Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
genre: Harry Potter
Series: Going Grey
Pairings: See author's note. In this Episode none. In the "Going Grey" Series Canon to start. HG/SS, HP/LM, DM/?, RW/? Highlight if you absolutely must know.
Series Warnings: Slash and Het. Semi-dark but not evil Harry. Powerful, independent Harry (not outrageously superpowered) Violence, adult and sexual situations.
Series Rating: R
Episode Warnings: Angst, minor violence, abandonment
Episode Rating: PG-13
Setting: Directly after 5th year. AU as of books 6 and 7, though, I may or may not take biographical information from either or both books.
Episode Summary: There was far more to Lily's sacrifice than anyone knew. An attack on an all but abandoned Privet Drive reveals secrets long kept hidden.
Series Summary: Harry's life is one disaster after another, and he's simply surviving, reacting as events unfold. After one too many changes, Harry grabs hold of his life and his destiny, and for the first time in his life begins to control what's happening to him, instead of letting it control him.
AN: I'd like to keep the pairings secret until revealed. I will say this much; Harry, Hermione, Ron all start out canon - it just doesn't stay that way. Will contain both slash and het pairings. Any explicit scenes (later in the series - they're not of age in the beginning) will be posted elsewhere, and I'll notify in the chapter headers that the scene here on fanfictiondotnet has been edited for sexual content, and where to find the unedited version should you so desire.
AN2: The second scene in this chapter has become a bit cliche in the HP fandom, LOL, but hang with it, if you would. and I think you'll find the story doesn't stay that way long. : ) ~
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Chapter One
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Lucius paced as he waited to be called. He expected it any minute, and had his white mask shrunk in his pocket, waiting. Truthfully, he'd expected to be called long before now. He'd contacted that rat Pettigrew the moment he'd arrived home after managing to free himself from Ministry clutches, and that had been hours ago. He frowned, downing the last of his brandy. Preventing a long stay in Azkaban - or worse - had cost him far more - in both cash and favors, this time - than it had the first time, and he knew he dared not be caught again. If he got caught a third time, he doubted any amount of money or favors would get him free. Not even Fudge was stupid enough to fall for the same line three times.
He winced as his arm finally burned. Ready, he transfigured his current robes into the appropriate, hooded ones and strode into the apparation room - the only room in the house that could be apparated to or from. He was not looking forward to this meeting. He had failed the dark lord. It didn't matter that it hadn't been his fault. He'd been lead wizard on the mission and that made it his fault - at least in the dark lord's mind. He snorted inelegantly, shaking his head. He had long since stopped trying to figure out just why he remained loyal to the dark lord. It was more than the fact that his and his family's safety was at risk, otherwise; though, that was definitely a factor. It wasn't because the wizard was actually effective, because he wasn't, not since that Potter boy defeated him the first time. Lastly, it certainly wasn't because he was fond of experiencing the cruciatus.
He sighed and apparated, following the call of the mark. The moment he appeared, he secured his mask in place and strode forward, none of his worries or insecurities allowed to surface. Such things were dangerous in the dark lord's presence. Tonight, apparently, the dark lord was residing at Riddle manor. Lucius curled his lip in disgust. Riddle Manor was a run down, filthy wreck, and he hated being forced to attend the dark lord here. He shoved that thought aside, too, as he entered the manor, slowing only long enough for a cringing house elf to inform him that the dark lord was in his usual place - euphemistically known as the 'throne room'.
He was reminded why he had remained loyal the moment he stepped inside the room, just as he always did at this moment. The wizard had power and presence that superceded his altered appearance and overall cruel demeanor. It demanded subservience, submission from those around him. Lucius had given in to that demand over twenty years ago and until recently, hadn't looked back. He was cursing the family curse as much now, however, as he had been blessing it back when he'd first realized he considered Lord Voldemort to have far more power potential than Albus Bloody Dumbledore. In his seventh year, he'd been relieved when the curse had drawn him to the dark lord, a man who espoused everything he'd been brought up to believe. He'd been beyond grateful to be able to finally be able to work towards his own personal vision for the wizarding world. It had been more than the curse, however. He had always been personally drawn to power, even before he was old enough to be affected by the curse. Now, though, he simply wanted away from the wizard gone insane; something he knew would never happen.
He sighed deeply as he realized that he was going to have to speak to Draco about the curse soon. Things were coming to a head and the dark lord would want to mark his son. Draco would need heads up, so he knew what his choices were. Not that the boy would have many. There simply weren't any wizards around who had more power than the dark lord - unless, of course, they were staying far from the conflict. Something that was entirely possible, he conceded silently.
He knelt before his lord, bowing deeply, setting aside all his concerns and concentrating solely on the wizard that controlled whether he lived or died. That was the only way he was going to make it through this evening alive. "My Lord," he greeted respectfully.
x-x-x
Harry sat in the back seat of his uncle's car, sullenly brooding, his things beside him on the seat. He was to be completely cut off this summer, according to Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster had even kept Hedwig at the school. Apparently, it was too dangerous for her to even be seen in Little Whinging. While he did appreciate that Hedwig would receive better care where she was; he would miss her terribly. She was his only solace each summer.
"Harry, I'm truly sorry," the headmaster repeated, but Harry didn't really care. He was beyond caring at this point. He was simply too confused and angry to care that the old man was 'sorry' for what he was doing. He was still doing it. Surely, there was a better way. "We've even had to remove the order guard we normally keep around your home."
Harry blinked in shock. What? Harry didn't like being watched all summer, but even he had to admit it it helped him to feel safer - from the dark lord, anyway.
"It's simply too much of a clue as to where you reside. The blood wards will protect you, as long as you stay inside them."
Harry glared, not liking where this was headed. Surely the headmaster wasn't telling him he couldn't even leave the house!
"I must ask you not to leave the property at all this summer."
He was!
"It is imperative that you listen to me, Harry. The order will not be there to protect you if you leave the wards. You must stay inside them at all costs."
Harry clenched his jaw, but didn't do any of the things he really wanted to do. He didn't growl. He didn't jump or shout. He didn't do anything at all. He just sat there, staring.
"Are you hearing me, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry ground out, "I hear you."
"Excellent," the headmaster said. "Then, I'll just let you go, so you can spend the remainder of the evening with your friends." As Harry hurried out of the headmaster's office, he had never been more tempted to use all the foul words he'd heard Dudley and his gang spew out over the years. He suspected it would feel really good right about then.
Now, more than ever, Harry was grateful that his curiosity about his family had led him to scour his Gringotts vault for anything and everything relating to his family. He hadn't found what he had initially gone looking for, but had not left the vault empty handed. The moment he turned 17, he was gone from the Dursley's. He even had a home to go to. He, however, didn't fancy being listed as a runaway. He had no clue how that would be handled in the wizarding world and he certainly had no desire to be declared a ward of the state - that would be worse, even, than staying. The Dursleys likely wouldn't care, he knew; would be glad to be rid of him, in fact. Unfortunately, the headmaster would care, which made it impossible to go this year - much as the idea appealed. He just wished-
Rage suddenly boiled inside Harry, and he wasn't altogether certain that he didn't actually hate the headmaster right at that moment in time. So many problems could be traced back to that man. Harry snorted mentally, not daring to do so out loud. It wasn't that he didn't accept a full share of responsibility for his godfather's death; there was certainly more than enough blame to go around. There was certainly enough to spread the wealth and not short himself in the slightest. It was no one person's fault that his godfather had died. It was, rather, a group effort. They could not have done a better job if they had all set out to purposely kill the man, and that was what made Harry wish, with every fiber of his being, that he could relive his fifth year at Hogwarts - even taking Umbridge into account. Disaster could have been averted so very easily if just one little thing had changed, just one.
A comedy of errors; that's what it was, he thought sullenly, or it would be if the situation was at all funny. To begin with, there was his own need to simply know, his inability to believe that the adults around him could take care of the problem; would even believe there was a problem. Of course, the headmaster had not helped that viewpoint with his constant avoidance of his presence, as well as of giving Harry any kind of answers. Simply telling Harry the possible repercussions if he failed to learn occlumency would have had him trying far harder to learn the discipline - in spite of Snape. He would have devoted nearly every free moment he had to it. Add to that, he was completely and utterly certain that Snape had not been trying very hard either - beyond trying his damndest to make Harry miserable. Even Umbridge had contributed her share to the mess. Even if Snape had actually believed him - who else could have called the order after them, after all? - he couldn't have let him know that with Umbridge right there, simpering at them. And Kreecher! That vile excuse for a house elf had lied to him, lied about his godfather's whereabouts!
Even now, Harry could still see the consequences of all their actions. He could picture his godfather falling into the veil following a stunning spell by Bellatrix Lestrange; A stunner. Stunning spells weren't supposed to kill! That's why the were called stunners! They were supposed to stun! Tears filled his eyes; though, he refused to let them fall. He was not about to give his uncle something new to taunt him with. Tears could, would, wait until he reached his room. Instead, he continued his silence, staring out the window at everything and nothing, letting his mind race.
Letting himself fantasize, he almost smirked as he pictured leaving the Dursley's. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd done it. Knowing it was going to happen eventually was the only thing that made life at their home even remotely bareable. In his better moods, he simply told them he was leaving and walked out the door, chin raised, his head held high and proud. This wasn't one of his better moods. The mood he was in now had him envisioning all sorts of nifty little jinxes he could use to get some well-deserved, petty revenge. He almost snorted, only just stopping himself from doing so. Dudley would look like a human-pig hybrid before he left. Uncle Vernon would look like a rhino, complete with garishly pink horn sticking up from the bridge of his nose - or maybe his forehead. Aunt Petunia would look even more like a horse than she already did.
He sighed wistfully. It was certainly nice to daydream, he thought, knowing full well that he would never risk ministry involvement by doing any of it. If he were completely honest with himself, he knew that however good it might feel at the time, actually doing it would make him feel no better than Dudley or Malfoy. Of course, he smirked mentally, locking Malfoy and Dudley in together might be fun to watch. He'd just have to make sure the ferret was without a wand first.
By the time they pulled into the driveway and his uncle pulled the car to a stop, Harry had only figured out one thing. The only way he could honor his godfather's death was to not let it be in vain. He would learn occlumency if it bloody well killed him. He'd learn it. He'd train to fight. Then, he would go after Voldemort!
"Get your things and get out!" Uncle Vernon snapped angrily.
Startled out of his thoughts of vengeance, Harry whipped his head around and stared at his uncle in shock for only a few seconds before scrambling out of the car, dragging his things out behind him.
The moment he had shut the door, his uncle sneered at him. "Petunia will be by in two weeks to check up on you and the house, boy," he hissed. "You just make sure the house and the yard are in good condition when she does, or you'll regret it!"
"But-"
His uncle didn't stay to listen to Harry's protest, backing out of the driveway in a squeal of tires.
Harry could only stare dumbfounded as his uncle drove away, leaving him standing alone. As his uncle drove out of sight, however, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. So, they had decided to go on an extended vacation without him? He shrugged. It was not like it was the first time; although, it was the first time he'd been left by himself. Usually, they sent him to Mrs. Figg.
An entire summer without the Dursleys - well mostly - it was a bloody dream come true! Shaking his head in bemusement, his mood much better than it had been, he dragged his belongings into the house. He only made it as far as the front room, however, before he stopped cold, staring around him in shocked disbelief. Utterly numb, Harry dropped his belongings and sank to the floor. It was completely and utterly unreal. They weren't on some extended vacation. They were gone.
He had no clue how long he sat there, numb and blank, but eventually he blinked, his eyes scanning the disconcertingly bare room. A thick layer of dust covered all the horizontal surfaces, making them a uniform grey. He snorted; though, the sound was completely without any humor. How long had they been gone? Judging by the amount of dust, it had been months. Rising slowly, he let his gaze travel over the mantle above the fireplace. Not a trace remained of where the nick-nacks and pictures usually sat - not that he had really expected there to be. When the Dursley's had been here, dust had not been allowed. He should know, he'd certainly spent enough time over the years dusting. His aunt had regarded the least speck of dust as a personal affront to her, and had taken it out on Harry if he didn't make sure there was never any present.
The dining room floor, also covered in an equal amount of dust, got pretty much ignored, his eyes sliding past it to the kitchen entrance. The floor there, too, was covered. He completed his survey, his eyes landing on the dust covered banister. Hell! Even the phone was covered in the stuff.
Phone!
Harry dove for the phone, snatching the receiver up from its cradle, then slumped.
No dial tone, he thought despondently. Mrs. Figg!
Jumping to his feet, Harry tore out the front door and sprinted toward the neighbor's house, barely noticing the twilight of sunset; though, he did figure out he must have sat stunned for far longer than he'd realized. Skidding to a halt at her door, he knocked frantically, only just holding himself back from pounding. Heart beating almost painfully in his chest, panting slightly, he waited. There was no answer. He frowned in consternation. She was usually home this time of day. Mrs. Figg always did her shopping and visiting early on, before lunch. She spent the afternoon and evening tending her garden and her cats. Turning, intending on returning home, it was then he saw the 'for sale' sign prominently displayed on the front yard.
Mrs. Figg is gone too?
Harry gulped. While a summer without the Dursleys hanging around had seemed exciting and fun, being completely alone was something else entirely, and he couldn't quite stem the panic that bloomed in his chest. He had no way of contacting anyone in an emergency. Looking around nervously, the growing shadows now seemed ominous, able to hide anything . . . or anyone. He took off at a dead run, the only thing on his mind, getting home where it was supposedly safe.
He didn't stop until the door slammed behind him. Slumping against it in a mixture of relief and still growing dread, Harry closed his eyes and tried to figure out what to do. He could, of course, hitch a ride on the knight bus. He'd certainly done it before. At least in the wizarding world he had money - and people to help him.
He blanched, suddenly staightening up from his slouch against the door. A new purpose to his movements, he strode to the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge. The light didn't turn on as he jerked it open, revealing a darkened and very empty space. His frown deepening, he spun around and began opening cupboard after cupboard, one after the other completely empty. The sixth one he opened wasn't; though, it didn't contain much. Half a shelf was filled with a few canned goods; some condensed soup, beans, peas, and corn, along with a single loaf of bread. They'd even left him a can opener, surprisingly enough.
He relaxed a bit. He had a couple of days to figure things out, before he got truly desperate enough to crawl back to Dumbledore. He was still unhappy enough with that man right now that going to him for help was not sitting well at all. In fact, it felt more like the ultimate humiliation. He wouldn't do it, he decided firmly. He could get through this on his own. The blood wards only needed-
The blood wards!
Harry blanched again, suddenly feeling very light headed. He leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees. How long had his relatives been gone? Had it been long enough to weaken, or Merlin forbid, break the wards completely? Panic swamped him as he realized he had absolutely no way to check. As far as he knew, he could be completely safe here, still, or he could be a sitting duck! The moment he could move and be relatively certain he wasn't going to pass out, he darted toward his trunk, desperate to get to his wand.
He slid to his knees in front of his school trunk and fumbled with the lid, jumping and letting out a startled yelp when the front door blew open. He scrambled backwards, just managing to grab hold of his wand beforehand.
Well, there goes my Hogwarts schooling! Harry thought bitterly as he raised his wand, leaping to his feet. The precious seconds he took to regain his feet cost him dearly. He didn't even get a chance to use his wand.
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed, falling back to the floor as his body arched and convulsed under the extreme pain of the unforgiveable. It couldn't have been kept on him for more than a few seconds - though, it seemed like forever - before the second white-masked intruder pushed the other's wand hand, forcing a stop to the debilitating spell.
Harry's rage and fear exploded and he saw red. To his startlement, before he could consciously react and pull his wand up again, the deatheater that had cursed him went flying backward, impacting the wall by the door.
"Expelliarmus!" he snapped, wand pointed directly at the second deatheater.
The deatheater neatly dodged the spell. "Stupify!"
Still on the floor, Harry tried to roll out of the way of the hex, but wasn't fast enough and the world went black around him.
I'm dead, was the thought that followed him down, certain that whatever else Voldemort may or may not do, he certainly wouldn't play at being sporting this time around.
x-x-x
Harry came to abruptly, surprised he had actually been allowed to wake up, and immediately tried to move. He had to get away. He couldn't move, though, his hands bound tightly straight out to his sides. The wood of the banister pressed into his back and the magical ropes that bound him dug painfully into his wrists. Even as he gasped, one of the two men grabbed his head and forced his mouth open, a thumb wedged painfully into the hinge at the back of his jaw. The other poured a potion into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, lessen its effect - whatever that may be - but the first covered his mouth and plugged his nose, forcing him to swallow if he wanted to breathe.
It took only seconds to realize what they'd given him, an unnatural calm - given the circumstances - settling over him. Harry was . . . confused. Why would they want him calm? Didn't deatheaters like scaring people? That was like their trademark wasn't it?
The one removing his hand, smirked at him, the man's mouth and eyes about the only thing visible of his face. "Can't risk any more of that accidental magic, now can we?" he sneered.
Oh! Harry snorted and cocked his head to the side as he peered at the wizard. "No, I imagine being thrown into a wall was . . . not fun," he replied, smirking.
Ow! Harry thought as his head snapped to the side with the force of the wizard's backhand across his cheek. That was going to bruise!
A second blow was stopped by the second deatheater, making Harry frown as his confusion once again rose past his magically enforced calm.
"We need him healthy, Moron!"
Oh! That explained the lack of horrifying torture then. But what, exactly, they needed him healthy for eluded Harry, a faint concern about it niggling back behind the blanket of magically induced calm.
"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious; though, a part of him deep down was screaming at him to try and get away, to get angry enough to do something, anything to them. He really couldn't be arsed to listen to the urge, however. It made some small part of him wonder if it wasn't more than just a calming draught. It seemed awfully powerful.
Now both deatheaters were smirking at him, something that made him terribly uneasy, even with the effects of the odd calming potion. "You're going to aid our lord."
Harry laughed. Even now, he knew he would never serve the dark lord. No amount of potion would make that change. Not even the imperius would do the trick. "No," he replied evenly, "I will not. I will never serve him."
They laughed in response, the sound beyond sinister. "You mistake us," replied deatheater one. "We did not say you would be given the honor of serving him. We said you would aid him."
And the difference is? Harry wondered, waiting, knowing they would boast eventually.
"Just like you aided him the night he returned."
Oh! That's the difference. Unease rippled through Harry, the sensation almost enough to push off the effects of the potion; almost, but not quite.
"Our Lord is taking back the power you took from him, and taking the rest in payment!" he crowed.
Harry blanched, nearly passing out. No! Surely that wasn't possible!
Deatheater two flicked his wand and Harry suddenly found himself as naked as the day he'd been born. He blinked in surprise.
"Now that is just plain rude," he remarked, frowning, distracted from the brief surge of fear.
Neither deatheater responded to his comment, beyond snorting in amusement, and Harry huffed. It wasn't until the first deatheater began to paint what appeared to be red runic symbols across his chest that Harry started to get worried again. He remembered all too well the outcome of the last dark ritual he'd been an unwilling participant in, and he really didn't think this one would have a better outcome. He twisted and kicked out, catching the one painting him between the legs, sending the man to his knees with a howl. Even as he winced in unwanted sympathy, he didn't stop struggling. Unfortunately, the other deatheater stayed just out of reach, raising his wand. Harry didn't hear what spell he cast, but winced in response, knowing it couldn't be good.
It wasn't; though, not in the way Harry had expected. He found his legs suddenly bound to the base of the banister. He was now completely unable to move.
x-x-x
Lord Voldemort desperately wanted to pace. He didn't. It would not do to be seen by his deatheaters to be nervous, to display even the least of nervous behaviors. Instead, he sat waiting, impatient, forcing himself to be still. He'd had it all planned out for more than a year now. Unfortunately, he hadn't found Potter's home until quite recently. Consequently, those bloody muggles hadn't been gone from the home long enough to destroy the wards completely, just weaken them. With the family gone, and the house bare, he doubted the boy would stay long, so he'd had to act before the boy went running back to his wizarding protectors. The wards weren't weak enough to allow him entrance, nor to drag the boy out kicking and screaming - or unconscious for that matter - so he'd had to send two of his deatheaters to complete the ritual there.
He would have far preferred to do this the moment the brat got home, but couldn't. Not even his deatheaters could have got through the wards then. The boy first had to realize that he'd been abandoned for the wards to crumble just enough to allow them inside. The two he had chosen had been hand picked for qualities he did not usually encourage in his followers. They cared about their family. They loved them, would die for them. That little insurance made it possible for him to entrust them with enough of his blood to complete the draining ritual. He wanted Harry Potter's power. He would have Harry Potter's power.
Turning his gaze onto the families of the two he'd sent, he allowed himself to smile. It was by no means a friendly smile, and it had the desired effect. They cringed back from him. They knew what fate awaited them if the two he had entrusted this mission with failed or betrayed him in any way. These two families would die, every last one of them. They would die screaming for mercy; mercy he would not grant them. He ignored the men guarding them completely as he turned his attention back to the cut on his arm. It was still bleeding, just as it should be. It needed to bleed until the ritual was complete. He growled low in his throat, not liking this need to work through intermediaries at all; despite his . . . insurance. He wanted to be there, to know exactly what was going on as it happened. He loathed waiting.
x-x-x
Severus strode through the dark lord's manor, steeling himself for the coming meeting, the mark on his arm burning far more fiercely than normal. The pain had not dimmed even after he had followed its thread to its master, and that had him worried. Something big was obviously happening tonight, and whatever it was , it couldn't be good.
"They should be inside Potter's home by now!" the dark lord shouted, sounding triumphant.
Severus froze mere inches from crossing into the room. What? he thought in shock. Surely he had heard wrong.
"They will begin the ritual soon."
Knowing he didn't have much time, Severus backed slowly away from the door.
"Come in, Severus."
Severus blanched, spun, and ran. He could not afford to stay. This was beyond the fact that the dark lord would question his hesitancy in entering. If he didn't get to Albus, Potter and his family would be lost. He may hate the boy, but he'd made a promise to Lily - not that she knew about it - and he owed James Potter a life debt. He would protect that boy at all costs. While he didn't have Albus' belief that the boy was the key - the only key - to defeating the dark lord, the headmaster's certainty was enough to plant some doubt in his mind and he certainly didn't want anything to happen to the brat on the off chance that Albus was right. The wizard certainly had an uncanny tendency to be just that; right.
"NO!" the dark lord screamed, outrage in the angry words reverberating after Severus as he ran. He didn't know if it was his sudden disappearance that had caused the outburst or whether something else had happened to distract the maniac, but he devoutly hoped it was the latter. It would help with his escape if it was.
The moment he made it out the front door he spun abruptly right, hoping that not making a straight beeline for the edge of the wards, might slow his pursuers down a second or two - and pursuers he knew he had. He didn't need to hear or see them to know it for a certainty. It was inevitable. Not entering at the dark lord's verbal greeting made certain of that. The moment he reached the corner of the manor, he veered further right, hoping that by the time his pursuers reached the door he just might be out of the line of sight. Forcing them to split up to look for him would give him more of an edge, something he needed as much of as he could get at the moment. Casting his strongest dorsicontego as he ran, he hoped for the best. Those specific kinds of shields were not his forte, but he was not hopeless at them either.
x-x-x
Everyone around him blanched at his scream of denial, but he ignored them. Whipping out his wand, he pushed the tip of it into the master mark on his own arm, abruptly severing the connection between him and the two he had sent after the Potter brat. He also healed the now dangerous wound. The moment he completed both of those things, the drain on him stopped and he sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was the upstart brat to get more of his power! Slowly, he raised his wand toward the two families huddled in the corner of the room. He was going to enjoy this!
x-x-x
Both wands raised at him, Harry's eyes widened as his fear tried to grow, to fight against the magical calm that engulfed him. He tried to encourage it, but no matter what he did, he couldn't get angry enough, or terrified enough, to evoke a magical outburst and that was the only thing that was going to save him now, he knew.
As two streaks of purple yellow spell light shot toward him, Harry clenched his eyes shut and prayed. He'd never seen that color mix before and had absolutely no clue what it would do to him. He was sure it wasn't anything good, though. The odd, oily-looking, sickening mixture of the colors was enough to tell him that.
"You are not strong enough to hurt my son!" whispered a fierce female voice and Harry snapped his eyes open in shock. Who? What he saw now made him gasp. He was surrounded by a thick, white fog laced with tendrils of a darker gray. Eyes wide in shock, he barely noticed as the spells heading toward him slowed, now inching forward, as if in slow motion. The grey within the white shot forward, forming what Harry could only think of as a shield, stopping the points of the spell light cold. The moment it did so, however, the grey exploded into a puff of smoke, completely disappearing. The spells themselves did not dissipate, however. Instead, four thin tendrils of the white fog reached out toward them, nearly solidifying as they wrapped around the spells, changing them, twisting them around as if they were strings connected to the deateaters' wands. With a howl of triumph, it released them back at the casters. Harry continued to watch in detached fascination as one deatheater, and then the other, arched and screamed, dropping to the floor as if felled by the cruciatus.
"We can do no more for you, Harry," the voice whispered and Harry felt a . . . caress against his cheek, a feeling of being profoundly loved washing over him. "You are on your own now, my son. Please make sure Padfoot and Moony know just how much we love them. Be strong, my Harry; live."
The fog lifted from around him, taking the shape of something roughly human. A woman, Harry was certain, and suddenly he knew. It was his mother; the part of herself she had left behind to protect him. "We love you, Harry. Never forget that," she whispered faintly, her voice fading even as her amorphous form did as well. The sudden brightening of one of his two attackers snapped his attention away from his fading mother. His eyes widening even more, he winced as, what he could only think of as, lightening shot from one to the other, striking the second where his dark mark would be hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes and then shot directly toward him.
He slumped, clenching his eyes shut, knowing it was going to hurt.
The bolt of energy hit him square in the middle of his chest, arcing out from there to cover his entire body in thousands of tiny electric arcs. It didn't hurt particularly much, surprisingly enough, Harry realized through his continued detachment. Rather, it felt like hundreds of insects crawling over his skin. It was driving him mad with the need to scratch everywhere at once. Finally, the need grew enough to begin overpowering the potion. He screamed his frustration at being unable to move, unable to do the slightest thing to make it all stop.
It was worse, however, when the first tiny arc hit one of the red runes on his torso. The bolt of electricity was sucked inside him, reminding him - rather nauseatingly - of someone slurping up a long strand of spaggheti. He could feel it worming its way deeper inside him, rather like a mouse crawling inside his body. It was a horrifying sensation at best, and he was utterly certain that whatever else it was going to do, the electrical 'mouse' was going to eat the magic out of him. How better to 'aid' the dark lord, after all, than to leave 'the boy who lived' a useless squib. Fear rose to panic at that point, completely over-riding the last of the effects of the calming potion.
"No!" he screamed in anguish. How could he be strong when he was certain his entire world was just about to be ripped out from beneath him? Dumbledore was right, there were things worse than death.
The two deatheaters suddenly went limp, the spell light around them fading, but Harry barely noticed, most of his attention centered on the maddening, terrifying things he was feeling.
His scar exploded in pain then and suddenly he wasn't feeling those things any more. He was enraged, instead, staring out of the eyes of Voldemort.
"What did you say?" he hissed angrily, Lucius Malfoy on his knees in front of him.
"He got away, My Lord," Lucius replied quietly, not moving.
What was Malfoy doing there? Wasn't he supposed to be in prison?
Despite his rage, he could see the tension and the fear running through the other wizard and felt an incredible rush of power at having this arrogant pureblood on his knees in front of him, on his knees to him. Surprising himself, he was uneasily aware that not every bit of that pleasure was Voldemort's. He could just imagine what it would be like to have someone that arrogantly proud kneeling before him.
Harry shook himself mentally, finally separating himself somewhat from Voldemort. He could still feel the dark wizard's rage, but it no longer felt like his own, and it was then that Harry realized something very important. Voldemort hated purebloods just as much as he hated muggles. It was a shock, but before he could truly process what that might mean, Voldemort ripped his attention away from the nebulous thoughts with pain.
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed right along side Lucius Malfoy, experiencing both sides of the curse, the sickening rush and power of casting it, as well as the pain of receiving it.
Ending the curse, Voldemort leaned forward. "Find him, Lucius," he hissed quietly, "and bring him to me. If you do not, I will begin to wonder why I keep you around."
Voldemort straightened, sending his gaze out at the remaining deatheaters, taking Harry's gaze along for the ride. Harry did see Malfoy tremble slightly, though, before he could no longer see the man at all. "Leave me!" he snapped. "And take those with you," he continued, waving a negligent hand towards the bodies of the two 'unfortunate' families.
x-x-x
"Albus!" Severus shouted as he stumbled up the stairwell as fast as possible.
The headmaster was at the door to his office when the door opened, catching Severus as he fell through. "What-"
"Deatheaters are at Potter's!" he snapped out, trembling and staying on his feet by sheer will power alone.
"What?" Albus exclaimed sharply, instantly releasing Severus and hurrying to his desk.
Severus stumbled, but managed to retain his footing as he watched the older wizard jerk open a drawer and pull out an odd looking object. It was blackened and scorched.
"How?" Albus murmured in obvious shock. He shook it off almost instantly, spinning around toward Fawkes. "Send as many members of the order as you can find to Harry's home!" he snapped out, rounding the desk and grabbing a piece of parchement as he gave the order. "Portus!" he continued, striding toward Severus. "Can you come?"
Severus nodded sharply. He was not about to be left behind. He may not be at the top of his form at the moment, his pursuers having managed to land several curses before he got past the antiapparation and antiportkey wards, but they might need all the help they could get.
AN: More on the Malfoy family curse later. : )
TBC
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