Chapter Sixteen: A Hasty Relocation
When Draco, Harry, Severus and Lucius stepped through the Door from the Otherworld, the first thing they heard were the Manor alarms.
"What's going on?" Harry fell to the ground, back arching as his stomach did its best to crawl up his throat and out his mouth.
Draco knelt next to Harry. "Father? Severus?"
"Here," the Potions Master tried to help the boy get a vial of green liquid down Harry's throat. Lucius was gone from the room too fast for Harry to track him.
"What…" He wheezed. "What's going on?"
"There's an attack," Draco's tone was full of steel and ice. "There's an attack on the gates. The Manor's wards are holding it off for now."
"But…"
The house shuddered. Draco's hands clamped down on Harry's shoulders. "This should not be possible!" He tried to pick Harry up. "We have to go!"
"You hold it right there!" Sirius Black threw back the door to the room. His eyes and hair were wild. Magic was thick in the air around him. "I never should have left Harry with you for so long! Give me back my godson or I'll skin you all alive!"
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When the crowd went wild, Rufus had had little time to plan. The location of Potter's muggle relatives was secret – but he didn't know for how long. He needed to get the boy out of the Malfoy's hold, preferably before the mob could decide that having Harry in the Malfoy presence was proof enough of his rising status as a new Dark Lord.
What he needed was Potter, in the hands of his loving godfather, the beloved Sirius Black. What he needed was a happy picture of Gryffindors all together – never mind the fact that Potter and the new Black girl had been resorted to Slytherin. No, what he needed at that moment was the image of respectability that would soothe the ruffled feathers of the wizarding world long enough for him to find the reigns of the runaway Thestral before it could fly them all headlong into another storm of hysteria.
With that thought in mind, he grabbed the nearest men he could find and disappariated away. He needed to speak to Black now. They would have one chance of removing Potter from Malfoy Manor and he needed the boy's guardian to be there with them. It was their only chance to put the brakes on what could be a very ugly situation.
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"Where are we going?"
Seamus did not stop at Sasha's shout. He kept one hand clamped around her wrist as they darted through the crowd. The riot had spread to the side streets of Diagon Alley. Men and women dressed in tattered, dirty clothing lurked in the shadows, their eyes wide and wild as they watched the chaos. Seamus put them all from his mind as he pushed past the people he could not dodge. He had only one purpose in mind – to get them both out of the Alley alive.
"Here," he tugged her to the right, past a small knot of people who were waving their arms and yelling at the top of their lungs to be heard. They were not speaking English. Seamus thought it might be French, but he wasn't sure. The door under the awning was shut fast. He banged on it, his fist making the frame rattle and the glass shake.
"Seamus, why are we…"
"It's me! Let me in!" He hollered over Sasha's question.
The door was yanked open, a hand fisted itself in his collar. They were both dragged into the safety of Flourish and Blotts.
The shop was half full of people. Seamus drew Sasha in past the wall of large men who stood near the door. Almost all of them had their wands out. Piles of tomes were set against the windows and the side door, holding them shut against any who would dare enter.
"What are we doing here?" Sasha pulled at his hand.
"I work here," Seamus pushed his bangs out of his eyes with an exhausted sigh. He found a pair of rickety chairs empty and plopped down in one.
Sasha stayed standing. "You…what?"
"I work here."
"…You do?"
"Of course I do."
"But…" A line appeared between her brows. "I don't understand. I thought you went home to Ireland during your holidays."
"I do. But every summer I work." He patted the chair next to him. "Sit down. I think we'll be here awhile."
Sasha frowned at the chair, but sat, smoothing her skirt under her legs with a nervous pass of her hands. Her eyes flicked around the store, picking out the men and women huddled in the far corners of the stacks.
"Why?" She turned to him. "Why work during the summer?"
He swallowed the dry laugh that wanted to escape. "Not everyone has enough money for the Hogwarts tuition."
It was the wrong thing to say, he saw that immediately. "You…" A muscle in her jaw tensed.
"Look," He caught her hand before she could explode. "I like working during the summer. Been doing it since I was little, with my family and cousins. It's almost habit. This year I wanted to be closer to Hogwarts and…other things," his grin was weak. The ire in her eyes faded by degrees.
"Hogwarts doesn't have a tuition," she said after a moment.
"Yes, actually it does."
"Doesn't."
"Does."
"Doesn't."
"Does."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, it doesn't!"
"It does…if you're not from an old family."
"It…what?"
He shrugged and let go of her hand with a final squeeze. "I hear a lot of old families have contracts with the school, which is how the Weasleys and the rest get in every year. Some muggle-born get scholarships, which is why Hermione is bats about keeping her grades up. It's not something we talk about – it's not something anyone talks about, but there you go."
Sasha stared at him for a long moment. "Interesting," was all she said. She settled back into her chair. "So you work here?"
"Yes."
"Lucky you."
"I like it. I get a discount on my books as well."
"Very lucky you."
He settled his arm onto the back of the chair, twisting in his seat so he could look at her face. "Embarrassed to know me now?"
Her head swiveled back to him. "What? Don't be daft."
"You seemed upset."
"…I thought your family was…older."
"Oh, I see."
"Seamus."
"No, really, makes perfect sense."
"Seamus."
"I'm just teasing."
She let out a short huff of breath. "I am not," she enunciated each word.
He studied the lines of her face. "You are upset," he said.
"Yes and no."
"But not because of the working?"
"You stupid Gryffindor. Of course not."
"Then why?"
"Have you forgotten about the riot outside?"
A particularly loud thump hit the main door to the shop. "No," Seamus said. "I haven't."
Sasha laced her hands together in her lap. "Things are spiraling out of control too fast for this to be normal." Her eyes were on the floor. "Something is causing this."
"Like a spell?" Seamus cocked his head to one side.
"I'm not sure." She sucked in her lower lip between her teeth. "The riot…maybe, but to what purpose? Why all the rumors and the accusations? Why…" She trailed off with a sigh. "It almost feels like it did when the gods woke."
"What do you mean?"
"Unsettled. As though something more was about to happen. But what in Merlin's name can happen now? It's as though…" Her eyes narrowed to slits. A slow turn brought her to face Seamus. "How many books on myths and legends of Great Britain do you have in this shop?"
"Hundreds, I'm sure. Why…" He sat back. "Oh. Oh." They rose as one. He took the lead, hustling past huddled co-workers who stared at them with wide eyes. They disappeared around a far corner, into a murky area labeled Gods and Monsters. They didn't look back.
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Of all the things Sirius Black had expected Scrimgeour to tell him, the scene that met him at Malfoy Manor blew all of it away.
He'd wanted to laugh at the Head Auror's concerns. He'd wanted to scoff at the idea that the wizarding world was primed to blame anyone for a convenient target for the chaos that had erupted around them. But the rioting surge outside the Manor, plus the description of the panic given to him by Scrimgeour himself, was hammered home when he saw Harry pale and shaking in the foyer of the Malfoy Manor. Healer Fondorn had been right all along.
"I should never let him come here," he spat at the two men flanking the boys. Snape sneered at him – that was what Snivilus always did – and Malfoy's high, bump-nose tilted even further into the air.
"Black," the elder Malfoy began.
"Get away from him!" Sirius stalked forward, one hand wrapping around Harry's upper arm. "He's coming home – with me."
"Let him go," the Malfoy brat tried to protest.
A good yank freed his godson – mine, mine – from their sticky grasp. Harry stumbled into his arms, shaking. What have they done to him?
"You filthy, lying Slytherins," he managed to growl past the bubble of rage that was stuck in his throat.
"How dare you!"
"Black you have no idea of what you are doing –,"
"Harry –,"
Sirius scooped Harry up into his arms. "None of you are to try and contact him!" He passed the frail body to Remus without a glance. He couldn't look at the boy. Lily's eyes would accuse him and James' ghost would – he closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in through his nose. Not now, old man. Break down later.
"Remus, take Harry home."
"But Sirius –,"
"Remus."
"He's ill, Sirius."
"Ill from being here, no doubt." A sharp motion of his hand cut whatever Remus was going to say next. "Please, Moony. Just get him home."
The faint pop of Remus disapparating met his request.
"Black, the boy has information," Snape began.
"Information? Information? That's what you've done to the boy? Starved him to death and – and tortured him until you could play with his mind? I bet you made him try to use that potion again!"
"Black!" Snape thundered – but the threat in his voice was tempered by the raking glance he spared to the Aurors behind Sirius.
"You did!" His wand was trained on the Potion Master's chest. "You forced him to take it again! Haven't you manipulated him enough? Another Dark Potion –,"
"Dark Potion?" Questioned one of the Aurors behind him.
Snape was suddenly in his space, knocking his wand away as he fisted long, thin hands in the collar of his robe. "Of all the stupid, Gryffindor things to spout out," he ground as he tried to manually strangle Sirius with his own shirt.
It took the remaining Aurors to pry them apart. Snape, much to Sirius' satisfaction, was taken away to cool his heels in one of Azkaban's lesser cells for a night to think about his attempt on aggravated assault. The row that the Malfoys put up at the declaration of the git's sentence was music to Sirius' ears.
He stayed long enough to see his childhood enemy taken away by the Aurors, with the Malfoys following seconds after. He was then able to turn his mind towards home and the people waiting for him. Healer Fondorn had contacted him from out of the blue days before, offering his services to Sirius and his new family. Sirius had always trusted the Healer; Fondorn had been one of the few regular Healers that had helped the Black family without needing to be blackmailed into service. Sirius had lost contact with the man for obvious reasons – it was a pure stroke of luck that the man had turned up when he had.
I don't care what they say, Harry's better off with us. He always was. He'll be right as rain in no time. Healer Fondorn will help Harry and Ginny both. It will all work out just fine. A brilliant smile stretched his face. With a thought, he was gone, leaving before the Malfoy Manor wards could force him out.
He never felt the ominous weight that settled over the house, or saw how the windows to the west went dark and still.
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Remus appeared in the formal foyer of the Black Manor. Harry bucked in his arms, almost falling from his grasp.
"Harry!" He stumbled forward a handful of steps and knelt. The boy rolled onto his stomach and vomited, the weak splash sliding across the antique rugs.
"Mandy! Tandy!" The house elves they had acquired popped into the room. "Help me get Harry up –,"
"No –," the boy gasped. "No – have to have to –,"
"Harry, hush. It's all right. You're fine."
"No, have to tell them –,"
"Harry." Remus took up the shivering boy, holding him tight. "It's going to be all right. You don't have to fight anymore. Scrimgeour knows. It's all right."
"He – he –," Harry's teeth were chattering too much for him to speak.
"Remus?" The soft whisper-thunk of Ginny's cane rounded the door. "Harry! Remus!" She hobbled forward at a near run, falling to her knees next to Remus with a full body flinch. "Oh, Harry."
The house elves cleared the mess with a flick of their fingers. Soft warm blankets were put next to Remus. He took one and wrapped it around Harry. The shivering eased by inches.
"What happened? Scrimgeour said there was a riot – did they do this to Harry? Where's Father?" Ginny took Harry's hand in hers. "It's okay, Harry. Father – Sirius – he'll make everything all right, you'll see."
"I – need…to talk…to Draco."
Remus felt a muscle start to twitch in his jaw. "Not right now, Harry. You're obviously ill. Why they didn't get a Healer for you –,"
"They…did…"
Remus ignored the boy. Whoever the so-called Healer was, was obviously not any good. He cuddled the boy close to his chest and stood.
"Come, let's get you settled and then we'll call Healer Fondorn. Sirius will be home any second. He'll want to make sure you'll be okay."
"But…"
"Harry, stop. Whatever was done to you, we can fix. Just trust us."
"But…"
"Harry, we love you. Please." As they spoke, Remus climbed the stairs to the first floor landing. The room they had chosen for Harry was halfway between Ginny's and the master suite. They'd spent the better part of two days picking out the colors and furnishing for their wayward boy.
The room was bright and airy. It had little curtains to speak of, letting the sunlight flood into the room. Harry winced, moaned and raised his hand to cover his eyes. The windows were open, letting the brisk breeze bring in the heavy summer scents to the room.
The bright yellow and reds of the bed were vivid against the royal blue carpets Sirius had insisted on. The light honey pine furniture was all sharp angles and minimal surface. Ginny had been the deciding vote on the bed. The posters of professional Quidditch teams lined the walls.
"You're home, Harry." Remus settled the boy onto the bed. "You're home." He kept a hand on the boy's shoulder as he rolled to his side, keeping the blanket almost over his face and eyes. Remus beamed down at the boy, pushing aside the worry that threatened to take over. He's home now, he breathed a sigh of relief. Everything will be fine, now. It has to be.
Ginny stood by them both, hands clasped under her chin, beaming.
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The rush from the massacre left both God and Priest flushed from the power. Crom Cruach curled into the hole he had made in his Priest's soul, content with his temporary host. The mortal was too important to take over – not until he had a following again.
They used the long sticks of wood they had taken from their victims. The power in the slim rods appealed to the god. He taught the Priest how to manipulate the trapped energy; it would be enough to get them to the small group of beings that were calling to the god's senses.
They traveled in and out of the Paths, slipping through the chaotic Dark that both welcomed and recoiled from his touch. It did not please the God, but he would deal with it later. The Dark was His domain. It had been once, and it would be again, just like the islands of the west. They were His, they had always been His and always would.
They found the huddled group of mortals in a run down cottage in a wild forest. The God fell upon them with the coiled power of a hundred sacrifices, his breath and being wild and heavy as he went into each and every marked human. They would be the new priests of his Order. They were already marked by evil, but it was a human evil that was gone, it's touch decaying as time passed. He used the wounds in their souls, that dark mark on their flesh to enter and sweep aside their protests and fears.
Crom Cruach wanted a following he could control. The Priest looked on, soaked in blood and other bodily fluids from the mess of humanity on the floor. His God surrounded him, invaded him, filling him with the run off of power that the mortals generated.
The God and the Priest smiled.
End Chapter Sixteen