Reaching Maturity
Disclaimer: you know what I'm going to say. NOT MINE.
A/N: yes, there's loads of swordfighting in this fic. Blame JKR; she's the one who introduced Gryffindor's sword into CoS, and I'm wondering if it's going to reappear, because it's been mentioned in subsequent books…Plus I've been reading and watching Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean that many times, it's kind of rubbed off on me!
A/N 2: apologies for not posting last week, but I think most of you know why. And yes, I'm still quite disgruntled!
I am no longer an occupational therapy student. I failed my placement again (same level as before) so I'm not allowed to continue the course any further. In some ways it's a relief because I was seriously contemplating quitting, but the decision's been made for me now. So I'm going to go home for a year, do another A-Level, hopefully do my Stage 1 in sign language, get a part-time job (money is always useful!) and apply to do an English Lit degree in September 2006. Which is what I should have done in the first place, really. Academically I was flying; it was just the practical stuff (which is really the more important thing in the long run because it's what's involved in the job!)
Response to chapter 26
Yes, it was Blaise who was the Death Eater. If you look back in the story there are a number of things that, now you know it was him, will make you say "It's so obvious now!" (like I was with Quirrell in PS – which is what I was aiming for! The clues are there!) ¤cackles evilly¤
¤blushes from all the praise¤ Are you sure you guys aren't going just a little OTT on the "best battle ever" and all that!
Glad you didn't see the thing with Narcissa coming! That was the plan! ¤more evil cackling¤ Basically Narcissa wasn't kidnapped or anything. It was all a scheme to get Draco to become a Death Eater by playing on his emotions. Narcissa disappears for a while, then he gets a note saying that if he becomes a Death Eater, Narcissa will be released. If he refuses to take the Dark Mark, he gets killed. Narcissa obviously wouldn't because she bears the Dark Mark herself.
Ron is no longer part of the story; the trio have drifted apart. Harry and Hermione are together and Ron and Parvati are together (I haven't explicitly said so but if you read between the lines of stuff said in earlier chapters, that's the case). He went home with everyone else after the exams.
You'll just have to assume that Harry/Hermione and Draco/Hannah have kissed – quite a bit. They've had plenty of opportunities; I just haven't really mentioned it.
Draco hasn't really got used to the fact that his mother is now dead. He's not putting on a f front for Hannah, but he doesn't know how to react yet.
I'm not making excuses, but I did say at the start of an earlier chapter that I'm not very good at writing battle scenes. However, I do really really appreciate the tips that I've been given; it'll help me to write better battles in future stuff!
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Chapter 27: Those We Most Desire to Defeat
He'd know that unnatural silver hand and arm anywhere. "You!" hissed Harry in disgust.
"It is, indeed, I," the small, rat-like man in front of him replied mockingly, a smirk on his face.
"Do you really think you can beat me, Wormtail?"
Wormtail – Peter Pettigrew, to give him his proper name – shrugged cockily. "Perhaps." He twirled his wand idly in his fingers. "We shall see. A wizards' duel – without the seconds."
"Fine."
They faced each other and bowed. Harry had only very limited knowledge of duelling (courtesy of the infamous Lockhart in second year), so the first thing he cried, before Wormtail could move, was, "Expelliarmus!"
True to form, Wormtail's wand shot out of his hand, to be Summoned by Harry. The Boy Who Lived dropped the wand.
Slowly, deliberately, he placed one foot on the wand and transferred all eleven and a half stone of his weight onto it.
It cracked loudly and splintered into many pieces. "Oops," said Harry.
Wormtail looked from the wand to Harry and back again, watery eyes widening and face paling. Fear and panic were both perfectly apparent upon his now colourless face. A moment later he turned and fled. Harry watched as he unknowingly ran directly at a huge, shaggy black dog on the edge of the wood. Sirius.
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Draco had left Hannah by now and was slowly wandering the battlefield, occasionally dodging misfired curses and hexes, and unconscious and dead bodies – the former of which were being attended by medics, clearly distinguishable by their green robes and the St. Mungo's crest on them.
"So, you dared to show your pathetic little face, then," sneered a voice cold enough to freeze Hell itself from behind Draco.
Stiffening and raising his head high, Draco turned, his steel grey eyes meeting an identical pair – identical but far, far colder and crueller than his own. "Father," he stated unemotionally. "Do you want something?"
"You, Draco, are nothing short of a disgrace. You will be disowned the moment I get a chance to do so legally."
"Oh?" Draco raised one eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "What have I done that would merit such a drastic step as disownment – if such a term exists?"
Lucius Malfoy's nostrils flared in annoyance and irritation. "Don't play games with me, child. You know exactly what it is that you have done."
Draco regarded him quizzically. "I do?"
Lucius sucked in his breath. "My own son would rather fight alongside Mudbloods like that know-it-all Granger, halfbloods like Potter, and stupid Hufflepuffs like that wretched Abbott girl!"
"You leave Hannah out of it!" hissed Draco furiously, temper flaring. No, no, NO! Must keep temper. Must keep temper!
"So it's 'Hannah', now, is it?" inquired Lucius icily.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're treading on extremely thin ice, Father."
"Threatening me, child?" asked Lucius mildly.
"Oh no, not at all. Consider it more a…warning, shall we say?"
Lucius swiftly drew a sword from his belt and placed the tip of it on Draco's throat, pressing on the skin hard enough to indent it. "This is a warning, child."
"I'm not a child any more, Father. In case you'd forgotten, I've been eighteen since March." He knew how precarious his position was; if he were anything but completely calm and still, his father would slit his throat without a second thought.
"Silence!" hissed Lucius, eyes flaring with cold anger.
"Careful, Father. You don't want to get angry. You're a Malfoy; you're not meant to have emotions, remember?" Draco gazed levelly, confidently, into his father's eyes, being careful to keep all emotion out of his own. "It's what you always taught me, at least."
Lucius withdrew the sword – and swung it sideways at Draco's legs, hoping to catch him off-guard. Draco, however, was more than prepared, and he jumped over it, rather like a child would jump over a skipping-rope. He pulled Salazar Slytherin's sword from his own belt.
Lucius sneered. "Do you really think that you can challenge me? Your grandfather – my father – began teaching me sword skills and how to fight before my tenth birthday. I, on the other hand, never taught you, so I really have no idea where you acquired that sword. The sword I possess belonged to my father. It is, for your information, a family heirloom."
What isn't? Draco couldn't help thinking to himself. Aloud, he said, "Dumbledore gave me this. It once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself."
Lucius did his best to keep his face an emotionless mask, but Draco saw a brief flicker of fear cross his face. He smiled to himself. This could work to his advantage, if he played his cards correctly.
Lucius prepared for another attack, but again Draco was ready and anticipating it. This time Lucius targeted his son's neck. Draco ducked and brought his sword up vertically, holding Lucius' sword horizontally against it. Draco straightened and smiled a saccharine smile. Lucius glowered and wrenched his sword free. He slashed down at Draco's right arm, but again Draco blocked it as power surged through him from the sword. Lucius' sword was forced up and away from harm. "Where did you learn this?" he demanded, raising his sword threateningly.
"Remus Lupin and Arabella Figg," replied Draco offhandedly.
"That halfbreed?"
Draco simply nodded in affirmation.
Lucius let out a howl of rage, rushing at Draco, sword outstretched. Draco deftly caught the sword on his own sword and flipped it sharply upwards. It was as though someone else had placed their hands over Draco's and was guiding his moves.
Lucius winced, placing his left hand protectively over his injured right wrist. "That," he hissed furiously, "was incredibly foolish." He switched the sword to his weaker left hand. Theoretically, now that he had his sword in the same hand as his son did in his, the task should be easier because the swords were diametrically opposite each other. The problem for Lucius, though, was that he was now being forced to use his non-dominant hand, whereas Draco was using his stronger one for weapon control, being left-handed.
But that minor detail would not deter him, he silently vowed to himself. After all, experience counted for much, as did good training, and he knew that his son had had very little, if any, of the former, and as for the latter, Remus Lupin! The victory, Lucius felt sure, was his.
Draco was fully alert as his father swung at his midsection, once again successfully blocking the stroke. He knew he had to be even more vigilant now – he'd had to twist to block that last one, and now that his father was using his weaker hand, his movements would be less controlled. He was surprised that Lucius' father had never taught him to be equally strong on both sides; Lupin and Figg had done so with him, Harry, Hermione and Hannah. Another advantage to me, he thought. However, he was also aware that he could not afford to get over-confident; that would be his downfall.
Lucius brought his sword down, aiming for Draco's right shoulder. Draco twisted to his right, caught his father's sword and wrenched it from Lucius' hands. It was ripped from the elder Malfoy's hands and flew out into the battlefield. Where it landed, Draco could not tell.
Lucius was looking at Draco with more hatred than he had ever directed at anyone before, and his wand was in his hand. "Crucio."
Draco's subconscious recalled his earlier conversation with Hannah, and he deflected the Unforgivable safely away. It was a combination of Seeker reflexes and the almost otherworldly power that was guiding him. Was Salazar Slytherin somehow present, guiding him and aiding him?
Hatred coursed through Draco's veins – hatred like he had never felt before towards his father. There was murder in Lucius' eyes, and Draco knew that a shield was his only hope now. Muttering the spell under his breath, he created his shield and prayed to whoever might be listening that it would hold.
"Avada Kedavra!" cried Lucius. Draco squeezed his eyes shut the moment his father began uttering those fateful words, waiting for the curse to penetrate his shield like Figg had told them it would. "You cannot protect yourself from Avada Kedavra."
Nothing had happened to him.
Slowly, fearfully, Draco opened his eyes, confused and bewildered.
The sight that greeted his eyes caused him to gasp and stumble back several steps.
Lucius Malfoy lay sprawled on his back on the wet grass, eyes open wide, an expression of disbelief and horror on his face.
He was dead.
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He didn't know how long he stood there for. It was some time before he heard two people hurrying over. He couldn't move; he was frozen to the spot, eyes unable to leave the sight of his father's lifeless form on the ground in front of him.
"The Killing Curse; that much is apparent," declared a woman with a Scottish accent as she bent down beside the dead man and examined him more closely. "The question is, who?"
"I should imagine, Minerva, that the list of potential suspects would be long enough to go around the Equator. Twice," replied the man with her. "At least. Though I claim innocence. Examine the wand. You know the spells that can be used."
"But it appears to be his own wand."
"Just examine it."
They both stared in confusion as the ghostly form of Lucius Malfoy came out of the wand. "McGonagall ended the spell and looked up at her companion from where she was still crouched on the grass. "Suicide, Severus?"
Snape shook his head. "I disagree. Look at his face; hardly the sort of expression one wears when they are planning their death, would you not agree? Perhaps someone managed to deflect it when he cast it." He glanced up and, for the first time, saw Draco standing there. "Draco? What are you doing there?" He cautiously approached the frozen boy. "Did you see anything? Anything at all?"
Slowly, dazedly, Draco nodded.
"Okay." Snape removed his cloak and placed it around Draco's shoulders, forming his own theories surrounding the circumstances of the death of Lucius Malfoy. "Come, now. Let's get you away from here." He gently led his former student away from the scene and into the woods where some of the others from their group stood – Hannah, Lupin and Sirius, the latter of whom stood with a caged rat under the Body Bind hex in his hand.
Hannah rushed forward, worry and fear on her face. "What happened?" she demanded fretfully. She'd noticed the stunned, haunted look in Draco's eyes, his ashen face, and the way he stood that implied that he was about to collapse. She put her arms around him, drawing him into a hug and finally provoking a response from him as he rested his head in her shoulder. "What happened, Draco?"
Snape leaned in close to her when it became apparent that Draco would not speak, and murmured in her ear, "Lucius Malfoy is dead. His own Killing Curse was the death of him."
Draco, having heard these words, pulled away. "It was meant for me. Professor Figg said shields don't protect against that curse, even the strongest ones." He frowned in confusion. "But – but mine did. He tried to kill me, but my shield must have deflected it back at him." His voice was hollow, emotionless, stunned. Hannah pulled him tightly to her again, and he gave in to his emotions, sobbing softly, holding onto her as though his life depended on it. And in a way, it did.
A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore, all clearly weary, joined them. Hermione was listening as Harry was ruing Wormtail's escape. "…I had him! And I let him get away – again."
"That's enough of that, Harry," cut in Sirius, a smirk on his face as he held up the cage. "I saw your fight with him – what little there was; he was too much of a coward to face you down properly. When he transformed he came straight to me. Couldn't have worked better if we'd planned it. Now all we have to do is present him to the Ministry, turn him back into his human form and I'm a free man!"
"I was under the impression that you were hell-bent on killing him?" inquired Lupin in confusion. "Seeing as you have been for the last sixteen and a half years?"
"Oh, I was. Then I realised that I may subsequently have difficulty in proving my innocence, because, technically, I would have murdered him by that point. For some reason, Moony old friend, I decided that Pettigrew alive, complete with Dark Mark, was going to hold a lot stronger than Pettigrew dead, particularly at my hand. And," he continued, raising the cage so that it was level with his lips, his face and voice darkening considerably, "he'll suffer even more then. They'll put him under Veritaserum and then it'll all come out, about how he betrayed Lily and James, how he faked his own death and how he helped Voldemort come back to power." He shook the cage to prove his point. "The wizarding world will finally know exactly what happened."
Lupin opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the appearance of Arabella Figg bursting through the trees. "Voldemort is here," she announced.
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Armed with a number of potions and a mass of advice, Harry stepped out onto the battlefield a few minutes later. His scar was on fire now, but Snape had given him a painkilling potion that had the added bonus of improving his already-excellent reflexes. "An extremely useful side-effect," the Potions Master had observed.
He went cold as he came face-to-face with the one he had to face to end the war for good.
"So, we meet yet again, Mr. Potter. What a pleasure."
Harry stared coolly into the slit-like red eyes. "Not quite so strong as you were earlier, are you, Tom?"
"I must apologise, for I know not of what you speak."
"Pettigrew's out of action; it won't be much longer before Sirius kills him, I should imagine. Once he's proved his innocence, of course."
"Pettigrew is expendable," said Voldemort disinterestedly. "Snivelling waste of space anyway. Unfortunately for you, though, I do have the Malfoys."
Harry feigned surprise. "You mean you haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" There was a flicker of uncertainty in Voldemort's eyes. It was only very brief, but Harry had seen it, and it gave him hope.
"Narcissa Malfoy was killed by her own sword. Lucius was killed by his own curse. And Draco's fighting with us. That's just a small handful that are out of action. I could list plenty more, if you like."
"Liar!" hissed Voldemort, eyes flaring.
Harry saw the worry and fear in his face, but forced his own face to remain impassive. Draco had taught him that.
He suddenly had to back off as Voldemort rushed at him. Gryffindor's sword was suddenly out of its scabbard, the rubies glittering with energy. Harry was nowhere near it as it flew at the Dark Lord. Slowly, a ghostly figure materialised, expertly controlling the sword. Harry stared, stunned, in disbelief. He was seeing things. His mind was playing tricks on him. What he was seeing was impossible; perhaps he needed new glasses? "Godric Gryffindor?" he breathed.
The form held Voldemort in position momentarily, and nodded and winked at Harry. "It is I. Use the potions, young Harry. They are your key to success."
"Potions? Which one?"
"You'll know." He continued his battle with Voldemort, who had somehow acquired a sword since Gryffindor's appearance.
Now he had a bit of time to think, Harry turned his attention to his pockets, baffled. Why couldn't Gryffindor be more specific? He was acting as though they had all the time in the world – and while he might have, as well as not having to worry about being killed due to having been dead for centuries, Harry certainly didn't. Time was running out.
A bottle suddenly leapt into his hand as though enchanted – which was quite possible, in this world. Harry recalled Snape shoving it into his hand at the last moment. Cyanide, from the teacher's private stores. There wasn't time now to ponder what the teacher was doing with such a substance. Perhaps it was preparation for the battle, or something for his dual role as spy.
Taking a deep breath as he uncorked it, and suddenly feeling dazed and not quite with it, Harry opened his mouth and muttered words that seemed to come from nowhere. He had no idea what he was saying, but as he watched, the substance shot out of the bottle, swirled in the air and flew into Voldemort's open mouth. Immediately, he felt himself again, his senses sharp.
"Well done!" Gryffindor beamed at him. Voldemort was now wheezing, choking, gasping for air but unable to get any. He was suffocating because the cyanide prevented the final stage of respiration from taking place, because he couldn't get the oxygen he needed. He fell to his knees and the sword tumbled from his hands.
"Take the sword. Transfigure it into a wooden stake and drive it through his heart before he dies. Do it after and there's a chance he could come back," said Gryffindor. "I know he's no vampire, but the rules are the same for super-strong Dark Lords such as Tom Riddle."
Harry, not really knowing what else to do, obeyed. Gritting his teeth, he drove the stake through Tom Riddle's heart, gulping hard as he did so. Riddle let out a gasp as the stake plunged through him, writhed for a moment and then lay still.
Gryffindor handed his sword back to Harry. "Well done, young Potter. He is truly gone forever now, I can assure you of that."
"Th-thank you," stammered Harry, not really knowing what to say.
Gryffindor nodded and disappeared, breaking up into wisps and then fading completely.
Dumbledore was the first to arrive. "Harry?"
"He's gone. For good." And with that, Harry dropped to the ground, exhausted.
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They returned to Lupin's home. By this time, news of Voldemort's permanent defeat had spread nationwide and huge parties had spontaneously begun, despite the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning! Arabella Figg had joined the group returning from the battlefield, and they descended on Lupin's home for hot drinks.
Harry was leaning wearily against Sirius, who had put Pettigrew, still under Body Bind, in a locked cupboard. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the fireplace, Crookshanks curled up on her lap. Hannah had her arms around Draco, supporting his weak frame, as they sat on the sofa. Draco wasn't quite asleep yet, though he wasn't far from it. He kept shaking himself awake whenever his eyelids fluttered closed. Snape was stood, looming as ever, in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. McGonagall and Arabella Figg were either side of the fireplace, resembling human bookends to Hermione's mind. Dumbledore was in a comfortable armchair and Lupin sat on the other armchair.
"I am proud of you all," stated Dumbledore quietly, looking at all of them in turn. "Particularly, though, I am proud of you four students. I could not imagine four eighteen-year-olds –"
"I'm not eighteen till the end of July," interrupted Harry.
Dumbledore acknowledged this with a wry smile. "My apologies, Mr. Potter. I mean, of course, that I could not imagine four seventh-year students essentially winning the entire battle and displaying such an astounding level of magic and skill that they ended up doing." All four went bright red from embarrassment, and Crookshanks purred and Hedwig hooted in approval.
Draco pushed himself into a sitting position and slightly away from Hannah. "What I don't understand," he began tentatively, "is how my shield…did what it did. Professor Figg, you said that shields can't deflect Avada Kedavra." He coughed weakly and leaned back into Hannah, who drew him in close.
"Hmmm…" Arabella drummed her fingers on the mantelpiece, deep in thought. Eventually she stopped and straightened up. "All I can think of is that you must have hated your father so much that that hatred – plus, I suspect, some of Salazar Slytherin's power – created a super-strong, completely impenetrable shield. When the person that you hated so much cursed you, the shield somehow sensed this and deflected the curse. If you don't mind me saying so, an instant, painless death was too good for Lucius Malfoy."
Draco shrugged. "I agree, but…He was my father. Even if he was pure evil." He sank into Hannah's hold and she drew him close comfortingly. Moments later he was asleep.
Sirius glanced across at him. "Bed for everyone, I think," he declared. "It'll be chaos here tomorrow – sorry, today now – and I'd rather be well-rested." He nudged Harry. "Come on. Bed. Now." He hauled Harry to his feet and half-led, half-dragged him up to the attic bedroom. Snape followed, Draco in his arms. The Potions teacher gently put the sleeping boy to bed, fully dressed minus his shoes. "I'll leave a sleeping potion in every room," he told Sirius. "I have plenty prepared, just in case anyone needs any."
Sirius nodded. "Fine. But make sure you're quiet."
"Of course." Snape glared at him.
"Alright! That's enough!" Harry growled. "Some of us in this room are trying to sleep."
Sirius glared at him. "Goodnight." He left, Snape behind him, and almost fell over Crookshanks, who was making his way up the stairs in front of Hermione. It was not long before the entire house was asleep.
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TBC
