Contingencies
of War by seeker. Rated PG13 for
violence. No copyright infringement
intended. A/U after book 4; no OotP
spoilers.
A Malfoy is
never caught unprepared. Nor
unaware. A Malfoy strategizes for every
possibility from the optimum to the disastrous; God-given right and sheer
determination bound with generations of commanding talent ensure that most
campaigns end in Malfoy victory.
Unfortunately,
Malfoy wasn't running this war.
Voldemort was, and the Dark Lord had grown increasingly unstable as his
plans to rule the Wizarding world unraveled.
Too much of his attention focused on
A Malfoy
never fought on the losing side. If he
did, he made absolutely certain he had a contingency plan.
Long before
Voldemort siphoned off the Potter brat's blood and returned to a version of
corporality, from the first time the Dark Lord fell, Lucius crafted those
plans. Throughout the years, as
Voldemort proved himself insane, Lucius acted upon them. He was simply covering all contingencies,
until he was forced out of the shadows.
For the one
thing a Malfoy values above all else is continuance of the Malfoy line. When Voldemort threatened that, Lucius Malfoy
defected. Openly. Spectacularly.
It wasn't
his choice.
It was his
responsibility.
For as long
as he was able he played his part, rescued his old friend when needed, and
played both sides of the game. Until his
hand was forced, and he took the only course he could that would ensure his son
had a world to inherit.
In
retrospect, Lucius would point at circumstance for taking him from the Dark
Lord's side at the crucial moment. In
the past several months Severus had skated too near the edge, piqued
Voldemort's suspicions too many times, and Lucius had risked too much to divert
the Dark Lord's attention. When the
deception was uncovered, he was powerless to stop it.
Sweeping in
from his latest errand, a fruitless mission to secure at least neutrality from
yet another contingent of magical creatures who owed their allegiance to
Dumbledore, Lucius muttered, "Damned impertinent Goblins" under his
breath as he stripped off his gloves and hat, flinging them on the side table
and stalking through the hall toward the library. Halfway there, a cut-off scream interrupted
his internal grumbling.
It wasn't
unusual. Prisoners at the Death Eaters' northernmost
headquarters often screamed. The
location, just outside
It was
extremely unusual for such recognition to stop him in his tracks.
Frozen in
the hall, ears straining, he listened to the tortured cries coming from Arthur
Weasley's throat. The chorus of denial
and curses weakened, and Lucius stepped closer.
He hadn't expected such a bold, or perhaps foolish, move from
Voldemort. Every sense attuned to his
surroundings, concentration split between listening to Arthur squeal and
watching out for anyone watching him, Lucius crept closer and silently edged
the door open.
Macnair, of
course; there were few who enjoyed a good round of getting his hands bloody as
he. Lucius felt his lip curl, then froze
again as Macnair growled, "The wards!
Last warning you'll get, before I really make it hurt. Give me the secret to the wards at
Hogwarts!"
Lucius'
stomach clenched. If Voldemort got those
wards down, it wouldn't matter who stood in the way. Anyone and everyone would be sacrificed to
give Voldemort his Holy Grail. The
Potter brat would likely be the only one to survive that foray, given his
proven talent for escaping certain death.
Lucius had the unsettling premonition that Draco would be one of the
casualties.
Determined
to divert the questioning before Arthur broke, for no matter how strong, any
man would break under the correctly applied pressure, Lucius gave up stealth
for imposing presence and stalked into the room.
Just in
time to hear Arthur croak, "Snape?" in a tone that made it perfectly
clear he considered Severus Snape a savior, not an enemy.
Lucius
stopped mid-stride, mentally cursing the sweep of his cape that would cause
Arthur, eyes half-blinded with blood and tears, to mistake him for an
ally. It was too late.
"Why'd
you think Snape'd help you out?" Macnair asked sharply.
Arthur
winced. So did Lucius, but Lucius hid it
better. Macnair cackled, sounding
immensely pleased. Turning to the fire,
he asked gleefully, "Did you hear, my Lord? It's true!
Snape is a traitor! You were
right to be wary!"
"Of
course I was," the chilling hiss responded from the flames. "Continue. Tell me immediately when you have the
information I require."
Lucius
heard the faint echo of a subservient "My Lord" through the
distortion of the fire, and to his relief Voldemort turned away from the
torture scene. Wind whistled through the
room as the Dark Lord's presence seeped from it, the ambient temperature of the
air rising a few degrees immediately.
Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and opened his
mouth to apprise Macnair of his presence.
Again
before a sound could escape him, Macnair applied his wand to the center of
Arthur's chest, and whispered a curse.
Arthur bit
through his lower lip to keep the words back, but it was for naught. Ancient language ripped from his tongue, and
Lucius nearly bit his own lip through when he realized that Arthur did, indeed,
know the key to the Hogwarts' wards, and was, unfortunately, giving them
away. Not freely, hard won with pain,
but giving them up nonetheless.
The two
specks of good fortune Lucius had to work with were that Voldemort was no
longer watching, and Macnair was denser than a plank so hadn't realized
precisely what Arthur was trying to say.
Before he
could, Lucius leveled his wand and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."
A
razor-thin green light shot from the end of his wand and impacted Macnair
between the shoulder blades. A wave of
Lucius' wand and a displacement charm immediately followed the killing curse,
pulling Arthur's bound, bloodied figure from beneath the corpse of his torturer
before it could crush him.
"L-l-lucius?"
Arthur stuttered as Lucius flicked his wand again, the bloodied ropes falling
from limbs bound so long they were deadened.
"Quiet,"
Lucius hissed in response, reaching down and hefting Arthur to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Arthur swayed, and Lucius
wrapped an arm around him. Wand to the
ready, he swept the room with a glance, listening for sounds of discovery. "We've no time," he said quietly,
directly in Arthur's ear. "If you
want to live through this, argue later.
Do what I tell you now."
Blue eyes
blinked up at him through blood-matted lashes, a disconcertingly piercing look,
then Arthur nodded and attempted to stand up on his own. On his second try he was steadier, and Lucius
nodded approval.
"Gently
now," he said, keeping one hand on Arthur and his wand clenched
defensively in the other. "Hold
on." He barely waited for Arthur to
wrap both hands around his arm before he apparated.
Knowing
Arthur was in no shape for the more rigorous distance to Hogsmead, and needing
time to alert both their households of the imminent danger from Voldemort,
Lucius took them to his northern escape, a castle in
Or so he
thought, until they apparated in to find a Muggle-hunting party of high-ranking
Death Eaters already in residence.
Cursing
under his breath, dragging Arthur behind him into one of the many secret
passageways cutting through the walls, Lucius damped down his rage at the use
of his property without his knowledge, once more angered at the arrogance of
Voldemort. Knowing they had little time
before they were discovered, he crept silently through the dark corridor and
cautiously stepped out into an unused chamber.
In the background the screams of the Muggles could be heard, echoing on
the gray stone walls.
"How
are you holding up, Arthur?" he asked, reaching for the floo powder on the
mantel. Just enough for their needs; two
quick communications and one quick escape.
"I'll
live," Arthur grunted through his teeth, followed immediately and
predictably by, "Why are you doing this?"
"Later,"
Lucius fended him off, then threw some powder in the fire. "Malfoy Manor," he said
clearly. A moment later he stuck his
head in the flames.
Narcissa
wasn't alone. Her eyes widened when she
saw him, and her automatic smile was stiffer than usual.
"Hello,
my love," he said smoothly.
"An unforeseen contingency has kept me at the office. I don't know when I'll be home. Perhaps you should go on without me this
evening."
He knew by
the almost imperceptible nod that she'd gotten his message. Run, fast, and don't look back, for all is
revealed. Go to a safe place and don't
come out until I come to get you. Her
smile softened.
"Goodbye,
my dear," she told him. He smiled
in return.
"Goodbye." He pulled his head from the fire and turned
to Arthur. "Warn your family. Do it quickly. We have to be gone from here before we're
discovered."
The
crescendo of screams broke, leaving behind an echoing silence before it was
disturbed by a wizard's laughter. Arthur
looked green beneath the blood now dried on his skin.
Taking a
pinch of floo powder, Arthur tossed it in the flames and said shakily,
"The Burrow."
Lucius
instinctively stepped back into the shadows.
Molly Weasley's shriek of recognition and horror was regrettably loud, and
Lucius hissed, "Quickly!"
"No
time to talk now, Molly-luv, but you've got to get out of there. You-know-who's on the way so get out
now! Meet me up north."
Before
Molly could howl again, Lucius grabbed Arthur by the coat and hauled him out of
the flames. Arthur turned on him, and
Lucius caught the fist before it landed.
"They're
coming," he said calmly, and indeed, they were. Footsteps rang on the stone steps. Their time was up.
Throwing the
last of the floo powder in the fire, Lucius threw his arm about Arthur's
shoulders and led him into the flame.
"The Black Thistle," he commanded, and a moment later they
were twisting their way through the floo network toward one of the lesser known
apothecaries in Hogsmeade.
His
appointed safe house cum meeting place with Severus. Who wouldn't be expecting him, but who had
left strict instructions that the room downstairs should be left secured and
empty at all times. He also left a few
emergency healing potions there, a good thing, given the state Arthur was in
when he rolled off the hearth.
Lucius
brushed the soot off hastily and turned to Arthur, who was slow to get up from
his huddle in the middle of the floor.
Pointing his wand at the worst of the wounds, Lucius muttered a
sanguinaria charm to staunch the flow, then reached for a handful of potion
bottles. One for shock, one for stamina,
one to numb the pain without rendering the victim unconscious; each after the
other he tipped down Arthur's throat.
Arthur was
still hacking after the last one when pain sliced through Lucius' left arm,
nearly paralyzing him.
"No!"
he spat through clenched teeth. "He
knows." Ignoring Arthur's
questioning look, Lucius grabbed another bottle, one that dampened the magic
running through his body. Unfortunately
this would hobble his defensive ability, but it also muted the bone-shattering
pain of the Dark Lord's angry call.
Throwing the empty bottle down, he glared down at Arthur. "Can you move?"
"Yes,"
Arthur replied, and proved it by getting to his feet and heading for the door
with more energy than Lucius himself could muster. "Where are we going?"
"Hogwarts,"
Lucius told him.
Arthur
stopped dead in his tracks. "No
bloody way," he growled. "I
don't know what your game is, Lucius, but I'm not taking you inside the wards
at that school!"
Lucius
could have throttled him. Wanted to hex
him but wasn't sure he had that much magic left available, muffled as it was by
the potion. "You have put Severus
Snape in mortal peril, and we are going to make damned sure he gets fair
warning. We also have to tell Dumbledore
the wards may be compromised. You
babbled enough of the foundation spell to tip off Voldemort to a way through
them, and I've no doubt there was a recording spell on the room. Macnair can't tell what he knows, but
Voldemort can read it on the air, and if we don't get there before the Death
Eaters do, your son AND mine will die."
Without
another word, Lucius stepped around Arthur and out the door. A moment later he heard Arthur walking behind
him. Not wasting the time to gloat,
Lucius told him, "You'll have to be our magical defense. That potion I took renders me as useless as a
Squib."
"Why
the hell did you take it then?" Arthur asked, appalled.
Pushing
back his sleeve, Lucius held up his arm.
The Mark was swollen and livid, weeping blood around the edges, pulsing
in the center. "To put a lid on
this until I'm able to do something about it."
He didn't
wait while Arthur vomited in the gutter behind him. He also didn't tell Arthur that he had no
idea whatsoever what he COULD do about it.
He'd worry about that after he'd warned Severus and Dumbledore and made
certain his son was safe. If he lived
that long.
When the
trees cut off the last sight of Hogsmeade, Lucius put out a hand to stop
Arthur's forward lurch. Peering about
for pursuit, seeing none, Lucius took a chance and whistled, a soft low sound
that seeped through the air. Arthur
opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but before he could, a large gray
winged horse stepped from the trees.
"Alsvid,"
Lucius greeted him politely. "We
beg leave to rest upon your strength if you will carry us." The Granian tossed its shining mane once in
agreement, then bent one massive foreleg.
The graceful wings folded close to the sleek body, and Lucius bowed his
thanks. "Come along, Arthur."
"Hallucinating,"
Arthur muttered behind him, but come along he did, scrambling gingerly atop the
broad back. "I'm bloody
hallucinating. First Malfoy saves my
skin then Pegasus comes out of the forest to give us a lift."
The horse
gave an irritated whicker, and Lucius told him, "Please, Arthur, he's
Norse, not Greek. Now do be quiet and
hold on!" The last few words were a
shout as the great wings unfurled and beat the air, lifting them precipitously
off the ground.
It was a
fast, incredibly cold, oddly smooth ride.
Lucius wrapped one hand in the gleaming mane and held on to Arthur's
wrists with the other, clasped desperately around his middle as they were. Not far from Hogwarts' outer wards, Lucius
pressed his right knee gently into Alsvid's shoulder, and they began their
descent.
Once on the
ground again, Lucius jumped lightly to the grass while Arthur slid gracelessly
to his knees next to the horse. Ignoring
the incredulous muttering still issuing from his companion in flight, Lucius
turned to the Granian and gently stroked the silky muzzle.
"Thank
you," he said softly. One pointed
ear twitched his way. "Once again
you have saved me. I am in your
debt." That earned him an
affectionate nuzzle, before the horse stepped back, shook out his wings, and
took to the air again. In a moment, he
was gone.
Lucius
turned to find Arthur, back on his feet, arms akimbo, wand in one hand, looking
quite at the end of his tether. "I
want some answers, Lucius, and I want them now!" he bellowed.
"Later,"
was all Lucius had time to tell him, before pushing Arthur out of the way of
the attacking Death Eater coming up fast behind him. "Use your wand!" he yelped, then
ducked out of the way of a fast-moving hex.
His Mark
throbbed in sympathy with the attackers, three of them, closing fast. Lucius ignored it and pulled a dagger from
the sheath inside his left boot.
Twisting below and to the side as the Death Eater charged, Lucius kicked
up with his right leg and caught the wizard fully to the side of the knee. With a wet crunching sound and a choked
scream, the attacker fell.
One fist to
the hair, a quick pull back of the head, a sideways slice with the dagger, and
the scream ended as abruptly as it began.
Plunging
the blade into the earth to clean it roughly, Lucius turned back to the
battle. By this time Arthur had come out
of his shock and joined the fight, taking down the second Death Eater with a
crippling curse. The third one was upon
him before he could stop the rush, and Lucius watched the combat closely until
he saw his opening. Uncoiling from the
ground with the swiftness of a striking serpent, he thrust the dagger
hard. It bit deep, between the ribs and
up, rupturing the lung and heart. The
wizard thrashed and jerked, his wand waving wildly, and Lucius couldn't duck in
time to avoid the curse.
Pain
blossomed in his side, running along his nerves to his spine and radiating out
from there to his extremities. Clenching
his jaw, pushing himself past the pain for as long as he could, Lucius reached
toward the twitching corpse. Ripping the
dagger free, Lucius moved to the sole surviving Death Eater, still groaning
loudly from the effects of Arthur's curse.
It was the work of a moment to slit his throat as well. Lucius quickly cleaned the blade on the edge
of the stained white robe and returned the dagger to its sheath.
"Good
God, man, what have you done?"
Lucius
sighed. "What had to be done, Arthur,"
he said wearily, as the tendrils of pain wrapped tighter and tighter around
him. "Now you have to finish the
job." He curled over suddenly,
clutching his torso as if to contain the agony now flaring through his
muscles. "Go... warn Severus...
tell Albus..." He gasped his most
precious charge with the last of his breath.
"Keep my son safe."
Dimly
through the deluge of pain, he felt Arthur pulling at his arm, trying to lift
him. Wasting time. Wasting their chance. Their only chance. He wished he had strength in him to curse
Arthur for his stupid nobility and useless heroics... until he felt a slight
tingle in response to the hex moving through him that had nothing to do with
pain. The potion was wearing off, as if
the magical attack had triggered his innate magic in a last-ditch attempt to
save him. Forcing his mind to focus on
survival, a Malfoy speciality, he suddenly grinned.
Arthur
dropped his arm and stepped back in sheer surprise. Or perhaps it was because the grin resembled rictus
more than amusement. No matter. It gave Lucius room to move.
"If
you feel you must carry me," he wheezed, "allow me to lessen the
burden." He concentrated all his
gathering magic, ignoring the flare of agony from the Mark, and forced it down
into his bones, feeling the change melt over him.
As Arthur
hesitantly lifted him and began to run toward Hogwarts, Lucius curled his paws
in against his chest and tucked his tufted ears against Arthur's neck. At least in this form the Dark Mark didn't
hurt. Now if only Arthur could get them
to the school before he bled to death, they might be able to salvage something
from this farce after all.
More than
once in the stumbling end to their flight, agony piercing him with every clumsy
jolt, Lucius wished Arthur wasn't such a stereotypical Gryffindor and had just
left him to die. Of course he didn't
actually mean it; giving in to death was surrender, and Malfoys didn't
surrender. That didn't stop him from
wishing it. Repeatedly.
From inside
his haze of pain, his preternaturally sharp ears picked up the conversation
over his head. Under other circumstances
it might have been funny. Arthur threw
himself at the doors of Hogwarts, screaming for help at the top of his lungs.
Given that
he was covered in blood and bruises, carrying a bleeding wild cat in his arms,
he no doubt scared the children in the front hall half to death. Hagrid was the first to see them, coming
round the side from the yard.
"Lord!"
he exclaimed, huge hands automatically reaching for Lucius, who thought perhaps
he should hiss and scratch. But
something in his animal self recognized a kindred spirit in Hagrid, and he
could only lie in Arthur's arms and pant.
"Lemme help ye wit' that!"
To his
credit, Arthur refused. "No! Pomfrey!
Animagus! Dumbledore! Help!!"
His voice grew louder with each word until he was bellowing, hurting
Lucius' delicate ears and pulling a hiss from him.
Hagrid
stood there with a befuddled look on his hairy face. Unable to help himself, Lucius gave a reassuring
purr. Once he started he couldn't seem
to stop; he'd never been gravely wounded in his feline form before, but it
appeared his natural response to injury was purring until his fur shook.
He was
pondering this odd phenomenon, trying not to pass out from pain, when
Dumbledore sailed down the stairs, his old bat of a deputy at his side.
"Arthur,
please, this way." He placed a hand
on Arthur's shoulder, inches from Lucius' head, and Lucius shuddered at the
wave of magical support that poured off him.
It felt
good, strengthening, cleansing; it felt horrible, as the dark magic branded on
his soul responded with loathing, redoubling the output of wrath from
Voldemort; it nearly knocked him unconscious as the two warred in his
pain-wracked body. Unable to stop
himself he gave a piteous, wavering yowl.
"And
who is this?" Dumbledore rumbled as the mediwitch Pomfrey flew down the
stairs toward them, levitating a stretcher behind her and scattering curious
students in front of her. Beside
Dumbledore, McGonagall's eyes narrowed, and Lucius spat in hostile
response. "Oh, my," he said
wonderingly, "what... unusual eyes you have. I don't believe I've ever seen a Northern
Lynx with silver eyes."
Dumbledore's own eyes were twinkling in quite a disgusting manner, and
Lucius told him so.
"What
is this caterwauling?" Pomfrey asked impatiently as she bustled up to
them. "Hagrid, do take the
animal--"
Lucius
screeched at her, one paw swatting, claws extended, as Arthur cuddled him distressingly
close to his chest, nearly suffocating Lucius and causing such pain to arc
through him Lucius could only wail louder.
"No,
wizard, friend, animagus," Arthur gasped.
"I
don't believe Hagrid is the best choice for his care," Dumbledore added.
"More
than adequate," McGonagall sniped, rolling her eyes at Dumbledore's
chiding look.
At which
point Arthur made the argument moot by swaying sideways and fainting, still
clutching Lucius to his chest. Pomfrey
shot the stretcher beneath them and, happily, Arthur landed on his back so he
didn't crush Lucius to death. Lucius
squirmed, mewed unhappily, and resumed his distressed purr.
Curious
faces blurred on the sidelines as they raced to the infirmary. Lucius tried to look out for his son, tried
to find his friend, but saw neither Draco nor Severus. Blackness gathered at the edges of his vision
as he lost ground to the magical battle taking place inside him.
Once they
were transferred to a cot in the infirmary, Dumbledore reached down and gently
pried Arthur's arms away from Lucius as Pomfrey cast diagnostic spells over
Arthur's bed.
"Well,
someone knew something about triage. The
worst of the internal bleeding's been stopped, and his system shows signs of
medicinal potions..." She continued
her monolog as Dumbledore reached for Lucius.
Before his hands actually touched fur, he asked softly, "May
I?"
Lucius
reached up and licked the closest hand.
Dumbledore sighed, lifted him with extreme care, and placed him on the
cot next to Arthur's. He gently stroked
Lucius' fur, each touch easing the pain from the hex eating away at him, and
Lucius found himself breathing easily for the first time in too many hours.
"What
a nasty mess you've gotten yourself into," Dumbledore said, but Lucius
didn't know if he was talking to Arthur or Lucius himself. "I wonder..." Turning to Pomfrey, who'd stopped talking to
herself and was applying various healing charms to Arthur's unconscious person,
he asked, "When might we expect Arthur to awaken and regale us with his
adventures, Poppy?"
"Could
be hours yet, Albus," she answered tersely. "He's very badly off."
That
wouldn't do, Lucius thought. They didn't
have time. He had to warn them. Now.
For Draco. For Severus. For all of them.
Gritting
his teeth until his jaw nearly cracked, tensing every muscle in his body,
fighting pain and exhaustion and the malicious magic still attacking him,
Lucius threw himself into transforming.
It
hurt. Unbelievably. The Mark on his arm flared as if a firebrand
were thrust into it. The hex ate at his
ribs and hip and side until he wanted to claw his own flesh from his bones to
rid himself of it. But he was human
again, and he could give warning.
"Mercy!"
exclaimed Pomfrey, overlapping with McGonagall's "For Merlin's sake!"
and nearly overwhelming Dumbledore's calm, "Good evening, Lucius."
Staring up
into Dumbledore's eyes, Lucius forced out, "Buttress the wards. Warn Severus.
He is betrayed." He gasped
for air, then managed, "Protect my son!" The words mingled command with heartfelt
plea, but he didn't see the result. Fire
broke over him in a wave and his eyes rolled up in his head as his body
convulsed.
In the
library, head buried in a book on advanced arithmancy in a vain attempt to
shake off the sense of dread he'd been feeling since waking up that morning,
Draco Malfoy suddenly doubled over in pain.
His left hand clamped over the bracelet around his right wrist, where a
bolt of energy had just seared him.
Standing up so quickly he knocked over the bench, ignoring Madam Pince's
interrogatory glare, he forced himself to peel his fingers away and stare down
at the engraving on the platinum band.
A dragon's
head, for himself. A snarling lynx, for
his father. A long-stemmed flower with a
fluted trumpet at the center, for his mother.
The stem
was snapped, the petals fallen.
The snarl
was a grimace of agony, a face of impending death. And it was glowing.
His father
was here. At Hogwarts. Injured.
His
mother...
His mother
was dead.
Draco ran
to the infirmary faster than he'd ever run anywhere in his life.
Dimly
behind him he heard his Head of House calling to him, but he didn't slow
down. There was no time.
Something
was terribly wrong.
Draco
skidded into the infirmary, nearly falling as he saw what he'd feared; his
father, lying ill in a bed at Dumbledore's mercy. Pushing his way to Lucius' side, he
hesitantly reached out. Placed his hand
on one shaking shoulder and said numbly, "Father?" Then said more softly, "Mother?"
Dumbledore tried
to pull him away, as Pomfrey took up her wand, and sturdy cloth came up from
the sides of the bed to bind Lucius' thrashing body down. A soft pad of cloth forced its way between
his jaws, another cradled his head, as Pomfrey did what she could to stop the
seizures. Draco fought Dumbledore's
hold, only to freeze when he heard Professor Snape's steely quiet,
"Draco. Cease. Calm yourself."
He raised
blurry eyes to stare helplessly at Snape, who stood beside him, clutching one
arm with the other and staring down at Lucius.
Without a word, Draco lifted his arm and showed Snape the bracelet.
Snape's
face softened, and he shook his head regretfully. "I am sorry, Draco," he said
gently. Then Lucius arched so violently
the cot shifted, and there was no more time for sympathy, only fear, as Draco
looked fearfully at his father and wondered if he would be twice bereaved that
day.
Severus
Snape winced and clutched his arm, knees nearly buckling from the intensity of
the Dark Lord's displeasure. He didn't
know what had set Voldemort off, but he had to find out. On his way to find Dumbledore, in the
infirmary with some recent arrivals at the school that had the pupils
whispering, before answering his master's call, he saw Draco Malfoy tearing
like a mad thing up the stairs. The boy
looked awful, eyes huge in a face so pale he looked dead, hair flying about his
head as if he'd been clutching it, an unheard-of occurrence with the vain young
man.
He was
heading for the infirmary.
Snape had a very bad feeling about all this.
He didn't believe in coincidence.
He did believe in sheer rotten luck.
And he knew whatever he found in that infirmary, he wasn't going to
like.
A fresh
wave of white-hot pain pulsed through his arm, thence through his body, and he
took a deep breath. Mounted the steps as
quickly as he could and swept into the infirmary.
Then
stopped so suddenly in his tracks he nearly fell over, at the sight of Lucius
Malfoy, face twisted in pain, being restrained by Poppy Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore. Next to him stood Draco, looking as if he
might fall over any moment. On the cot
next to him lay an obviously-tortured Arthur Weasley.
Well. It would appear their secret arrangement was
no longer a secret. Lucius had saved one
too many of Albus' spies.
Taking a
deep breath, Severus walked forward just as Albus reached out and attempted to
draw Draco back out of Poppy's way so she could tend to Lucius. Draco fought him, tears starting to run down
his cheeks, mouth pulled back in a snarl he'd definitely inherited from his
father. Severus rushed forward and put a
restraining hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Draco. Cease.
Calm yourself."
The boy looked up at him, then mutely showed him the engraved plate on the
sigillum bracelet enclosing his right wrist.
The sign Severus recognized for Lucius was gravely injured, near death,
personified by the writhing body of the wizard before them. The sign for Narcissa was permanently
disfigured, an unmistakable indication that she was dead. Severus closed his eyes.
Oh,
yes. Far from secret. Exposed and exploded, in fact.
"I am
sorry, Draco."
Within the
space of a heartbeat, the vitriol eating at his body from the Dark Mark
intensified unbearably. At the same
time, Lucius convulsed. Severus could
barely see him through the dimming of his own eyesight.
This was
not the way he'd intended to die.
"Hold
on, Lucius!" Dumbledore was shouting, as Draco whimpered,
"Father!" beside him, and Severus fought to breathe, his heart feeling
as if it would be torn apart in his chest.
"Too
strong," he gasped, trying his best not to scream in sheer agony. "Can't fight it much longer!"
From very
far away, he heard Potter's voice say steadily, "I can."
Then a band
of steel to match the one around his chest clamped about his forearm, and
Severus felt as if his soul was being sucked out through the Mark.
He hadn't
known he'd had enough soul left for it to hurt that badly.
Curled up
in a large chair in the Gryffindor common room, Harry tried to ignore the
headache that had been nagging him all evening and concentrate on his
Transfigurations text. He'd been working
outside the curriculum with Sirius, following the family tradition, and was
looking for tips on how to control his reaction to prolonged time spent in his
illicit animagus form.
His
godfather gave him all the help he could, but he was a dog. He didn't have much of a clue how to handle
being a kestrel. Harry grinned at
memories of the last time they'd played together, Padfoot leaping and snapping,
trying to catch a tail feather as Harry dive-bombed him from above.
Mid-memory,
the vague ache turned into a bludger to the skull, and Harry dropped his book
to clap both hands to his forehead.
"Bugger!" he yelped, then stumbled to his feet, ignoring the
cries from his friends, clustering around him, pelting him with questions. Following an impulse he didn't have the wits
left to question, he ran from the room, leaving the others in his dust.
He didn't
know where he was going until he got there.
When he did, he stared in sick fascination at Lucius Malfoy, with his
son and Snape to one side of his bed and Dumbledore at the other, then at
Arthur Weasley, looking like he'd been run over by a lorry, dead to the world
in the next bed.
"Can't
fight it much longer," Snape was saying.
"I
can," Harry answered, walking to stand at the foot of Malfoy's bed.
In the dead
silence that greeted him, he followed the instinct that had been guiding him
since his head tried to split open.
Walking to stand next to Snape, Harry reached out, wrapping his right
hand around Snape's left forearm and his left hand around Lucius'.
"What
on earth are you doing?" Draco spluttered.
Oddly enough, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Dumbledore didn't say a word,
simply watched him.
"What
I do best," Harry said with a certainty he didn't completely understand,
even as he knew he could do this.
"Tossing that bastard's hatred right back in his face."
With that, he shut his eyes, felt the malevolence pulsing through the fire-hot
marks beneath his palms, and concentrated on the pain spiking through his
skull. Death cries filled his head, his
mother's, his father's, Cedric's, Malfoy's, Snape's, Harry's own. Pushing back against that wall of darkness
with everything he had in him, Harry screamed, "Not this time, you
won't!"
It was a
gathering of magic unlike anything Albus had felt in a very long, very
adventurous life. Anger, yes, and
madness, determination and pain, and a pure refusal to yield the likes of which
he'd never imagined. Magic became
visible on the air as Harry and Voldemort fought over the lives of Lucius and
Severus. It glowed through the skin
where hands met arms, the malignant red-black of the evil Marks expanding then
contracting as Harry drew upon the rebellion in Lucius and Severus against
their former master to strengthen his own natural force.
Really,
Voldemort hadn't a chance.
Particularly when Dumbledore placed a hand at the base of Harry's skull and
poured his own strong defensive magic into the mix.
Silver mist
rose from Lucius, matched by emerald green from Severus and bright crimson from
Harry, woven together by deep royal blue from Albus. It swirled over the four wizards, Harry's
hands tightening on Severus and Lucius' arms until his knuckles turned white,
before it disappeared with a blinding crack.
Albus
stumbled back, grateful for Minerva's strong hand at his back. Harry collapsed at young Draco's feet, while
Severus staggered but remained standing, staring at his unblemished forearm in
shock. On the cot, the seizures had
stopped, and Lucius lay peacefully unconscious.
As Albus
watched, catching his breath, Poppy bustled over and began tending to Lucius'
wounds. He'd been thrashing too hard for
her to adequately treat him before.
Draco, moving slowly, no doubt in shock himself if what Albus suspected
was true and he had lost his mother that day, leaned down to wrap an arm around
Harry and haul him to the cart next to Lucius'.
Poppy
turned to Harry next, clucking over him and exclaiming in disbelief,
"Well, whatever he did, it doesn't appear to have damaged him. He'll no doubt want to sleep for a week but
otherwise he's fine!"
Albus
smiled and shook his head. What a very
interesting day it was proving to be.
"What
happened?" Arthur suddenly asked, sounding quite groggy.
Albus
glanced at Severus, now checking Lucius' arm to find it as free of the Dark
Mark as his own, then to Draco, hovering by Harry's bed looking confused and
near the end of his tether, then back to Arthur.
"We
were rather hoping you could tell us that, Arthur."
He'd not
got two sentences into his explanation when Albus realized the wards were at
risk. With a brisk, "We'll get back
to this as soon as possible, Arthur," he headed for the door, Minerva at
his heels, calling for Flitwick as he did.
The rest of
the night was spent shoring up the wards, changing the foundation spells and
securing Hogwarts from possible incursion by Voldemort or his Death
Eaters. By the time they finished,
they'd missed breakfast, and Albus felt as if he, too, could sleep for a week.
Walking
into his office, he smiled wryly at the sight of Fawkes, perched on Severus'
shoulder, rubbing the top of his head against the wizard's cheek. For once, Severus appeared not to mind the
phoenix's affectionate attentions.
"How
did he do it, Albus?" Severus asked quietly. "I feel... free. Ridiculous as it sounds, impossible as it is
to believe. How did that child break my
leash? And Lucius', too?"
"Harry
is a survivor, Severus," Albus answered as quietly, settling with relief
for his aching bones into his well-padded chair. "He had his mother's love, he had my
support, he had your desire to be free and he had Lucius' will to survive, but
in the end, it comes down to the strength of one young wizard's
determination. Voldemort was sending a
killing curse through those marks as surely as he sent a killing curse against
Lily, against the infant Harry. Harry
has the unique ability to somehow rebound that particular curse, feeding that
deadly energy back to its source. The
first time he did this, he saved his own life.
This time, he saved two others.
As you have saved his in the past.
A wizard's debt is a complex and unimaginably powerful thing."
"As Lucius
saved mine, many times over."
Severus
slowly rose from his seat and began to pace.
Fawkes trilled at the loss of the hand petting his feathers, but
returned to his perch behind the desk with no further protest. Albus stared at Severus for a moment, waiting
for further explication; when none was offered, he prodded delicately.
"Is
there something you need to tell me, my boy?"
Severus
sent him a quick look, equal parts exasperation and capitulation. "How do you think I survived spying for
you since the Dark Lord's return?"
Not waiting for an answer, Severus swept back to stand in front of the
desk, leaning his fists against the polished wooden surface. "Voldemort is insane. Paranoid, sadistic, and completely
insane. I would not have survived my
re-initiation, much less the number of close calls I've had since, without
assistance. Highly placed,
unimpeachable, absolutely secret assistance."
"From
Lucius." Albus said it for him.
Severus nodded. "Why?"
"A
simple question, with as many answers as a Malfoy has motivations,"
Severus replied dryly. "The fact
remains, Lucius saved my life on many occasions, and was responsible for
feeding me some of the most useful information the Order has received in the
last several years."
Albus
nodded his understanding. "Why then
did he reveal himself now?"
"Clear
and immediate danger to his son," Severus answered promptly. "While you were reconfiguring the wards,
I had a long talk with Lucius, and a shorter but no less informative chat with
Arthur Weasley. Lucius believed that
Voldemort would stop at nothing to kill Potter, and since Weasley gave up
enough of the secrets of the Hogwarts defenses to make an assault possible,
Lucius knew that anyone who got in Voldemort's way would die. Given that anywhere Potter is, Draco is sure
to be nearby, Lucius knew his son could well be killed in the attack."
"One
cannot blame Arthur," Albus chided gently.
"I'm
well aware of how... convincing Death Eaters can be when extracting
information," Severus said stiffly. He folded his arms over his chest and glared
down his nose.
Albus
winced slightly. "It was not a
criticism, Severus." That earned
him a snort, so he changed the subject before the conversation got any further
off track. "So you trust
Lucius?"
"With
my life," was the immediate response.
To get such
unqualified support from a Slytherin was high praise indeed. Albus gave Severus a measuring look. He trusted Severus. And, within the parameters of the inherent
qualities of the man, he could trust Lucius Malfoy.
He would
simply keep a very close eye on him.
That night,
after a long day made longer by exhaustion and chaotic activity, Albus stared
up at the enchanted stars circling the canopy of his bed and made contingency
plans. The field of battle had shifted,
and he would shift with it.
It was
mid-morning when Lucius opened his eyes again.
After the Potter brat did... whatever he'd done... to remove the Dark
Mark, Lucius slept for hours. Severus
woke him with breakfast, and over toast and tea Lucius and Arthur filled him in
on the events of the previous day.
Now, after
a too-short nap, a strident voice he'd last heard through a fireplace woke
him. Molly Weasley sat by her husband's
side, one hand holding his, the other petting his hair, his bruised face, his
shoulder, any part of him she could reach.
He bore her fussing with good will and a fond smile on his face.
Lucius shut
his eyes as soon as he'd taken the measure of the situation, but it was too
late. She'd seen him and came round the
bed, intent on talking to him. Keeping
his eyes tightly shut, hoping by ignoring her she'd go away, he did his best to
feign sleep.
Obviously,
the woman had too many children, because not only did she not believe his
pretense, she had the heaviest stare he'd ever felt outside Voldemort
himself. Eventually, telling himself he
was being gracious, not caving in, Lucius sighed and opened his eyes.
Molly
looked as if she didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him. Either option revolted Lucius
completely. "What?" he
demanded haughtily.
Strangely,
this provoked a beaming smile. The woman
was stark raving mad.
"It's
a good thing you've done, Lucius Malfoy, and I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for saving my husband's life. And
for the warning you had him give, too."
Her smile disappeared, and storm clouds gathered in her eyes. "I'd barely left the house when a bunch
of Death Eaters," she spat the name as if it were poison, "plowed
through the Burrow. Heaven knows what's
left after those pigs got through."
Lucius managed not to raise his brow with disdain from sheer force of
habit, but Molly didn't notice. She kept
talking, about apparating and running and what she was going to do with those
cowardly etc when she got hold of them etc... Lucius tuned out the words and
let the tone wash over him.
She
reminded him unnervingly of a Scottish nanny he'd had when he was young. Until his father irritated her one time too
often and she left. It had taken them years
to rid the Manor of the hex traps she'd left behind, none of which harmed a
hair on Lucius' head and all of which made his father go spare. It had been rather fun to watch, not that
he'd ever let on. After all, his father
practiced Cruciatus for fun. On
anyone. Including his heir, if he was
angry enough.
Gradually
he realized that it was silent, and Molly was giving him another unnerving
smile. He gulped, then covered his
slight loss of composure with a small sneer.
The crazy
woman laughed. Actually laughed at
him. Lucius stared at her,
nonplussed. Then to his complete horror
she leaned forward and bussed him on the cheek, for all the world as if he were
a four year old. If he hadn't actually
swallowed his tongue in affront at her actions it was a near thing. Stunned speechless, he could do nothing but
lay there and wait until she'd dithered herself to a stop and returned to her
husband.
Who in turn
gave him a revoltingly commiserating look.
With a genteel snort, Lucius closed his eyes, turned on his side, and
ignored them both. Luckily for them,
Arthur was then released into her care, and they left the infirmary. If they'd
stayed much longer -- if that woman had dared to lay her lips on him again --
conversion to the side of the Light be damned, he'd've hexed them both.
He tried
not to think of how warm her lips had been against his skin. He was not a man for casual affection. It had been a very long time since anyone had
touched him with anything less than calculation, and vice versa. It was... unnerving.
A very long
hour of pretending to be asleep later, the infirmary was finally quiet. Lucius opened his eyes and rolled back over
to face the room.
Then gave a
nearly imperceptible start at finding his son, sitting in the chair beside his
bed, looking unusually solemn. Lucius
cleared his throat.
"Son,"
he began, then felt his throat closing as Draco took a deep breath.
"Is it
true? Did you change loyalties... to
protect me?" He looked stricken at
the thought. "Is that why Mother
was killed?"
This was
harder than Lucius had anticipated.
While there was little love between himself and his wife, there had been
mutual goals and shared respect. And
Draco had loved his mother, as she had loved him. Lucius reached out and very lightly touched
the back of Draco's hand.
"I did
what I did for all of us, son," he finally said. "The Dark Lord had become
dangerous. His objectives had strayed
too far from ours. You were in immediate
peril, true, but you mustn't feel responsible for my choices. Our family survives because we do what we
must to preserve ourselves and our beliefs.
Voldemort no longer promoted those beliefs, and was willing to sacrifice
my son for his petty revenge." His
voice shook with anger when he said those words, and he stopped a moment to
regain his control.
Draco took
advantage of the pause to ask, "And Mother?"
"Your
mother was aware of and gave great assistance to my efforts," Lucius
assured Draco. "She loved you, and
she would do anything, sacrifice anything, to keep you safe."
"Even
herself," Draco whispered.
"Even
herself," Lucius affirmed.
The
shattered look on his son's face led Lucius to do what he hadn't done since the
boy was a toddler, and take him in his arms.
Holding Draco as he silently grieved for his mother, Lucius waited out
the storm. He had plans to make, new
alliances to forge, and a new life to create.
Most of
all, however, he had an enemy to kill.
Nearly a
week passed before Pomfrey declared Lucius well enough to leave hospital. He'd been kept in seclusion, and the only
people who knew he was at Hogwarts were his son, his best friend, the Weasley
couple and the three faculty who'd been in the infirmary when he'd transformed
from his animagus shape. Dumbledore,
McGonagall and the mediwitch had kept a tight lid on security, neither Arthur
nor Molly would breathe a word, and regardless of the wild rumors spreading
over the school since Arthur's dramatic appearance, no one else knew of his
presence at the school.
Except, of
course, Voldemort and every one of his Death Eaters, who now without doubt were
champing at the bit to earn the Dark Lord's bounty on him.
Which led
to the current meeting. The agenda was
simple: what shall we do with Lucius? Everyone
had an opinion, and Dumbledore let them all ramble until Lucius' wand hand was
itching. Hexes were building up behind
his teeth, ready to be flung. Severus
sent him a wicked glance, and Lucius knew at least one person in the room was
aware how close to being cursed the rest of them were.
His
tolerance had reached the limit. As it
was about to snap, as if Dumbledore could read his mind, the old wizard cleared
his throat. Silence, blessed silence,
fell.
"We
are clear on what needs to be done, then, if not as clear on how precisely to
do it," he said, tone brooking no argument and receiving none. "We must protect our people. Severus and Lucius must stay at the school
for their own safety. To the world at
large, it must appear as if Lucius has gone missing; Draco will inherit the
Malfoy holdings, and it is imperative that he not fall into Voldemort's hands,
both for his own good and because he could be used as a weapon against Lucius
and by extension the Order."
Lucius'
ears pricked at this, but before he could seek clarification, Dumbledore
continued.
"We
must keep anyone outside the Order from knowing of Harry's... unusual talent
for rebounding spells back on Voldemort.
It might be the weapon we've been looking for all this time is right
beneath our noses. It will be
illuminating to discover the effects of last night's... activities... on
Voldemort himself."
An outbreak
of discussion was easily quelled by one raised hand. Dumbledore twinkled at them, provoking a
sneer Lucius really couldn't hold back.
No one else saw it, and Dumbledore simply twinkled harder in response.
"Finally,
Lucius must stay undercover. He has been
of inestimable value to our efforts in the past, and I have no doubt he will be
an invaluable resource for us in the future."
"And
how are we supposed to do that, Albus?" McGonagall asked. "He's not exactly inconspicuous."
Lucius was
trying to work out if he'd just been complimented or insulted by the old bat
when Severus answered, "Lupin has a pet.
So too can I."
That
derailed his train of thought. Lucius
stared at Severus, aghast, and got a smirk to rival his own in return. Severus leaned over and whispered, "This
will be fun."
"You've
spent too long in the dungeons breathing fumes," Lucius responded, trying
to figure out how any of this could be categorized as 'fun'.
"It's
all settled then," Dumbledore pronounced.
"We'll leave Severus and Lucius to settle in."
With one
last too-amused smile he walked out of the infirmary, McGonagall beside him,
still shooting unconvinced looks over her shoulder at Lucius. Pomfrey began to bustle again, and Lucius got
out of her way.
With a
disgruntled sigh, Lucius told Severus, "Don't even think about getting me
a collar, or I'll chew your head off."
Shifting to his lynx-form, he followed his new 'master' out the door.
Halfway to
the dungeons, Lucius felt his hackles rise.
Dog. And worse. Wolf.
His ears flattened and his fur rippled.
His tail puffed up and began to flick back and forth. A low growl began in his chest.
Remus Lupin
and a large black dog rounded the corner.
Lupin had sense enough to stop and look, with some disbelief, at the
lynx crouching next to Severus' leg.
"What
on earth?" he asked.
"My
new pet. Er, Whiskers," Severus
replied, looking down his nose.
Meanwhile,
the dog, idiot that he was, had bounded over to Lucius, attempting to look
threatening. Lucius glared at him. The dog puffed out his chest and growled.
Lucius
swiped him across the nose. Claws fully
extended.
His yelps
ringing off the stone walls, the dog tucked his tail between his back legs and
ran in the opposite direction. Remus
watched as his dog disappeared, then turned to face Lucius.
"Whiskers,
hm?" he asked Severus.
"He's... lovely. Good
evening, Severus." He turned on his
heel and followed his long-gone dog, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Severus
gave a delighted, rather wicked chuckle, and continued on to his, now their,
rooms. Once safely inside, privacy and
silencing wards activated, Lucius transformed and glared at his friend.
"Whiskers?"
he asked, ice dripping from the words.
"I
told you it would be fun," Severus said, ignoring him, still
chuckling. "I think this could be
the beginning of some long overdue revenge."
Lucius thought
about that for a long moment, then allowed a smirk to escape. "You could be right. This might be fun after all."
Not a
contingency he'd planned for, but that was the beauty of plans. They could always be changed.
END
notes:
Regarding
Alsvid, from Norse Myths: Gods of
the Vikings re-told by Kevin Crossley-Hollands (Penguin, 1982): "Sun follows behind [the moon]. One of
her horses is called Arvak because he rises so early, and the other Alsvid
because he is immensely strong."
The 'giant's grave' refers to
unusual hog-back stones in St. Andrew's churchyard at Penrith in the
