Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five of 'A Brother to Basilisks'- Decoys
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Four.
Title: A Brother to Basilisks (145/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Eventual Harry/Draco and Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Angst, violence, some gore, AU from Prisoner of Azkaban onwards
Rating: R
Summary: AU of PoA. Harry wakes in the night to a voice calling him from somewhere in the castle-and when he follows it, everything changes. Updated every Friday.
Author’s Notes: This is a canon-divergent AU that starts after Chapter 7 of Prisoner of Azkaban. It will probably run to at least the mid-point of The Half-Blood Prince. It will also be long.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five-Decoys
Harry swallowed as he looked at the men and women standing in front of him. It seemed insane that they were willing to follow him and listen to him. They were all so much older than he was. And some of them had to be more powerful magically.
Harry took a deep breath and glanced again at the trust in their eyes. They had come here because they trusted him in the first place, he reminded himself. Susana’s people, and the few survivors of Josephine’s pack who had been away and traveling when Voldemort’s spell struck them, and Remus, and Severus, and some of Lucius’s allies, and a few women that Narcissa Malfoy had brought in and vouched for.
And they were outside, too, near the Hogwarts lake under the crescent moon. That made him feel calmer than it would if they were all inside and he was sitting at the head of a table or something.
“All right,” he said. “So you know that the battle at Malfoy Manor is going to be more of a decoy than anything else, but that doesn’t mean the deaths will be less real.”
“Death is always real,” said the werewolf woman waiting off to the side, near the very edge of the group. She had introduced herself as Cara Emmanuel. And her eyes were bright amber and full of grief. Harry reminded himself he had to pay attention to her, but he couldn’t always let her lead the plans. She had already wanted to charge straight at Voldemort’s Death Eaters.
Harry nodded. “Yes, it is. But I wanted to ask if you were going to refuse to participate in the attack because it might seem less ‘real’ to you knowing that it’s meant to distract Voldemort.”
Only a few people in the group flinched at the name. Remus was the one who slowly shook his head. “Whatever we can do to stop this war, I’m going to do. And you’re the one who’s going to be facing the ‘real’ danger.”
Severus still looked displeased at that, but he and Harry had already had this argument. There was really no way for Severus to follow Harry into the mental battlefield he and Voldemort would meet on. The best he could do was watch over Harry’s body and intervene if something seemed to be going wrong, the way he had when Harry was yanked into Voldemort’s mind on the night of the new moon.
“How soon will it happen?” asked the hooded woman who Narcissa had referred to only as a Black cousin.
Harry glanced at her, wondering, and said, “Before the end of the school year, I think.”
“But that’s only a few months!” It was one of the werewolves who spoke, his eyes sparking golden in the light of the moon.
Harry nodded. “I know. But I don’t think we can wait much longer. Either Voldemort will try another strike like the one he did against your pack, or he’ll simply go mad and strike at some time and place we can’t predict. We have to bring him onto ground that we choose and battle him there.”
“Is it true that you kept some of the Death Eaters’ children from going to meet him and having their blood spilled?”
Harry turned to the woman, a Parkinson cousin, whom Lucius had vouched for. “Yes, Heliotrope.” Calling adults by their first name was honestly one of the strangest parts of this to happen. “Dash Petrified them, and they stayed in a safe place for a few days until I thought their parents had probably stopped looking for them.”
“You have my gratitude for that,” said Heliotrope unexpectedly. Harry blinked at her, and she added, “Theodore Nott is my cousin.”
Harry nodded uncertainly. “All right. So what do the other Death Eaters think of Voldemort trying to take their children away from them?”
Heliotrope grimaced. She had long hair bound in a cable down her back, and sharp brown eyes that watched Harry as if waiting for him to shed his skin and become a monster. “Some of them are so loyal to the Dark Lord that they don’t care.”
“But others?”
This time, he won a sharp smile from her. “The others are disgusted by the idea that the Dark Lord would have taken the magic, and the flesh and blood, of their children. You’ll have Death Eaters who have turned traitor in the ranks, Mr. Potter.”
“How many of them do you really believe would turn? Who are they?”
“I don’t feel comfortable giving all the names,” said Heliotrope. It was blunt enough that Harry heard a displeased growl from the werewolf emissary who had spoken last. Heliotrope didn’t look as though she cared. “But I do know that one of them is Victor Crabbe.”
Harry sighed. That was more than he’d expected. “Do they want to be free of the Dark Mark? We can do that.”
“It wouldn’t serve any purpose yet,” said Heliotrope. “They have to be able to know when the Dark Lord is summoning his Death Eaters and respond to that. But they do have one gesture of good faith to give you.” She turned and motioned behind her.
Harry tensed as the air seemed to open like a door, and someone neither he nor Dash had detected at all stepped into being. Dash, do you know that spell?
They forgot to conceal him from my sense of smell. They’re only doing this to be dramatic. Accept it, and then tell them that they’re never to do anything like that again.
Harry nodded in response, his eyes fixed on the heavy face of the man. It did look as though he was related to Vincent Crabbe. The man cleared his throat and knelt in front of Harry, his wand presented across his palm.
“He will make an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty to you,” Heliotrope announced. “I will be the bonder.”
Harry felt the urge to shiver in disgust, and stiffened his shoulders. He had to accept this, as little as he liked the thought of someone being bound with a Vow like that. He knew what Dumbledore had done to Severus with one, and it even seemed too much like the slave-vows of the Dark Mark.
On the other hand, the man was here of his own free will, and that had to mean something. Right?
Harry moved to kneel on the grass in front of Victor Crabbe, his hand extended. Crabbe clasped it, moving carefully. When he felt the grip, Harry knew why. This was a man who was probably in the habit of casually crushing the fingers of anyone he shook hands with.
“You will choose the terms of the Vow,” said Heliotrope, standing with her wand in her hand. Harry was aware of the coiled power in both Severus, who was watching the Parkinson woman’s back, ready to curse her if necessary, and Dash, down the bond.
“I thought-since it was your idea, I thought you were going to set the terms of the Vow,” Harry told Mr. Crabbe.
He blinked and shook his head. “I would get something wrong.”
Like father, like son, Dash murmured down the bond. Use it to impress people and get them to follow you, Harry. Let them see how much even grown wizards and witches will fawn over you.
I don’t want them to fawn, Harry snapped back, but nodded and said, “Will you swear not to betray me to Voldemort?”
Mr. Crabbe’s hand flinched and jerked against his when he said Voldemort’s name, and his face turned even more pale and sweating. But he nodded as Heliotrope made what must be the appropriate motions with her wand. “I will.” And a burning link of fire encircled their joined hands.
Harry took a deep breath. “Will you swear to obey my orders, even if you have to fight alongside Muggleborns and other people you despise?”
Mr. Crabbe looked a little surprised, but maybe it was just because Harry had used the word “Muggleborns” instead of the one that he would be more likely to hear. He nodded. “I will.” The second link of fire took its place.
Harry knew he only got one more term. He thought for a moment, aware of the audience’s silent, critical gazes, before he asked, “Will you swear to give as much information as you can from your position as spy in the Death Eaters’ ranks, and the strength of your wand arm when we need it?”
Mr. Crabbe brightened, probably because the last one sounded like something he’d like to do. “I will.”
The third band of fire writhed into being about their hands.
Heliotrope Parkinson took a deep, huge breath, as if she had been waiting for something to go wrong and the fire to burn them, or Mr. Crabbe to disagree with the Vow. Then she stepped back and said, “As your binder, it is done.”
The flames vanished, and Harry stood up. Mr. Crabbe stood up, too, and bowed to him. Harry managed to hold back his sigh, but it was pretty hard.
You will grow used to the homage in time, Dash said, with the comfortable voice of someone who was already used to it.
I don’t intend to. The war will end soon if we do everything right, and then they won’t have a reason to bow to me.
The bond was so silent that Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Dash? Are you there? What are you thinking?
But Severus started to speak then, and Harry had to pay attention to other things. He was going to remember it, though, and push Dash on what exactly was going through his head when he thought about the finish of the war.
*
“I’m glad you’re not angry, Mother.”
“Of course not. I enjoy the thoughts of being in the midst of battle again, after all my years distant from it.”
Draco eyed his mother’s back nervously, but she was walking through the manor’s largest drawing room and studying the glass windows thoughtfully, as if considering how to protect them from launched curses. He sighed. He supposed that he deserved that after tricking his father into having the decoy battle here.
“And you think I am lying or exaggerating to punish you,” Mother added, not glancing over her shoulder. “I assure you that I am serious, Draco. I have felt as though I have done little in the way of persuasion or protection, unlike you and your father. Now I can do both.” She turned around with a little smile.
Draco took a long step backwards, one that almost meant he tripped over the chair behind him. He caught its arm and stared at his mother in silence.
“Yes,” Mother said, touching her wand and glancing around. “I shall have to read up on some of the Dark curses that I have not practiced since I was younger. It will be interesting to see whether the Dark Arts theory has changed in that time.”
She swept out of the room, pausing only to glance at Draco over her shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
“Um,” said Draco, because there was no graceful way to say You looked exceptionally bloodthirsty just then to his own mother. He managed a sickly smile and a shake of his head as he trailed after her. “No.”
“Good. Then come help me set up defensive spells for the windows in the library. I will be most displeased if some of these books get burned.”
*
I want you to promise me that no matter what happens during the battle, you will not hesitate.
Harry glanced up from the treatise on battle Legilimency that Severus had found for him, frowning at Dash. They were up in Gryffindor Tower again-well, Harry was in his bedroom window and Dash was lounging on the steps outside the window. “What do you mean? Do you think Voldemort is going to do something horrible while I’m fighting him?”
Dash turned his head, his eyes sparking yellow beneath his lids, and Harry obeyed the command that didn’t come down the bond but something more primal, scratching behind his plume. Dash sighed and draped his head over the top of the steps. He’s Voldemort, and he lives to be horrible. Of course he’ll do something to strike at your allies while you’re fighting. He’ll try to distract you. And just because some of his Death Eaters have changed sides doesn’t mean all of them have.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re giving me a specific warning. What do you expect to happen?”
Something horrible.
Harry leaned his head against Dash’s and closed his eyes. Warmth from the sun had soaked into Dash’s scales, and it soaked into his skin now. Harry stayed like that until the pain from his bent neck became too much, and straightened up. I wish that you would give me a clear prophecy if this is a prophecy, he said silently, because Seamus had started to give them slightly nervous looks. (For some reason, Harry being next to a giant basilisk was one thing, but him speaking aloud to him was something else).
Dash let his head shake in something like negation, causing a ripple down all his scales that made them lift and clash together. It’s not a prophecy. I just want to make sure that you won’t get distracted because you’re worried about your allies. Once you begin to tear your soul free, you can’t stop.
Why do you know that, though? Not even Severus knows that for sure.
Dash stroked Harry’s arm with his tongue, and Harry sighed. It didn’t escape his notice that Dash was touching the place that other people carried the Dark Marks, but Harry didn’t know the significance of that, and doubted Dash would explain it. I can feel it through the connection between our souls. If you hesitate, then I could find myself under the control of Voldemort, along with you. And I would wish to die before I let that happen.
Harry swallowed. You promised that you would make every effort to survive.
Unless you do not, I know. Dash’s tongue touched his forearm again. But your freedom is most important to me. Can you promise me to press ahead, and not glance around at any distractions?
“I can promise to try,” Harry said in a low voice, ignoring the almost-glare that Seamus gave him.
And with that, it seemed, Dash would be content.
*
Ron sighed and leaned back, idly tossing a Quaffle that someone had brought up from the Pitch in the air, and only listening with half an ear as Hermione chattered on about being an Unspeakable. Really, he was happy for her, and it sounded like a great thing for her, but he wasn’t interested in becoming that, and there was only so long he could listen to it.
Of course, that brought up the wretched question of what he did want to be, which Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie and even the twins had been pressing on him more and more about lately.
Planning to open up that shop’s turned the twins all sober and respectable, Ron thought, and then changed his mind as he watched someone across the common room turn into an immense canary. Okay, not really. But it had made them have a future, and it had made Mum proud of them, and now everyone was acting like Ron was in his seventh year and needed a future, too.
Really, what he wanted was to be a professional Quidditch player. But he knew he wasn’t a good enough Keeper or Chaser for that, and Beating was beyond his strength, and after seeing Harry fly for the Snitch, he would never think he was a good Seeker again.
But what else did he want, since that wasn’t going to happen?
Ron missed the Quaffle, and spluttered as it hit him on the nose. Harry glanced up with a faint smile from his book, and the twins gave him speculative looks.
“Looking to join the ranks of the pranksters, Ronniekins?” George asked. Well, Ron was pretty sure it was George.
“No,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “I dropped the Quaffle. That’s not a mistake you would make.”
Fred and George looked at each other for a minute, and then Fred strode over and sat down next to him. Well, Ron thought it was Fred. “Time for a private chat, Ronniekins?” he asked.
Ron started to object that it wasn’t, but George lifted something like a shimmering screen around him and came over, and he sighed. Well, now he was probably going to get subjected to the latest version of a Canary Cream.
But instead, George leaned forwards and peered into his eyes. “What do you want to do, Ron?”
“With my future? I told you, I don’t know that yet. Just because Hermione and Harry know doesn’t mean everyone else has to!”
“No, I get that,” Fred said, which so astonished Ron that he stopped talking. “But you seem so miserable about not knowing. I mean, there must be something, right? But you’re moping around here like someone who accidentally ate a Pissing Cream when they meant to eat a Canary Cream.”
“Not that we would know anything about such a thing.”
“Right. Not at all. I’m just saying, if such a thing existed, you look like someone who would eaten one.”
Ron didn’t smile, which seemed to alarm the twins more than anything else. He just shook his head and glanced away.
“Ron? Seriously, is there something we can do?” Fred touched his arm the way someone might have done if he was sick.
“I want to play Quidditch. Professionally, I mean. But I know I’m not good enough to go in for that. Not like Harry, he’s brilliant at it. And someone might even take Malfoy because he’s pretty brilliant and he’s got the name and connections. But what do I have that would interest a professional team? Nothing, that’s what.”
The twins exchanged frowning glances, and Ron sighed. He knew they would tell him to get over it. Or pull a prank or something, and he would have to pretend that he found it funny, the way he always had to.
Maybe this time, he would manage to frown through it, and they wouldn’t call him humorless or whatever their latest insult was. Ron folded his hands behind his head and silently dared them to do their worst.
But George (probably) said, “You know, there are other positions on a Quidditch team than just a player.”
“Like I’m ever going to be rich enough to own a team name or something like that,” Ron said. He thought about it a bit longer, then added, “Or a pitch, or a school.”
“I was thinking,” Fred began, and George nodded and picked up from him.
“That someone who’s a good strategist-”
“Good at chess, say-”
“Could be hired to come up with different strategies for the teams to use in their games, and-”
“Ways for them to fool the other teams. Yeah.” Fred nodded with a distant look in his eyes, then shrugged and glanced at Ron. Now there was a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth that looked as if it might break free from hiding any second. “But I’m sure I don’t know where they would get anyone like that.”
“Yeah. Seems a shame, really.” George was bobbing his head as if to music only he could hear. “That it’s such a good idea, and they can’t hire anyone who could do that for them. Shame, shame.”
“Shame,” Fred echoed, and then both of the twins posed with their hands tucked under their chins, pensively staring into space.
“You great gits,” Ron said, and shoved them. It didn’t break them out of their poses. “Listen, even if that’s a brilliant idea, it’s not like I’m going to get hired as a strategist for a Quidditch team!”
“Someone is giving up before he even applies himself,” sang Fred under his breath, shaking his head a little.
“Yes, someone thinks too little of his own talents,” George said, in a tone of horror. “And might even belief that guff about being too much in the shadow of the older Weasley brothers, or something like that.”
“It just seems like such a shame.” Fred let his head droop, and wiped away an imaginary tear making its way down his cheek.
“Such a shame that I can’t stand it.” George clapped a hand over his heart and sagged backwards until his head was almost lying in Ron’s lap. Ron shoved at him, but George had gone all over dead weight and wouldn’t move. “Take me from this cruel world, where people believe such terrible things!”
“Shut up, George,” Ron snapped, his cheeks flaring red. Even if people couldn’t hear them through the privacy charm, he knew they were looking, and that was enough to make him horrified himself, at the thought of what they might assume was going on.
“I’m not George, I’m Fred.”
Ron narrowed his eyes. “Are not.”
“He’s coming around, brother mine!” George sat up straight as if someone was Levitating him and grabbed Fred’s arm, leaning towards him with an awed expression. “If he can tell the difference between us, what can’t he do? Even someday find himself as strategist for a winning Quidditch team!”
“But how can I do that kind of thing?” Ron complained. He felt a bit better now that it seemed his brothers actually thought he might do this kind of thing, but that didn’t show him the path to get there. “I don’t have the connections that you’d need, and there aren’t a whole lot of Quidditch teams with strategists anyway.”
“But they need them,” George pointed out. “I was listening to Angelina and Katie talk about it from a letter Oliver sent them. He’s playing for Puddlemere United and all he can talk about is how much they need someone to actually tell them what they should do instead of listening to the players’ egos all day long.”
“And as for connections,’ Fred added, his head tilted to one side in the way that Ron thought privately made the twins look like perfect demons, “I don’t think that there’s much more prestige to be found than being Harry Potter’s best friend. Do you?”
Ron hesitated. Then he said, “No?”
“Is that a denial?”
“That’s-” Ron firmed his shoulders. Truth be told, even he was getting tired of his own complaints. “That’s a statement. Of thanks, because now I’ve found something I might actually be good at.”
“Good,” said George. “Then we’ll leave you to think about it, and go back to planning the shop that is going to bring us fame and Galleons and fit women.”
“Let’s change the order of that,” Fred added enthusiastically, and they banished the privacy charm and wandered away.
Ron turned his attention to a new problem as he lay back on the couch. If he did want to be a strategist for a Quidditch team-and it sounded good, almost as good as being a player himself-how was he going to go about it? He could come up with winning chess strategies and he could probably come up with winning Quidditch strategies, too, so he should be able to come up with this.
If the twins exchanged smug glances with each other, for once Ron was perfectly happy to leave them to it.
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six.
This entry was originally posted at https://lomonaaeren.dreamwidth.org/1062564.html. Comment wherever you like.