This chapter took a twisting path. It still ended up where I wanted it to end up, but the action was sure nothing like I thought.
Chapter Fourteen: Draco In DangerHarry pushed aside a thickly clinging vine and ducked beneath it, drawn along the path by his pointing wand. At least he didn't have to be as quiet as he had when he followed Quirrell, he thought, and he could use the Lumos spell to light his way without worrying if anyone saw him.
Unless Quirrell is in the woods tonight.
Or unless a magical creature sees it and comes towards me, ready to devour me.
Harry forcibly reminded himself that Draco might see the light and be drawn to it, too. It was unlikely, but most helpful things were in the Forbidden Forest. That did not mean it would not happen.
Harry sighed. Speaking of that, I suppose I'll have to turn and confront them sooner or later.
He had been hearing faint sounds from behind and beside him almost from the moment he had entered the Forest. When they didn't attack, he ignored them, intent on getting to Draco before something could happen to him. But the sounds were louder and more insistent now, and he knew that he would have to confront them.
He turned and called, "Who's there? I can hear you." He braced himself, just in case the creatures tracking him weren't intelligent after all and came at him all in a rush. The Protego incantation waited on the tip of his tongue.
There was a long pause. Then the noises came again, closer this time and louder. Harry hadn't been able to tell what they were as muffled thumps, but now he clearly made out the sound of hooves.
A centaur trotted out from between the trees on the right side of the path and stood facing him. Harry's wand-light made his face shadowed and half-demonic. He had striking blue eyes, hair as pale as Draco's, and a faintly golden body, which shifted color towards a deep gold on his flanks.
"Harry Potter," whispered the centaur. "The stars are watching you."
Harry half-glanced up, but he couldn't see the stars through the thick cover of trees overhead. "And so are you," he said, bringing his attention back to the centaur. "Why?"
"We know that you came here in pursuit of a boy who walked into the Forest a short time ago," whispered the centaur. "We know many things from watching the stars. Your fate is written there, Harry Potter. Sealed there."
Not for the first time in his life—the first had been when he'd read about them in a book on magical creatures—Harry decided that centaurs were creepy. He simply nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It's always pleasant to know that. However, I have to find Draco." He turned to go down the path again.
The trees to his left gave way, and a chestnut centaur galloped onto the path in front of him. He was bigger than the palomino one, and had dark eyes and hair that looked the color of blackberries in the light. He folded his arms and looked steadily at Harry.
"You must come with us, Harry Potter," said the palomino centaur. "The stars are bright tonight. Mars is in his glory. Because of that, we are willing to give thanks, and to listen to the one who comes beneath Mars's aegis."
Harry concealed his annoyance. He had hoped to get on and find Draco, but he did not think that he could take two centaurs at once, and he had no wish to show that he had been here, which dead or injured centaurs would surely reveal. He forced a smile.
"All right," he said. "Where are we going?"
"This way," said the palomino centaur, and cantered off down the path. The chestnut centaur stepped out of Harry's way and flicked his tail as if in permission. Harry shook his head and fell in behind the palomino, hearing the clop of hooves as the chestnut walked behind him.
The Point Me spell continued to show that Harry was on the same trail as Draco, which somewhat lessened his agitation. He was beginning to hope that Draco hadn't fled in a raging sulk after all, but had had the sense to stay on the path and seek some place to be alone. He might even go back to the castle before Harry did, depending on how long the centaurs decided to entertain him.
"I am Firenze," the palomino announced suddenly.
"And I am Coran," the chestnut said.
Harry blinked. He had read once that centaurs gave their names on the second meeting, not the first. But they also watched the stars and spoke incomprehensible nonsense about them. So they might consider this the second meeting, since they were some way down the path now. Who knew?
"You know my name already," he said, struggling to remember the courtesies he'd heard. Lily had tutored him in greeting customs for magical beings other than pureblood wizards, just in case Connor ever needed allies someday and Harry had to serve as ambassador, but it was far down on the list of important training, and he wasn't surprised that he couldn't remember more of it. One phrase seemed safe enough, though. "I am glad that you greet me in the name of the stars."
Firenze stopped walking and glanced back at Coran. Harry stopped too, perforce, backing away from the palomino's switching tail. The centaurs locked each other in a long gaze.
Harry waited. The Point Me spell still indicated, faithfully, that Draco was straight ahead. He wanted to push Firenze out of the way and run, but he couldn't do that, so he made peace with his impatience and waited some more.
"He knows the courtesies," Firenze said at last.
"And he came beneath Mars's light," said Coran.
"That is significant," they both said at once, and then Firenze turned around and resumed his trot forward, this time forcing Harry to follow.
The Forbidden Forest changed when you were traveling through it with powerful magical creatures, Harry found. The shadows seemed less menacing. The trees drew back more often, and let a paler, colder starlight through. Harry checked once or twice, but he couldn't make out Mars. Perhaps the angle was bad.
Or perhaps the centaurs are barking, Harry thought, shivering slightly as a chill breeze cut past him and he nearly stumbled over a root he hadn't seen until too late. Guess which one I choose.
The path finally widened out and then broke in two. One branch curved around the base of a small hill, while the other led to its top. Firenze solemnly mounted the hill, and then glanced back as Harry followed.
"It is possible that you shall be angry," he said in a distant voice, not sounding as if he really cared. "But you must understand that all fates serve the balance, and all things are written in the stars."
Harry narrowed his eyes. They had arrived at a place that seemed significant, and the Point Me spell still indicated straight ahead…
"You took Draco, didn't you?" he asked, not bothering to keep the accusation from his voice.
"It was written," said Firenze, and then walked over to something Harry couldn't see. Harry hurriedly climbed the last few steps he had to go.
He found a group of stones assembled at the top that looked for all the world like an imitation gallows. Draco stood on the platform, shivering, his head bowed. A vine was looped around his neck and around the stone serving as crossbar. There was no trapdoor that Harry could see, but there wouldn't have to be, he knew. One kick from a centaur's powerful hooves could make the vine sway and send Draco flying sideways, where his neck would snap or he would choke to death. Or perhaps he would just smash his skull on the stones.
Any way, not an easy death, Harry thought, as he stared and desperately struggled to recall what he knew about centaurs. They were polite, they observed the stars, they stayed out of wars for the most part—though they had fought against the Dark Lord Grindelwald, who had threatened them with extinction—and they didn't generally go around kidnapping schoolboys in forests and hanging them from stone gallows.
Draco stirred then, and decided to make everything more complicated. "Harry!" he shouted, starting to run across the platform.
Firenze caught him by the vine around his neck and held him still. Draco swayed to a stop, gagging. Harry took a tense step forward, but Draco finally remembered the noose and stepped back. His breathing returned to normal in a moment. He glared at Firenze, then turned the glare outward to include Coran, who had come up beside Harry.
"This is a test," Firenze told Harry, his voice deep and somber as echoes in a bottomless pit. "You will pass it, or Draco Malfoy will die. He will not use magic in any way, including to aid you, or he will die."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"This is the test of the one who comes under Mars," said Coran, and his voice was sterner than Firenze's. "You may not question. You must do."
Harry choked his impulse to scream in frustration, and even managed to smile. "Then tell me what I must do, honored centaurs."
Coran moved in front of him, feeling briefly on the ground for something. He came up with an egg-shaped stone, which in the light of Lumos looked some shade between deep purple and black.
"You must crack this—"
Harry nodded, and raised his wand.
"Using wandless magic," Coran continued. If he had been a human, he would have sounded smug, but he only sounded remorseless. He held the stone out to Harry.
Harry stared for a long moment. He could perform a Blasting Curse with his wand, but he hadn't studied it wandless. He hesitated and glanced once at Draco. Draco had settled for glaring at the centaurs, at the vine around his neck, and at Harry—though, to be absolutely truthful, the looks he sent Harry had a lot of pleading in them, too.
Could I sever the vine, take Draco, and run? Harry knew the answer almost as soon as he had the thought, though. The vine shifted and settled itself possessively around Draco's throat in a motion that no wind would allow. It was alive, and perhaps intelligent. He supposed it would have to be; Draco would have freed himself already if it were that simple.
Which left his only option as passing the test.
Harry turned back to the stone and frowned at it. He had learned wandless magic before out of grim duty and driving necessity; he had imagined Connor dying, and each time, it gave him the strength to press on. And when he had thought that Connor might die in a week, in six days, in five days, in four days, nothing had stood in his way. He hadn't even felt the loss of sleep until the spell exhaustion hit him.
Could he summon the same emotion for Draco?
No, he realized, after a moment of trying. He did feel worried that Draco might die, and he would certainly experience guilt if that happened, but there was no love there yet, nothing to send the magic down well-worn channels in the center of his being. He would have to use something else.
What?
"You have until the stars set, Harry Potter," Firenze intoned calmly just then, jolting him.
Harry glared at him. "You didn't say that I had a time limit."
"The one who comes beneath Mars's light always has until the stars set to pass his test," said Coran, as if Harry should have known that. He continued to hold the stone out, straight and steady. His arm hadn't wavered yet.
Harry ground his teeth. The anger came surging up in him, and he focused it on the stone, hoping that might work. Crack, you stupid thing! Draco and I have to get back inside and away from these loonies before we're missed!
The stone did nothing. If stones could be smug, Harry was sure that it would have been.
Harry poured the rage out, and it was fruitless. Nothing happened, not even a faint line seaming the stone's surface, while he had sweat running down his brow from the force of his concentration.
"It is an hour until the stars set," said Firenze's voice, regular as the chiming of a clock.
Harry closed his eyes and banished his anger. So love would not do it, and neither would anger. What would?
But those were the forces that had always driven his wandless magic. Harry could possibly learn new ways, but they would take longer than he had. And then Draco would die.
Harry did not think he could bear that. He had caused the argument. It was his fault that Draco was out here in the first place.
Worry?
No, that's a niggling little emotion. I need something else.
Well, was there anything that his love and his anger had in common? Did they spring from some shared seed that he could use to free Draco?
Perhaps it wasn't an emotion.
And then Harry could have laughed aloud in relief. Of course. It was the same thing that Snape was always cursing him for, the same thing that had made Connor impatient with him, the same thing that had caused him to continue the argument with Draco instead of simply giving in and saying that Connor wouldn't let him come to Malfoy Manor for Christmas.
Will. Stubbornness. Sheer bloody-mindedness.
Harry focused his will on the stone. He imagined it cracking. He willed it to crack. He created a careful image of the stone cracking, so intense that dark spots swam in the air before his eyes and his ears rang, and he overlaid it on the stone. He could still see the whole dark purple surface under the shattered one, but only just. The ringing in his ears became a roar.
Crack. You will crack.
It was nothing like anger, nothing like love, but the root and wellspring of them both. Harry called patience and determination and unbending, unflinching uncooperativeness to his aid. He focused, and he pushed, and he began to feel the outer edges of the stone's solidity as an irritating buzz off to the side, just barely audible under the torrent of his magic.
Crack. You will crack.
The stone pushed back at him. It had no will of its own—the smugness Harry had imagined was not real—but it had the same resistance that it would if he were trying to shatter it against the edge of a table by simple pounding. It existed, and it was hard, and it did not want to crack.
Harry carefully formed his will down into a sharpened point, a chisel, and then put all his magic behind it at once.
Crack. His being resonated with the word, and he trusted that he had the will and the magic, both, to carry it out. You will crack because I say you will. And now, you will—
Crack!Harry blinked, then staggered forward as his will shoved through something that was no longer there anymore, like the dissipating smoke of Fumo. He caught himself on his hands and looked up.
Coran held shattered bits of stone in his hand, but only a few fragments, themselves no bigger than shards of eggshell. More had apparently scored his face and shoulders in their whipping passage, but Coran didn't seem to care about the blood. He looked at his palm, as though wondering where the stone had gone, and then nodded gravely, solemnly, to Harry.
Harry glanced over at Firenze. The blond centaur was untying Draco, his movements swift and efficient. Draco made a gasping noise when the vine came free that Harry was sure was exaggerated, or he would have had difficulty breathing when it actually gripped him.
Harry got slowly back to his feet. He ought to have felt tired; he usually did, after wandless magic. Instead, he felt oddly braced, as if he had gone through a swift walk through cold air. And the ringing, roaring sound his magic had made hadn't quite faded yet. Harry tasted the air around him, still rich and alive with playful, gamboling power, and found himself smiling.
"The one who comes under Mars has passed the test," Firenze said, looking as if he spoke to the stars.
"When the time comes," Coran intoned, "we follow."
Firenze cantered over to Coran, and then both of them, to Harry's utter astonishment, stretched out a foreleg in his direction and bent over it. Harry clumsily returned the bow, struggling to remember the phrase that closed out a cordial conversation between centaur and wizard. He ought to remember it, if only because it had been so odd—one of the least complicated phrases that any magical creature used in formal communication.
Oh, yes.
"Under star and over stone may your way lead you," he said. "Under darkness and over water."
Firenze nodded to him. Coran said, "Under the light of Mars may you be led," which was not in the book that Harry remembered, and then both centaurs turned and galloped into the darkness.
Harry let out a little breath, blinked, and then turned back to Draco. "We'll need to cover up those bruises on your neck, unless you want everyone to know we were out past curfew—" he began.
He stopped. Draco was staring at him.
Harry winced. In the struggle to save Draco and the excitement of actually succeeding, he'd forgotten what drove Draco out here in the first place.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "I acted like a git. I didn't have any right to say those things in that tone of voice. Once I realized you didn't know, I should have been gentler. Sorry." He held his breath and waited, hoping that the next words out of Draco's mouth would be forgiveness. He could make Harry's life much harder than he had already if they weren't.
Not to mention that he would miss Draco's conversation, even if he had turned out to be so self-absorbed that he told Harry almost nothing about Lucius or his movements. Draco was one of the few people in his life who wasn't part of the elaborate deception at play around Connor. Unlike Snape, he wasn't hostile, and unlike Lily, he was close to Harry's age. Draco just—existed in Harry's life, and though that would almost certainly change later, when Voldemort returned and Draco chose pureblood loyalties, for right now he could chatter, and Harry would listen.
Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. "Harry…" he began, and stopped.
"What?" Harry swallowed. Maybe he had foregone his chance at Draco's forgiveness. He would just have to live with it if he had, but he wished Draco would say something and show him why.
Draco opened his eyes. "Harry," he said, "you saved my life. I owe you a life debt."
Harry stared at him in turn.
Then he shook his head and backed away, making sure to keep his voice soothing. "Draco, you've had a hard night. An argument, running away into the Forbidden Forest, and nearly dying. You don't know—"
Draco drew his wand from his sleeve and held it out over his palm. "Diffindo!" he said clearly, and a cut appeared on his hand. He turned towards Harry, his face alien and too solemn under the Lumos light.
This is the son of the pureblood wizarding family, Harry thought. He might not know about his father's past, but he knows the rituals.
"I do so pledge my debt to Harry James Potter," Draco said, still in that same clear voice that would have made most of his teachers astounded to hear, "willingly performing whatever service he asks of me, until I save his life in turn or the debt be expunged." He swept his wand over the cut, and the line turned silver where it passed, looking first like frost and then like a very old scar. "This I do," Draco added softly, "in the name of Merlin, and in thanks for my life."
He stood looking expectantly at Harry.
Harry sighed. He knew of no way to refuse to accept a life debt without killing the wizard who offered it, but he could at least leave the payment of the debt up to Draco.
"I, Harry James Potter," he said, "do so accept the offered debt, in Merlin's name, and in gladness that the one who offered it still lives."
The air between them flashed silver for a brief moment. Then the light turned to the cold air that Harry saw when he breathed out in winter, and floated away towards the stars.
"Name my service," Draco said, still impossibly clear.
"Draco—"
"Do it, Harry."
Harry shook his head. "I leave it up to you to name it," he said. "I can do that, and I choose to. Serve me in whatever way would please you most." He carefully cast a Concealment Charm at the bruises on Draco's neck, and was relieved when they disappeared. He hadn't been sure that his magic high after shattering the stone would last. "Now, come on, Draco, we have to get back."
Draco fell into step beside him, but he seemed to be thinking. They hadn't reached the halfway point on the path before he said, "I've thought of something, Harry. I can choose the form my payment takes, right?" He looked at Harry carefully, as though he thought Harry was tricking him.
Harry nodded.
"And guarding you in a dangerous place would be an acceptable form of it?"
"Of course, Draco, but what place—"
"Then," said Draco, "I choose to repay my debt by guarding you in Malfoy Manor. Where you are going to come visit me. At Christmas." His smile was blinding.
"No," said Harry flatly.
"You left it up to me to choose the payment," Draco reminded him, bouncing a little.
"I didn't say that you could—" said Harry, and then stopped. He had, actually, and the moment when he could have reclaimed the debt was past. He had offered it to Draco, and Draco had chosen the form his payment would take. He'd even used the correct phrasing to seal it. And just as there was no choice about accepting a life debt in the first place, so there was no choice about accepting the form the payment took if it was turned back on the giver.
Unless he killed Draco, and that was still not an option, though Harry had to admit it was looking a bit more tempting than before.
"I promise, Harry."
Harry turned to Draco, who had caught his hand and stopped on the path. His face was hard, his eyes gleaming, near a fanatic's. It disturbed Harry, who imagined it was the way his Death Eaters would look at Voldemort.
"I think you're wrong about my father," Draco said, firming his clasp on Harry's wrist. "But I promise, I promise you, that I won't let any harm come to you in the Manor, from my father or anyone else. I promise. They'll have to kill me first."
Harry sighed. He really had no choice anymore, and he would have to live with the consequences of this, too.
"You realize that my parents and my godfather are still going to scream the roof down," he said, as they started walking back to Hogwarts. "And my brother."
"I don't know your parents," said Draco, with a sniff. "And my mother told me your godfather is a prat. And I know your brother's a prat. So that's all settled." He gave Harry another beatific smile.
Harry, helpless, forced to remember that at least Draco was here to smile instead of choked or kicked to death, smiled back.