Chapter Twenty-One of 'An Image of Lethe'- Dancing Among Shadows

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Twenty.

Title: An Image of Lethe (21/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Eventual Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Bill/Fleur
Warnings: Angst, violence, minor character death
Rating: R
Summary: The Ministry finally has a way to test people for Dark magic and separate the Dark wizards definitively from the rest. Harry Potter undergoes the test, produces an utterly unexpected result, and finds himself swept up in a political conflict that materialized out of nowhere yesterday, it seems: the fight over whether Dark wizards have a right to continue mingling with "normal" society. Updated every Sunday.
Author's Notes: This story idea has been brewing in my head for several months. This will probably be a long one, and very political. The title is from a poem, "The Coming of War: Actaeon," by Ezra Pound.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-One--Dancing Among Shadows

The blond Death Eater was no more pleased than Draco about being sent on this mission, Draco thought as they moved towards the back of Grimmauld Place. Unlike Draco, though, at least he wasn't a prey to the horrendous confusion of seeing Harry Potter pretend to be the Dark Lord.

Draco gripped his wand. He had to make that confusion a point of strength instead of weakness, and he pasted a smirk on his face and turned around to slightly bar the door into the house. The Death Eater halted at once and gripped his own wand. He was thick-bodied, Draco judged, but not fat. That could make him a dangerous opponent in a duel, since he could slam someone else to the ground and still move fast.

Slam someone else to the ground. Like a person who was small and lithe and still not up on all the finer points of dueling that he should be.

"When we go into the house," Draco breathed out, "be careful what you say. The house-elf who lives here is loyal to the person he thinks our lord is. Potter." He managed to spit the name with convincing force, he thought. After all, he hadn't yet forgiven Potter for putting him in this impossible position. "He won't hesitate to attack if he thinks that you're trying to steal from his 'rightful owner.'"

The blond sneered and lifted his head as though he wanted to remind Draco he was taller than him. Since Draco was on the back step, though, the gesture was wasted. Maybe the man realized that, because his voice was even more sullen as he muttered, "So how are you going to get away with it, then?"

"Because my mother was a Black," Draco said, clearly, then turned and walked into the house. His back prickled with the wait for the blond to cast a curse at him.

But he didn't. He only came behind Draco, grumbling all the way.

Draco stepped into the kitchen, and found himself immensely glad that neither Pansy nor Astoria were there. But Kreacher was, and he turned around from the sink with his hands wide and his mouth opening even wider in outrage.

Draco caught his eye and said, "The true owner of this house has recommended that I bring important Black artifacts with me. As well as valuables that can help us pursue the true cause of revolution." At least Kreacher knew they had been planning to strike back at the Ministry, although Draco had no way of knowing what he thought about it.

Kreacher's lips tucked in, and he said, "Then masters should be coming this way." He marched into the drawing room, his hands waving as hidden panels in the walls flew open.

Draco followed him, trying to look as calm as he could, even though he hadn't known most of these panels were here. He wondered if Potter had. He wondered what Kreacher was thinking, revealing such sensitive or potentially sensitive information to people he must know were his master's enemies.

Then Kreacher reverently reached into one of the panels and pulled out a black rag, and Draco nearly went limp with relief. Kreacher was revealing "treasures," all right, things concealed by the Black family. But that didn't mean all of them would be valuable now. This rag looked as if it might once have been a shiny cloth, but it had decayed beyond all recognition.

"This is once covering the table of Kreacher's masters," said the elf, and fluttered the rag at them.

Draco didn't turn to look at the blond Death Eater, but he knew what would be coming off him in waves: boredom and disgust. Those were the two emotions that Death Eaters felt most often, along with greed and fear. He stepped forwards and solemnly cast a spell that would create a silver net to put the rag in. He would take it with him, but not even up to keep up the act could he force himself to touch it.

"You have done well, Kreacher," he said, and the house-elf bowed and simpered.

"Then Kreacher is showing Master Draco Malfoy more things!" he said, and moved on to the next panel, which proved to contain a sludge of rotting fruit. And the next held a broken toy unicorn, and the one after that a book of scary stories probably hidden to keep them away from children.

"I suppose you think this is funny, Malfoy?" muttered the Death Eater, and pressed up close behind him. "Get on with finding the valuable things our lord said he wanted!"

"I don't own this house," said Draco, without looking over his shoulder. He found it substantially easier to sound calm and confident when he kept his eyes on Kreacher and away from the Death Eater's face. "I've only lived here for a short time. I have to rely on the elf to show me valuable things. And you know how their sense of things can get distorted, when they've only lived in one place and only ever served one family."

The Death Eater snarled and prodded Draco in the back with his wand. "If you're holding out on the Dark Lord--"

And that just snapped something inside Draco, something fragile and seething. He turned around and made the Death Eater rise onto his toes with the way his wand jabbed his throat. The Death Eater coughed, tears starting from his eyes.

"Maybe you can think more about what you're doing," Draco said, and his voice hissed as it slid over his tongue and teeth and lips. "Threatening one of the few followers who's been helping the Dark Lord's for weeks now?"

The Death Eater choked again, and then managed to flutter his wand in a way that probably indicated surrender. Draco stepped back, making sure to keep a sneer on his face as he shook his head.

"You're pathetic," he said. "You'd better hope that the Dark Lord needs people like you to run his errands."

He lifted an invisible, nonverbal Delayed Shield--it would react only if the Death Eater tried to fire a curse at his back--and then moved towards the stairs. He knew this was a dangerous moment. The blond might decide the torment of humiliation outweighed any of the consequences that "the Dark Lord" would deal out later. Death Eaters had never been good at seeing the long-term effects of their actions.

But after a long, sullen moment, Draco heard the sound of footsteps following him.

Draco breathed out slowly, and began hoping that he could explain things sufficiently to reassure Pansy and Astoria.

*

"You can see, my Lord, that we have been trying to do your bidding."

Harry deliberately let only half his mouth turn up in a smile, a gesture he had sometimes seen Voldemort practice in his visions, and tilted his head back as if admiring the ceiling of the house that arched high overhead. That ceiling was made of thick dark oak, the rafters gleaming with the edge of a spell Harry knew: one that would prevent fire. It seemed the Death Eaters had taken more precautions against an enemy attack than Harry had originally thought they had.

Which would make them more difficult to defeat, of course.

But Harry couldn't even wonder about defeat yet. He turned towards Lucius, who bowed his head at once when Harry met his eyes.

Lucius knew, Harry thought. Or at least suspected, because if he knew he would try to rally the other Death Eaters and make them turn on Harry. But he was more likely than Greyback and some of the others to have heard of Harry's Parseltongue, because Malfoy would surely have written him in second year complaining about it.

"You have succeeded well," said Harry, and then stepped up and put one hand on Lucius's shoulder, leaning in to speak into his ear. That brought on a jealous stir from the other Death Eaters around them, as Harry had thought it would. Well, if he could keep them off-balance and anxious to keep his good opinion, that was all to the good. "But things will be different now, Lucius."

"How could they fail to be, my Lord?" Lucius twisted his head and looked Harry in the eye. "Now that you have returned to lead us."

Very smooth, Malfoy. But Harry had had backup plans for such a response in mind, and he only smiled mysteriously now and let go of Lucius's shoulder. "Of course they will be," he said, and turned to raise his voice to the Death Eaters, trying to remember the way Voldemort had announced meetings. "Assemble in the dining room, and await me! I will speak to you of our glorious future as soon as the younger Malfoy returns!"

There was a cheer, and some of the Death Eaters began to move in the direction of what Harry assumed was either a dining room or the dining room. Harry took a step, and found Lucius's hand lightly but insistently on his arm, restraining him.

Harry turned in one smooth motion that both ripped Lucius's hand away and ended up with his own fingers clenched on Lucius's throat. Lucius uttered one hasty choke, his eyes wide. Then he dropped to his knees, urged along but not entirely propelled by Harry's hold.

"You will not touch me without my permission," Harry said, and added a hiss to his words as he leaned down. "You have done well, Lucius, but you are not infallible. As you proved during the war." He accented the last word hard enough to make several of the people still in the room flinch. And of course most of them were still there, watching this power-play with fascinated eyes. "If you touch me again..."

He shrugged Lucius off and moved towards the dining room, not looking back. He knew Lucius had never really intended to bring Voldemort back. He had always meant to lead these resurrected Death Eaters himself.

Harry would have to watch out to avoid being stabbed in the back.

He found himself wanting to grin as he had the thought, and managed to twist it into a sort of evil smirk. Since when had he been without someone wanting to do that?

*

"We are back, my lord," said Draco, and managed to bow and hold the bow when he came into what once must have been the dining room of this house and saw Potter sitting at the head of the table.

For an instant, blackness had danced at the edges of his vision, and nausea had seared his throat. It had reminded him so much of the dining room in Malfoy Manor, and the way the Dark Lord had held court there.

But this was not the same place, not the same people, and he would have to answer for his conduct if he was weak now. He reminded himself of that, and walked with firm confidence towards the back of the room. Pansy and Astoria trailed behind him, and the blond Death Eater brought up the rear.

Pansy, luckily, hadn't needed much prodding from Draco, or veiled references to things in their past, to pick up what Draco was trying to convey to her, coded, in front of the Death Eater. She had only nodded when Draco made a reference to "my Lord" and "our Lord's faithful followers," and directed Astoria to pack up the few things they were using and presumably couldn't live without in their next waystation.

Astoria's eyes had been big and terrified, but she was still young. Draco could help all the Death Eaters attributed her nerves to that.

Potter nodded distantly to Draco as he entered. Then he smiled and stood up and extended his hands. Not all the chattering or whispering voices fell immediately silent, but then Potter hissed.

Draco straightened up and kept walking through a sheer effort of will, the same thing that had kept him moving when he was being forced to torture people. He knew this was Potter. No matter how much some of the others taunted him, he knew--

And then he saw his father.

Draco stumbled, hard, but he turned it into a kneeling posture. He heard Pansy and Astoria hastily kneeling behind him, and the blond Death Eater dithering a bit before he did the same thing. Draco slumped with his hands on the floor and his face pointed towards them, doing his best to shed the clinging shock that would make him vulnerable if he let it persist.

"My loyal followers," said Potter, and there was an edge of mad laughter to his voice. That was better acting than Draco would have been able to do. He concentrated on breathing and holding his still, placid expression with a hint of fear. He couldn't betray his whirling mind now. "You will want to know what I plan for the future."

"We do, we do!" came a chorus of voices that it sounded as if Greyback was leading. No matter how hard he listened, Draco couldn't hear his father's voice in it. And Pansy and Astoria, he hoped, would be smarter than to draw attention to themselves right now.

His father.

Draco felt as though someone had placed him on a whirling chain and was spinning him so violently that he would be sick on the floor in a second. His head pounded and he shuddered continually, one hand rising as though he would claw back a bit of sanity.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice, or just took it as a general part of the clapping and yelling and hand-waving going on in response to Potter's announcement. Draco swallowed and made himself sit up, though he kept his head turned away from the part of the room where Lucius Malfoy stood. That was easy enough, with Potter right in front of him and turning back and forth with his arms spread, as though asking to be the focus of all eyes.

He's a better actor than I thought, Draco decided, distant and numb. You would never know that he hates attention right now.

"This is my plan," Potter hissed, and his voice dropped. Most of the Death Eaters in the room leaned forwards, including Draco, before he thought about it. He blinked a second later. He remembered that as a trick that Professor Snape had used to make him listen, especially during that disastrous sixth year when he was trying to argue Draco out of completing his task with the Vanishing Cabinet and Dumbledore.

"The Ministry thinks that they have a reliable way to locate Dark wizards," Potter whispered. "It was destroyed today by a loyal follower of mine, but they can rebuild it. What I need is the notes for the machine."

What he wanted the Death Eaters to steal or check in the first place, when he thought it was only Greyback and his lot, Draco decided, his heart pounding erratically.

"But if we get them, what happens if someone has a copy of the notes?" Lucius asked, and Draco had to look at him, at the sleek way he rose to his feet and then stood with bowed head before Potter a second later. "Then they could rebuild it anyway. My lord."

The challenge was subtle, but there. Draco swallowed heavily. Just because he recognized it didn't mean Potter would.

"That is true," said Potter, and he tilted his head back and laughed softly. "But we have the willingness they do not, to call on Dark magic to get our ends accomplished. What does the Light Ministry know about such things?"

A lot, Draco thought, having recognized some of the runes on the walls around Lethe. But the rest of the Death Eaters hadn't been inside that room with Potter, and they didn't know about the amazing recklessness he was capable of even when acting as himself. Their excited chatter and applause started up again.

"We will use Dark magic in the making of our weapon," said Potter, and turned back and forth, his arms still spread and a skeletal smile on his face, as though awaiting the obvious question.

Draco had nearly made up his mind to ask it when Greyback called it out. "What is our weapon going to be, my Lord?"

"The Lightfinder was flawed," said Potter. "It revealed the level of a wizard's power and affinity, not his soul or the amount of his personal Darkness. But the concept is sound. We cannot only create a weapon that will reveal the Light among us and thus whether someone has turned disloyal to me, but..." He paused again.

Draco held his breath, secure in that he at least wouldn't be out of placing in doing that. Come on, Potter. Come up with a load of brilliant bollocks or something you can pretend is brilliant, because there are people here who will see through anything less than that. Honestly, Draco wondered whether even brilliance would be enough to fool some people, like his father, who hadn't wanted to see the Dark Lord come back.

"We will use it," said Potter, and his smile was writhing around on his face in a way that frankly scared Draco, "to find Light wizards, and turn them Dark!"

The gasp that traveled around the room ended with an explosion of cheering. Greyback and several others were all trying to shout about how they had always known their Dark Lord was intelligent, and wasn't dead, and would come up with some scheme to end the wretched Light for once and all. A few people kept silent, Pansy and Astoria among them, but Draco could see the eyes of the other followers glowing.

And then there was his father, who maintained an expression on his face that could be seen as supportive and interested if you didn't know him well. Draco did, and he knew it was his politely skeptical expression. He swallowed. There was no doubt his father would do his best to undermine Potter.

Whether Potter could counter that, Draco had no idea. He only knew that Potter might not be aware the danger existed, but being with him in private where he and Draco could explore strategies to minimize the danger seemed like an unattainable goal right now.

"How would that work, my Lord?" Greyback was at the front of the crowd, probably having less than no interest in how it would actually work, Draco thought cynically, but craning his head back and asking the eager questions to stand out further to the "Dark Lord."

"That will be based on the research already done by my first three most loyal followers, the ones who saw me within the husk that held the piece of my soul and came to awaken me," said Potter, and nodded to Draco, Pansy, and Astoria. "They are the ones who will lead the project and report directly to me."

Draco swallowed a little when he saw the hostile eyes that brought to them, and Astoria's went wide enough to make her look like a deer. He wondered if Potter really realized that he had just lowered their life expectancy.

Then he shook himself, hard. He knew Potter wouldn't have done this on purpose, nothing like it. He was probably thinking that he had extended his protection over them, and made them less likely to be harmed by the other Death Eaters.

Sure enough, a second later, Potter added almost casually, "I will be disappointed if jealousy and ambition trim the ranks of my followers or lead to infighting where you should be one instrument of my will, forwarding my revenge on our enemies and my conquest of the wizarding world. Is that clear?"

And he was looking straight at Draco's father. Draco swallowed again, slowly, deciding that Potter wasn't as oblivious as Draco had feared he was, after all.

"Clear," said Draco's father after a moment, when it had become obvious that Potter was waiting for a response and wouldn't simply look away until he got one.

"Good," said Potter, and gave them all a dazzling smile that melted into a sneer. Draco shivered. Yes, that had been something the Dark Lord did as well, a habit that Draco was far too familiar with for his liking. "Now, you will, I know, excuse me and permit me to speak in private with my first faithful followers, and assign them their research tasks." He began to move towards one of the doors from the dining room as though he knew where he was going, gesturing Draco, Pansy, and Astoria to follow.

"One moment, my Lord." Fenrir Greyback was bowing in a cringing way in front of Potter, his hands spread as though he was preparing to turn into a wolf and spring aside if Potter struck at him. "Is there nothing else that any of us can do in your plan to corrupt the Lightfinder?" He lifted adoring eyes to Potter.

Draco blinked. He didn't remember Greyback behaving like that around the real Dark Lord. Maybe the difference in behavior was enough to convince him he could ask questions without taking his life into his hands.

"Later," said Potter, and let his hand trail over Greyback's head and shoulder as he went past, "I'll tell you." His curt gesture left Draco, Pansy, and Astoria with no choice but to follow.

Draco was glad for that, actually. He ran almost cringing after Potter, and didn't care who saw it. It would be better for him, anyway, if they all underestimated him, if they thought of caution as fear.

Not meaning to, Draco did catch his father's eye.

There's at least one person here it'll be difficult to fool.

*

"I thought he was in Azkaban."

Harry nodded to Draco. They were in a warded room with the strongest Eavesdropping Charms and even a few Darker spells Aster had taught them up and focused around the door and windows and even the gap under the door. "I know. I sort of suspected he was behind restraining Greyback, but I wasn't sure until I saw him. It was a shock."

"Why did you think it was him?" Draco's head was up in a second, and he glared at Harry as if he was the cause of all this.

And I thought of him as Draco. That fact, that he was the one who had made that particular decision, made it possible for Harry to look calmly back instead of taking offense. "Because I couldn't think of a lot of other people who would be able to make Greyback obey them and also stay well-hidden. It would have to be someone who was prominent in the Death Eaters, and someone who had a lot of prestige and magical power, at least once upon a time. I think your father means to resurrect the Death Eaters and lead them."

"Of course he does," Draco said, in a dismissive way, as though he was impatient of the conclusion. "Why else would he do anything else?"

"What do we do?" Parkinson broke in, harshly enough that Harry winced a little. But Draco needed some time to sit back and recover, and the question was a legitimate one. "What else can we do? Is there anything?"

"Of course there's something," Harry said, and smiled a little at her when she made a face at him. "I plan to use the Death Eaters to build a sort of Lightfinder that will get rid of the irrational fear that the original one spread among the population. And get those notes about Lethe out of the Department of Mysteries. I was inside the thing. I don't know what happened. I want to make sure there aren't any side-effects, though."

"Those are things that benefit you." Draco leaned forwards again. "What about us?"

"End this magical fear, and you can go back to your normal lives." Harry shrugged. "Or as close as you can get. You've already been sentenced, Draco. Astoria, you were never in trouble. Parkinson...we'll figure out something. For now, though, I do need you to do some research." He glanced at Draco. "You brought a lot of Black books with you? If not, it might be safe to go back to Grimmauld Place one more time, but no more than that."

"I was thinking of the far safer course of having your house-elf bring things here," said Draco stiffly.

Harry wanted to smack his own forehead, but refrained. "Of course. That's a good idea." He sighed. "I need you lot. I can't do this without you. Even if I can think of some lies, I can't think of everything."

"I'm astonished you're as good as you are," said Draco simply.

Harry held his eyes for a second, then shrugged. "I can improvise." He turned to Parkinson and Astoria. "And in the meantime, we need to improvise some way to contact our allies, and warn them to keep out of the way of the Death Eaters."

Parkinson and Astoria were happy to discuss that, but Draco said almost nothing. His burning eyes never moved from the side of Harry's face, as though he was seeing an entirely new vision he had never encountered before.

Let's hope it's a good one.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

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