Title: Bounty Hunter II: Black and White
Chapter Title: You Have My Sword.
Author: Snippy of Snippy and Snarky
Pairing: H/D, Hr/SS, L/G (other pairings added as story continues))
Disclaimer: HP & Co NOT MINE – don't sue.
Synopsis: Note: Disregard sixth book as the first Bounty Hunter was written before it came out, and does not incorporate its plots and character arcs. The struggle between shades of grey is enough to tear a hero in two. . .
Rating: Mature, R, Adult – rated for language, explicit sexual situations and violence – reader discretion is advised. Not intended for underage readers.
A/N's: There's a lot of subtle clues in this chapter, for those who have mastered the subtle art of reading foreshadowing. So when you get to the end, if you have any bright guesses, I'd love to hear them!
Peace, love and a couple of sarcastic snakes!
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Draco walked into the silent library, looking for a little space to put his head together correctly. Every time he tried to figure out what was going on inside his own head, he was invaded by the undeniably presence of the great Harry Potter. Or at least his copy.
A sound caught his attention, and he walked towards a row of small rooms meant for study groups to gather in. He heard the rasp of clothing on the grounds, and a soft sigh. A slightly embarrassed grin on his lips, he angled his head to peer around the door. In the mirror stood a beautiful young woman with white hair, and the darkest grey eyes he had ever seen.
Her face was slightly angular and impish, and her skin was bone-white pale. She had slender, young curves and was currently sliding them into a student skirt. As she pulled her robe over the just buttoned shirt, she met his eyes in the mirror she face.
"See anything you like?" She asked teasingly.
"You knew I was here?" He stepped through the doorway.
She simply smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm Piper Vates."
Draco started. This was one of the twins Harry had been sent to retrieve? So he was back in the castle then. Draco frowned, feeling as though he should have sensed that. "Draco Malfoy."
"We only just arrived. Since we haven't been assigned rooms yet, they said I could change here."
Draco raised his brow. "But they didn't tell you to shut the door? How remiss of them."
"Arrogance and wit – always a stunning combination." Piper pulled her hair out of the back of the robe and flipped it over her shoulder. "One very inherent to Malfoys."
"You know many other Malfoy's?" Draco asked.
"Certainly." Piper bestowed upon him an enchanting smile. "Do not fear, my coloring is not a trace of family resemblance, Mr. Malfoy." Piper smiled slyly. "The white hair and dark grey eyes came with the gift bestowed upon my ancestor to mark her as The Seer for all time."
"The Seer?"
"The Chosen One. Some say the first one was Cassandra of Troy. But maybe that's just a myth." Piper's eyes burned with intensity. "The member of our family with the True Gift, the strongest seer in the world. The mark was so strong, it invades the inheritance of my entire family."
Draco stared at her, his heart racing a little as she reached a pale hand to brush a length of his blond hair away from his eyes. "And who is the Seer now?"
"My brother and I share the True Gift. A rarity that has never occurred before. The Vates are not given to having twins."
Draco grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away, she never flinched. "That must make you and your brother very special, Piper."
She giggled. "You have no idea. But we're all special, Draco."
He held onto her arm tightly as he asked, "How do you know all of this?"
"All Vates children are strictly taught our full lineage. The rest of it is the gift of my family's inheritance, the sight." Piper pulled her wrist free gently, and in a twirl of her school robes, she turned towards the door, calling over her shoulder, "Very interesting, all of this lineage, inheritance and all of that, isn't it, Draco?"
"I hardly think it's appropriate for a student to address a professor by his first name," he commented, watching her pause at the door.
"I'm hardly the appropriate sort." She smiled coquettishly. "And neither are you, Draco. Say hello to your father for me."
And she was gone before he could ask how she knew his father … or knew he was alive.
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Harry stepped out onto the empty Quidditch Field. He took a deep, soul-cleansing breath and pulled his sword from it's sheath, savoring the clear ring of the steel as it whistled through the air, free again at last. He centered himself, swinging the sword gracefully up and around his head before bringing it down in a daring arc forwards. He stepped forward and back, curving the blade through the air around him as if engaging in some kind of ceremonial killing dance. His blood sang in harmonic tone with the steel, and for the first time in weeks, he felt at peace. (Oh, great line!)
Harry was fairly certain that he had left all of his less than desirable traits in his copy. Bane, as it were, surely seemed to contain the parts of Harry that Harry had never wished to possess. Manipulation. Arrogance. Cruelty. Vengeance. Ambition. The ability to use people for his own ends. His more Machiavellian tendencies. But this – this talent for the lethal use of weaponry, the balance in his step, the sharpness in his senses, the most Warrior-like of his tendencies, they seemed to have been dealt to each of them. Harry found that calming somehow. His personality, his innate goodness or evilness, may be split in two, but his nature – that was more solid, built into his very bones, his genetic code, the essence within his body and could not be split.
As much as Harry had wanted to deny it when he was younger, he had been born to fight, born to win these battles, to take down opponents. He had wanted to be good, noble, and true. But how much of that was real? And how much had he simply tried to be what Dumbledore had wanted him to be? What he had been told he had to be? Harry knew deep down he had been born a fighter, did it really matter to him what side of the fight he was on? Of course he had been against Voldemort. The dark wizard had ruined his life, stripped him of every simple pleasure and happiness that Harry had ever dared to reach for. He killed his family, killed his childhood, tried to kill him. Harry hated Voldemort personally – not on principal. What if Harry would have been allowed to choose a side, if he himself had not been at the center of the battle?
Harry shook himself and refocused on his swords and footsteps, when he heard an echo. He turned to face Bane.
"You have my sword," Bane said evenly.
"I have my sword." Harry bared his teeth.
Bane smiled, and Harry could read the look in his eyes. Suddenly, he wanted Bane to have a sword, too. A rushing sound flooded his ears, and he felt magic draining from him, rushing towards Bane, who stretched out a hand. An exact copy of Harry's sword appeared in Bane's outstretched fingers, and the rushing in Harry's ears stopped. He gasped in air. Was this what it felt like, when he drew magic from others? Was this what the aurors had felt when their intentions aligned with his and he pulled their magic out of them for his own ends?
Bane tilted his head slightly in invitation and the battle was on. Their swords clashed, ringing out across the Pitch with loud shrieks. Harry's world narrowed to one thing – beating his opponent with everything he had, every fiber of his being, as if his very survival depended upon it. Every thrust he delivered was expertly parried, every stroke of his sword met with equal force. Harry grinned, joy infusing his very being. How he had missed this – the clarifying jolt of adrenaline, the mind clearing beauty of a fight.
He stepped back, raising his blade, and this time as he attacked, he brought that clarity into sharp focus. He knew Bane's weaknesses, they were his own. There, where he lowered his arm after a strike, and here, where he flinched from attacks that came from the hole in his peripheral vision. Their swords locked, bearing down towards the ground, and Harry dropped to one knee, bringing his sword under and around Bane's to land at his neck. Harry felt a soft sting in his own neck, and was not surprised to see that Bane had mirrored his actions, and was now kneeling with his blade against Harry's throat.
Harry nodded with grudging respect and the sheer joy of battle, finding his expression reflected back at him. "Maybe you're more like me than I thought."
Bane nodded, breathing deeply. He felt cleansed by the fight, cleared out of all the restless ruminating he had been doing about his situation. He almost smiled before turning around and walking away. Harry raised an eyebrow, not sure why his counterpart was leaving, but rather content to be left alone for a little bit longer. Then he remembered – the meeting. Dumbledore wished to reveal that there were two Harry's to the rest of the Hogwart's staff. Harry angled his eyes at the sun. It must be close to the time the Headmaster had chosen to have the meeting. Harry headed towards the locker room showers, hoping they were still functional.
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Bane left the Quidditch Pitch without looking back. He was enjoying the sense of peace the swordplay had granted him, and didn't want to lose it in the wake of time spent with his irritating doppelganger. He still held the handle of his sword, squeezing it reassuringly as he walked. How long did conjured swords last?
He entered the castle and headed for the staircase that would lead him down to the Slytherin dorms. Ahead of him was a dark haired man he didn't recognize, who appeared to be contemplating the moving staircases.
"Are you lost?" Bane asked, smirking a little. The man looked up, and Bane gasped.
The man had longish dark hair and almost a full month's beard. He favored his left leg, as if he had injured the right one long ago. His face was worn with lines, his eyes hard and devoid of human emotion. He regarded Bane calmly, but underneath the surface, Bane could tell that the man was taking his full measure, trying to judge strengths and weaknesses, to understand a fellow warrior. But despite all of that, Bane knew the man's face as well as he knew his own.
"Harry," the man said, nodding his head in greeting.
"Neville." Bane stepped back, looking him over. Bane extended his arm. "Good to see you."
Neville Longbottom only hesitated a few seconds before clasping Bane's hand and shaking it firmly. "Good to be seen." His words were somewhat less than convincing. His eyes lit on the weapon in Bane's hand. "Nice sword."
"Thanks," Bane replied evenly. "Recognize it?"
"The sword of Gryffindor," Neville answered, the slightest hint of reverence in the hitch in his breath. He stared at the blade as if expecting it to do something. He reached out a hand, almost unthinkingly. "May I?"
Bane nodded after a moment, and passed the sword over.
Neville held it for a moment, holding the blade up to catch a gleam of light pouring through a nearby window. He switched grips and twirled it through the air, then paused again, before handing it back to Bane with an air of disappointment. He said again, "Nice sword."
"What are you doing here, old boy?" Bane gripped the sword, letting the tip rest against the ground and regarded Neville with curiosity. "I haven't seen you since…"
"I know," Neville cut him off. "I was working for the Order."
"I knew that, but what –"
"Nothing special," Neville cut him off again.
Bane nodded. He rarely thought about the War. He faced it often enough when he was asleep. "Then what are you doing here?"
"Dumbledore," Neville stopped and cleared his throat. His voice had acquired a gravely quality somewhere during the war, something that usually happens when one's windpipe was crumpled, Bane thought. "He asked me to teach Herbology."
"I see."
"And you, Harry?" Neville's voice was casual, but somewhere in there was a note of mistrust, a wariness. "What brings you here?"
"I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." Well, it was certainly true. He was also here because he had been split in two after the final battle with the Dark Lord, but Neville would find out about this soon enough.
Neville nodded. "Do you have any idea what this special staff meeting is about? I came in early for it."
Bane noted that Neville did not say where he had come in from, or how long it had taken. A man of few words gives away few secrets. It was a lesson that the Bounty Hunter knew well. "I'm not sure, mate."
Neville shrugged, though his eyes narrowed in the nature of a hawk's sighting a mouse. "Really? Strange, I thought you'd know."
"Not a clue. See you there." Bane moved past him to slip down the stairway to Slytherin, feeling Neville's eyes on his back the whole way down.
Despite his piercing stare, all the former Gryffindor said was, "See you there, Harry."
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Harry stepped into the Great Hall, walking directly to where Dumbledore stood at the Head Table, where he usually gave his start of the year speeches. Bane was concealed in the little side room that Harry had been in after his name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore had felt it would be best to reveal the truth and then show the staff Harry's double.
Draco, Hermione, Snape, and Ginny stood at the Head Table as well, and while they were all silent, Harry could feel the questions in their eyes as their combined gaze raked his face. Ginny looked at him with concern, mouthing, "Alright there, Harry?"
He nodded almost imperceptibly. Now that his attention had been drawn to the little redhead, he couldn't look away. He hadn't seen Ginny since he had rescued her from Crabbe and Goyle right before he went after Malfoy. As he met her eyes, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she was different somehow.
Movement behind him caught his attention, and to his bemusement, he spotted the Vates twins. They were dressed in plain uniforms and robes, without house affiliation, since they had yet to be sorted. And they were tugging a bucket of blue goo with them. Occasionally they stopped to point their wands at the bucket and then at various spots on the floor, some of which lined one whole corner of the Great Hall. Wherever they pointed their wands, a large blue circle would appear, just wide enough to stand comfortably in. Sometimes they would stop and argue about the placement of one of the circles, but they worked very rapidly and in tandem, even through the disagreements. Once they were finished, a house elf appeared and took the bucket. They brushed off their robes and took seats on the floor, sitting cross legged and looking up at the Head Table as if they were watching a Muggle movie.
The rest of the Hogwarts staff was gathered at various tables, and watching with rapt attention. Harry noted with sadness the absence of Hagrid's hulking form, McGonagall's tall silhouette, Professor Sprout's pudgy smile, Madam Pomfrey's brusque movements.
"What is Ginny doing here?" Harry whispered to Hermione, moving to stand next to her.
"She's the new medi-witch," Hermione answered, waving to Ginny when she looked up at the mention of her name.
Harry also waved at her, shaking off the uneasy feeling the young girl was giving him. He sighed and Hermione shot him a questioning look. He shrugged, his hair falling aside to reveal his smooth, tan forehead. "It's just, all the professors aren't here anymore."
Even Filch was gone, dead of a heart attack during the siege of Hogwart's castle. Harry briefly wondered if Mrs. Norris had survived, but was distracted from the thought as another man entered the room, a man Harry recognized easily. The man nodded to him, casually, and Harry returned the gesture, oddly miffed at the cold greeting. But as Hermione often said, everyone had secrets now, and Harry was sure that included the man now standing uncomfortably at the periphery of the group.
Neville Longbottom had changed. Harry regarded him quietly, instinctively measuring up what kind of opponent his old classmate would be. He was not surprised to find Neville different than the last time they had stood in the same room. No one, save maybe Dumbledore, knew where Neville had been during the War, what he had been doing. He had worked for the Order in complete secrecy.
Neville was still. He used an economy of motions with a ruthless efficiency that Harry easily understood. Neville had become a warrior. He stood against the wall in a corner of the room, his arms folded loosely over his chest. His brooding dark eyes constantly, but surreptitiously, surveyed the room, monitoring his surroundings. He had a slight limp on his left side, though one could barely notice when he walked – an old injury, probably from the start of the War.
Neville was quiet. He spoke to no one unless spoken to. Gone was the stammering, blushing, unsure young man with a severe memory problem. Neville's eyes were clear, bright and haunted. His words were clipped, short and assured. He said nothing without thinking or without meaning. His most common expression was a cold sneer, lines of disgust instead of laughter crinkled at his eyes. Harry had yet to see him smile, and he wasn't sure that Neville was still capable of such a benign expression.
But he was here, at Hogwarts. And was teaching Herbology, Hermione whispered to him. Quite a change from old Prof. Sprout, thought Harry. Looking around the Great Hall again, a lot would be different for the new crop of wizards and witches to attend Hogwarts. Their experiences would be vastly different from Harry's own. Well except for their Potions lessons. Harry's eyes lit on the cantankerous Potions Master. Despite Hermione's arguments, Severus Snape had not changed at all, as far as Harry was concerned.
Hermione offered him a small smile. Her face seemed tired to Harry and he wondered what was on her mind. There was a small bruise on the base of her neck, which in another second he recognized as a thumbprint. He raised an eyebrow at her, but she merely smirked back at him with a glance at Snape, and a gesture he could probably interpret as she wanted to talk to him after this meeting. He frowned, feeling reluctant, but knowing that after what was about to be revealed in this meeting, he would have no chance of skipping the conversation. He supposed it had been awhile since they had really sat and talked. Not since that first day after the final battle, really. But Harry was not used to having people to check in with. He supposed he would have to force himself back into the habit. He was not sure that it would be possible. He had been forever altered from the young boy who had first entered the hallowed halls of this magical institution. But who was he now?
His eyes lit on the door that concealed Bane, as Dumbledore began to talk. Wisely, the old man was starting out with the death of the Dark Lord, a cause for great celebration. Good tactics, win the crowd over with Harry's heroics, hold him up as a symbol of the light again. Harry fought his resentment. The Wizarding World had wanted nothing to do with the Bounty Hunter, but they had missed 'Harry-the-Hero-of-Hogwarts', and were ready to welcome him back. Harry wondered idly how far the fall from this pedestal would be when all was revealed. He stepped forward and bowed without a trace of mocking as the applause rose up, holding his hands to quiet them down after a moment, and turning his eyes expectantly on Dumbledore. If the older Wizard wanted to trot him out like this, that was fine, but Harry was certainly not going to be part of it.
"Unfortunately, our hero was … injured in the final battle, with some unexpected results." Dumbledore paused, his manner grave, but the twinkle in his eyes reassuring the room. Harry felt the eyes of the room fix on him, searching for the flaw in their savior. Harry couldn't hide the twinges of the smirk at his lips. If only they knew how shattered, how cracked their precious Golden Boy had become. Literally split in half by the decisions he had made to save them. Well, they were about to find out. "But do not fear. We have enlisted help, and are assured that the damage can be repaired."
Harry rolled his eyes. What was he – some defective broom to be fixed and pushed back into play?
The door swung open, and Bane entered the Great Hall, coming forward to stand next to Harry. A gasp crashed through the room, like a wave against the shore.
Hermione had gone white, and was staring at him with her hand over her mouth. Both Draco's and Snape's faces were impassive as ever, but Ginny was now regarding the two Harry Potter's with naked interest. Harry's eyes sought out Neville.
Neville stared at him, his eyes inscrutable, but lines of knowing satisfaction crinkled at his eyes. Harry inclined his head towards Neville, noting Bane's mirroring movements. Ah, thought Harry, then Neville had already run into his copy today.
"But professor," Hermione turned to look at the Headmaster. "What does this mean? Can we, I mean, how do we –"
"Put Humpty-Dumpty back together again?" Piper's musical laughter twinkled through the room like fireflies on a summer night. "Easy as baking black-bird pie."
"That doesn't seem very easy to me," Draco commented.
"Well neither is rejoining a person who's split in half, is it?" Prophet asked, amused.
Piper nodded.
"Well, how long will it take?" Ginny spoke up, feeling a little upset that she hadn't been told about this before. Was she not the best medi-witch in Scotland? Didn't she deserve to be consulted with such a magical malady?
"Have patience, little Miss Muffet. You should be used to the company of spiders by now." Piper smirked at her, holding a finger to her lips. "Hush now, and let the grown-ups talk."
Ginny seethed with anger at being taken so lightly. "I'm older than you are, you little hair-flipping twerp-"
"Miss Weasley, please," Dumbledore admonished. She reluctantly closed her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes darkening. "Piper, do you have any insight about Mr. Potter's condition?"
"Are these what the blue circles are for?" Harry asked Hermione.
"I have no idea." She shook her head.
"And you're teaching Divination?" Harry asked with a muffled laugh. He was still half-convinced that her teaching assignment was some kind of trick or joke. He enjoyed the warm feeling of the laugh for a second, before the temperature in the room dropped unexpectedly.
Piper had turned to face her brother, holding both of her hands out before her. Prophet placed his hands against his sister's, interlocking their fingers. They stared straight into each other's eyes as a warm wind emanated from their clasped hands and blew through their white hair. The air around them formed a blue bubble and shimmered once with sound of breaking glass before vanishing.
"A brave knight on a dark night, seeks his completion in the shadows. Death holds the answer," Prophet spoke, his voice even and hypnotizing. "Death takes us all whole."
"Hallowed be thy name, brave warrior. He who has faced Death and cloaked himself from the Reaper's icy hold," Piper continued. "The hallows, lit and reflected by heart's desire will put together what man has ripped asunder."
Prophet looked up, meeting Dumbledore's eyes and gave a small nod to indicate that this was all they had to say.
"So, it's like a pre-requisite that all Divination statements be cryptic and creepy, right? At least if they're about you, Potter," Draco scoffed, drawing close behind Harry.
"Apparently," Harry and Bane replied together, neither bothering to look at the blond.
Dumbledore looked somewhat stunned, gazing at the twins with open interest. He whispered softly, "The Hallows."
"We must all walk dark paths to the light, Albus," Prophet said, his voice still deeper and bigger than his frame. "Even you."
Dumbledore nodded tightly, indicating with a gesture that he would like to speak with Harry and Bane. He dismissed the rest of the staff, who hesitantly filed out the door. Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Snape and the twins remained behind with Harry and Bane.
"H-harry?" Hermione looked as if she was reeling from shock. "When did this happen?"
"Right after the battle," Bane supplied quickly. "During the lightning strike."
"Then all this time, you knew – you knew, and you didn't tell me?" Hermione stared at the two of them reproachfully. "Have you both been here, in the castle since then?"
"Yes," Harry replied shortly.
"But how – " Hermione bit her lip to stop the flow of her questions. Finally, she settled on, "Is there anyway – anything different – to tell you apart?"
"There are ways. You can call me 'Bane Black' for now. If that helps at all." Bane smiled at her fondly.
"How did you get that name?" The name was ricocheting through her brain like an errant bullet, threatening to bring her dreams back.
"Let them go – they'll come to you when they're ready," Prophet said, looking at Hermione, who was speechless. He stood up, coming close enough to brush his fingertips down her arm, a strange little smile on his face, before he turned again and offered his sister a hand up. They began to re-hash the locations of the blue circles, as Hermione rubbed her arm absently.
"Just felt right, I guess," Bane replied, his tone guarded as he tried to catch her eye.
"Have we met before? I mean, have we spoken when I thought that you were, you know, you?" Hermione asked. Bane stared at her for a long moment and Harry turned curious eyes to his counterpart.
"Yes, the day you found me by the mirror. That was me," said Bane when the silence seemed to stretch on too long. Apparently, Harry's affection for Hermione had been split between the two of them, along with their fighting prowess. His friendship with her also transcended personality.
Harry looked at her somewhat regretfully. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't know that you had spoken to him."
"Can we talk, Harry?" She glanced at Bane, not knowing what to do with him.
"Yes." Harry's eyes dismissed his doppelganger as he took Hermione's elbow and steered her towards the end of the Gryffindor table.
Ginny approached Bane, stepping in close and noting the way he mirrored her interested posture. She looked deep in his eyes. "You."
"Me?"
"It was you, not Draco." Her voice rang with discovery. "Why couldn't I see it?"
Bane smirked at her. "Does that change your mind about anything that happened?"
"No." Her face flushed as she looked over to where Draco was obviously watching and listening to their conversation. It had been Draco in Lucius' bedroom, of that she was sure. But not the day after. "Are you really Harry?"
Bane smiled and leaned close to her face, letting his lips brush her ear. "Tom's dead, little girl. I'm not your Riddle."
Ginny gasped, pulling back.
"Who would have thought that you'd have this reaction, after I killed him for you? I thought I would relieve your nightmares, I had no idea it was how much you liked your dreams that made them nightmares."
"Fuck you." Ginny glared at him.
"After Lucius got there first?" Bane asked viciously. "I think not."
"How did you…?"
"Too many spiders, little Miss Muffet," Piper called from across the way. Ginny flinched, she had assumed she was out of earshot of the irritating white haired girl.
Ginny sneered and stormed out of the hall, in fine pique. Aside from Bane and Draco, no one appeared to notice.
"Harry? Bane?" Dumbledore called. "We need to talk."
The two identical men approached the Headmaster.
"Do either of you still have your father's Invisibility Cloak?"
"Yes," they both replied. Harry shook himself, adding, "It's safe."
"What does the cloak have to do with anything?" Bane asked, impatiently. "What is this about?"
"The Deathly Hallows."
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TBC….. Coming Soon….
Why is Neville disappointed by the Sword of Gryffindor? How are the Deathly Hallows going to fit into a story without Voldemort? What in the bloody hell is up with the blue circles the twins painted?