuaded that werewolf guy of yours to talk to the Gryffindors who witnessed that to keep quiet. Seems rather stupid to trust those idiots, but who am I to tell?"
"We can trust them!" Hermione came to her housemates' defense, "Anyway, I think both of you are out of your minds. How could you possibly hope to be separated for more than an hour? Not even a week has passed!" her tone was calm and reasonable and both of them knew she was right.
The Gryffindor shrugged helplessly, "We need Draco to have their trust. He alone now can influence them enough to stay at least neutral." His eyes were anchored to the floor and before he could stop himself the truth sealed deep within came out; "Besides, if he stays close to me, he'll become a target. I don't want him to-to… get hurt."
That had been something Harry had not told him. Draco's eyes were widened in surprise as he realized that the Gryffindor's greatest concern was not the alliance the Slytherins would choose, but his safety. A loose laugh slipped from him, similar like bark, coming deep from within his chest, "Don't be going all Gryffindor on me Harry, I'm a big boy, I think I can handle it myself."
It seemed that only Hermione caught the suggestive waggling of his eyebrows, but neither Harry nor Ron did. The Slytherin's grin widened at the scandalized look on her face and again he let out a laugh.
On Harry's part it sent shivers down his spine, and he wished he would do that more often. It suited him.
That afternoon, at Hogwarts.
Stretching languidly before she rolled over onto her stomach, Alex sniggered as Finbar muttered under his breath. He had valiantly taken on the task to comb her hair, a truly difficult feat, seeing as she was as careless about the unruly white mop as Harry was about his ebony one.
"You know what," Finbar groused as he picked at a tangled knot, "I'll tie it in dreadlocks this summer, if you want that is."
Enjoying the attention lavished on her, Alex mumbled sleepily, "Dreadlocks?" her war-training had not included different styles of hair fashion.
"Remember that friend of the Weasley twins at the Ball?" he asked, and had to grab the strand of hair when it slipped from his hands as she nodded in response, "Well, he had dreadlocks."
Shifting her head over so slightly to look at him from over her shoulder, she answered, "Really? I think I'd like that. Looked pretty awesome, not to mention convenient."
"S'not as convenient as it looks, though," Finbar explained, running his fingers through a newly unknotted lock of hair, "Dreadlocks need a lot of time to tighten, and then I mean easily a year. But if you look after them regularly, give them time to form nice, smooth partitions, they'll be alright." And as afterthought he added, "I think it'd look good on you."
As if voicing his opinion, Blaise gave a loud snore from his own position on the bed next to them. Alex's tale and revelations had left them talking until early in the morning, and Finbar had been truly exhausted when he'd returned back to the Gryffindor tower. And now, once again, he found himself sitting in the mystic and chilly Slytherin dungeons.
He should be inclined to spend time with his own housemates, but there was a pull deep inside of him, that urged him to seek them out. And the feeling would not be satisfied until he gave in. Not that he minded it that much actually; being with Alex he enjoyed for obvious reasons (though he would refrain from referring to them as something more than devoted friendship) and Blaise was not so bad either. Surely the Slytherin was an odd one, not to mention sometimes slightly sinister, but he was pure at heart. And he cared –not that Blaise would ever admit.
Soft and smooth strands twined around his fingers as he divided the rather impressive mass of hair into three equal parts. Then nimbly he twisted them into a thick braid, finally using his teeth to pull the elastic band off his wrist to secure the end.
Alex beamed her thanks at him and shifted her position so that she sat cross-legged against the headboard. She snuggled comfortably away in the beautiful cloak Blaise had given her. It must have cost a small fortune, and briefly there had been a discussion because Alex was reluctant to accept such a gift. It was a long slate gray hooded robe, the fabric light enough to ensure maximal mobility and stealth, yet so that it would keep one warm even in the most chilling temperatures. Nevertheless it had a black embroidery around the hem; mythical creatures of long forgotten times curling over in one other, forming a whole. But the most extraordinary was its ability to blend within its surroundings, making the bearer almost invisible to the eye. It was not invisibility cloak, but it was hand made by the Elves. Or so the shopkeeper had said, and in Blaise's opinion it had been a present worthy of his friend.
From his position, Finbar's eye fell on a particular miniature masterpiece of stitching: a dragon. That brought his drifting unconsciousness back to a question that had been burning on his tongue to be asked. His voice was soft but nonetheless resolute when he queried, "Why a dragoon…?"
Glowing green eyes snapped up that question. It was subtly phrased, but indirectly Finbar had asked why her vessel had been constructed with the skeleton of a dragoon girl. Why Voldemort had chosen to rip the flesh off the girl's bones to acquire such a skeleton, while any other victim's might have been just as good.
Finbar mentally cursed his overactive curiosity for again getting the better of him and he lowered his gaze in shame as he felt the chaotic inner conflict coming from his friend. It came as a surprise when she softly spoke, after remaining completely still for the better of ten minutes.
Releasing her lower lip from where it had been caught between her teeth she asked, "What do you know about dragoons?" Leaning back on her elbows, Alex watched his every move closely, her eyes calm and fathomless.
"Well," he began uncertainly, "I know I am wrong when I'm going to say this. Prejudges have always deformed the truth about that what humankind feared. Just as it is with werewolves and vampires… but, for as far as I know, dragoons are supposed to be ferocious carnivores resembling dragons. It is said that they have been extinct for centuries…"
Nodding thoughtfully Alex peered into the nothingness of the torch-lit dorm-room. Blaise was mumbling incoherently in his sleep, and he rolled over once again, clutching the bedclothes in his fist. When he stilled and continued his slumber, Alex spoke up again, "What do you know about the anatomy of a dragoon?"
Narrowing his eyes, Finbar unconsciously plucked at his goatee, "They are said to stand easily about 6'7" tall, and they are immortal," pausing, he dug deeply into the numerous fairytales he had been told by his parents, "And wings…"
Pushing herself up and leaning forward, Alex started to explain, "Dragoons go through aging-stages; the girl whose skeleton I bear was obviously one of the smaller of her kin… probably why they chose her, seeing as she was one of the only of her kin that they would have been able to capture. Secondly, she had neither claws nor wings; meaning that she was under five hundred years old."
"Five hundred years?" Finbar blurted, light blue eyes opening wide.
"That's very young, Finbar. Dragoons are ageless, yet not invincible." She provided him, before coming down to the core of the matter, "However young or old she might have been, that does not alter the components of her bone structure," there was a brief gap in her explanation and she groped to find the right words. Eventually she settled with another question, "Do you know of what a humans' skeleton –your skeleton- consists of?"
Taking his time to think, Finbar idly brushed his lips against his index finger. After a while he slowly responded, "Well, approximately our skeleton is four times as strong as concrete-"
Before he could go on, Alex quickly prompted, "And what makes the bone structure so strong?"
Shaking his head clear of the confusion he hesitantly answered, "Uuuh… isn't that because two-thirds of the bone is made of various salts, primarily compounds containing phosphorus and calcium?"
Alex looked genuinely impressed, a small smile playing around her lips, "Very good. Now, that's what makes me such a deadly opponent in battle; I have no calcium in my bones…" at Finbar's non-understanding expression she smiled sadly, "not calcium, but mythril."
"M-mythril?" Finbar mumbled incredulously. The whole thing was getting odder and odder with each passing moment. But her aura gave no indication of deceit; she was not lying.
"Oh yes, it exists," she leaned back again, taking a more relaxed position, "Out of what do you think the sword of Gryffindor was forged? Oh, yes, I know about that, too. They taught me everything that might be vital to ensure their victory. But that is not what this is about…" she sighed, and then continued, as if suddenly incredible fatigued, "Other than the mythril, my heart is protected by an extra breast-bone which encloses the organ and is virtually indestructible. That in combination with my fast recovery-ability makes me practically safe to all physical assaults."
"…Nearly safe." Finbar repeated.
Her face showed a small smirk, "Yes, nearly. There is only one place where I am vulnerable a-"
But the words choked in her throat and she went completely rigid. Finbar could see her lips tremble, raw shock evident on her face. Her eyes were fastened on a point over Finbar's shoulder. Then he heard it too; a ragged gasp. Blaise. He turned around.
Nobody could ever understand the mere horrification of what they saw: on the bed next to Blaise's, lay the form of a mutilated body. Convulsing and shuddering as the life seeped out from it. Blood coated the linen bedcover, dripping out the large gash in the chest; running down in thick streams of dark scarlet. Ice gray eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling, and from his mouth, too, bubbled the person's lifeblood. Crushed ribs were bent outward, clearly visible even from their position two beds further. It was Draco.
From the moment that sheer panic seized Alex, she could feel the presence of her sibling in her mind, he himself beyond coherent thought as he saw himself lying there through her eyes.
A surge of wild magic wracked their bodies, both of Alex and Finbar, and also those of Hermione, Ron, Harry and Draco. Pure power crawled up their spines and down again, and they retched as their stomachs writhed as if they'd devoured snakes. Pain pierced them, rendering them immobile and their sights clouded with black rage. It was nothing like the burning anger that Ron had gone through, nothing like the chill of the magic he had emanated. It was not necessarily stronger, but it was black. Dark. Pain and despair and all that what made a person wish to pass away. It was Dark Magic.
Though it should have disturbed his Sight, it did not; it fueled it. And what he saw was what made Finbar stand up, though he stumbled, his arm securely around Alex's shoulders. When he somehow managed to cross the distance to the broken form of Draco Malfoy, he locked his eyes with the glowing green ones of his friend. In his free hand he had Alex's book. Making sure he had her full attention, her clear reason; he dropped it right above the shuddering mass of flesh that was supposed to be Draco Malfoy. It fell right through.
A terrible dawning understanding undulated in Alex's gut, and she slowly turned to where Blaise was lying. The brown haired wizard was lying on his side, shuddering nearly as badly as the apparition of Draco. His eyes were wide open and fastened on the simulation of his dying friend; but there was no iris, no pupil. They were completely white. As Alex extended a weary hand, his nose began to bleed.
Grasping his shoulder, she shook him firmly, "Blaise! Blaise!" her voiced hitched and her movements became more desperate, "Answer me!"
"C'mon, Blaise," Finbar urged, his voice hoarse and wavering. He touched the Slytherin's forehead.
With a keening cry he bolted upward, his arms flying haphazardly around him. As Alex caught him, trying to restrain him, the white drained from his eyes and disappeared. So did the apparition. Shivering violently in Alex's embrace, Blaise drew in ragged breaths, fear evident on his face, "I-I had a nightmare… oh my God… Draco…he…"
He never got finish what he was trying to say: his stomach clenched and he heaved. With a smothered cough blood splattered all over the stone floor.
Lovelies; I am so sorry for the huge delay… I really deserve being whacked over the head with a rubber duckie… But I've kinda been busy; you know summer vacation and stuff basically getting in touch with my friends. Also; three ficcies is a little much, so I kinda have a hard rime trying to update all 3 of them regularly. Other than that, I've been working in my own original story; Lost Prophecies and I've bought this totally awesome inking pen and I just had to try it out on a drawing of Alex I made!
Also; know I am not ever going to abandon this fic without at least making a big deal out of it; I totally want to get this one down. So if I don't update in a while it's because I'm busy or something, not because I abandoned it!
You know the drill: REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW! Know that each one of your reviews make me happy, how long or short they might be! Besides, one lil' click on the purple-ish button and you've made pathetic lil' me's day.
Poor Blaise… I'm only torturing him so much because I like 'em. The more I make characters suffer, the more I like him. So yeah, I'm kinda fucked up in a way…
Keiko-keket is still the mighty beta who purifies this fic from all evil typos stupid me makes! So let's all sacrifice cookies and candy in her honor!