Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Narcissa Militant	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 17885 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Thank you again for all the reviews! It looks like this will be longer than five parts after all.
Part Five
Harry stood nibbling his lip as he looked at the sprawling grounds in front of him. “This could go wrong.”
“It could. Which is the reason that you are the only one who can decide if he wants to do this.” Narcissa gently smoothed some of the lines from Harry’s forehead. Harry swallowed and abruptly turned, leaning his forehead against her shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Narcissa calmed her own worries, that Harry might not be strong enough to carry this off, and smiled gently down at him. Honestly, she remembered the point when she had reached this stage in the discipline. She had just enough idea of her strength to know how many others, stronger than she, were out there. She had fought an internal battle between proceeding in her training and turning back.
It was tempting to let adults take care of things. But the temptation would be less to Harry than most, who hadn’t had adults for most of his life who he could trust to help him scoop his intestines back in if he was bleeding out. He would get through this, probably faster than she had.
Sure enough, Harry let her stroke the back of his neck five times before he stood up and shook his head. “No, I want to do it. It’s—well, it’s the only way.” He paused and looked towards the Forbidden Forest. “You’re sure that Sirius is already there with that mirror?”
Narcissa nodded. “And you know that if this doesn’t succeed the way we want it to, you will have other chances?”
“If this doesn’t succeed, the whole point is missing, though. We have to show how weak and terrified Voldemort is, and having me collapse from the pain isn’t going to do that.”
“It might be enough to show those fools like Dawlish that the Dark Lord is still alive.”
Harry shook his head again. “I want to do it the way we planned,” he said, and then he stepped away from Narcissa and advanced towards the gates. The November wind swirled around him, chasing withered leaves. He looked calm and content and every inch the prince that Narcissa had also raised Draco to be.
Narcissa smiled and followed him. Harry was already striding, his robes flaring around him. As he went, he raised his arm, and the spell that Narcissa had taught him to cast took off from the end of his wand, filling the air with what looked like a spray of black fountain-water.
There were gasps and shrieks from inside the castle. They would see the spell there as black falling stars, and hear Harry’s roaring voice.
“Voldemort! Come to me, you coward!”
The front doors of the castle banged open as professors began to run out. Narcissa ignored them, her gaze fastened on her foster son. Harry had braced himself. The spell would sound with equal force and violence in the ears of the one it was meant to summon.
And if Voldemort resembled the monster Narcissa had known during the first war, he would never be alone. He would have other Death Eaters with him, and in the face of such a taunt, he would be forced to respond.
It took longer than it should have, enough for Narcissa to wonder if Voldemort was intelligent enough not to reveal his existence to the Ministry after all. But rage won past his base cunning. He appeared with several black-cloaked figures behind him, their white masks gleaming. He paced forwards, his eyes glaring at Harry. His long pale hair fell over the side of his head, and someone screamed behind her.
How can they think he looks frightening, instead of ridiculous? Narcissa wondered, but that was one of the mysteries it wasn’t her duty to solve. She watched as Voldemort came to a stop in front of Harry and bent down, his hands twitching around his wand.
“You summoned me to kill you?”
“No, I summoned you to do this,” Harry said, and tossed the potion that Narcissa had spent most of the last fortnight researching and brewing all over him.
Voldemort stepped back with a snarl. His pale hair was swaying now and tinged with red, and Narcissa smiled. The potion was working as it was meant to, then, sliding down Voldemort’s skin and delving into the cracks in it.
“I am going to kill you for this.” Voldemort’s voice had deepened to a low, dangerous hissing. He was looking at both of them, Narcissa realized, even though she stood a fair distance behind Harry.
“I thought you might try,” Narcissa said, and then watched as a red cloud began to form behind Voldemort’s head. “But I think you’ll be too busy dealing with the results of the potion.”
Voldemort’s mouth went on opening, and then he screamed. He fell to his knees and screamed, and the Death Eaters behind him backed away and aimed their wands uncertainly at Harry. One of them might have managed to get in a strike; Harry was laughing so hard that a curse could have struck his shoulder or his collarbone or something else. But Narcissa cast one of her own flexible shields on the air in front of Harry, and then all was well.
She would have a talk about that with him later, though, Narcissa thought, shaking her head as she watched the red cloud rising from Voldemort turn and swiftly make its way into the school. No matter what was happening in front of one, that was no excuse for distraction.
The cloud began to grow and roil as it came into contact with the school’s walls. The tendrils went first through open windows, but it didn’t need them; anywhere a crack between the stones opened, the cloud could reach. Narcissa listened, and smiled a little as she heard the other screams of pain and terror. The cloud wouldn’t permanently hurt the students Marked with allegiance to Voldemort, but part of the point was that they would suffer somewhat. Otherwise, what was to keep more idiots from surrendering themselves to the Mark?
The cloud abruptly snapped back together again, and a small number of Slytherin students came with it, along with one or two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor that Narcissa recognized from the year above Harry’s. She raised her eyebrows. Well, best to eliminate the threat before it showed its fangs.
The scarlet mist that filled the air surrounded the kneeling students and the still-screaming Voldemort, then gave a snap like the sound of a whip. Their left sleeves went flying back, and the Marks lay exposed. Voldemort lifted his head like a dog at that, and stopped screaming to say, “Stop them!”
But since none of his followers had any idea what was going on, they simply hesitated, and by then, the cloud’s magic had had time to work.
The red tendrils cocooned the exposed Dark Marks in shining scarlet, and then the Marks began to dissolve and bleed down the students’ arms like dripping paint. Narcissa relaxed a little. The cloud was based on the potion she had given Severus to deaden the pain of the Mark, but she’d altered it so that it could hopefully remove the brand in Voldemort’s presence and stuff the magic back into him. It seemed that wish was being granted, at least.
“No! Stop them!”
Now the Death Eaters knew what Voldemort wanted them to do, but it was obvious they were even more useless than Narcissa had thought. They waved their wands and chanted a few ineffective spells. The students who had taken the Dark Marks had stopped screaming and just watched the blank ink—or blood, or pure necromantic magic—collecting on the ground. Narcissa wrinkled her nose as she smelled the holes of rotting grass the magic from the Marks promptly made. The black magic finally sprang up and streamed back to Voldemort, slamming into him and spinning him around on his knees, making him snarl.
There was a moment’s tense, trembling balance. Then it dissolved into chaos. Most of the students who had taken the Marks were trying to get to the castle, even the Slytherins, proving that they had no idea what they’d volunteered for. Voldemort was on his feet, waving his arms around, and firing off curses at his own followers as often as at anyone else. The prefects outside were trying to herd members of their own Houses to safety. Minerva was storming straight for the gates.
“What the hell is that?”
That was Dawlish’s faint voice, right beside her ear. Narcissa grinned viciously at nothing, and turned around in time to give Dawlish a blinking, startled glance. “That’s Voldemort. Didn’t you know what he looked like? Or, well, I suppose it’s a shock to see what he looks like now that he’s altered his body with Dark magic,” she added, as if conscientiously.
“Voldemort is dead,” Dawlish whispered, not looking away from the spectacle of Voldemort torturing a masked Death Eater with the Cruciatus Curse.
“Well, then there’s someone doing a good imitation of him,” Narcissa said.
As if called by the sound of her words, Voldemort finished inflicting pain on the hapless who deserved it and swung around. His eyes met hers, and his mouth opened in a silent snarl of rage. Narcissa was immensely amused to observe that it looked as if he had her teeth.
“I am going to kill you, Potter!”
“No, you’re not,” Harry said, and faded abruptly from sight.
Narcissa smiled. He’d also had lessons this summer in using his Invisibility Cloak properly, so that it shielded his entire body. And from the way Voldemort began randomly casting Dark spells, he couldn’t see through it the way some people could.
Narcissa couldn’t let the Dark Arts continue, though. Someone might get hurt, and then the papers would find a way to turn that back on Harry and paint it as his fault for summoning Voldemort. She drew her own wand and cast a shield that reflected the Entrail-Expelling Curse back on a Death Eater.
Voldemort stared at her like a maddened owl who had decided to adopt a Muggle hairstyle.
“You will die,” he said.
“Oh, eventually,” said Narcissa. Then she cast another spell, one that she kept carefully non-verbal, since Dawlish and other interesting witnesses were there. It would look exactly like the red light of a Stunner as it soared across the grass between them and struck Voldemort full on in the chest.
Would look like. But was not.
Narcissa watched in some satisfaction as Voldemort clutched at his chest for a long moment afterwards. His eyes shone like rubies, and his mouth opened further and further, and he reminded Narcissa of a toy Bellatrix had had when they were younger, a mechanical dog whose jaw she’d broken on the first day.
Then he screamed.
But he screamed as he vanished, and most of the remaining Death Eaters panicked and ran when they realized that their leader was gone, and the scene was abruptly calm again. Narcissa sighed as her head slowly drooped, and looked around for Harry.
Harry, visible again at her side, was staring at her as if he had no idea what the plan had been, what they’d discussed. But when she smiled at him, he smiled back and gave her an exhausted little wave before dropping straight down to the grass.
Draco ran from behind an older mass of Slytherin students then, and gathered Harry in as if he would cradle him and keep him safe forever. A few seconds later, he seemed to realize that the grass wasn’t the best way to do that. He turned and cast one of the charms that would lighten Harry’s weight, then dashed towards the hospital wing
Narcissa nodded and began to follow. But Dawlish interrupted her, gripping her arm. “We need to talk,” he said, all but snarling.
“If we must,” said Narcissa, holding his eyes. “But for the moment, I have two sons to attend to.” And she shook off Dawlish’s grip and followed Draco and Harry to the hospital wing.
*
“Harry will be fine.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was trembling a little as she made her diagnosis. “It was more the effort of casting the spell that you—told me about that drained him, not everything else he did.”
“Ah, I’m glad,” said Narcissa simply, and sat down next to the bed. Harry’s face was pale, but that wasn’t unusual for him, and neither was the inflamed red of the scar on his brow. She smoothed his hair back and watched him attentively as he breathed.
“How—how did he know a spell like that?”
Narcissa smiled and looked up. “Well, you must remember that Harry is no longer a parentless Gryffindor who has to go back to his awful Muggle relatives during the summers. We accepted him into our home, and that means that we’re going to teach him a good deal about ways to protect himself.”
Madam Pomfrey paused with her hand smoothing down the sheet. Then she looked up and said, “And he needs to know how to handle himself if he’s going to fight You-Know-Who.”
“Voldemort.”
The mediwitch flinched and retreated. Narcissa shook her head and faced Harry again. Draco met her eyes worriedly from the other side of the bed.
“Is he really going to be all right?”
This time, Narcissa considered herself within her rights to give her blood son a chiding look. “Draco, you were there when we discussed this spell. Harry knew the risks, and he chose to brave them anyway. Of course he’s going to be all right. As though I would let my foster son come to harm.”
Draco’s eyes flickered uncertainly, and he looked down and then nodded. Narcissa sighed and reached across the space between them to take his hand.
“What made you think otherwise?”
“The way his scar looks.”
Narcissa shrugged. “There’s still not much that we understand about that scar,” she said, and knew Draco would understand that she was speaking of the Horcrux connection, which she wasn’t about to mention with a nosy mediwitch potentially listening in. “But I think it makes sense for it to look that way after he opposed one of Voldemort’s plans.”
“Is he in any pain right now?”
“With the sleeping potions and the pain ones that have been dripped down his throat? No.”
Draco swallowed and nodded. Then he reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand, with a little surreptitious motion that Narcissa knew wasn’t meant to hide it from her. She nodded to Draco. It was not the way she would have reacted to Lucius being wounded, but then, she was not her son, and there was no need for them to resemble each other so closely.
“There will still be some people who might try to deny that he’s back,” Draco finally said, when the sound of Harry’s breathing had probably become oppressive to him. It was not oppressive to Narcissa. No sound that meant someone she loved was alive ever could be.
“Voldemort? Yes, they might try.”
“But aren’t you worried about that?”
Narcissa smiled. “The ones who do that are truly the deluded ones, and we won’t be able to reach them no matter what we do. But before, with the confrontation in the graveyard, the only ones besides us who saw were the Death Eaters who had every reason to keep their presence secret. Now we have not only the students whose Dark Marks were stripped away, but most of the professors in the school, and many other students as well. Now they can convince the reasonable ones who had reasonable doubt.” And we have the ones Sirius will tell, when the mirror’s reflection spreads.
Draco swallowed. Narcissa waited for him to confess what was bothering him. The hospital wing really was silent except for the sound of Harry’s breathing. Madam Pomfrey was apparently brewing potions quietly, or sitting there with her head in her hands, perhaps.
“I can’t get over what a risk he took,” Draco said. “What I felt when he was standing there in front of the gates with Voldemort looming over him—he could have died.”
“I know.”
“But you let him take the risk?”
“He will never be safe as long as Voldemort survives,” Narcissa told Draco, and watched the way that the red flush in Harry’s scar seemed to dim a little. “What I can do is give him the tools to make his own decisions and defend himself. And that’s what I’m doing. He’s the one who thought we had to take a risk to show people that Voldemort was back.”
Draco was quiet some more. Then he said, “I don’t think I can let him do that.”
“You can’t stand in his way.”
“I mean—I have to defend him some other way. I have to lessen the risk for him without standing back and letting him take it.”
“As long as you don’t interfere when he does decide to risk himself,” Narcissa cautioned her son. She knew the relationship between her and Lucius would never have worked if he had tried to block her own risk-taking and decisions.
“No. But—enough to mean that he might not have to take as many risks in the future.”
“Acceptable.”
Draco nodded and went on staring at Harry’s silent form on the bed. Meanwhile, someone knocked on the door of the hospital wing. Narcissa looked up, ready to send the inquirer to the back room where Madam Pomfrey might be brooding, if necessary.
But it was Dawlish, who looked at her without smiling and said, “Professor Malfoy. We should talk.”
*
SickPuppy: Thanks! Narcissa has arranged all sotrs of ways that she can deal with people it's not practical to kill. :)
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Narcissa Militant