Chapter One: Mission Implausible
It seemed like all his life he used his knife instead of his wand. Not true, of course, but he couldn't help but feel it so as he went literally slashing left and right through the Malfoy Manor. Getting into the deteriorating mansion was no trouble, the Aurors had the Deatheaters trapped inside and they could basically manipulate the situation as they wished, but there was one factor that kept them from destroying the house itself. Information. There was no way to know if all of the Deatheaters were in that house, if the war was truly on the brink of ending. And Dumbledore would not get cocky and end this without being sure, Sirius knew that and it was the only reason he accepted this mission. The key to this entire war was inside Malfoy Manor.
Sirius threw himself down the longest run of his life. He could feel the house coming down all around him with seizing panic. His knife already gleamed red, and now it didn't matter if he used his wand. They knew he was here. Skidding to a stop, Sirius ripped out his wand, pivoting on his heel as a legion of Deatheaters poured from an up-leading staircase. Their hoods were down and their faces were chalky white. He took a moment to assess the situation, his eyes darting to every exit. They swung back though when a Deatheater fell to the floor coughing. Flecks of red sprung out from his flaxen lips and Sirius let his wand down slightly. The other Deatheaters barely flinched as the young man, barely Harry's age, lay dying. Sirius didn't feel any guilt in relief, the dark wizards here were nearly snuffed out.
He felt a little part of himself harden every time he used Avada Kadrava, and the hall was filled with green light. What really struck the Auror though was that over half of the men he faced didn't make any real effort to block the curse. Slaughter was what it was, and Sirius pursed his mouth.
Stepping over the corpses, keeping his eyes straight ahead, Sirius unfolded the roughly sketched map they had recovered from another failed spy mission. The map illustrated only the most important points that mattered to Sirius's cause, namely the upper east wing where the bedrooms were.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Gripping his wand, Sirius slowly turned, his limbs tensing as dark figures crawled from the ceiling, from the floors and walls towards him. They alighted on the ground in silence, their platinum locks whispers over their perfect ivory skin, veiling their piercing blue eyes.
Veelas.
Twenty or thirty of them at least were writhing and moving provocatively at him, their eyes dragging him closer into their bodies. Sirius snorted and turned back to moving down the hall towards the goal staircase. Behind him, the Veelas stilled. He could imagine the outrage on their perfectly alluring faces, but there was nothing they could do to dissuade him from the destination of his mission. No woman could, anyway. He yelled back over his shoulder, "You're missing something girls, sorry." Even as he laughed, he hated how husky his voice had grown. The damp chill of lying in wait or in camp had grown into his bones, giving him this eternal cold.
Needless to say, the Veelas stood in stunned and angry silence before the tallest of them sprouted her dangerous fangs and sidled down the hall like some scraping makeshift statue of sticks. They were in as bad a shape as the Deatheaters had been. Sirius heard them coming and without even bothering to face them, he stabbed his wand behind him and shouted those fateful words. Green light enveloped the scraping sound of the Veelas and erased their forces from existence.
"What else, it hasn't been finished," he murmured, looking over the map again and craning his neck around a tight corner down another stretching hallway. The house was a labyrinth, surely. And this labyrinth had more surprises in store for him, as an unwelcome guest.
He felt oddly like a muggle tourist. A muggle because wizards didn't bother looking at maps at all, that was a specific trait of their race when it came to unfamiliar places, but Sirius had seen muggles enough, stumbling around with huge maps obscuring the view they came to see. Although he most certainly did not come to sightsee around this desolate place, once one of regality and grandeur.
A door lay at the end of his trek, a thick looking door that could easily fit two sets of Weasly twins across the frame. For a moment he wondered how he would get in, undoubtedly there were hexes guarding what lay on the other side.
Something interrupted his thoughts, and for the first time this entire mission Sirius began to sweat. It was cold sweat, like trickling ice down his neck, ice stinging his brow. His ribs groaned as if bending to the dark forces creeping menacingly down the halls, spearing shadows like goblin fingers threading through the sinew of his limbs. And without a doubt in his thoughts, Sirius for a moment huddled close to the gigantic door, wishing a hex may put him out of this misery. He didn't want to face them, not them. A chilling sweep of their breath echoed close to his face. Over time, Sirius had become a very hard man, but that sound, its presence brought a scream to his lips.
The dementors numbered fourteen exactly. Sirius could tell without looking by counting each individual breath, every one different. Many of the magic community, and blamelessly so, believed dementors to be a kind of mono-minded monster; Sirius knew well that they were as unique from one another as witches and wizards. They would talk to each other, in a language so papery thin that one could barely discern it from breath. But words were different. Their breath was long and rattling, but their language was wispy, old like spider webs dressed in dust. Sirius could hear it, and that struck fear in him like nothing else could because he knew they were planning. With their devious, sinister minds lying in that fleshy, featureless face the rusty gears were turning in reference to this knew target.
"Not in bloody hell," he growled, shoving from the door, timing his turn, and landing a firm kick on one. Not that it mattered except to throw off their initial attack, but that was enough for Sirius who knew them well. In the second he had graciously aloud for himself, his wand was up along with the stained knife. Regrouping quickly, the Dementors flowed around him creating a treacherous circle. There was no way to get every one, not without at least a few getting their hands around his neck. And the moment the hood went down, Sirius knew that his chances became very slim.
But - as in most cases where one is put in an impossible situation - gut feeling, and animalistic instinct is put into great trust. Sirius, being one used to impossible situations (and one with a finely tuned gut for such things) closed his eyes, centered his mind on one thought that made his lips curl in a smile, and let loose with an appalling yell: "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
Now that that was out of the way, Sirius regarded the heavy door with a moment's contemplation before simply landing his foot soundly in the very center of the thing, following as it burst in with surprisingly little trouble. Pleased with himself, he surveyed his work with an approving nod, then glanced over his shoulder.
The room was basically less than what the auror had expected; just a room with an iron barred window and a very high ceiling with very dark rafters. Cobwebs lined the walls thicker than blood, and Sirius left a distinct foot print in the mildewy floorboards supporting his weight. Since Lucius's death, it was as if the house had given up, dried like some great prehistoric fossil. He titled back his head, relaxing his neck. What he wanted was in here, and what he wanted was not as smart as rumored to be, only desperate. Hurried footsteps made by slim feet led from the bed in a path winding past where Sirius stood as if the person who made them had darted away in surprise.
He almost felt like teasing the wizard. Come out, come out, wherever you are, he silently sang. Not that he didn't know. He could hear the shifting weight behind him, shuddering breath. Sirius tucked his wand away; he was in no danger.
The wizard tucked in a corner behind him launched himself from the wall, wielding a piece of broken mirror in his grip. He was startlingly fast, but Sirius managed to dodge it, watching the jagged shard of glass whistle past his cheek as if in slow motion, and the white wrist that followed. His hand shot up, catching the wizard in the joint of his elbow, yanking him forward. A sharp hip struck his back as Sirius pulled the slight weight over his shoulder, jarring his back and flipping the body completely, flinging the struggling, flailing boy onto the bed.
For moments the young wizard just lay there, his breath wheezing in a crippled fashion from his lungs, which were practically visible between harshly jutting ribs. Sirius stood actually stunned for a moment, a little unsure now. The boy was supposed to be fine, still fighting, harboring secret supplies from a secret source, maintaining the strength of the Deatheaters. And here before him lay nothing but the complete contrary subject.
"Draco Malfoy." His voice was quite nearly bewildered under the initial growl. The boy on the bed tried to lift himself, failed, and unceremoniously slipped from the bed cover, coming to rest on his knees, hip bones arching unconventionally from his body. He seemed to catch his breath, then raise himself up, dragging his nails back to clear his face of the fine corn silk hair. Eyes like steel, eyes like Lucius's eyes beat into the Auror, the cold precise gaze the only thing conveying any strength. If Sirius prodded the boy in the chest with his finger, Malfoy would fall back again and this time not return to his feet. But somehow Sirius was captivated by the will this young wizard displayed.
"Come on then," Malfoy grated out, his throat sounding raw, "don't just leave me standing, I might as well die fighting on my feet."
Some honor, thought Sirius, almost smiling. 'I might as well die fighting' is just what a Malfoy would say. But 'I might as well' wasn't what Sirius came for. Avoiding the glass weapon, he easily slapped the wizard's hand away and shoved him down, ignoring the neglected nails caked in dirt that darted for his eyes. Malfoy posed no threat, but he did get annoying. Finally, with stubborn fingers frenziedly scratching at his neck, Sirius pulled out his wand. In all his years of wizardry, he had never taken to stun spells, but it came in handy now, putting his target to sleep. Now Sirius was able to wrap the boy in a moldy blanket covering the bed. Like a sack of coal he threw his cargo over his shoulder, grunting slightly. He frowned. I'm getting old, he thought, shaking his head.
What he faced in the mansion really must have been all that was left in this area. On the way out Sirius came across no disturbance, of any kind. The Malfoy boy was still out on his back as he slung him to the floor. They were on the first level, and Sirius couldn't figure the way out. So, as any red blooded wizard would, he decided to make himself one. The house was making him claustrophobic with its eerie silence. It reminded him of a graveyard late at night, but here he was in the tomb. Grumbling as a distinct shudder squirmed the length his spine, Sirius took up the severed arm of a marble statue, nodding to the ugly Malfoy face of the thing as it glared down at him. The last time he had been outside the walls, snow had been blanketing the grounds and clearing the air. It was the only reason he'd wrapped the wizard up, and now he couldn't help but regret not bringing a blanket for himself as well. He could feel the cold through the rotting wall. Squaring his shoulders, he glanced down at the white tuffs of hair peeking out from the death gray cover, and swung with all the might he had at the blank face of the wall.
It was still snowing, harder than before. But warming spells would be.... stupid. If there were any dark creatures for miles, they would sense it like a shark for blood. Being a wizard who.... sometimes.... believed in common sense, the Auror lugged Malfoy back over his shoulder and trudged on with very cold toes.
The rest of the team were huddled around a small fire that Snape had conjured while Lupin paced the length of the long table which served as a makeshift focal point in the decor of the shabby room. Not that one could call it decor, but it was the only piece of furniture they had, and they kept it with pride.
Lupin bent over the table, his thin arms shaking. Strands of ratted amber hair fell in front of his face. "Padfoot, you idiot," he whispered, "Why did I let you go alone." He clenched his fist, staring fixedly down at the rough map covering the rickety tabletop. From the fire, Snape turned and looked at the Werewolf.
Like stray cats, the group reacted quick and violently when the door to their hideout broke in. For minutes they all had their wands aimed, waiting. When nothing happened, McGonnagal strode over to the door and peered out. She turned back and shrugged. The group of Aurors followed her, trading glances with each other.
It was Lupin's gasp that brought the wands out again. Then it was Lupin's sigh of relief that put them away.
Sirius rolled his eyes as Lupin threw his arms around his neck, squeezing him nearly out of commission. Finally he peeled his friend off. Then he backed to the table and unfolded the moldy cover, revealing a steely eyed Malfoy, his whole body thrown into harsh angles and shadow. The team of Aurors stared. Rubbing his eyes, and squinting with irritation, Malfoy gave them all a withering glare and reached up, his long fingers wrapping around the low hanging bulb providing them un-magical light. A small, nasty smile curved on his mouth as he promptly yanked the whole light down, wire and all. Then, his face turning very different in the shifting firelight, Malfoy lifted the sparking light and threw it as hard as he could at Sirius.
"I see you've made friends," McGonnagal said, eyebrows raised.
A/N: Hejk, this chapter title is excrutiating.... and I can't figure what's supposed to be capitalized and what not. Dementors, aurors, deatheaters. Big letters, or little!! I just know some people get really annoyed with that kind of stuff, so to save any future lectures, would anyone like to tell me?? Merci bocoup!