AlexandriteSky: This is a yaoi fanfiction. If you clicked on this story despite it being clearly labeled as such, feel free to press that back button and save yourself (and me) the trouble of dealing with useless comments. Additionally, this is the first Harry Potter fanfiction I have ever written, so please be gentle! Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was busier than it had ever been for the past four years. After the defeat of Lord Voldemort under the hands of Harry Potter, the house that had once stood as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix had slowly become an empty shell of its former self, having no more use for its secretive quarters once the Order was disbanded. Most of its members joined or were reinstated into the Ministry, ensuring that dark mages would never be able to usurp the government again, while others just basked in the peace of the new era and chose to refrain from engaging with the Dark Arts as much as possible.
The period of peace that took over after ending Voldemort's rule was a repeat of the joy that had taken place the first time he had been defeated – however, this time the Order knew better than to take such peace for granted. With Kingsley as the new Minister of Magic, they were able to keep a close eye over any dealings involving dark magic, and it wasn't until that they were completely sure that Voldemort had been defeated for good before they began to relax.
Many Hogwarts graduates were now playing valuable roles around the world, astonishing those around them with the unnatural amount of skill each of them seemed to possess. They were celebrated and praised as heroes of war and welcome almost anywhere they went. However, each of the students knew that their power came only from necessity, one which only those who had physically fought the Dark Lord and his army could understand. Survivors of the battle at Hogwarts could only wish that they had been even stronger, so that fewer friends and loved ones could have died during the gruesome final battle. The mental strain of war had humbled them, scarring each of them with the deep wound of loss that would never quite be healed. Nothing short of the oblivion spell could possibly suture their wounds, and even that would be a messy fix at best. Nonetheless, they were loved, and they lived out their lives under the sun that only shone favorably because they had been on the right (often synonymous with winning) side.
Remaining Death Eaters and their families were not met with such a welcome reception. All members were instantly put on trial following their leader's demise and most were found guilty of murdering muggles and shipped to the dark confines of Azkaban. Very few families were treated with leniency for their crimes, and people all over the Wizardry World shunned them for their past alliance with the Dark Lord. The few that were pardoned found it exceptionally hard to find jobs, for no respectable establishment wanted a former Death Eater within its midst. Victims found numerous reasons to continue to hate long after the battle was over, taking proof in graves of the Death Eater's perpetual wretchedness.
After all, though the Dark Lord was dead, the Dark Mark could never be erased. It only faded with time but never truly disappeared, forcing all former Death Eaters to live their remaining lives in contempt and discrimination.
This was a burden that Draco Malfoy knew he would carry for the rest of his life. Out of all of the Death Eaters, his case had been most difficult to judge. As the prime accessory to the death of Hogwart's most revered headmaster Dumbledore, his family was first on the list of those sentenced to imprisonment, had it not been for the equally revered Boy-Who-Lived's objection. Harry Potter had personally intervened with the trial, asserting that the Malfoy family was the only reason that he was still alive today. He saw Narcissa Malfoy's deception as a clear sign that the Malfoy family had estranged themselves from the Dark Lord long before the end was near and that Draco had been a "victim of his family situation".
Though it was unanimous that all the witches and wizards present at the trial believed that the Malfoys still deserved to rot in ever-lasting hell, not one had the courage to oppose the young boy who had only days earlier defeated the cruelest Dark Lord ever known to the wizarding world. Harry's word had become law, and he was feared as much as he was loved. Eventually, the trial had come to a quiet close, ruling Draco and his family as innocent before allowing them to go free.
The blonde boy scowled at the thought. He did not like being labeled a victim, which made him sound weak. However, with time, he had had to open his eyes and accept the truth of the matter – he was weak, and he was nothing without the protection of his parents and the one person he used to hate more than anybody else in the world.
Now he stood in front of the gloomy house that was once owned by the infamous Sirius Black, his steps full of purpose as he walked towards the front door. Ever since his charge had been dismissed, Draco had obtained a job in the Ministry and worked alongside those in the Order. Although many still detested him, his knowledge of Dark Arts was invaluable to the Ministry, and soon they begrudgingly began to involve him in more serious affairs. Draco received jobs but didn't receive trust – there were people who clearly remembered suffering under the influence of his family, and the blonde male made no excuse for his past actions. He understood his crimes, but he would not regret the things that had occurred in his younger years. Regret was for people who were unable to move on, and Draco was more than determined to continue living his life.
Upon reaching the doorstep, Draco retrieved his wand and pointed it at the door handle. He flicked it once with a slight murmur, conjuring an ethereal key in midair which obediently slid into the lock which had appeared in front of the door. The house was enchanted with countless protection spells, creating an impenetrable barrier that would only allow those with permission to enter within its territory. This permission, which came in the form of a special incantation, was given only to those Harry Potter trusted enough to have.
The door groaned loudly as it opened, the barrier stretching slightly to give Draco room to walk inside. It closed behind him, once again sealing Number Twelve Grimmauld Place into a different dimension than the one normal people resided in. There was nowhere better protected than within its dusty depths, and members of the Order still chose to meet within in to discuss dire situations. Of course, being the bloody saint that he was, Harry had given them permission to use his lodging at will, only warning them to avoid the poisonous spiders that sometimes crept out of the ill-lit corners (Ron had turned green and now refused to walk about without a protective spell around him).
Draco strode quietly through the dark hallway, approaching the dining room in which he could hear low murmurs and the metallic twang of silverware and plates. He entered slowly, evaluating the members present with calm stony eyes. The responses he received were always unpredictable, and despite the fact that he knew he was needed, Draco kept his hand on his wand behind in back in case an impulsive hex was sent his way.
The first to notice his presence was a slim woman with bushy brown hair, who instantly rose to receive him with a warm smile on her face. "Draco." The woman greeted, hugging him briefly. Hermione Granger had matured in a beautiful woman, whose slender figure and full lips attracted men from every direction. Though she was only wearing denim jeans and a plaid button down shirt, she looked radiantly beautiful, emphasizing her natural beauty. It was almost unimaginable to compare her to the plain looking child she had been when Draco had first met her during their first year at Hogwarts.
The brown-haired bookworm was the only one in the Order to truly warm up to Draco, despite the nasty things that had occurred between them in the past. Although Draco still felt an immense superiority over muggleborns, there was nobody who could deny Hermione's intelligence and skill. Eventually, the blonde had developed a great respect for the woman, while she explained that she wasn't narrow minded enough to stay mad at him forever. Muggle history was full of the mistakes of mankind, she said sadly, but the biggest mistake was to close the mind off and refuse to grow from them.
"Granger." He replied. "You look as beautiful as always."
Hermione grinned in reply. "Thank you. I would tell you that you look absolutely dashing, but to do so would be unneeded, isn't that correct?"
Draco swept aside his bangs with a small grin. "Naturally."
The red-haired man seated beside Hermione rolled his eyes and stood up with a groan. "Blimey, I forgot what a pampered princess you are Malfoy. Doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it, though."
In contrast to Hermione, Ron Weasley looked no different than the first time they had exchanged hateful glares at the tender age of eleven. He was as frightening pale as ever, and his shaggy red hair flopped on top of his head like a limp mop. The only change was that he was a lot bigger than his younger adolescent self – the man had clearly been working out, and it was evident through his tight long-sleeved grey shirt.
"Charming as ever, Weasley." Draco drawled out, giving the other man a curt nod. Ron hesitated a bit before repeating the gesture, maintaining the illusion of tolerance between them as Hermione patted her boyfriend approvingly. The blood between the two wizards would always be bad, and nothing in the world could change that fact. Just looking upon the red-haired man made the corners of Draco's lips want to curl upwards in a sneer, but this impulse had been mastered after the insistence of a very upset Granger. Ron, on the other hand, had never quite gotten over the death of his older brother Fred, who had died valiantly while engaged in battle with Bellatrix Lestrange. The fact that Draco was the nephew of his brother's murderer combined with the history of contempt between the two men formed a concoction of fragile peace that threatened to shatter at any given time.
The rest of the members present gazed at him but didn't rise to greet him, something that Draco rather appreciated. He hated involving himself in fake frivolities, and he much preferred ignoring their existences just like how they ignored his. Neville even had the audacity to scowl at him, and Draco was quick to return the favor before sitting down in the seat on the other side of Hermione. The boy had become extremely cocky after his role in the downfall of the Dark Lord, perhaps rightfully so, but Draco only found his newfound attitude irritating and a good reason why Gryffindors were a pain in the arse.
"So?" he asked impatiently was he was settled in his seat. "What was the reason that I was called for? Excuse me if I don't believe that I was summoned for a friendly dinner with the lot of you."
There was a pop by his side and Kreacher appeared, balancing a tray with a cup of tea in his hands. He gave this to Draco politely, dipping his head in greeting before disappearing as quickly as he came. Though the male had never treated the elf with anything resembling kindness, Kreacher had still grown to have some kind of affinity for him. Perhaps he reminded the elf of his late revered master, Regulus Black; though the situations were different, they showed many similarities.
"Here." A witch in the back said curtly. Draco recognized her as Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff from the same year who had always been a rabid Harry Potter supporter. He hadn't seen the witch since their second-to-last year of Hogwarts, due to her absence once her mother was killed by Death Eaters. If the woman harbored any ill feelings towards him she kept them well hidden; her face was emotionless the paper in front of her floated across the table in order to land in his hands.
Draco looked down at the item. "This is…?"
"Bertha Harrison, age thirty-seven. Lived in a small house in Blackpool with her husband and three kids. Muggle."
Lived. It didn't take a genius to know that things were going to take a sour turn.
The blonde-haired waited for the rest, the woman's eyes haunting as they blinked upwards at him from the photograph in his hands.
"Two days ago, she suddenly proved capable of performing powerful magic. She massacred her family and all of her neighbors before being caught by one of our Aurors. She managed to escape while being transported to questioning, and we found her dead only yards away. It seemed to have been self-inflicted."
Draco looked up sharply. "Impossible." He stated firmly, placing the photograph on the table. "A muggle suddenly obtaining enough magic to kill a neighborhood of people? That's out of the question. She must have hid her awakening and practiced secretly on her own, it's the only explanation."
"That would have been a valid explanation…but this isn't the only occurrence." Hermione replied, brown eyes troubled. "There have been reports like this from all over the world; the muggles are panicking, thinking that it's the work of a mass serial killer. Which might not actually be that off the mark." She added, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Our aurors report that it's like they've lost their minds – they no longer seem to have coherent thoughts and instead go on a rampage."
"What do you think of this, Malfoy?" Hannah asked, brows furrowed together with worry. "You know the Dark Arts the best amongst all of us. Is there anything, such as some spell or ritual, that could cause a phenomenon such as this?"
Draco picked up the photograph again, examining it closer. The woman in the photograph had no particular traits that set her apart from any other ordinary citizen; her eyes were kind, with tiny crinkles in the corner that resulted from the wide smile on her face. The woman in the picture had nothing to hide – no skeletons in her closet, and probably no closet to hide them in the first place.
"There's nothing that comes to mind." He answered at last. "If it was just one occurrence, or several in one area, I would say that some demented wizard decided to take over her body to have a little fun. However, your information leads me to believe otherwise, and that is the only way I can possibly imagine to give a muggle wizard powers."
"What's worrying is the amount of power they are receiving as well." Hermione continued, pursing her lips. "Not only are they obtaining wizard powers but they are able to cast top level spells on top of that. Normally, we would learn the types of spells that they are using in our sixth or seventh year at Hogwarts, and we would never have learned the Three Unforgivable Curses had it not been for…special circumstances. Needless to say, even if these muggles had had drops of power that had been somehow awakened, they shouldn't be able to know about or cast these spells without intense training."
Draco felt a strange shiver run down his spine, a feeling he hadn't had since the Dark Lord had returned many years ago.
"I will investigate more on this manner." He stated firmly. "Granger, is it safe to assume you have already done some research on this occurrence?"
The brown-haired woman frowned. "I did, and found nothing." She replied rather grumpily, as she always did when she couldn't find the answer on her own. "I looked through almost every book in the Ministry's archives that could possibly have any information, but it was a waste of time. There's never been something like this in the history of the wizarding world."
Troubling, Draco frowned. "If you couldn't find anything, with all of your tools as the head of the Intelligence Department, then this will be most difficult indeed." He sighed, pushing away from the table and crossing his legs. "However, I still have a few places I can look in, but I don't promise too much."
"The sooner the better, Malfoy." Ron spoke up, grimacing with distaste for having to speak with the blonde. "I hate to say it, but us Aurors are being stretched thin. We're running out of available personal that can run to every corner of the world to stop the rampaging newborns."
The fact that Weasley was admitting this to him indicated the situation was as serious as he made it sound. Usually, the ginger was far too proud to admit that him and his team of Aurors were anything but perfect, and when he did Draco knew to take it as a grim threat.
"I will do what I can." He promised, standing up. "What has the boy wonder been doing? This seems to be his cue to start saving the world."
Ron looked up as if to defend his best friend, but upon reevaluating the blonde's words, he realized that no direct insult had been issued. It was difficult to respond to such a neutral statement, though Draco was capable of making a nursery rhyme sound offending. "He's looking into it as well, but he's pretty busy being dispatched to take care of the incidents." He answered at last, obviously choosing to let the matter slide for the moment. "Harry's the best at dealing with these newborns, so he's never in one place long enough to sip a cup of tea before he's whisked off to another part of the world. We decided that it would be best for him to handle the attacks in order to lower the amount of casualties so that we could research with a lighter burden."
"Of course." Draco drawled. "The guy's much better at using the muscles in his body than the one in his head, so it's rather appropriate to let him charge around while we secure information in the background. Commendable thinking, Weasley."
Ron flushed bright pink, and Hermione's hand on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from lunging at the smirking blonde.
"Don't insult my best mate, you git." He hissed venomously, freckles deepening as his entire face contorted into one of hatred. "Don't forget that Harry is the only reason you can walk around like a free man – I won't stand for your shameless chatter behind his back! Why, if any of us had had our way, you would have been wallowing in the deepest pits of hell along with all of the rest of your fellow Death Eaters!"
Draco bristled, his hand subconsciously skimming over the dark mark underneath his robes as he met Ron's hateful stare with one of his own. It had been a while before he had been met with such a direct attack on his background, and it wasn't a surprise that it had come from Ron. He glared at the red-head, embers smoldering within his gaze as he thought carefully about his response. Though a dozen insults were already hanging off of the tip of his tongue, Draco knew better than to dig himself deeper into a hole that was already the size of Canada. The current setting was not to his favor, and he didn't need to be attracting more attention to himself than necessary.
"Apparently a civilized jest is lost upon weasels. I apologize for not studying your kind more closely." He responded at last, jamming his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Well, I must be off now." He continued immediately after, cutting off Ron's sputtering retort neatly. "I just received an important assignment, after all. Do alert me about other things I should know about your species, Weasley – we might be able to understand each other better."
He left the room, leaving Ron behind livid with rage while Hermione hid her mouth behind her hand.
"Y-You grotty FERRET!" Draco heard Ron yell as he left the household, a satisfied smirk stretching across his face as the barrier sealed behind him, erasing all traces of the house and any sound of Ron's outraged bellows.
His expression changed as he once again pulled out the picture he had been given earlier. Bertha Harrison blinked up at him innocently, though now her countenance seemed rather sad. She looked at him as if to silently implore for something undecipherable, though it was impossible considering the picture had been taken long before her fall into madness.
Draco sighed. If Hermione had already tried the Ministry's archives, his available options were scarce and much more clandestine. He would have to access information that was only available to one of his background, and such matters always came at a price. The Malfoy library was the first place he would visit, though he highly doubted he would be able to find what he needed within its thousands of tattered pages. Knowledge of magic of this caliber would have been impossible for someone as arrogant as his father to conceal, who had read every book placed in his library. However, Draco thought that he would visit anyways just to be absolutely sure, in case there was some clue that his father may have overlooked.
His hand rose once again to rest upon the dark mark engraved into his skin, and stormy grey eyes flashed as he apparated away from Grimmauld Place.
He had had enough of Dark Lords and evil wizards for a lifetime, and he sorely hoped that he wouldn't have to encounter another one so soon after the previous one perished.
Silently, he couldn't help but muse about how the golden boy was feeling about the entire situation. If anybody had the right to be tired of arrogant arseholes, he supposed the barmy hero had some claim to the title. Knowing him though, he got his kicks off of sacrificing himself for the sake of other people, a very Gryffindor trait that Draco would never hope to understand.
Bloody Gryffindors. They acted as if the world wouldn't turn if they weren't constantly doing something heroic at all times, and they were all too eager to jump into a battlefield with their swords drawn and stupidity singing as proudly as a national anthem. Half of them died in petty skirmishes, defending glorious ideals such as their honor only to be poked by a pointy little stick in a time of carelessness.
Draco scowled as he walked through the gates leading to his manor, striding past wards that were meant to keep everybody but him and his parents out.
Though he prided himself in his ability to form a never ending stream of intelligible thought, he really had to stop thinking so much. He was starting to get a migraine, which had been inspired with his previous encounter with the Weasley and augmented by his incessant ponderings.
Headaches caused wrinkles between the brow, and Draco Malfoy did not get wrinkles.
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"Watch out!"
Harry cursed as he watched his fellow Auror fly backwards, wand flying out of the man's hand as he collided with a pile of crates that attempted to obstruct his path. He had been too busy dueling with the madman in front of him to notice when his opponent had suddenly fired a spell with what seemed like bad aim, only to watch as it struck his teammate who had been dutifully setting up a protective barrier around the area. It was a great disadvantage that the other man was now unconscious, though Harry took a small comfort in the fact that he was still alive. Muggles would be passing by the alley way soon, and Harry had no idea how he would react if that was to become the case. He hated using the obliviate spell more than anything, especially on innocent bystanders. He felt that there was something inherently wrong with taking away part of a person's life without his or her consent, but despite his reluctance, he knew it was the only option available to him should such a situation arise.
His attention returned to the man in front of him, who seemed momentarily satisfied by his successful attack. The man was showing symptoms similar to those that Harry had been fighting for the past few weeks; his body moved as if he was one giant marionette, each muscle jerking with the impression of being pulled by a string. His eyes were completely glazed over and unresponsive, and saliva dripped from his mouth in an uncontrolled manner. There didn't seem to be any thought being processed in his mind, yet he was still able to cast high level spells at an alarming rate without any difficulty. The feeling of animosity was disturbingly absent. The man acted almost like a small child, too innocent to understand the consequences of his actions.
Just what was up with these people?
"Expelliarmus!" he hissed, firing jets of green lights at the other man while dodging the spells that were cast in return. The most difficult part about fighting these people was their unpredictable nature. Because they did not think, there was no way to read what their next course of action would be. Normally, small gestures such as a twitch of an arm or a flicker of an eyelash could alert Harry to the aggressor's next move, but in this situation, he could only rely on instinct and experience alone.
Luckily, he happened to have a surplus of both.
Eyeing the wall directly behind the attacker, Harry waited for the man to cast another hex before rolling out of its way and casting his spell. "Confundus!" he called hoarsely, jerking his wand furiously before leaping out of the way of another flash of light. His spell whizzed past the man's ear, but as the man raised his arm to cast yet another curse, Harry's spell bounced off of the concrete wall and slammed into the unsuspecting man's back. "Stupefy." He added on soon after, reinforcing the helpless state the man was now in. With a flick of his arm, ropes extended from the end of his wand and wrapped themselves entirely around the man, binding his movements and causing his wand to drop harmlessly onto the floor.
Harry frowned. Not only were the muggles receiving powers, but they were receiving suitable wands as well. Whoever was devising such a demented plot was doing it meticulously without flaw. Somehow, he was able to provide the muggles with wands that were perfectly adapted to them, and he seemed to be able to be everywhere in the world at once.
What were they dealing with? Harry wondered as he walked over to his comrade and offered him his arm. His friend's arm was hanging at a funny angle, but with another flick of the wand, it slid back into its rightful place and a cast was conjured to support it.
So far, no goal had yet to be seen, and no pattern was observed. Muggles were simply going on a rampage, killing all of those around them before self-destructing nearby. The man Harry had just defeated was one of the few that had been captured alive, though Harry high doubted he would be of any use. The last one that had brought in for questioning had been utterly unusable – her mind had been completely vacant, and not even magic could bring up the answers that they so badly needed.
In order for one of the victims to actually be able to contribute to the case, he would need to still have part of his consciousness left. Even the tiniest bit was usable, but so far, Harry had yet to find one that met this requirement. It seemed as though the gift of power stripped the victims of all free will, though their actions didn't seem to be controlled either. They simply became mindless drones- killing machines that acted towards an unknown goal.
Harry wanted to bury his head into his hands. Sure, he knew that an uneventful life was realistically not the lifestyle that he was fated to have for the rest of his years, but did something like this have to happen four years after his eighteen-year crisis had just ended? As an auror, he had thought that he would be able to put his skills to good use while hoping he wouldn't have to deal with anything more than the random murderer or the immature teenager attempting to cast dark magic. Idealistic, no doubt, but it had been a nice dream.
He sighed softly to himself, ignoring the questioning look that his partner gave him as they prepared a portkey back to the Ministry. Apparating was dangerous when escorting criminals because of the chances of them gaining consciousness in the middle and foiling the process, as proven by one previous incident. Recently, Aurors had picked up the practice of using portkeys instead, in order to ensure the safe arrival of both the team and victim – with all body parts attached.
As much as he wished to play a mere minor role in this newest crisis, Harry knew better than to believe that the Ministry would allow him step back and provide support. Already, he had been contacted several times by Kingsley, who had assigned him several top-secret missions that had all been unfruitful in their results.
You're lying to yourself. A void inside of him whispered gleefully. You pretend to be humble, but you actually enjoy how everybody relies on you, don't you? You love being strong; you love knowing that you have more power than almost the entire wizarding world. You enjoy how fragile life becomes in your hands…and you're excited at the prospect of testing your true strength against a new foe.
"Harry? You alright?"
Harry looked up, startled, as his partner gazed at him curiously. He cursed inwardly, realizing that he had been standing idly and probably looking like a complete fool. "Just a bit tired." He answered shakily, blinking a few times to clear his vision. "Is the portkey ready?"
The other man scrunched up his nose. "It is…but why in Merlin's name did they give us a shoe for the task? I swear I can smell its stink from a mile away. The nast is making my eyes water like a girl's." he spoke with disgust, holding out the shoe in question as far away as possible.
The corners of Harry's mouth twitched as he levitated their prisoner closer until he could firmly grasp the stunned man's arm. Ron had been bitter since being replaced as his partner due to his presence being required elsewhere, and it was clear that he was making it a point to express his feelings on the matter.
"Ron's just sulking, don't pay attention to him." He laughed, grabbing onto the smelly shoe with his other hand. "His cute side comes out when he's pouting. I sorely hope he was not the origin of this shoe, though – I'd have quite a few concerns if that was the case."
The other man laughed along with him before the portkey jerked into action, and Harry felt as if his body was being pulled into a black hole while their current surroundings spiraled away from their view.
You like having power. The voice hissed, sounding pleased.
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AlexandriteSky: Please R&R and let me know what you think!