Title: Bounty Hunter II: Black and White
Chapter Title: Dry Crackle of Disaster
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: Ever Read the Fall of the House of Usher? The first scene sort of feels like that story to me. shrug Could be because I went to the Edgar Allen Poe museum in VA recently.
Peace, love and a couple of sarcastic snakes!
When the Sorting Hat touched Bane's head, chaos broke lose through the Great Hall. The stone walls of Hogwarts shook and shuddered as if trying to stretch limbs long ago gone numb. The castle groaned, the grinding sound echoing through the halls and stairwells. A giant crack sounded through the Great Hall, as if the castle had been struck by lightening. All the occupants of the room seemed frozen, staring around them in bewilderment and fear.
Prophet pulled his sister into a loose hug, holding her inside one of the blue circles they had drawn. Piper let her brother hold her in place, but looked around the Hall with a rather pleased smile on her face. Her musical voice called out above the din of the shaking, and yes, now moving castle. "It's alright! Nobody move! Stay inside your circles!"
With no small amount of astonishment, Harry looked down to see that indeed, the entire Head Table was encased in a blue circle, and he hadn't even noticed it. He also now grasped his wand in one hand, and his sword in the other, and he hadn't noticed himself doing that either. He tensed, feeling his automatic shift into battle stance, but no enemies had appeared to fight. The castle itself seemed to be shaking apart.
Bane tried desperately to pull the Sorting Hat off his head, but it had stubbornly tied its ribbons around his chin, and refused to be budged. "Get the bloody hell off me!"
"Temper, temper, Master Black!" The Hat swayed as if wagging a finger at him. "This is all for you, you know. Stop fighting and watch…"
The stone wall around the east side of the Great Hall now bulged forward, curving towards them as a majestic new tower rose. A grand portrait of five people standing in the Great Hall in medieval dress popped into existence and seemed to be covering the entrance to the grand edition. A fifth table popped up in between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table and new banners began to unfurl above it. The banners were solid black, save one white downward pointing triangle at the bottom of the pennant. In the triangle stood a black, rearing, skeletal horse with bat-like wings raised defiantly on either side of its shoulders and swooping down around it's length to form a circle. A thestral.
Dumbledore's eyes darkened and his breath caught.
Through the enchanted roof of the Great Hall, they could see the tower winging its way skyward. As the tower finished hefting itself high above the castle, it branched out on either side, making three different conical tower heads, one to the left, one to the right, and one straight up and taller than the other two. Around the highest point, there was what appeared to be an Atrium with a stable in the middle. Several thestrals could be seen circling the tower and landing in the Atrium structure. Several students gasped and pointed at the eerie flying creatures, never having seen them before.
"Long live the House of Black!" The Sorting Hat crowed triumphantly. The Hat then chuckled conspiratorially to Bane, "Which you Master Black, are the first member of since the House's founding so many years ago. Thestrals value independence and determination, they are duty bound to lead and serve. They align purposes to achieve the greater good. And you, Master Black should be the head of the house."
Harry was shaking violently now. He sheathed his sword and put his wand back in his pocket, swallowing thickly. He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but he knew it was terribly important.
"Well, well, Potter. It looks like you've been quite the secret keeper, haven't you?" Draco's voice tickled the back of Harry's neck.
"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged the blond, his voice low and raspy.
Draco stood directly behind Harry's left shoulder, one hand clasping the right for balance as he leaned close to talk to Harry. His blond hair fell in his eyes, and he kept his gaze down.
"You're next," Draco whispered.
"What?" Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. Draco's proximity was sending shivers down his spine, and he hadn't stopped shaking yet.
"To be sorted, Potter. You're next." Draco smiled, noticing goosebumps rise along Harry's neck. Fuck you, Bane, Draco thought. He may not want to be with me, but Harry still wants me. "Any other lost towers hidden in your brain, do you think?"
"No, just that one," Harry replied darkly. He spared a glance at Bane, who was staring up at the new tower, awe written on his face, the Sorting Hat still stuck to his head.
"So tell me, Potter," Draco continued in his silken tones. "Were you really scared of Slytherin, or did you just not want to be that close to me?"
"I fear nothing." Harry shrugged him off, walking towards Bane.
"Once more with feeling, Potter." Draco's laughter rang in Harry's ears as he moved away.
Bane had finally managed to pull the Sorting Hat off his head. It was still jiggling, cackling with delight. It pointed its satin ribbons at Harry like an accusing finger. "You, Mr. Potter! Care to be resorted now?"
Harry nodded grimly. The rest of the hall was still echoing with whispered murmurs, people staring at the new tower and rubbing their eyes like it might vanish back from where it had come. Piper and Prophet ran up and down the line of new students, apparently offering them assurances that everything was fine. One girl with blond pigtails was crying hysterically, pointing to a large portrait that had landed less than an inch away from her…just outside her circle. The man in the portrait was also crying hysterically, pointing at the little blond girl. Piper patted the girl's back comfortingly, saying over and over again, "But I promise, it was never going to hit you. Really."
Harry picked the hat up, noting Draco's fixed interest on the result of this next course of action, and resolutely placed it on his head.
"So, Mr. Potter. No begging not to be placed in Slytherin this time…" the Hat mused. "Not surprising, a lot has changed in your head since I last looked in upon it. You certainly are on the way to achieve greatness, as I knew you would be."
"Just hurry up and get this over with already, will you?" Harry hissed coldly.
"Hmmm, it seems a little Slytherin ambition has knocked the shine off your Gryffindor nobility. Too bad it did nothing for your manners." The Hat wobbled back and forth a little. "Black!"
Harry nodded with acceptance, quickly plucking the Hat, which had always made him more than a little uncomfortable, off his head and tossing it dismissively on the table. Dumbledore met Harry's eyes with an appraising look. Harry fought the urge to glare back at him, and marched back over to stand next to Hermione. She and Snape were working to clean up the Great Hall as best they could so the Sorting Ceremony could continue. Together they levitated debris and banished broken glass. Harry gave them a hand and within seconds, they were ready to resume.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, gesturing for everyone to settle down. In moments the hall was silent, all eyes expectantly on the wizened Headmaster. "My apologies for the interruption. Those of you new to the school should know that in the world of magic, and particularly in this castle, surprises are more apt to happen then not. Are all of you uninjured?"
There was a general murmur of assent.
"Excellent." Dumbledore turned to the Sorting Hat, who was somewhat disgruntled and tapping itself on the table impatiently. "The next name, please?"
"Granger, Hermione." The hat called triumphantly.
"But, er – Sorting Hat," Dumbledore interjected. "Miss Granger has also, already been sorted before."
"I would re-sort everyone!" The hat danced back and forth with glee. "But for now, just the ones I know should be changed."
"Let him do it!" Prophet called. "It is important."
"Alright," Dumbledore agreed kindly. "Please proceed."
The Hat sorted Hermione into Ravenclaw, though noting that she was perhaps the "bravest Ravenclaw I have seen since I started." Ginny was resorted into Hufflepuff, much to her puzzlement. Much to her annoyance, the Vision Twins, as she now referred to them in her mind, did not seem puzzled by this development at all, merely amused. They were the next to be sorted, and before approaching the hat, they dropped their belongings off at the Ravenclaw table, asking a few students to move down and make room. The Sorting hat declared them correct in their assumption with a touch of annoyance in its voice, then moved on to the rest of the students, methodically going through the process, much as it had every year before, with the new addition of a fifth house.
The Head Table was oddly silent through the feast, once it had commenced. Harry idly watched the thestrals flying across the enchanted ceiling. His growing unease throbbed in time to the raspy beat of their wings even through the castle ceiling.
Dumbledore dispatched Snape, Hermione, Draco, Harry and Bane to investigate the new tower. Ginny watched with envious couriousity for a moment before her eyes lit on Neville Longbottom
"Hello Neville." Ginny placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.
"Hello Ginny," he replied calmly, as if he had known she was approaching. He was seated in the very last seat behind the Head table, so she summoned a chair and sat it at the end juxtaposed to him. He watched her sit down, his eyes too appraising. "You've changed."
"Yes, apparently, I'm a Hufflepuff now." She offered him a wan grin. "It's funny, I was about to say the same thing about you."
"It's been a long time," Neville said with a sigh.
"Yes it has," she answered warmly. She pushed away the niggling hint of shame that beckoned from his all too knowing gaze. Neville couldn't really look all the way through her, couldn't see what she had been doing, what she had become. Besides, as Hermione often said, everyone has their secrets now. "Where have you been?"
"Here. There." Neville's eyes flashed. "Everywhere."
"That was informative." Her tone held no sharpness.
Neville smiled enigmatically.
"I heard you were working on a 'special project.' Something for Dumbledore," she prompted.
"I was."
"The war has ended, Neville. Surely you can talk about it now?" She wasn't sure why she was pushing so hard. It wasn't as if she didn't have plenty that she still wanted to hide. But there was something about Neville, about the way he had changed, about the glances he occasionally cast at Harry, that told her intuitively that whatever he had been doing was important. Still important.
"Ended has it?" Neville laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Let's just say, I'm not done yet."
"With the special project …?" Ginny swallowed as Neville cast a sharp look at her. "Okay, moving on." Might as well change the subject. She didn't know exactly what Neville meant, but she was certainly not done yet, either, and she, too, would rather not talk about it. "This thing with Harry and the House of Black is crazy, huh?"
Neville's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Crazy."
"Not to mention – creepy thestrals been living on the roof all this time – and no one knew." Ginny shuddered. The dry rasp of their wings scraped over her nerves like a salt scrub.
"I knew. Harry knew." Neville rolled his neck as if to stretch, but Ginny noticed that he used the gesture to once again check on the location of the room's occupants. "Luna knew."
"I was sorry to hear about what happened to her." Ginny bit her lip. "I know you were friends."
"Are."
"Pardon?"
"Death doesn't end friendship. Just life." Neville's eyes were as steady as the cliffs above the lake. "That's what Hufflepuffs say, anyway. But you know them – all obsessed with loyalty." His voice was full of bitterness.
"Right. Of course." Ginny bit her lip, tearing it a little. The trace of blood tasted like the word 'loyalty' to her. "So, you could see them, before?"
Neville stared at her.
"Right. Sorry." Ginny sighed. "Didn't it use to be easier for old friends to talk.?"
"Yeah, it did." Neville smiled tightly. "So, you and Harry must be pretty close now."
"Yeah?" Ginny realized that Neville was fishing for information. Something she didn't think she would have figured out before spending mass amounts of time with Lucius.
"Well, I just thought, since you're the only one of your family actually speaking to him, and what with him saving your life and all …"
"How'd you know about that?"
Neville merely shrugged, as if it was unimportant. "Oh, I've been around."
Ginny thought about the day in the woods. The day that Harry had held her and hurt her, and told her what darkness had spawned the Bounty Hunter that he had become. The memory felt bruised, as if that day had broken something within her.
"Harry's not really close to anyone anymore." She gave a mocking little laugh, gesturing at the wide berth Harry was giving Bane. "Not even himself."
"Seems pretty close to Draco."
"Don't ask Neville. I'll never understand it, not in a million life times. It's just … you know. Them. Harry and Malfoy."
"Isn't it always?" Neville's voice held a trace of bitterness, origin unknown. "It's all about them. It's always all about them." Neville's voice took on a harsh, stark amusement as he added, "The rest of us? We're just spectators."
" I know what you mean. Now. Before. They've always been …" she trailed off, at a loss for words to explain the interactions between them, interactions that had captivated the school, made their fights feel life or death, made their story THE story, their rivalry legend.
"Epic?"
"Exactly." Ginny nodded, but looked at Neville very carefully. "But I hardly think you're just a spectator." She added silently, and neither am I.
"So, that sword Bane's carrying around …" Neville gestured subtly with a nod of his head.
"Oh, the copy of Harry's sword?"
"Copy?"
"Yeah – Harry's sword is the Sword of Gryffindor. And Bane just pulled a copy out of thin air. I guess it has something to do with him being a copy of Harry – I'm not sure. Hermione tried to explain it to me, but I – well, wasn't really listening, actually." Ginny smiled.
"Just a copy," Neville muttered,
"Is something wrong, Neville?"
"No," Neville said softly, before looking up at her. "Nothing at all."
"How long are you going to stay here, Neville?" Ginny asked, as he once again locked eyes on Harry. It seemed to Ginny that Neville has developed a nervous habit of always wanting to know where Harry was. She understood it well. Harry had been their savior for so long, his survival tantamount to their own for so long, sometimes it now seemed that everything would be alright as long as Harry was. Of course, it was obvious now that Harry was not alright. Maybe he never had been.
"Oh, I don't know. As long as it takes, I guess," he replied off-handedly.
"As long as it takes for what?" She asked, frowning.
"For the war to end."
Harry and Bane approached the large painting of a rearing Thestral that covered the entrance into the Black Tower. The creature paced closer to the front of the painting, nostrils flaring.
"Password?" It's gravelly voice was like the crunching of autumn leaves.
"Carpe Noctem," Harry and Bane intoned together, instinctively.
The thestral grinned and the door swung open.
Hermione met Harry's eyes as she entered the tower behind him, but she said nothing.
Draco let out a low whistle. The place was spotless, as if it had been suspended in time from its creation. The furniture was plush black leather, the wood fixtures a deeply polished cherry wood. The room was accented with blood red cushions.
At the back of the common room was a tall fireplace carved from black marble, its hearth was cooly pristine. A ten foot tall portrait of a man with unruly black hair and shining black eyes stared imperiously down at them, a hint of a smirk on his face. He said nothing.
On the mantle of the fireplace was a gleaming sword with an intricate ebony handle and hand guard, on a stainless steal rest. Harry and Bane both sucked in a breath as the light filtering from the tower windows kissed the sword, making it shine. There was an inscription carved on the mantle.
"Mors vincit omnia." Draco gave a harsh, humorless laugh.
"What does it mean?" Harry asked.
"Death conquers all," Hermione answered him, her voice strained. Her eyes were glossy, as if she was looking through the scene before her.
The air felt hot and dry to Harry. He tried to wet his lips, but it didn't seem to help. He reached for the sword, grasping the handle and cradling it in his arms. He swallowed thickly.
"Well, I can guess what that is." Snape watched the expression on the two Harry's faces carefully.
"The sword of Black," Harry said. His voice scraped over Draco's eardrums like scorpions skittering across the desert sand.
"We should seal this room. Seal it and never return." Hermione wandered away from the little group to look out the window.
"Hermione?" Snape approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked away from him to stare pointedly at Draco, her eyes a deep black – the whole eye, even the parts that were supposed to be white.
"No, Salazar. I will never let this tower become a part of this place. It cannot be salvaged. It must not be." She turned away again. "Maybe Godric's right. Maybe we should burn it to the ground and salt the earth."
"Well, well. So much for Divination being a load of hogwash, eh Hermione?" Bane smirked. He turned baleful eyes on Snape. "Is there a reason you didn't tell me Hermione is having visions now?"
"Tell which one of you?" Snape scoffed. "Contrary to popular belief, the whole world does not revolve around you, Mr. Potter." He idly recalled Hermione telling him that he referred to Harry as such to remind himself that Harry was James' son. He had never believed her until he realized how reluctant he was to call him 'Mr. Black.'
"Could have fooled me," Draco muttered.
"He won't get back in. We . . . he'll be gone soon. We have the swords now." Hermione turned to look at Harry and the sword he held. "Fates forbid he ever gets his hand on his own."
Harry clutched the sword reflexively. Bane placed himself between Hermione and Harry. Draco shuddered. "How long does this last?"
Snape shook his head, eyes fixed on the figure of Hermione staring through the sword that Harry held. He said softly again, "Hermione?"
Hermione blinked a couple of times, the pigment returning to her eyes and she swayed on her feet. In a moment, Severus was by her side, sweeping her into his embrace, the sweeping folds of his robe enveloping her protectively.
"We should never have opened this tower." She was shaking. "Harry, you should put that sword back and we should seal this place again."
"No!" Harry and Bane cried.
Hermione flinched, and Snape glared at them, standing protectively behind and nearly over Hermione like some kind of protective bat in his black robes. Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "While the two of you talking at the same time is extremely annoying, I happen to agree this time." His grey eyes met Hermione's. "It's too late to stop it. You can't undo the opening of a flood gate. We'll have to face what comes."
"It stays open. It's time." Bane's voice held the certainty of the ocean tide.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry." Hermione's eyes were deeply troubled. "This feels wrong to me." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Doesn't it feel wrong to you?"
"Nothing before has ever felt this right," Bane answered her. Harry nodded, his grip on the sword confirmation of Bane's statement.
Harry's voice was resolved. "It stays open."
The thirty year old man slipped through the woods like a shadow sliding in a dark room. Silver clouds circled the iridescent moon, trickling the light randomly over his path, but never daring to touch his face. Ahead, he could see the towers of Hogwarts arcing gracefully above the tree-line.
He reached the edge of the trees and stepped out, tilting his face up to the sky. He had strong features, his emerald eyes sparkled from under a fringe of pitch-black hair. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the night air of the forest. He stretched with a cat-like grace. Clenching his fists, he felt his strength coming back. His eyes lit on the majestic castle settled on a smooth lake, twinkling with light from the inside. A new tower had risen, reaching for the apex of the sky, its dark heights blotting out the swath of flashing stars that used to be visible above the castle.
Smiling deeply with satisfaction, he set his hands on his hips, threw his head back and laughed. The deep triumphant sound rumbled like thunder across the grounds. He was back…yes…he was back.
"Prophet, Piper? I would like to have a few words with you in my office, if you do not mind," Dumbledore said as soon as the doors to Black Tower closed behind his little search party.
"No, thank you," Piper replied politely, before wondering across the room to sit somewhat idly beside the doors leading out of the Great Hall.
Dumbledore stared after her curiously.
"I would be more than happy to accompany you to your office, Headmaster." Prophet offered him a warm smile.
"Thank you." Dumbledore returned the young man's smile and led him to the Headmaster's office. Prophet followed respectfully behind him, though he showed none of the wonder and curiousity most students displayed on their first trip to the auspicious room. Dumbledore hid a small smile. That was to be expected of such strong Divination artists.
"Prophet, may I ask if there is any difference between yours and your sister's abilities?" He asked after they were seated with a tea tray between them.
"Yes, sir. She's more gifted, but I …" Prophet gave a careless smile. "I am more coherent, I suppose."
"I see."
Harry, Bane and Hermione emerged from the Tower in a flurry of tension. Draco and Snape appeared a moment later, as the three in front of them involved themselves in a loud argument that both men felt was all too Gryffindor for their liking, despite the fact that none of the trio were Gryffindors anymore. Then they split off in three different directions, without a word to their Slytherin counterparts. Severus and Draco exchanged slightly disgusted expression for a second, then Severus swept off, his robes flaring dramatically behind him. Draco snorted as he watched him go.
"Think he practices that move in the mirror?" A teasing voice asked behind him. He turned to see Piper perched on the end of the Ravenclaw Table, her smile provocative and mocking.
"Ms. Vates," Draco drawled with an acknowledging head nod.
"Draco," she purred with a matched incline of her head.
"Can I help you?"
"Probably, but as per our last conversation, that would probably be inappropriate." She laughed, a tinkling sound like the chatter of tiny bells. "However, I think I may be in a position to help you."
"Is that so?" He raised a brow intrigued, casting a glance around the Great Hall. It was empty.
"It's okay. No one's coming for awhile." She smiled at him, before turning and seating herself, legs criss-crossed facing the other way on the table. "And this is as private as needed."
Draco shook his head. He gracefully leapt on the table and seated himself in a reciprocal position. "Do tell."
She smirked. "Even the way you sit is smug. You'd think you were the one that knew everything."
Dumbledore steepled his hands, resting his elbows on his desk. "I imagine you know what I would like to talk to you about."
"You want to know if I realize that you have pursued the Deathly Hallows for a long time, and actually have perfect knowledge of where two of them are." Prophet took a sip of his tea.
"Yes."
"Forgive me, Headmaster, but may I speak freely?" Prophet set his cup down and sat up straight.
"Of course, please." Dumbledore fixed the young man with a focused stare, a twinge of fear in his eyes.
"You're wondering if you can give up that which you have held so dear for so long. You cherished it for both the right and wrong reasons, knowing it was better in your hands than someone else's – but knowing that you still wanted to keep it for the wrong reasons."
Dumbeldore nodded once.
"Pardon me, sir, but you won't have a choice. You must sacrifice that object."
"What if I cannot?" Albus's voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. He had never used that voice with a student. It was his job to instill confidence, after all. But he had too much respect for this line of Seers to lie to Prophet.
"A question on many people's minds today," Prophet commented, casually inspecting his nails.
"Oh?"
"Mr. Potter, for instance." Prophet sat back, picking up his cup once more. He extended his arm across the back of his chair, letting the tea cup dangle from a few fingers. Albus thought the gesture almost Malfoy like. With a vicious grin, Prophet added, "Mr. Malfoy, too."
"So what would you like to tell me, Piper?" Malfoy's voice was deceptively calm, a trick he had learned from his father.
"Being a Malfoy lends you to being stubborn. Arrogance alone should have been your family crest. But it's odd to think that you can't decide whether or not you want your toys broken." Piper studied him for a second. "I had suspected you would rather it be put back together again, just so you could break it."
"Toys?"
"Coy is a good look on you." Piper leaned back, balancing on her hands. "Rather lost on me, though."
"So, why wouldn't I want my 'toys' put back together?"
"Because one will drown you, and the other will consume you. If they're together, you hardly have a real chance, do you?" She flipped her hair over one shoulder. "Funny how all the king's horses and all the king's men are always against you."
"So, what do I do?" Draco rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his hands together to rest his chin on them.
"You let them be put back together."
"What if I cannot?"
"You, like the tragic Mr. Potter, have no choice in the matter." Piper's eyes widened. "Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt. A famous Lucius once said that."
Draco's eyes flashed. "Fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling."
"Sometimes there is no choice, but the wrong one," Piper said shrewdly. "Darkness and pain are coming. Are waiting by the light of the moon, outside this very castle."
"So, how do we choose between two evils?" Draco fought the urge to rub his temples. Talking to Diviners always gave him a headache.
"As a Malfoy, I thought you would know." She smirked.
"Take the one you haven't tried."
"No choice needed – take both." Piper flashed him a feral grin that oddly reminded him of his father.
Dumbledore felt the unfamiliar urge to sigh. There would be no rushing Prophet. Prophet would tell him what he needed to know at the speed with which he felt it should be told.
"Mr. Potter is wasting his energy on an already answered question." Prophet rolled his neck, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Harry has no choice. He is stuck playing the hero – that is who he is, is his destiny. He must always sacrifice all for the greater good, which very rarely includes himself. He sacrifices everything for those he loves. The irony of course, is that it is usually those he loves that get sacrificed. He loses them to Death, or pushes them away for their own sake, for his sense of duty."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Harry will do what must be done. He will never back down, or quit until he has succeeded or is dead." Prophet glanced over at Dumbledore, his eyes entirely white, no color, no pupil showing. His voice took on a hypnotic quality, low and even, hair-raising. "Donatio mortis causa. He doesn't dread death, doesn't welcome it, just accepts it."
"Harry is a desert – the air around him is arid, dry, gritty, pensive. He is ruthless. He strikes quicker than a rattlesnake, with less warning. He chooses his priorities with stark detachment, but will secure these priorities with grim determination. He will not be stopped, or deterred, and he will use any means necessary to get it done."
So entranced by the white haired young man's words and voice, Dumbledore did not sense the presence of someone outside the office door.
"He is bitter. There are no rewards in the end for Harry, just more pain. Unending sacrifice and duty. He doesn't care whether he lives or dies. He refuses to care about anything, anyone, anymore, because that would put passion and emotion behind the vast amount of unique power he holds, and that's too volatile, too dangerous. Only his sheer detachment protects him from darkness, he doesn't dare let himself be tempted by wants and desires – if he did, he fears he could not resist the need to use that power for his own purposes – no, better he believes that happiness does not exist, than that he could achieve it by wicked means."
Dumbledore sucked in a harsh breath, grief for Harry welling up inside, trimmed with the guilt of knowing that whether or not he himself had a choice, he had led Harry down that path, on purpose.
"And Mr. Malfoy . . . is a lightning storm, with no rain for the drought-ridden Mr. Potter. He crackles with power, with intent, with moral ambiguity. Draco was the first to make Harry feel … anything since the desert came. Fear, pain, desire, rage – all in one strike. Harry likes the pain, hates the pain, has to return it. Draco struck, and Harry felt deep, cleansing fire, breath-taking, bone-cracking, soul-bruising fire. And he hadn't felt in so long."
Prophet's eyes flashed. "And the lightning strike might set the desert ablaze in all-consuming wildfire." Prophet's smile was chilling. "Harry is a tornado, born of destruction for destruction. He wants to consume Draco in the inferno, to be consumed himself. When they are near, the air smells of pain, heat, desperation. The dry crackle of disaster."
"Besides, you are a force of nature." Piper watched his as avidly as she watched a violent summer storm. "Lightning strikes randomly."
"But never twice."
"Lightning strikes where it will. Only death never strikes twice." Piper let her hair drift in front of her face, looking up at him coquettishly through a fringe of white.
"And I am lightning?" He asked softly.
"And thunder, and cataclysm – all in a lovely gilded crucible split in two." Piper smiled. "Ask Death, he'll grant you your barren fields, your ocean waves."
Draco stared at her, completely befuddled. She sighed impatiently.
"You are headed for a fall, long and winding and desperate. You've already tumbled, you will be consumed – swallowed whole. Stop worrying and enjoy the ride. You're supposed to be good at that."
"So I should ask … ?" Was this a metaphor?
"Death. He can fix it."
"And how do I do that?" Draco pushed a hand through his hair.
"Offer him his toys back." Piper laughed. "Death is inevitable and all possessing. He doesn't let go easily."
"Even if I knew what you were talking about … I wouldn't know where to begin." Draco wasn't even convinced that Harry and Bane should be put back together. And he certainly wasn't inclined to invite Death into the mix.
"At the start, at 'once upon a time' – with reflections and the beginning of the end." She grinned. "Nevermind ever after – it's never happy."
"Ok, you're just messing with me now, right? There is no way to possibly riddle out a piece of cryptic like that."
Piper leaned forward, turning her head to the side.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just listening to the lingering passersby."
"I thought you said no one was coming …"
"No one who's not supposed to hear," she defended herself. "To find Death, you must want him, must reflect his visage and his door. Ask Miss Muffet." Piper cast suggestive eyes at him. "She's begging for it."
"What does that mean?" Dumbledore felt a moment of compassion for every student he had ever given a cryptic answer to.
Prophet shrugged, his eyes clearing. "It will either save us all, or destroy everything. Burn it to the ground."
"I see. What shall we do?"
"Oh, nothing." Prophet lifted his cup. "More tea?"
"Nothing?" The word was quiet, but the tone was not.
"There is nothing to do. Harry will do what he must. Draco will strike when he does, the results will be what they will." Prophet helped himself to the tea. "But you needn't worry about what you can or cannot. Harry has no choice. Neither do you."
Dumbledore heaved the sigh he had been holding. He had known that.
"Some people find that thought comforting." Prophet winked at him, but gave no hint as to whether he was continuing his statement, or commenting on Dumbledore's thought.
"And the Hallows?"
"Must and will be surrendered. Harry must reunite with himself if he is to trace his roots. And at the beginning of Harry's roots, is the end of our little story."
"And what about Mr. Black?"
"Bane is the ocean, he has left Harry a desert. He is deep, still, and dangerous. He's Harry's instincts, and natural way of being. He is vital, violent and forceful, yet remains the calm in the eye of the storm. He sees every layer of chaos, he revels in power. He is who Harry would have been without your influence on his life. He sees no darkness to avoid, no light to hold to. He doesn't see in black and white, like Harry does. Just endless grey, like storm clouds." Prophet smirked. "The lightning complements him better, but is no less volatile."
Dumbledore contemplated Draco's role in this strange plight. "And what does Draco see – black and white, or grey?"
"Draco sees in color." Prophet stood and stretched. "Huh. Funny."
"What's that?" Dumbeldore asked, successfully holding the weary out of his voice.
"I thought that the Headmaster's office would be soundproof." Prophet bowed. "Well, then, I bid you good night, Headmaster."
"Goodnight, Prophet."
He was already gone.
TBC …