A Different Kind of Training

So it starts heating up! Muahaha!

Chapter 6

As it turned out, it took most of the rest of the day to save the other Death Eaters that were on Harry's list, as Tarquin Rosier was the only one who was capable of flooing to Snape's rooms under his own volition, and he was understandably concerned about the "Gryffindor Golden Boy" messing with the mark that already branded him to an insane Dark Lord. Harry had to swear an oath on his life and magic (despite Professor Snape's protests) to make Tarquin believe that he only wanted to remove his mark. After that, Snape side-along apparated Harry to Malfoy Manor, where a tearful and suspicious Narcissa Malfoy let them in. Professor Snape talked to her for a short time (Harry didn't know what they said) but it seemed to have convinced her, because shortly thereafter, she led him to the Malfoy's posh master bedchamber, where Lucius was lying, nearly catatonic with magical drain and muttering incoherently, on the sky blue silk of the bed.

Harry had honestly always hated the arrogant pureblood, but that didn't mean that he wanted him to die. He was by his side in an instant. "The potion?"

Professor Snape handed him the mostly-empty bottle of cleansing potion. "Is there enough?"

"There better be," Harry returned, tilting the bottle and looking at its contents with a critical eye. "Hm. This should work." And without any more delay, as Lucius was worsening every second that he deliberated, he filled his hand with the itchy cleansing substance, drew back Lucius's green velvet and lace sleeve, and raised his hand over the mark. "Oh, sweet Merlin," he muttered. "Riddle is such a twisted bastard." Then he laid his palm over the weeping and blistering mark a little more carefully than he had originally intended. Lucius still moaned at the contact, trying to pull away with a delirious mutter of "Father, please". Harry couldn't help an odd flicker of compassion- perhaps Lucius had a reason for being such a prat. All the same, he didn't let it stop him. He carefully lifted the abused arm and murmured "Releasssssse totally," in the sybillant language of the snakes, garnering a startled squeak from Narcissa (not that Harry noticed, although Professor Snape smirked). And then Lucius screamed. Harry had never in his life heard anything so truly terrible save for Voldemort's laugh. A scream like that was terrible enough; from a man who prided himself on his composure, even under the cruciatus, it was still more so. The cry, however, quickly died away into silence as Lucius Malfoy lost consciousness. On the instant, Narcissa Malfoy was by his side.

"What did you do to him?!" she asked, with the sharpness of real desperation. Harry blinked.

"Removed his mark with parselmouth. Did Professor Snape tell you what I was going to do?"

"He didn't say it would hurt him like that!" she responded. "And how did you know how to do that, anyway?"

"I can't tell you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Can't, or won't? And if you were planning on removing it, why is it still there? I was willing to trust Severus to an extent, but-"

"Ma'am, the mark won't go away immediately. I broke the connection to Ridd- um, the Dark Lord, but the mark will take about three days to go away entirely, because the skin has to literally peel off. It's not pretty, but at least he won't be dead."

She blanched at this. "And...I see. The Malfoy family owes you a debt," she said after a moment, transitioning to a stiff sort of pureblood hostess formality.

Harry wanted to tell her "no problem," but from what little he knew of pureblood society, that would not be a good idea, and besides, there was quite a good chance that Harry would end up calling on the Malfoy family to join him in an alliance or such, if ever he needed to influence high society. Or perhaps he might need to ask for some tutoring in pureblood manners, speaking of his deficit. In any case, he replied with a smooth: "Thank you, my lady," and hoped that she wouldn't find it offensive. It seemed to work, too, judging by the faint approval in Professor Snape's dark eyes and her small smile. Harry was, however, still quite uncomfortable in the large and drafty manor, whose walls seemed so full of dark magic, and there was Gemma Prince nee Crabbe to save, so he let Snape give the farewells, added a cautious goodbye himself, and followed his Potions Professor through the floo, stumbling out to land back in Professor Snape's personal quarters.

Gemma Crabbe was possibly the hardest of all of them to reach, considering that the floo was answered by a tipsy and nervous house elf, who would say nothing but "Masters being indisposed, Professor Sevvy sir," until Snape finally pushed her gently but unemotionally out of the way and prepared to step through the floo.

"I thought you couldn't just walk though another wizard's floo like that?" Harry asked. Severus's dark gaze pinned him like an insect to a cork board.

"Normally, no," he replied grimly. "This is Prince Manor, though, Gemma's dowry. No one who has Prince blood can be warded out, no matter who he or she is. You, on the other hand...the wards would fry you. Stay here."

"But-"

"But nothing! If she's still alive, I'll bring her through the floo with me." And then Professor Snape stepped through the whirling green flames and was gone.

He returned within minutes, face pale, carrying a limp young woman, pale and bruised, and with running mascara, marking a long streak down her nose. Harry was instantly at his side. "How is she?"

"Dying," replied the Potions Master, voice almost emotionless. "She was dying from the moment she was married off to that...imbecile." That last word was hissed with more venom than had it been the worst curse known to mankind. Professor Snape carefully lowered the woman to his couch, then summoned another bottle of cleansing potion. "Be careful, Potter," was all he said, but Harry could hear the desperation plain in his voice, not that he would have commented. He was indeed careful as he eased up the pale blue silk of her fluted sleeves, sickened as he saw that the cloth was actually stuck to the wound with gore, and trying to ignore her stifled whimpers. The removal of the mark was the same as the others, except that the drain and damage was more pronounced in Gemma, and thus the procedure was even more delicate than Lucius's had been, and once Harry had forced the mark to release its hold, he left Gemma Prince to her cousin's care and left, not noticing the contemplative look that Professor Snape shot after him or the suddenly startled and vastly interested gaze of one of the portraits.

He got back to the common room only to enter it in the middle of a gigantic party. Evidently Ginny (the only one of their little group of fighters besides Luna who had not sustained major damage) had told everyone of Voldemort's death, and something of an impromptu party had sprung up, with red and gold streamers all over the common room and enough glitter that it looked like someone had let Dobby at it- and they probably had, come to think of it. The twins had apparently sent along a number of posters that had most of the students nearly howling: Rest in Pieces, Lord Moldyshorts, Goodbye Umbitch, and Educational Decree #477: Students Not Permitted to Breathe were there, among others. Some of the upper years had snuck in some firewhisky and what looked to be a drinking game was going on in the corner, while Colin's camera was flashing and snapping like mad and everyone was trying to talk at him or grab at him. Damn. If he'd known that defeating Voldemort was going to cause this, he might have considered waiting for summer!

It wasn't that Harry didn't want to celebrate. Oh, no, on the contrary! But Gryffindor parties were always loud, flashy, and riotous, and he tended to have a massive headache after nearly all of them. Besides, having to tell his "heroic exploits" over and over and over to a giggling audience of fans who would never understand the difficulty and moral agony involved in killing (even killing a mad man) was not his idea of fun. They would never understand. The war, for them, was distant, far off. They understood the cost intellectually, but they had never killed, and some had not even witnessed death close at hand. Quidditch they could understand. The control of the ministry, corrupt politics...well, what with Umbridge, most of the upper years could grasp that, too. But fighting a dark wizard so feared that his name was not spoken by any but the bravest of men or the fools? Killing him? No, that was something that they would doubtless not understand for at least a few more years, and perhaps never. Nor could many of them understand the dim pain that still ached inside Harry when he thought of Sirius. Although it was not as bad as it might have been, if Harry could not have found closure, it was still an ache that Harry knew would take years to scab over to the point that it didn't hurt anymore. Harry managed to suffer through the party in the common room for a little while, but he was so tired of being pawed over. Even after he tried to retreat to the dorms, he could get no peace, as Colin was waiting with his camera, wanting to get a historic picture of the "conquering hero". Merlin, Harry could only imagine what the reporters and paparazzi outside the castle would be like.

Harry longed to be away, at least, away from the fuss of the Gryffindor commons. Perhaps he could go to the kitchens for a snack, and then go and eat it by the lake? It would be a small celebration, he thought, and one that would at least remember the dead. Besides, the only ones he wanted to talk to right now were either dead or in the hospital wing...or Luna. Harry blinked. Luna. She would be someone who would understand, or, if she didn't, would at least not paw over him and ask him to show his scars. The odd, gentle Ravenclaw was a great conversationalist, and she generally always got things right, and...and she would also just be good to share a butterbeer with.

Harry paused, then headed towards Ravenclaw tower.

She was standing as though waiting for him, silvery eyes lighting as she caught sight of him. "Harry," she said, with a silvery giggle.

Harry smiled a little. "You want to go get a butterbeer? It's too loud in the Gryffindor commons."

"And they don't understand," she replied softly. It was not a question.

Harry heaved a long sigh, feeling somehow much older than his fifteen years. "No," he replied, more subdued now as if by her quietness. "No, they don't." A pause. "Neither does Dumbledore, really. He wants to send me back to the Dursleys."

"Of course. Why would he want you strong now that Tom is gone?"

Harry stiffened. "What?"

"You're a threat." For once her heart-shaped face was deadly serious. "Now that Tom is gone, he's going to start worrying about what you might do to him, to his plans. The chessmaster never lets a pawn live, does he."

A chill ran through Harry, and he stopped in the middle of tickling the pear painting so they could enter the kitchens. "You think so?"

"I know." She straightened with a smile. "Of course, you could become a queen..."

"A what?" Harry stared at her. "Why would I become a queen?" Honestly, he was male, thank you very much!

"If the pawn reaches the other side of the chessboard, it becomes a queen," she said, unperturbed. "You could do that, too. Reach the other side of the chessboard." She reached past him to let them into the kitchen. "But first, I think you need a butterbeer. And possibly a vacation."

"Definitely a butterbeer," Harry replied. "But how would I go on a vacation? Dumbles probably has Privet Drive watched by Order members!"

"Tempore peregrinatio," she replied, without missing a beat. "Just say the spell, and you'll be too far away for Professor Bumblebee to track you."

"But the Trace!"

"Won't be a problem where you're going."

"Is that..." Harry's Latin had never been good, but it sounded like she was implying...

"Yes. Time travel. Harry, you need a break, and it'll be fun!"

"But...I thought time travel was illegal? And that it would kill you! How would I even get back?"

"Illegal...maybe. I never really checked." She smiled "but no, it won't kill you, not unless you do something stupid and rile up the locals in whatever time you're in, or you try to meet yourself, and it will just bump you back either when you do something that could endanger the timeline or you say tempore domus. Time has a habit of fixing itself, you know, so as long as you don't murder anyone or try to save your parents, you should be fine. And anyway, the spell doesn't take you to a specific time. It just takes you to a time. I met Ignatius Peverell once," she added dreamily. "He was quite a nice chap, too. Anyway, let's have a butterbeer."

Harry didn't know what to say to this, so he just took the offered butterbeer and they collected some snacks from the elves and headed in the general direction of the lake, to throw crusts at the giant squid.