And this, ladies and gentlemen, is where the shit hits the fan.

Even if it's so bloody short.

Thank you all for sticking with me through this ridiculous silence, I had/have a very painful case of writers block for this story with which I know where I want to this story to end up, but cannot for the life of me put it into bloody words. Please be patient with me!

-oOoOoOoOo-

Draco leaned up against the wall in the lower dungeons, a deep frown fixed firmly upon his face, which flickered wildly in the shadows cast by the flames floating along the ceiling of the hallway, and his arms knotted stubbornly across his broad chest. The loud, tormented screams that came from inside the chamber to his left echoed down the long winding corridors, and it was more than once that he thought someone from the opposite ends answered them. If it weren't the fact that these dungeons hadn't been used in centuries, since the punishments for unruly students had morphed with the coming ages.

Narcissa and Lucius were stood opposite him in their own flickering fire-lit shadows, their porcelain faces suspiciously blank and lacking any emotion that reacted negatively to the racket. He supposed that was because they'd had their own fair share of torment in the past wars, being tortured or inflicting it. It was a perverse wish that he could stand the sound of others in pain, even if his mate wouldn't make it a regular occurrence.

He repressed a shudder as the loud thump of flesh against stone, and an answering scream to what was likely a sudden loss of limb, sounded. The stench of the earthy blood of the captured Werewolves was thick, and it caked absolutely everything. It was a cloying smell, and one he begged to ask how someone so sensitive a nose as Harry, could stand to bear.

"Patience, Draco," said his mother softly, her ice like eyes thawing slightly at his hidden, but evidently obvious trepidation. "It is nearing an end, and Harry is about to achieve what he initially set out to do. There aren't a great deal of wolves, from what I can tell of the heartbeats there won't be any left by the end, they are too weak to heal themselves."

Another thud of flesh to stone, and a terrible scream. "I just want this to stop," he admitted. "He shouldn't be doing this, even if its to stop another war from breaking out, it's not up to him to deal with. This should be left up to others – like Professor Lupin, or even Severus. People that can deal out torture."

"He's too pure for we to taint," said Narcissa, nodding. "But after everything he has done, he has managed to escape unscathed. Tell me, Draco, if it were you whom had to assassinate the most powerful Dark Lord in many ages, would you remain the same, or become something wholly different?" She asked, tilting her proud head at a curious angle.

"I couldn't handle it," he said truthfully. "If I were chosen, I would've failed under the pressure. I wouldn't have been able to handle anything the Dark Lord had thrown at me, like Harry could. I don't think I have the necessary bravery to stand up like that."

She nodded, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. "And that is why you were not chosen to be the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry was," she said, that small smile growing just that tad bit more. "It's obvious why the fates picked him to play that role, and why you became his mate. You are his strength, and he is the force. You hold his heart in your hands."

"He holds mine, too," he whispered, looking away. "But I don't think he knows that."

"Then he will learn," said Lucius softly.

There were no screams coming from the chamber, Draco realized after a moment. Nothing but unnatural silence.

"Do you think ––?"

The door squealed open, shrieking with age as the metal was far too rusted to properly open and close without force. Draco took in the sight of his mate, covered in blood from head to toe with an unearthly iridescent shine to the pale, creamy skin beneath the smeared red. His wings were held at a tense upright position, blood dripping in steady rivers down the velvety scales – the obvious tool for dismembering the Werewolves, and his eyes – his eyes were flat and held no spark of recognition in them.

"Harry?" He asked cautiously, stepping a little closer to the raven-haired Valerian.

Harry looked at him and opened his mouth, but all that came out was a whispering trail of sibilant hisses – much like Parseltongue, but far softer and somehow more fluid. It dripped from his throat like oil, and caressed his ears like silk. But it wasn't English, and he didn't recognize the language. Harry didn't seem to know that he wasn't speaking English, and Draco couldn't help but be struck at how similar it was with how he spoke Parseltongue in their Second year.

"We cannot understand you, Harry," said Lucius gently, stepping up beside Draco with a smooth step, and regarding Harry keenly. "You are speaking in a tongue unheard of for more than a millennia."

Harry blinked owlishly and spoke again in the same ancient language, but unlike last time, Draco saw a spark of recognition and comprehension dawn in his green, green eyes. The relief was almost tantamount to finally breathing after being underwater for too long, when your nose and mouth rise above the water and you're finally breathing in the sweet, fresh air, your lungs stretching to take it all in. Draco felt ridiculous for feeling this way, but he just couldn't help it. Some small part of him screamed that he could have lost his Harry to instincts long deceased and buried, could have lost the personal connection to Harry that he had and most wanted. He -and Harry- was lucky that that part was small, and not the majority, lest he take Harry into his room at Malfoy Manor and keep him there for all eternity.

Harry stopped a sibilant hiss short, closed his mouth, and swallowed loudly in the deafening silence. "I – I'm sorry," he said in a rasping voice that surprised the all. "I don't know why that happened."

"Something has disturbed you," said Narcissa softly, frowning, having lost that cold mask long ago when she'd began talking to her son. "Will you tell us what it was, so we may resolve the matter?"

Harry chewed on his lower lip and glanced back into the large and lowly lit chamber, eyes seemingly following a trail of blood that began at the far wall and ended where he stood. Draco blinked as Harry suddenly tensed, his wings flicking a little at the ends. "I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore, first," said Harry, looking very serious. "I found out what Greyback is trying to do, and why we've been getting away with killing so many of his Werewolves without retaliation, or a proper attack. We need Dumbledore to contact -" He suddenly stopped, and gave a lengthy pause. "Others. We need him to contact others."

"Then we must make haste," said Lucius firmly, stamping his cane on the ground with a resounding chink, and spinning on his heel to lead the way out of the lower dungeons at a brisk pace. They immediately swept along behind him. "The Headmaster is expecting our arrival in his office at any minute, along with the others. Namely being, Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Messrs Lupin and Weasley. The Weasley brood attempted to override him and attend the meeting, but Dumbledore managed to subdue them into staying in the Common room. I presume that will be an advantage?"

Harry nodded, even though Lucius couldn't see him, his green eyes distant, but aware as they swept the corridors. "We need everyone we can trust to be there," he said. "Any fighters, strategists, researchers and all will need to attend a meeting to be made aware."

"Made aware of what, dear?" asked Narcissa, her smooth face set in a serious and concerned frown. "What is happening?"

"Not here," was Harry's quiet reply. "Too many ears in the walls."

And as they made their way into Dumbledore's office, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart sinking in his chest, for what could be so bad that Harry wouldn't speak until sure that no hidden ears could listen?

-oOoOoOoOo-

Dumbledore was already looking at the door when Harry burst in, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco following right up behind him. Although, they weren't the one covered in Werewolf blood and looked like an avenging fallen angel with a waterfall of inky black hair and tall, sharply pointed wings. The elder Malfoys joined Snape in the corner of the room, while Draco accompanied Harry in the walk up to Dumbledore's desk. The other professors were all amassed in one corner, McGonagall most prominent in them as she stood at the front of the group with sharp, watchful eyes. Filius Flitwick stood proudly beside her, his grinning face slack and pale with shock.

Draco assumed that the shock was seeing Harry Potter covered in blood and almost fully Valerian in instinct, as his walk was more a prowl. Draco found it incredibly sexy, if it weren't for the very desperate need for Harry to be cleaned of all the blood first. That was on their To-Do list for the evening, to shower in the Prefects bathroom until they were both clean and satisfied. In an innocent and adult regard all the same.

"Harry, m'boy," said Dumbledore calmly, gesturing to a jar of lemon drops with a benign smile. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

Draco's eyes tightened at the lack of concern, and his lips thinned. Oh yes, just order him to murder ten bloody wolves for information and then offer him a lemon drop as reward, the crimes he just committed is no skin off your hands, is it, old man? Your logic and wisdom is just so damn powerful that we should all bow down. Arrogant prick.

Harry's own eyes tightened with righteous anger, and a very snarky expression not unlike Snape's shaped his face in the form of a curled lip and narrowed eyes. "When the army of Inferi is defeated, perhaps," he said flatly. "But until then, I think I'll hold off on the sweets. Need to watch my figure, and all that."

Utter silence fell upon the office at the uttered words, putting a stop to any mumbling that may have been going on before. Draco stared hard into that impeccable face, feeling flabbergasted, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his own parents and Godfather's faces morph into hard masks that held back any emotion, no matter how desperate the circumstance. He closed his eyes, and counted to ten, pulling in all of his emotions until they were trapped behind his own Malfoy mask. None were the wiser.

Dumbledore blinked up at Harry, disconcerted. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry didn't smile at being the one to finally have the drop on old Dumbledore, he seemed really, extraordinarily tired, and Draco worried behind closed doors that his mate would fall to his knees any second. In fact, he was anticipating that. But instead of collapsing into exhaustion, Harry merely sighed. "Greyback's been sending his wolves in to keep us looking in the other direction of the missing Death Eaters, distracting us so they could summon the Inferi from the lake and build an army. They've been very quietly taking select Muggles from the streets, people that'll hardly be missed," he murmured. "The only reason we've not heard from the Muggle Minister as of yet."

"And why would Greyback send us a Werewolf with such valuable information other than to fool us into believing it was real? Why would he expose and put the operation at risk of failure when he is allowed to bite whomever he pleases?" asked Snape dryly.

"Eric slipped through the cracks," said Harry, quietly, eyes intense. "He didn't want to be a Werewolf anymore, and he took the position of a lesser ranking Were to come here. He knew what I'd do to him when he attacked, but he still came willingly and offered up the information."

"In return for what?" asked Remus softly.

Harry closed his eyes in what looked like anguish, and seemed to hunch in on himself, his wings quivering as if to encase him in a hug. Draco quivered in the need to hold him, but his own self-restraint wouldn't allow that until Harry was clean. "Eric never dreamed of becoming a Werewolf - he hated them, in fact," said Harry, in that tiny rasping voice. "He was turned by mere chance, and when Greyback recruited him for his own, he only stayed to gather as much information as he could to give it to someone else. The first chance he got, he came here. He gave me the information, in exchange for a quick death."

"It was over for him the moment he was bitten," mused Remus in a soft, but strong voice, green eyes sad.

Harry nodded minimally, opening his eyes. He focused solely on Dumbledore. "The one thing he couldn't find out, was how they were changing at will," he said. "Eric mentioned something about a spell being cast at them to render them unconscious before the change, but I'm not sure that's right. It could be that the spell changes them right then and they lose their memories, or it could be something that disassociates the mind from the body - rather like the Imperius curse, to change them."

Dumbledore stroked a hand through his long beard, frowning pensively. "This is not what I expected to happen when the war ended," he admitted quietly. "I merely assumed from the disappearance of the Death Eaters that they would not attempt anything, but it seems that the darkness they had once reveled in has not completely faded. Lord Voldemort must have left plans in place for his most trusted, plans that would serve as just as violent as he was. I do not think he truly meant to die," he uttered. "Perhaps he assumed that he would and left contingency plans in place should he not live to enslave us all. Plans that would immediately go to those still living and he believed faithful to his cause."

"If that were true, Albus, Lucius and I would have gotten our own parts in this madness," said Snape darkly, his sallow face twisted in open disgust. "The Dark Lord would not have left out his prized Potions Master, nor his right hand man. If he left contingency plans in place, they would have to be his Horcruxes, and not free reign of his sea of Inferi to his faithful dogs. He is too covetous of power to do that."

"So the Death Eaters are acting alone, orchestrating this as an act of Voldemort despite him being dead," said Draco suggested, voice low and slow. "It wouldn't be the first time, yeah? This could be something they want to dedicate to him, like a final salute."

"That still does not solve how they know where to find Tom's lake," said Dumbledore, piercing blue eyes shut in thought. "Tom was very covetous of power, and knowledge is one of the greatest powers in the world, he would not have given the coordinates of his Horcrux to his subordinates for any reason other than to have them fall in and join his collection. Even upon his death, he would have taken that secret to the grave and beyond."

"Unless he informed Bellatrix of its resting place," muttered Snape with a curled lip, a rather nasty look that could have curdled fresh milk. "She was the one witch alive that the Dark Lord trusted above all else, and the only one of us whom was invited back to his personal chambers. She bedded him to satisfy his needs, of that I know," he sneered. "And as such, he would have trusted her to this."

"Tom wouldn't trust her with that just because he fucked her on a regular basis," Harry growled, his sudden foul temper alarming many. "I've been in his head for nearly all my life, and any thoughts like that never even occurred to him. If anything, he -" Harry stopped dead in his sentence, frozen, his eyes wide open.

"He would have instructed a House-elf to tell his remaining faithful servants of what he wanted done," he continued, awed. "He had only one House-elf in his service, and it was a twisted little beast named Yast. He commanded it to tell the others everything, and then to kill itself before it could be discovered by the enemy."

"The Dark Lord had no House-elves, you stupid boy," snappd Snape. "He detested the mere sight of the deplorable creatures."

Harry sneered at the man from over his shoulder, not deigning to face him completely. "And how else do you think Voldemort got his meals? Cooking them himself? Allowing Lucius's and Narcissa's House-elves to service him when he barely trusted them as it was? No, behind closed doors, Tom had Yast cook, clean and research everything for him. How else can one learn magic, than from a purely magical creature?"

"And now the remaining Death Eaters have the means to bring the world another war?" asked Draco quietly, prompting the conversation back onto the right track.

Harry looked at him silently for a minute, his tired eyes practically screaming "I'm sorry!". After another long moment, he released a reluctant sigh and nodded. "Yes," he said truthfully. "And there's no saying who they're going to target, now that everyone's lives are on the table. We're all in danger; the students, the Wizarding populace, the Muggles, and most especially, us in this very room. If Bellatrix and the others have really amassed an army of Inferi as great as Eric told me, we're in really deep shite, because they mean war, death and destruction and they're not going to stop until every one of us is dead, or on their side and surrendering.

"But unfortunately, that isn't the worst thing we have against us, yet."

"Explain what you mean by that, Harry," said Dumbledore softly in a strong voice, the speaker of the stupefied people in the room. "Because if what that Werewolf told you is correct, the worst possible thing that could happen is that the army of Inferi arrive at the school and begin terrorizing the children. What could possibly be worse than that and an army of Werewolves under the command of Fenrir Greyback, and not under the sway of the full moon?"

Harry took a very deep breath, feeling a little like his heart was climbing up his throat. It was this that had forced him to revert to yet another language, just the very brief explanation was enough to send his mind reeling back many a millennia. Bile automatically started crawling up his throat, his mouth watering and he swallowed harshly to halt its progress. It wasn't the time to be weak and afraid, they all needed him to be strong.

Draco needed him to be strong.

Harry firmed himself, stiffening and clenching his blood stained hands into fists despite the clawed nails upon each finger. "Eric informed me lastly and most importantly, that the Death Eaters are reanimating the corpses of our deceased loved ones with a complicated and modified blood ritual that is said to have been Voldemort's just before he died," he said flatly, watching motionlessly as each and every person in the room jerked and reacted with stupendous fear and horror. Dumbledore almost threw himself into the wall behind his desk, he recoiled so harshly. "It is said to make the corpses whole in body and magic again, but under the command of the caster, so it will be harder for the relatives to kill and twice as traumatizing. And I suppose you can guess just who the first to be reanimated were, as they were symbols of the Light, the ones whom defied Voldemort three times.

"Lily and James Potter."