Disclaimer: I own my student loans, not HP & Co.

To my reviewers: Thank you for your feedback. A number of you have indicated that there is a lull in the story – I know, but I am trying to stick with my original plot, which requires that there be lull moments as there is in "real life". Still, your patience will pay off: action comes to those who wait.

Chapter 26: Day 12, Part II: Sins of the Father

Again, Harry found himself surprisingly awake several hours after retiring to sleep. He held his breath for a minute listening, only to have silence prevail. Still, logic had a pretty good suggestion for just who had woken him up.

"Ugh, bloody Slytherins. Do they never sleep?" Harry grumbled, rolling out of bed to don his robe and boots. This time, he was just going to tell them to go asleep: they needed the rest, and they could find a more reasonable time to act all suspicious.

Stepping out of the tent, the biting air stung his skin and eyes so that he blinked several times before realizing that no one could been seen on the dark frozen ground that had hosted the Slytherins' last gathering. Frowning, he looked carefully at each tent, though the starlight offered limited visibility. . .

Did that one tent just move? Studying it, was he just imagining the escape of faint traces of light? It wasn't Malfoy's tent, but he couldn't for the life of him remember whose tent it was.

He blinked.

There it was again – the muffled sound of humanity. Not like the night before, not whispered word; it was sharper, more sudden. . . more suffocated.

Harry ears couldn't place the origin of the haunting sound, but he didn't need one: his suspicious hunch was enough. He ran through the cutting wind, over the crunchy terrain, past the dampening wall; then he ripped up the zipper and stepped in –

Draco, Pansy, and Tor sprung to their feet, turning defensively towards Potter, obscuring the bed. All three had brandished their wands before even recognizing the robed figure.

"What the bloody hell are you trying to do? Scare us to death?" Pansy hissed, clearly shaken by Harry's sudden appearance – and, given the size of the tents, close proximity. She had been caught up in the moment, and had been irrationally terrified that her father had come to kill and punish her.

"Sneaking up on people like that is likely to get you killed, you know that Potter?" Draco snapped, looking a little pale even by his standards. The Boy Wonder had chosen a very. . . vulnerable time to come barging in.

Harry had lowered his hood and looked distinctly flustered. "I, uh, heard something."

Of course, the recruit on the bed felt the time ripe to moan piteously.

"Okay, I definitely heard that." Harry stepped forward, pushing past Tor and Pansy to see Theodore Nott, laying flush and sweating on the mattress, in obvious pain and having difficulty breathing. With this vision, a familiar knot formed in Harry's stomach.

Something really, really bad was going down.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked seriously, finally tearing his gaze away from the premonition before him – but Draco's reluctant and defensive expression offered little reassurance. He looked at Pansy and Tor, but he suspected that they would take their queue from Malfoy.

Frustrated, Harry turned back to the shaking body on the bed. Reaching out, he placed on hand on Nott's upper arm, and another on his forehead. "How are you doing, Theodore?"

Nott closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.

"Thee," Draco spoke up suddenly.

"What?" Harry asked, obviously irritated.

"Thee. . ." Draco trailed off cryptically. "Thee Nott. Only his parents call him Theodore, and they're part of the problem."

"I can't help if I don't know what's going on," Harry replied, looking again at Nott, Thee, whatever. The sheer physicality of the symptoms suggested a poison of some sort, but when dealing with the Dark Arts, anything was possible. It was the difficulty breathing that really boded poorly.

Leaning forward, Harry whispered, "We're here, Thee. We'll do all we can."

Harry drew away, but Thee desperately grasped his hand, his eyes burning with intensity, and rasped, "People are going to die."

"Who? Who's going to die?" Harry asked urgently, gripping Nott as hard as he was being held.

Then Nott pushed him away. "It doesn't matter. No one you care about."

Pansy slipped passed Harry and wrapped her arms around the flushed Slytherin. "Don't let them take you, Thee. I've got you." Her face was buried in Nott's chest, but her voice betrayed her distress.

Harry glared expectantly at Draco: it was HIGH time that he was let in on the details of this sordid situation. Rationally, Draco had to admit that an explanation was pretty much inescapable, but he could recognize the twitchy feeling of his own pent-up rage, just waiting for a moment of weakened defenses to surge forth, take control of the human vessel, and maniacally lay waste to all that defied him. . .

Shaking himself mentally, Draco met the Gryffindor's gaze and stated bluntly, "He's been placed under an ancient, dark spell."

"And as the dark arts authority around here, you know all about it," Harry shot back, himself feeling the frustration of the situation.

Scowling at him, Draco sneered, "My reputation precedes me! I am an authority, one of the perks of a Malfoy education. So maybe you should listen to what I have to say."

Pissy Malfoy, plus sickly Slytherin recruit. . . this was going to get worse, no matter how one tried to frame the situation. "By all means, Malfoy, enlighten me."

Draco wavered for a moment between educating Harry as to the situation and upbraiding him for his provocative attitude; then forced himself to recall his priorities – mainly, at the moment, Thee. "It is not uncommon, historically, for powerful families to cast dark spells on their children; spells to ensure loyalty. . . and to prevent their untimely deaths at the hands of their own offspring."

The idea left a bad taste in Harry's mouth, and a small, prejudiced part of him was disgusted with the wizarding world. Sure, muggles had mastered the art of mass killing, of genocide, but leave it to the wizards and witches to get really twisted. It was downright perverse.

"So what set it off?" he asked seriously, frowning in distaste.

"My guess – Nott senior has received a fatal, or near fatal wound. That's usually how these things work." Draco's words were delivered with false nonchalance, causing Pansy to glance sharply at him, and Tor to stare at him as though his death had just been predicted.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry's eyes landed again on Thee: his pupils had rolled up in his eye sockets, and he was wheezing in short, quick gasps. As sweaty and pale as he was, it was obvious to Harry that Moody and Mackin would have to be involved almost immediately. Harry asked softly, "What's going to happen to him?"

Adrenaline spiked and Draco restrained the sudden urge to break something; instead, he shrugged. "Assuming the spell was cast properly, and at full strength. . . should his father expire, he will likely die."

Though the response was not unexpected, it still sent a thrill of fear through Harry's body, and he glanced at Pansy and Tor before his gaze rested heavily on Draco. Who else might be sporting similar curses, waiting to die from something happening to a family member?

"You shouldn't talk that way in front of him," Pansy accused, sounding close to tears.

"You're not, uh, cursed, are you?" Harry stuttered urgently; he really didn't need another reason to loath and despise Lucius Malfoy.

Draco barked a short, harsh laugh, and shook his head. "No. . . A Malfoy ancestor once deemed such spells to be an unacceptable risk to the longevity of the bloodline, what with our particular proclivity for untimely deaths. . . Besides, there are plenty of other ways to keep offspring in line. My family has never used those binding spells since. . . I suppose you could say that Father is a traditionalist."

Harry was so relieved by Draco's words that he felt guilty for not caring more for Nott. "What about the other Slytherins? Anyone else under this curse?"

Draco's eyes flickered over to the now ashen Tor, and he nodded grimly in his direction, ". . . and I suspect one other."

Harry looked at the tall, lanky Tor, and the tragic, pathetic expression that graced his face. "Why didn't you tell anybody?"

After a tense pause, Tor's response was resigned, and he spoke slowly. "There's nothing to be done. . . I was cursed because my father didn't trust me – with good reason, as it turns out. . . I dunno. I understood that the odds of me surviving this war are very slim, but You-Know-Who needs to be stopped, no matter what. . . So I'm okay with that, I guess. I'd. . . like to go out fighting."

Harry felt a strong wave of empathy and their eyes met. "This might sound crazy, but I know exactly how you feel."

After a moment, Tor nodded in acknowledgement: of course the Boy-Who-Lived would understand something things like fate and death and fighting, and it made him feel a little better.

A pensive silence grew, tainted by Nott's pants and moans, before a need for action forced speech. "We have to tell Moody and Mackin," Harry stated.

The Slytherins exchanged lingering glances, after which Draco reluctantly conceded, "I should do it."

Harry cringed slightly: neither Auror had shown any fondness for the blonde. He could definitely use some backup. "I'll go with you."

So the two of them braved the cold to dash to Mackin's tent, only to discover it deserted – immaculate even, with no sign of recent activity.

"Bloody Hell," Draco whispered edgily. "Something is definitely going on if Mackin's been called out in the middle of the night."

"Come on," Harry said grimly, taking off towards the other 'big' tent. "We need to try Moody."

Moody was quite displeased to be interrupted in the middle of the night, but Harry and Draco could tell that they hadn't woken him up. A brief report of events was all that was required to spur the craggily old man into action. With out comment, he strode quickly to Nott's tent.

Standing over the delirious boy, his nostrils flared as he took on an expression of extreme hostility. "Some dared hope such barbaric practices had died out, but I knew better. . . the greed for power will never die."

Nott's body seized suddenly, violently, and Pansy cried out as she held him down, Draco moving to help her.

"Can we get a mediwitch or something? Maybe set him to St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, growing upset by the Slytherin's obvious display of pain.

Moody shook his head immediately, pushing Pansy and Draco out of the way so that he could sit on the bed and examine Nott. "There is nothing that can be done. Ancient magic cannot simply be treated."

Distressed, Harry looked to the three Slytherins where they stood triumvirate, jaws clenched to hold back the grief, their blank faces nevertheless conveying the full weight of their resignation. . .

For they had known.

There was nothing that could be done about it; and that was the real reason it had not been brought to anyone's attention.

After briefly resting his hand on Nott's forehead, Moody roughly turned the boy's face from side to side while inspecting the eyes. "Only the completely natural death of the spell's caster will remove the spell from his body," he proclaimed, mostly for Harry's benefit.

"Only if rotting away in Azkaban counts as perfectly natural," Draco gritted out between clenched teeth.

Moody's eyes swiveled over to inspect the Slytherin spokesman, not for the first time since his arrival at the camp. General, innate paranoia demanded a degree of suspicion, but he could detect the edge of desperate determination that laced everything the young man did and said. It didn't engender trust really, but it inspired a degree of respect: the Malfoy heir would not die easily, and that was always an asset during war. Not like the pathetic, cursed boy lying on the bed, whose condition probably boded well for the status of the situation at the Ministry.

Moody stood abruptly, and roughly said, "Keep him comfortable, I will return shortly."

Then he pushed passed the recruits and exited the tent, leaving all a little perplexed.

"I knew they wouldn't be able to help," Tor complained bitterly, pacing in tightly circles in the little space available. "No one can do anything about it. . . Thee's gonna die, and so am I."

"You don't know that!" Draco snapped, glaring at him. "None of us know that. We all signed on knowing we might die, but it's not written in the bloody stars."

Harry tried to ignore the exchange, his mind trying to piece the night together. . . he didn't like the conclusion he was drawing. Frowning, he muttered, "Something's going down tonight."

"Obviously," Pansy retorted from the position she had reclaimed next to Nott.

Harry pushed on, "Nott's father has been almost killed, Mackin's not here, Moody was already awake – like he was anticipating something. . . Maybe there's a battle going on right now!"

Draco prickled noticeably at the announcement, though he couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind. "Without me! Without you, the bloody chosen one!" he barked in aggrivation. "Is this what it means to be a recruit, that we can't fight!"

"Calm the fuck down," Harry commanded irritably. "We've only been training for a couple of days, I'm sure our turn to kill and maim will come soon enough."

The boys glared at each other, if only to be able to direct their frustration, allowing a degree of focus. . .

Battle.

Bloody hell, that meant –

Suddenly very serious, Draco turned away, blurting, "Stay here, I've got to go check something!"

Mildly shocked, Tor and Pansy watched him leave, but Harry was on his heals in a moment. They ran through the artic night, for about a dozen strides, to one of the other Slytherin tents; Draco unzipped it and stepped in –

He froze, so that Harry had to step around him when he entered. . .

On the cot was a still, lanky figure obscured by shadow; anyone who had seen a corpse before could recognize the particular, distinctive stillness of death.

Then the moment was over and Draco snapped into motion: brandishing his wand, he silently mouthed a spell that lit the tent, revealing the thin body of Zara Crowfeet. He sat down on the bed next to her, and reached out for her neck with false calm. Her skin was cool, and his fingers on her throat could make out no pulse, and a horrible gnawing had begun in his stomach.

"Draco. . ." Harry trailed off, unable to tear his eyes from the dead girl, for a split second seeing Cedric instead. . . Why were children dying just to get by? Is this what was going to happen to Theodore Nott? It was so fucked up that any of them had to be here, fighting a war that none wanted any part of. Was peace REALLY too much to ask for!

Blinking rapidly to clear his thoughts, Harry started again, "We need to get back to the others, to tell Moody."

Draco sat as though immobile, as gently holding one of Zara's arms, his eyes calmly taking in her face for a final time. When he felt Harry's hand on his shoulder, he broke away and stood rigid, anger returning so completely as to have never departed.

"Moody! Are you daft?" he shouted, fists clenched and literally trembling with rage. "He can't do anything for Thee, let alone Zara! She's dead, Potter! DEAD!"

"I know!" Harry returned, a little upset, before lowering his voice. "I know she's dead. I'm sorry," but he could already tell that his words would not be enough; Draco was way too wound up.

"Oh really?" the blonde sneered nastily. "Well I'm sorry too. Sorry I let you drag me back to this awful place. Watching my housemates die is my absolute last choice when it comes to alternate realities."

Harry really did not want to be having this conversation now, in the middle of the polar night, with a dead body on the bed, and a battle raging hundreds of kilometers away. . .

"Listen here, I know all that, I really do. It sucks that it has to be this way, I know that as much as you. But we all have our roles to play, however unbearable they might be. You can't afford to be selfish, Draco, and neither can I. Our lives are not our own."

Draco's face scrunched up in pain, Potter's words bringing no comfort. He itched to act out so badly, to release the hate and hurt that burned

He lunged for wood folding chair, seizing it, smashing and breaking it on the desk, on the shelves, knocking the shelves to the ground –

Harry grabbed him forcefully from behind, pinning Draco's arms to his body. "Chill the fuck out, Malfoy," he whispered in his ear. "Now is not the time to go berserker."

Draco struggled petulantly in his hold, hissing, "When would be a good time? When it's my turn to die?"

Twisting around, Draco tried to knee him in the groin, but Harry deflected by shifting balance and toppling over the Slytherin, dragging them both to the floor.

"You bastard!" Harry exclaimed, grappling to hold Draco to the ground.

Kicking and punching wildly, Draco warded him off. The moment Harry relented, Draco tried to sit up –

Harry took the opportunity to pounce, pinning Draco's forearms with his hands, and his body with his own; though he hadn't expected it, he wasn't surprised to feel Draco's partial arousal. Unbidden, his breathing suddenly hitched, and his entire experience of the situation changed: blood rushed through his body, his pupils dilated, and his grip weakened minutely. Instinctively, he leaned in to kiss the parted lips. . .

Draco tasted faintly like vanilla, with just a dash of spice from the evening gruel; he smelled like magi-soap and excitement; but his lips were unmoving and unresponsive. Harry pulled away a little to look at him, to take in his wary expression just as their bodies rubbed together with an intimacy that their gaze forbade.

Annoyed with himself for indulging the kiss at all, Draco shoved Harry away abruptly, then scrambled to his feet. He was being a monumental idiot to encourage this at all: it wasn't like he had anything to offer, or that he even wanted anything from the prat. . . "This is hardly the place."

Harry gathered himself and stood, watching Draco flatten down his white robes. Glancing at Zara-no-more, he nodded, "Later then, should we live."

Draco sighed and moved to leave without ever looking back. "Don't be an arse, Potter. Let's get out of here."

! END OF CHAPTER!

Sorry it took so long to post, I've been super busy. I'll try to be better. Please review, it'll whip me into action.