The Unforgiving Minute
VII: The Seventh Hour
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17:00
Swiftly cutting through the fabric of space, Harry landed upon the soft ground, flanked by lush elm trees. With a glance upwards, he observed that the sun had begun its gentle arc towards the horizon.
Time, as it always did, was slipping through his fingers.
Quickly, with a dexterity born from years of practice, be began to move his head in an elliptical motion, wand held tightly between his teeth. Ducking and contorting his upper body to compensate for the lack of movement options his head provided, he concentrated fiercely, his magic gathering at the tip of the wand.
Releasing his coiled magic, his scarlet wings began to revert back to human form, the bones ruthlessly grinding within his arms as they shrunk and thickened. Hissing in pain, he pushed onward, forcing the feathers back within his flesh, completing the transformation.
Allowing himself a deep breath, Harry shook out his aching arms once, before reaching into his robes with his newly regained hands. His heart heavy, he withdrew the brass pocket-watch, and opened the clasp.
Upon the bloodstained clock face, the minute hand rested a hair's breadth past the seventh Roman numeral.
Only six hours remained to stop Voldemort.
Closing the watch softly, Harry considered that at this very moment, the final preparations for the Third Task were being finalized for its planned start at dusk. Right now, Barty Crouch Junior, beneath the guise of Moody, could be enchanting the Triwizard Cup, transforming it into the portkey that would connect to the graveyard.
In a perfect world, he'd simply prevent it all from happening and just storm Riddle Manor early, wiping out Nagini, Wormtail and Voldemort in one fell strike of the blade.
Sadly, fate had conspired to rob him of this option. The passage of time was now his largest adversary. Shaking his head, Harry focused on the immediate task at hand. He didn't have time for the luxury of introspection.
He had a job to do.
Entering deeper into the woods, he came upon a large iron archway, nestled between high stone walls. Ivy wreathed its way through the black ironwork of the gate's frame, while thick, hollow vertical bars made up the center of the gate, a blood-red liquid trapped between the layers of black iron. Directly in the center was a large iron crest, a red shield with a black dragon upon it. There was a barely noticeable gap in the middle of the crest, indicating where it would split should the gate open.
Harry, however, had little intention of going through the front door to Malfoy Manor.
Walking to his left, passing the pristine blocks of polished granite which flanked the front gate, he came upon a large willow tree, rising high above the stone wall. Delicately, he began to run his hands over the soft bark of the tree. Halfway around its circumference, his fingers found a slightly upraised knot, and pressed into it, applying equal pressure to both sides.
With a subtle creak, the trunk of the tree began to split in two, quickly opening out into a small space just large enough to admit entrance. Guided by the rays of the dying sunlight, he saw rungs cut into the interior of the tree, leading downwards. Stepping into the tree's embrace he grasped the rough rungs, prompting the opening to close behind him, engulfing him in total, seamless darkness. Taking a deep breath, he began to descend.
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For a moment he saw a flash of long, vibrant red hair trailing behind her before the door to the Black library was slammed shut with enough to disturb the dust that had settled atop the many ancient tomes.
"One would think that the 'good guys' would be slightly more accommodating," Draco Malfoy drawled, before taking a small nip from a polished silver flask.
Harry shrugged at the observation.
"Can you really blame them? The last time the Order had a spy it didn't end up working to well."
Draco waved his arm carelessly, unconcerned with Harry's point.
"Snape had no vested interest in either side's victory."
"And you do?" Harry asked, raising a single eyebrow.
"You know I do."
Harry inclined his head slightly, acknowledging his newest ally. He had already been told, under the grip of Veritaserum, of the Malfoy family's debasement at the hands of Voldemort and his Inner Circle. His father long-dead, Draco and his mother were little more than refugees, having been expelled from their own Manor, which Voldemort had appropriated for his own use as a home.
"How long has Malfoy Manor been standing?" Harry asked.
"Seven centuries," Draco replied bitterly, "Predating even the Ministry. Now I need 'clearance' to center my own home."
"And you're certain there's no hidden entrances? Harry asked, visions of ambushing the Voldemort and finally ending the war dancing in his mind.
Draco shook his head.
"The Dark Lord completely redid the wards, sealing up all of the old entrances. Believe me, if he hadn't…"
The Malfoy scion trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. For a moment, Harry was curious as to how the wards could have been bypassed, but decided to hold his tongue. Another day.
"And all it took for you to switch sides was being evicted. Shame it didn't happen sooner."
Draco's eyes narrowed at the statement.
"Another gross over-simplification. There's far more to it than that, and you know it, Potter."
"I know," Harry replied, waving a hand in deference.
"You haven't quite seemed to grasp it, though," Draco said, leaning forward, resting his elbows upon his thighs. "So I'll say it again: service to the Dark Lord is slavery. We Malfoys were once proud, respected, even revered in social circles. We supported the Dark Lord during his rise to power, gave everything to assure his victory and to appease every ill-conceived whim. And what's our fucking reward? My father dead, my mother serving as the Inner Circle's whore, our family's prestige dragged through the mud."
"We deserve better," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you truly prepared to betray Voldemort?" Harry asked. "I can't promise our side is going to win, and you'll only be able to fool him for so long."
"I am.
"I hope so. Voldemort's been disappearing for long periods of time since the Battle of Hogwarts, leaving only his Death Eaters to run things. Whatever he's spending his time on, I need to know about it."
"For your sake, I hope that he's not working on Fidelius Charm evasion," Draco said lightly, sparing a wide, sweeping glance across the library.
"I'm hoping that's not the case," Harry dryly replied.
"Indeed. Anything else before I once again depart?
"Yeah. Take care of yourself."
Draco smirked slightly.
"Judging by your ginger's reaction to my presence, it seems like you've more to worry about."
Harry shrugged.
"Your father did try to kill her, and nearly succeeded."
Draco let out a short, insincere laugh that did nothing to banish the regret from his eyes.
"I never said I blamed her," he said, before stepping out of the library, closing the door softly behind him.
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Encased in pure darkness within the tree, Harry had only his sense of touch to guide him down the rungs. Counting as he descended, he got to thirteen rungs before his feet touched down upon soft, packed earth.
Up ahead, the distance undeterminable, floated a single blue pinprick of light. Reaching into his robes he withdrew his wand and pointed it directly at the faint luminescence. Gazing down the polished shaft, he aligned the tip with the faint light.
Slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, he began to walk forwards, keeping the blue light directly in his line of sight. As he walked, noise met his ears, barely audible over his own slight footfalls. On either side of him, in utter darkness, came an alien shuffling sound, almost like wind-tossed branches rubbing against one another. He could make out nothing but the scarcity of light, but it almost seemed as if the darkness in his peripherals was shifting and weaving within itself.
Like the shadows themselves had come to life.
A light, cold sweat breaking out across his body, Harry immediately re-checked the wand to assure that it was still on course with the blue light. He moved it a hair to the right, causing the shifting darkness to still. Taking care to not stray to either side, he continued down the unseen path, the blue light slowly growing larger.
After what seemed like an eternity he reached the light. Being careful not to move too quickly, he pushed his left hand against the flat crystalline object and pushed. With a creak, the wall holding the crystal swung inward, admitting entrance. Harry quickly passed through the open section. As soon as he passed the threshold the wall closed behind him, sealing off the shifting darkness he had passed through.
Letting out a relieved breath, Harry cast a dim light from his wand, evoking protest from his dilated pupils. Ignoring the slight burn, he observed weathered and worn stone formations framing wide marble columns, stretching upwards into the darkness. The faraway drips of water echoing in his ears, he walked beneath the ancient stonework, which had supported Malfoy Manor for centuries.
Draco had never explained what had lurked on either side of the path, but had stressed that one would be well advised to never use light, move quickly or stray from the path.
Harry felt no great urge to test the validity of the advice.
Wand held aloft, he continued to walk the damp stone floor. After forty steps he took a right-hand turn, standing before a section of worn stone that looked no different from any he'd seen so far. He rapped lightly upon the seemingly flawless wall with his knuckles, listening closely. It was his tenth strike that finally yielded a slight vibration that none of his others had achieved.
Flinging a Reductor at the wall, he closed his eyes, conjuring a physical shield. Stone shrapnel impacted against the shield, knocking him back slightly, but leaving him without harm. Canceling the shield, he re-opened his eyes. Through the haze of dust, he spied a small fissure in the wall, leading into a hollow space perhaps six feet wide. Into the furthest wall wide depressions had been cut leading upwards, forming a rudimentary ladder.
Placing his wand between his teeth, he began to pull himself up quickly. After twenty rungs he reached up with his free hand, touching a wooden floor. Carefully, he pushed upwards, feeling the trapdoor yield. Once open all the way, he pulled himself up, into what appeared to be a small closet, the shelves stacked high with sheets and bedding.
Letting his jaw relax, Harry plucked the wand from his teeth and disillusioned himself. Pointing his wand downwards he silenced his feet, before hitting the maple door with a specialized revealing spell. At once the thick door faded into transparency, becoming a one-way mirror.
Beyond lay a hallway carpeted with a plush green. Dark grey walls stretched out on either side, broken by ornate stone archways stretching the hall. Large, maple doors facing one another fell away to either side of his view.
Most importantly, however, he noted the distinct lack of paintings or house-elves.
The coast was clear.
Quietly exiting the room, Harry cast an amplification charm upon his ears. His feet silent on the plush carpeting, he crept from room to room, listening for any signs of the owners. He heard the patter of rodent's feet upon the floor, and the faraway ticking of clocks, the subtle friction of their gears.
"I have had quite enough of humoring these dignitaries to last several lifetimes, let alone this one."
Most pertinent, however, was Lucius Malfoy's cold, aristocratic drawl, coming from further down the hall. Moving swiftly, Harry followed the sound of the voice, towards the end of the hallway.
"Was it not you who claimed that no victory was achieved without sacrifice?" Narcissa asked, an amused note in her voice.
"Indeed, I sacrificed my dignity," Lucius pointed out, his voice weary.
"I hardly think that they're contagious, love."
His ear pressed to the wall, pin-pointed Lucius' location as being right in front of him. The wall was too thick for the revealing spell, and the door too obvious an entry point.
Brute force it would have to be.
Thrusting his wand forward, a large orange spell erupted from his wand. It punched through the stone wall like tissue paper, before detonating with a large crack, spraying dust and pulverized stone into the room.
Stifling his urge to cough, Harry fired a solar flare into the room, before raising his foot to kick the door open. Hearing a loud crack behind him, he instinctively conjured a physical shield. A hail of knives bounced harmlessly off the shield, clattering loudly to the floor.
"You will not be harming Masters!" a short, wrinkly house-elf screamed, its arms thrown into the air. Vanishing the shield, Harry quickly banished the still-moving cutlery at the house-elf. The knives tore through the house-elf easily, shredding the diminutive creature. Before he could wonder why the House-elf hadn't moved, a large object hit him from behind, knocking him to the floor face-first.
The heavy door fell atop him, driving his face into the ground with a crunch. With a grunt, he threw off the door and rolled to the side, barely avoiding a purple curse which scorched the ground where his head bad just been.
Bringing his wand forward, Harry replied with a stunner. Lucius Malfoy, his expensive robes caked in dust and shredded in places, leaped over the crimson spell and brought his wand down like a sword, a feral snarl upon his normally calm face.
Harry deflected the severing curse with a swat to his right, grabbing Lucius' wrist. Jerking it downwards, he sent Lucius' Piercing Curse into the ground. On his back, Harry planted a foot in Lucius' chest and rolled backwards. The Malfoy patriarch was flung into the air, crashing back-first into a mirror. Falling fast, he tried to break his fall, but both wrists bent backwards with a crack, eliciting a scream of pain from the pureblood.
His senses tingling, Harry leapt to the side. A streak of malicious green light flew by his left, missing his arm by inches, filling his senses with the familiar stench of death. Turning as the killing curse struck the wall with a blast, Harry lashed out with a Levicorpus. Unprepared, Narcissa Malfoy was roughly upended, her wand sent flying.
"You will let me down!" Narcissa screamed, her platinum blonde hair hanging in her face. "Do you-"
Harry unceremoniously felled her with a stunner, sending her crashing to the floor. Turning, he saw a bleeding Lucius struggling to pick up his wand with wrists that bent in the wrong direction. He quickly stunned the man, ignoring his heart, which was battle ready and screaming for blood.
He'd have to deny it for now. He needed the Malfoys alive.
For the moment, anyway.
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Dust covered the ornate sitting room, violating its once pristine state. The polished sheen of the mahogany bookshelves was now cloudy, flecked with small particles of stone. The plush, soft wine-red carpeting looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages. An upended chair, presumably where Lucius had been sitting when the blast had knocked him over, lay forlorn upon the floor, its shredded leather exterior leaking stuffing.
In the middle of the ruined room, the elder Malfoys awoke slowly. Their senses returning, they tried to move, but were thwarted by the thick ropes binding them to the room's two remaining armchairs.
Almost casually, Harry tossed a large porcelain vase at their feet. The piece of pottery exploded like a gunshot, bringing both Malfoys crashing back into harsh reality. Lucius recovered first, his cold grey eyes banishing the fear, replacing it with disdain.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked haughtily, provoking a slight chuckle from Harry. Even bound and tied, within his own home, he still spoke to Harry as if he were a mere underling.
"Who you are does not matter," he replied, "Nor do any of your questions."
Lucius opened his mouth to speak, prompting Harry to draw his wand. He hit the Malfoy patriarch with a silencer, not allowing a single syllable to escape. After a second's thought, he favored Narcissa with the same treatment, leaving both of the Malfoys with only the ability to mouth their threats at him.
"What does matter," Harry continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "is that my time is short, and you have things that I need. If you help me to find them, you will live. If not…well, we're not there yet. Nod if you understand."
Both Malfoys immediately ceased their silent tirades. They shared a single glance, before responding with immediate nods. His unspoken threat had focused their minds, forcing them from righteous indignation to pure self-preservation.
"Good," Harry said with a nod, glancing at Lucius. "You have a Potions storeroom, correct?"
At his confirmation, Harry shifted his gaze to Narcissa.
"Your husband and I are going retrieve a few items, but while we're gone, I want you to think real hard, and try to remember where your dear sister's vault key is."
Her eyes widened in surprise at his question, clearly being the last thing she had expected to hear. Harry hit her with a quick body-bind, before turning to her husband. Enraged, Lucius began to thrash against his bonds, though the tight trusses didn't allow for much mobility.
"Imperio."
Lucius' eyes immediately clouded over at his Unforgivable. Easily crushing the Malfoy patriarch's will, Harry instructed him to stand still, an order immediately complied with. Waving his wand, Lucius' damaged wrists began to move back to their natural position with a dull grinding of bone. After all, his new-found servant wouldn't be any use to him without use of his hands.
Undoing his bonds, Harry ordered Lucius to take him to the Malfoy repository, as quickly as possible. Throwing open the door, Malfoy rushed through at an awkward run, very much unlike his straight-backed, aristocratic strut.
With a slight smile of amusement, Harry followed Lucius down the ornate hallway, trailing right behind him. To the end of the hall they went, through a pair of dark-red mahogany double-doors.
The Malfoy repository was larger than most Harry had seen, perhaps twenty feet both wide and long. Portraits bereft of ownership lined the sides of the room, while a large shelf took up the entire far wall, comprised of individual glass compartments lined with purple plush on the bottom. At the bottom of the plush was a long indentation, within which a single wand resided.
Harry gave the room a single glance, before directing his attention back to Lucius. Slowly, he began to recite a list of potions, to see if Lucius even had them stocked. He hadn't any Felix Felicis in stock, but did have all the healing potions he required, as well as Veritaserum, Pepper-Up, explosive potions and most promising of all, Polyjuice.
He ordered Lucius to acquire all of the potions, as well as a bandolier to hold the potions, a silver knife and a quality broom. Without question, Malfoy rushed off, leaving Harry to himself.
Left to his own devices, he approached the shelf. Pulling open one of the glass compartments, he withdrew an ash wand, pockmarked with shrapnel. Giving it a sharp wave, a few sparks drifted out, but little more. Shrugging, he replaced it, reaching for another compartment.
As a Dark family that had been around for countless generations, the Malfoys had produced more than their fair share of witches and wizards. Each compartment housed a wand taken from a defeated enemy, of which there had been many throughout the years. With the sheer amount of wands available, it was reasonable to assume that he could find a more compatible wand.
Dawlish's was serviceable, but he needed better if things started to fall apart beneath Gringotts. Serviceable wouldn't cut it against the goblins' defenses.
Raising the fourth wand, a cherry one, he felt a slight warmth in his fingers. Whipping it to his right, he launched a cutter into the wall. After a moment's debate, he returned the wand. A good wand, but he could probably do better.
"What do you think you are doing?"
Turning, Harry saw a thin-faced wizard with platinum blonde hair sneering at him from a portrait. Without answering, Harry plucked another wand from the shelf and flung a Reductor at the painting. Giving a small yell, the wizard disappeared from sight moments before the spell struck the portrait, detonating it.
"Even worse than before," Harry muttered, shaking his head.
Wand-by-wand he went. Every one which sparked a connection, he tested on a portrait, drastically altering the ambience of the room. With only two portraits remaining, he pulled a slender yew wand from the shelf. At once, potent warmth spread from his fingers, running up his arm. Turning, he flung a blasting curse at the wall, decimating the second-to-last remaining portrait.
For a second, he raised the piece of yew in the air, examining it. Certainly not as potent as his original wand, not to mention the Elder, but to expect anything better would be foolishly optimistic. Casually tossing aside Dawlish's, he pocketed the new wand. Yew, just like Voldemort's had been.
Chalking it up to mere coincidence, he blasted the final portrait out of existence. As the scraps of burnt fabric floated lazily to the ground, the door to the room opened, admitting Lucius. His arms were full, precariously balancing vials of potions and a broom.
"Put them on the desk," Harry commanded, shaking his head. It would be a minor miracle if he hadn't dropped any of them on the way back. Lucius did as commanded, spilling the contents onto the desk.
"Did you find them all?" Harry asked, beginning to go through the flasks.
"I did," Lucius answered simply.
"Good," Harry answered, plucking a flesh-knitting potion from the table. He uncorked it, and held it out to Lucius, who took it.
"You're hurt," Harry said, eyeing the still-weeping rents in Lucius' flesh, courtesy of Harry's Reductor. "Use the potion."
Without hesitation, Lucius took a deep swig of the blue potion. Watching carefully, Harry observed as thick scabs began to form over Lucius' wounds, before paling to a shade slightly darker than his fair skin. Satisfied, Harry nodded. If Malfoy had broken the Imperius, his first act would have most likely been to poison his healing potions.
Healing potions were fickle in nature. Even the smallest addition to the formula would have immediately negated the healing properties.
"Do you have the silver knife?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Lucius mechanically answered, withdrawing the silver knife from his robes, and placing it, handle first, into Harry's outstretched hand.
Gripping the handle tightly, Harry raised the gleaming blade. With his left hand, he took a hold of Lucuis' hair. Slashing horizontally, he neatly cut through the platinum blonde hair. A patch of hair clutched in his fist, Harry drew back his hand, placing the severed locks on the desk. Sifting through the vials, he withdrew the vial containing the Polyjuice, and poured half of the mud-like substance into an empty vial. Adding a lock of platinum hair to the vial, it immediately transformed into a dirty, vomit-colored yellow.
He swigged the foul concoction quickly, grimacing at its foul taste. At once his insides began to churn unpleasantly, as the potion took hold. His bones stretched as he grew taller, his short-cropped black hair lengthening. Taking a tentative step, he felt the relative frailty of his new body, which lacked the hard musculature of his own.
"Thanks for the body," Harry said, turning to his wide-eyed doppelganger, wand raised, "but I'm afraid your usefulness is at an end."
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light struck Lucius in the face, the life voiding his eyes as he crumpled to the floor. Kneeling down, Harry began to divest the recently deceased Lucius of his robes.
That made three less Death-Eaters in this world.
A fine start, but he was just getting warmed up.
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Deep within Grimmauld Place, in what had once served as sitting room, sat Harry Potter, his right arm wrapped around Ginny's waist. Oliver continued his ceaseless pacing, continuing to pound a Quaffle from hand-to-hand. Hermione was hunched over a thick tome that seemed to be constructed of flayed human skin, her eyes so bloodshot they bore an unsettling resemblance to Voldemort's. Croaker, Ernie and Sprout sat together in a corner, talking in hushed tones. Millicent leaned against the wall, her large arms crossed over her large frame, her familiar scowl firmly in place.
"I gave you time," Zacharias said with a heavy sigh, from the chair across from Harry, "but what's the plan now?"
"What, you thinking of leaving too?" Oliver asked with a sneer.
The defections had started immediately following his speech four days ago. Parvati and Dean had been the first to leave, gone the next morning. Hannah and Susan had been next, her husband's death having sapped all will to fight. Octavius had been next, fleeing to mainland Europe. And faithful Colin Creevey…
A day ago, they had found him in his room, wrists flayed wide open, a note stuck to his chest.
'I'm so sorry I failed you, Harry.'
In the blink of an eye, the Order had been decreased by more than a third. It hadn't struck Harry as surprise, but it had hurt all the same.
God how it had hurt.
"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" Zacharias suggested, turning to face the burly man. Grinning madly, Wood began to advance on Smith, the quaffle falling from his fingers. Madness danced in his eyes, while a smile stretched across his face.
"That's enough," Harry snapped, speaking for the first time. Uncoiling his arm from Ginny's petite frame, he stood, looking directly into Wood's eyes. "We have too many enemies to be fighting allies."
"Fine," Wood conceded with a shrug, before plodding over to a nearby chair and sitting, his arms crossed.
Taking a deep breath, Harry swept his eyes around the room.
"First off, I want to thank you all for staying here and continuing to fight with me."
"We're with you to the end," Ginny assured from behind him.
"Aye," Wood agreed, his sentiment echoed by several others within the room.
"Which I'm thankful for," Harry said with a slight bow of his head, "but in answer to Smith's original question, that's why I've gathered you all today."
He took a deep breath, knowing that he was about to ask a lot of them.
"I need to get into Hogwarts."
Dead silence met his statement. An expected reaction.
While Malfoy Manor may have been Voldemort's residence, following the Battle of Hogwarts, it had become the base of operations for Voldemort's armies. Where once stood a place of learning, now was a training facility for Voldemort's armies, which swelled in number with each passing day. Worse still, vampires, werewolves, giants and all variety of other Dark creatures spurned by the Ministry had taken up the Dark Lord's banner and now took up residence at Hogwarts.
"Harry, that's suicide," Hermione hissed, breaking the silence.
"Perhaps, but I think the answer to ending this war lies inside."
"Why?" Zacharias asked, his eyes narrowed.
"Dumbledore's portrait."
Hermione shook her head vehemently.
"Assuming it hasn't been destroyed, which I'm certain it has, didn't he already tell you everything?"
"Through the years, there were always things that I could tell Dumbledore was hiding from me. If not for a chance encounter with Trelawney, I would never have known Snape was the one who had betrayed my parents. He…he would only part with information on his terms. He waited fifteen years to inform me of the prophecy. I can't help but think there was more to this war, to Voldemort, that he kept hidden from me."
"She's right though," Zacharias said after a moment's pause, glancing at Hermione quickly. "The first thing Voldemort would have done after the Battle of Hogwarts was to mock Dumbledore, before destroying his portrait."
"Probably," Harry conceded, "but before Hogwarts fell, Headmistress McGonagall had sealed the Headmaster's Office. According to Draco, Voldemort could never open it."
"What makes you think you could?" Zacharias asked, crossing his arms. "Didn't she take that secret to her grave?"
Harry shook his head.
"Do any of you remember, back during my fifth year, when Umbridge was locked out of the Headmaster's Office after Dumbledore left?"
Zacharias, Hermione and Millicent answered in the affirmative.
"The Headmaster alone has the ability to seal the office, but the school itself must accept the Headmaster. Umbridge was granted the title of Headmaster by a bureaucracy, something which the school would never accept."
"Harry," Hermione began, her voice tired, "McGonagall was the last Headmaster of Hogwarts. If the secret died with her, then how do you ever expect to open the office?"
"The secret didn't die with her," Ginny declared, a small, proud smile upon her face.
The room's occupants stared at the last surviving Weasley with equal parts confusion and surprise. Hermione, naturally, was the first to get it, her mouth forming into an 'O' shape as comprehension dawned.
"Harry, are you the Headmaster of Hogwarts?" she asked breathlessly.
"Indeed," Harry said, bowing slightly.
As the foundations of Hogwarts had shook all those years ago, McGonagall had transferred the title to him. He had been doubtful at the time, but Hogwarts had accepted him without question, and it now appeared her gambit had paid off.
"Bloody hell!" Wood said with roaring laugh, slamming his hand down on a table. "You're always full of surprises. Fuck, what more is there to it? Harry says we need to get him into Hogwarts, I say we get him in!"
Almost in unison, the room's other occupants echoed Wood's sentiment. Even Zacharias, albeit reluctantly.
"So what's the plan, boss?" Oliver asked.
'So easily they lay down their lives for me," Harry thought sadly, "Even when I can't promise them victory.'
Solemnly, he began to lay out the plan.
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Under the guise of Lucius Malfoy, now deceased, Harry strode down the hallway. Though perhaps astronomical in cost when bought, the dark robes that clung to his frame were worth significantly less now, being full of rents and holes. On his right shoulder, arm and back, recently-healed flesh hid behind the fabric. In six hours the smooth scab would flake away, leaving the skin completely restored to its former state.
That was, if he intended to wear this body for more than an hour.
Hidden by the robes, a heavy potions bandolier hung, while Lucius' silver knife was wedged between the belt and the small of his back. A shrunken broom resided within one of his interior pockets.
He was almost ready to storm Gringotts. All that was needed was his guest.
Reaching the drawing room, he stormed through the doorway, his face set into determination. Frozen beneath her bonds, Narcissa's only reaction was a widening of the eyes, gleaming brightly with pride.
"That mudblood thief had no idea who he was dealing with," Harry sneered as he kneeled down, cutting through her bonds with a downward slash of Lucius' former wand, before dispelling the body-bind. Freed, she jumped from the chair and flung herself at Harry, wrapping him in a tight embrace, burying her head within the crook of his neck.
"I thought you were dead," she said, pressing herself into him. Wrapping his arms around her, wand in his right hand, he ran his other hand through her platinum blonde locks.
"We have triumphed over far worse," Harry assured her, simultaneously hitting her with a silent Confundus charm. Though a typically harmless charm, it did break down one's resistance to mental control.
At once, she moved her head upwards slightly, suctioning her lips against his neck. Her hands moved stealthily from his back, and began to move their way forward to caress the front of his robes.
She began to move downwards, her knees bending slightly as she trailed alternating kisses and nibbles down the flesh of his neck. Responding to her ministrations, he let out a low moan as her left hand began to pull open his robes, while her right hand squeezed forcefully below his belt.
About to tumble into the abyss, the sharp sting of shame and self-loathing pulled him back from the edge. What the fuck was he doing?
Resisting the urge to backhand Narcissa, he placed his hands on either side of her waist and urged her upwards. She rose willingly, though confusion was evident in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her face flushed, the edged of her nipples straining against the confines of her robes.
"They'll be plenty of time for that later," Harry assured, "But we have work to do now."
"What work?" she asked as he steered her over to the liquor cabinet, pulling a glass decanter of expensive Firewhiskey from the shelf. He poured a generous amount into a glass, before discreetly dropping three drops of Veritaserum into it. Replacing the vial in his bandolier, he turned and pressed the glass in Narcissa's hand.
"I don't want to drink this beggar's piss," she said, eyeing the glass distastefully.
Harry shook his head.
"You need it, though. You're still in shock, and I need you thinking clearly for what we need to do."
"Which is?"
Harry favored her with a malevolent smile.
"Making the people who hired that thief pay."
Matching his expression, she threw back the Firewhiskey in one gulp, letting out a deep, burning cough. As she did, a haze settled over her eyes, along with a drugged expression that looked wholly out of place upon her aristocratic features.
"Where is the key to the Lestrange vault?" Harry asked.
"Downstairs, beneath the drawing room floor. "
"What protections are inside the Lestrange vault?"
"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug, before tilting her head sideways. "Did you forget that you put the key down there?"
"No," Harry answered simply, bringing his wand upwards.
"Imperio."
Establishing mental control, Harry mentally commanded Narcissa to lead him to the drawing room, quickly. As commanded, she led him out of the room, taking him through the monument to pureblood splendor that the Malfoy Manor embodied.
Opening a pair of double doors on the first floor, she led him into the drawing room. Carelessly banishing aside furniture and desks, she peeled back the carpet in the middle of the room, revealing only hardwood. Kneeling upon the floor, she waved her hand over the floor, grasping something unseen. With a mighty pull backwards, a section of the floor pulled upwards, revealing a dark space below. Casually letting the trapdoor fall to the floor with a crash, she began to descend into the darkness.
Harry followed her down the tight spiral staircase, lit by sputtering torchlight. At the bottom was a small room, perhaps ten feet wide. Bookshelves lined the walls, loaded with ancient tomes and countless artifacts. Striding to one of the bookshelves, she withdrew a thick tome with bloodstained leather binding, and opened it.
The pages had been hollowed out, leaving a shallow depression, within which an iron key rested. She took the key, carelessly dropping the hollow book to the floor, and presented him the key. He thanked her, before telling her to go back upstairs and wait for him. As she complied, Harry stared at the room for a moment.
Countless years of Dark knowledge, perhaps the most vile collection in all of Britain, right before his eyes. How many artifacts in here had directly contributed to his world's swift descent into darkness? How many deaths had they caused?
Raising his wand, he knew he'd never know, but he certainly had the power to make sure this world never had to find out.
A column of liquid fire leapt from his wand. Through the small space it flew, coalescing into a large stag. Letting out a sulfurous breath, the Fiendfyre aberration charged the far shelf, committing it to flame. The heat baking off his skin, smoke beginning to cloud the air, Harry quickly turned and ascended the stairs, the sound of crackling flames echoing in his ears.
Returning to the drawing room, he commanded Narcissa to follow him. Like a faithful dog, she walked in his wake, oblivious to his newest Fiendfyre conjurations, which had begun their work of devouring the room.
Cutting a path to the front door, Harry continued to conjure fiendfyre apparitions, which gleefully took to their task of burning. Reaching the front door, he took one final look at the interior of the manor.
Fire had spread to every façade of the manor. The palatial entryway, stretching high above, was completely consumed by flames. The expensive rugs, furniture and tapestries had already been reduced to ash. Glass melted within its frames, while fire eagerly went to work on the very stone of the manor itself.
Good fucking riddance.
Letting out a hacking cough, Harry stepped out into the front yard, attempting to close the door behind him. The door was wrenched from his grasp, however, and blown open by a wave of heat. Shrugging, Harry led Narcissa away from the manor at a brisk pace. Fire trailed their path, setting blaze to the grass and shrubbery. The flightless peacocks squawked in terror, but could do nothing as the living flames consumed them whole, feather by feather.
Reaching back, he grasped Narcissa's arm tightly. As he did, a monumental crash hit his ears. Turning back, he saw the flames reaching to the heavens, spewing forth from the collapsed entryway of Malfoy Manor, heralding the destruction of one of the oldest homes in the Wizarding world.
Even if he failed, Voldemort would now never have the opportunity to burrow himself in Malfoy Manor, impenetrable to attack.
Wraiths of liquid fire bearing down upon them, Harry Apparated away, taking Narcissa with him.
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Author Notes;
Here it is, the third chapter. The next one covers the break-in at Gringotts, which will be his toughest challenge to date. It might be the longest chapter in this story, at around 12k words. We shall see. I want to try to get back into finishing the latest chapter of Sitra Ahra, so it might be a month or so until 'The Eighth Hour' surfaces.
Thanks to the lovely Princess Serine, and my new second beta, Liron-Aria, for their hard work on the chapter.
Any questions or comments shall receive replies. I really like feedback, as it serves to keep my muse interested.
DLP Thanks:
shinysavage, xzkto, Solcry, Fiat Piscis, animekingmike, samkar, Celestin, typhoon, Jeram