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Ragnarok	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11309 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ragnarok
- 2-Strike
- 3-Assault
- 4-Counterstrike
- 5-Backblow
- 6-Clash
- 7-Collision
- 8-Blast
- 9-Jab
- 10-Rush
- 11-Unite
- 12-And Conquer
- 1
- 2
- 3
Thank you for all the reviews!

Chapter Two�Strike

�� You look
stricken, still.�

�� Draco
lowered his eyes to his plate and managed to pull himself together. He and
Risidell were finishing the day of his initiation into the Wizengamot with a
private meal so that they could discuss those matters the rest of the
Wizengamot didn�t need to know about, and Draco had thought he was sufficiently
over his shock at seeing Potter as power source and slave to the wizarding
government.

�� It is a shock,� he said truthfully. �I
believed the rumors that Potter had emigrated to Australia like all the rest of
them, and I�m cursing my gullibility.� He felt free to look back at Risidell,
now that he thought he had mastered the expression on his face. �And then
again, his power. All he did was walk into the middle of a ritual?�

�� Risidell
seemed to mistake the eagerness in his voice for envy, rather than simple desire
to know more about Potter. He leaned forwards with a frown. �Yes, but it�s a
miracle he survived. I wouldn�t seek to try it for yourself. As it is, the
magic is probably going to kill him in a year or two.�

�� Draco
cocked his head to the side and took a sip of the very fine drink, somewhere
between fruit juice and wine, that Risidell�s house-elves had provided. This
room was nearly as large and dim as the cavern where they kept Potter, though
the walls were wood instead of stone and there were several fires to throw
light and shadow on the floor. Draco watched their dance for a long moment before
he answered. That helped conceal the shock of Risidell�s words. �I wouldn�t
think anything could kill someone as strong as he seemed.�

�� It�s the
magic itself that�s doing it,� Risidell said, shaking his head. �We�ve had a
few Healers in to see him�under strictest secrecy, of course�and they agree
that he�s aging faster than normal. He has to use strength that would normally be
used to maintain his bones and heart and so on simply to resist the onslaught
of the magic.�

�� And just
like that, on a platter, was handed Draco�s excuse to contact Potter and get
him to listen to him. He hid another smile in his glass and leaned back in his
chair, stretching with unfeigned pleasure. Risidell didn�t live in ostentatious
luxury, but he knew how to use his money. The chairs were comfortable, the
table polished, the food excellent. Draco was going to have a life like this
now�well, in truth, he had it already, if he wanted to husband his money and
buy better furniture.

�� But he was
interested in other things instead. Such as how to get Potter closer, to feed
off his power if he could, or draw on it. Draco had no interest in dying
because of a misguided ritual. But he didn�t think it had to be that way. After
all, he was not so much weaker than Potter, and he had his power perfectly
under control.

�� How do you
decide when a problem needs Ragnarok�s touch?� he asked. �I can see where using
Potter to handle a criminal who was reluctant to consent to arrest would be
overkill, but what about when you don�t know how dangerous someone is yet?�

�� Risidell
narrowed his eyes. �It�s less difficult than you perhaps imagine,� he said.
�Which does not mean that I urge you to do it.�

�� Draco
leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. So Risidell had noticed some of
Draco�s attraction to power, though he couldn�t have seen the extremity of it
or he probably wouldn�t be so calm. �I don�t have any enemies who are rising
Dark Lords yet, and all the Malfoy heirlooms I own have remained safely in my
family�s control for centuries. But my enemies will be the Wizengamot�s enemies
now. How do you decide?�

�� Risidell
hesitated, spinning his glass between his fingers. Draco put on his most benign
expression, silently encouraging the man to do something that he probably would
end up having to do anyway.

�� Or Draco
would learn the truth from Potter himself when he contacted him, but he knew he
shouldn�t trouble Risidell with the confession of that.

�� As I said,
it�s relatively simple,� Risidell murmured with a shake of his head. �Potter�s
magic is extremely powerful, yes, but limited in what it can do. We think
that�s a consequence of the ritual going wrong. He can only destroy. Not cast household cleaning charms, or glamours, or
defensive spells. We send him in when we want something annihilated. Or
someone,� he said, and cast Draco a grave look. �You can see how serious a
decision that must be.�

�� Draco cast
his eyes down and leaned back further towards the nearest fire, hoping that
Risidell would think his immediate flush a consequence of being too close to
the flames. He had barely stifled the moan in time.

�� It didn�t
matter that Potter�s power was limited to one specific area. It was still so
strong that Draco would have liked to be touching himself when he thought about
it.

�� Who makes the
decision to use Ragnarok?� he asked. �The whole of the Wizengamot, or you, or
some other person, or is there a smaller committee in the middle of the
Wizengamot that handles chores like that?�

�� He could
see Risidell relaxing. It sounded as though his questions were leading towards
more general topics, he knew, and that would content Risidell. The man
doubtless thought him obsessed with Potter.

�� And Draco
was, in a way. The other secrets he had been so proud to learn were so much
dust blowing in the wind compared with this. He had been happy and excited to
become part of the Wizengamot because that would mean he had a position of the
highest power and influence in the British wizarding world as he understood it.

�� But there
was another part of the British wizarding world he knew about now. He wouldn�t
scold himself for failing to aspire to it when he hadn�t known it existed. He
would never forgive himself if he didn�t aspire to control over or alliance
with it now.

�� The whole
Wizengamot has to make the decision, though of course anyone can bring up the
information that might lead to him being used,� Risidell explained, leaning
back in his chair in return. He was drinking ordinary wine, and he closed his
eyes in pleasure after he finished one sip. That gave Draco a chance to
discreetly adjust himself. He hoped that his reaction to Potter would gradually
grow less intense, or it could prove a distraction. �If you learn about a
wizard who calls himself a Dark Lord, or that a legendary artifact has reappeared
and defied the control of the Department of Mysteries, feel free to propose his
use.�

�� Draco drank
thoughtfully, noting the terms that Risidell had used to talk about Potter. His
�use,� and he often called Ragnarok an �it.� Draco licked his lips. It seemed
as though Risidell regarded Potter as no more than a weapon. Draco had no idea
how widespread his attitude might be throughout the Wizengamot, but it must be fairly
common. Someone would have treated
Potter like a person and forged an alliance with him for personal gain in
return.

�� That no one
had yet simply meant Draco was the lucky person who could step into that gap.

�� Interesting,�
Draco said, and then turned the conversation to other matters. He could learn
from Potter himself whether Risidell was the only one who could open the door
that led to Potter�s domain, or what the means of entrance were. Draco was sure
that Potter would be receptive to what he was proposing. Who wouldn�t want to
find a way to avoid death?

�� And on a
less professional level, Draco had other�skills�that might persuade Potter to
agree.

*

�� He could hear voices behind him shouting for
him to stop running, that they would catch up in a minute and he had no right
to outdistance them, but Harry ignored them. They were so far behind him. He was going to beat them all to
the poor victim being tortured and stop the Death Eaters from inducting someone
new into their ranks. Everyone knew a new Death Eater had to torture someone to
death before he was allowed in.

�� The closer he got to the cavern, the more
magic Harry could feel. That made him just set his jaw harder and run faster.
Magical torture was far less endurable than the ordinary kind. It was a wonder
that the victim wasn�t dead yet.

�� A dazzle of light, that of fire and star and
torch, blasted his eyes as he burst into the cavern. Because of it, Harry
stumbled forwards, drawing his wand and casting random curses at the dark
shapes he could see. Two of them fell, and he nodded. If the watching Death
Eaters had to deal with someone coming unexpectedly among them, then it wasn�t
a true initiation, which needed all the witnesses to watch it all the way
through.

�� He wasn�t sure if he had got the torturer,
though, and surged further forwards, stumbling and blinking frantically as he
tried to let his eyes adjust.

�� His foot crossed the edge of what felt like
a summoning ring.

�� All the power in the universe surged up and
hit him at once.

�� Harry fell with a strangled cry. When he
tried to recover his balance, there was a sense of walls pressing in around
him, panels made of down and iron. He flailed and circled, having the
humiliating sensation that he was tumbling about on his arse, in the full view
and laughter of the Death Eaters. Someone could kill him at any time. He found
his wand and tried to cast a light spell that he hoped would blind them much as
he was blinded at that moment. He might have a chance if they were on equal
footing.

�� That was when something came along
and changed his magic.

�� It felt as though someone had plucked
the power out of him and set it back in the wrong place, tilted sideways or in
a hole that was too small for it. Harry moaned, less from pain than from the
sheer wrongness of it, and bent down, trying to shield his head and his body
against�he didn�t know what.

�� The wrong magic took a deep breath
and then pulsed out to fill the newly available space in his body.

�� Harry screamed. He was in the middle
of a flood, filled with more magic than he knew what to do with, and he knew
that he was going to die. Worse, so was the victim that he had come to save,
the person being tortured.

�� A dim realization was trying to come
home to him, something that was important, but more important was saving
whoever the victim had been. Harry lashed out with his hand, hoping to keep the
enemies he was sure were closing in on him away.

�� There came a dull, hollow boom.
Harry felt a brief backlash of heat and heard a crisping sound. Then came the
smell of frying flesh.

�� And silence.

�� Harry blinked and blinked again, and
finally the obscurity that had overridden his sight started to clear away. He
was sitting in the middle of the cave that he�d known he�d been rushing
towards, with the charred remnants of a circle around him. It looked as if it
had been deeply scored into the stone, although now it was covered with cracks,
and Harry thought it resembled a ritual circle more than anything else.

�� Beyond the circle were the charred
remnants of bodies.

�� No,� Harry said, but his voice was
small in the immensity of the damage the fire had done, and in the whirlwind of
power that danced through his body. He stood up and walked out of the circle, a
little surprised that each of his steps didn�t make the walls and floor shake.
That was how enormous with magic he felt.

�� The bodies were body-shaped piles of
ash and cinders. When Harry touched them, he burned his fingers and disturbed
their shapes. The ash flew up, swirled, and settled. Harry was walking through
a tomb, filled with drifting darkness and that sickly-sweet scent of burning
flesh.

�� So much cooked skin and muscle and
bone, but not a sign of it. Harry didn�t know how hot fire must burn, to vaporize
bone, but he thought he could guess. His mind recoiled from guessing, though.

�� There were too many bodies for the
Death Eaters they had thought were here. That fact only gradually dawned on
Harry, and he turned around and began, painfully, to count the body-shaped
piles�one couldn�t call them corpses�although it was hard because the wind of
his passage tended to shake them loose and mingle one person�s flakes with
another�s.

�� He had burned the Aurors following
him to death as well.

�� There was a period of madness after
that, of standing still in the middle of the cavern and coming to terms with
what he had done while the world reeled around him.

�� Harry
opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his rooms in disgust, feeling
the reassuring hum of wards around him that told him his magic was still
contained. Then he rolled his head over on the pillow and fully gave in to the
disgust.

�� Why did he
still dream about this? He knew what had happened�he had interrupted a ritual
that was meant to raise one of the Death Eaters to power equal to Voldemort�s,
rather than a sacrifice or initiation�and he knew what crimes he had committed.
It was stupid and useless for his mind to continue tormenting him ten years
later. Harry had become a murderer.

�� And he
could become nothing else, when his magic couldn�t even manage something as
simple as a Lumos . He had gone to
the Wizengamot and offered them his services because he knew as well as anyone
else who wasn�t blind that they were the rising power, and at least this way
there was the chance that he would become a murderer of murderers rather than
innocents.

�� Harry
turned and stared at the firelight, trying to think about something other than
the magic thrumming through him as if in response to the wards, traveling back
and forth, gnawing, biting, testing the limits of his body. He tried to
estimate the number of months he had left in his head, and then snorted. He
didn�t think it was months, anymore. Maybe weeks. Maybe days. He should choose
where he was going to go and die, if he was.

�� His eyes
had started to droop closed in spite of himself when he saw a silvery figure
wavering near the ceiling of his room. Harry raised his eyebrows. He hadn�t had
someone contact him with a Patronus in years. It was perhaps the only means of
sending a message that would get past both the wards and the guard that the
Wizengamot maintained over his secret. They read all his post before he got it,
including messages from Harry�s friends and the Weasleys, but then again, that
was necessary. Harry knew that there were people out there who might have an idea of what had happened
to him, and he didn�t want to be troubled by their offers of alliance or their
claims that they could cure him.

�� The
Patronus came closer, and Harry saw that it was a bird with a heavy beak and a
long, snake-like neck. A cormorant, he thought. It settled in front of him and
spoke in Malfoy�s voice.

�� Potter. I
want to speak to you about a personal alliance. Now that I�m a member of the
Wizengamot, there�s no reason we shouldn�t.� The Patronus paused as if it
expected a response, but that didn�t fool Harry. He knew that they were meant
to carry one simple message. This one was probably imitating the dramatic
pauses of Malfoy�s voice.

�� Speak,
Potter,� the cormorant said in an irritated voice. �This bird is my way of
reaching you, but it does take concentration to get through those words and to
listen to you. Don�t you have anything to say?�

�� Harry
narrowed his eyes. He started to say that no one could make a Patronus do what
Malfoy was doing with it, but then he remembered his sense of Malfoy�s
heightened power. If he had been through rituals similar to the ones Harry had
stumbled into�rituals that worked the way they were supposed to�he could do this.

�� Harry
always hated the return of hope. It was like air coming to his lungs when
they�d been starved of oxygen, painful and frantic. He had felt it before, and
each time, the hope that he could do something about his condition had turned
to dust and ashes like�like the bodies of the people he�d killed.

�� But he
swallowed, because at least no one had managed to send a Patronus through the
wards before, and responded, �I�ll kill one personal enemy for you, no
questions asked, if you can help me find a way to get rid of this power.�

�� The
cormorant paused, then ducked its neck forwards in a smooth motion and spread
its wings. Harry wondered if it was going to depart. Perhaps his offer hadn�t
been generous enough for Malfoy.

�� Two
enemies?� he asked.

�� You want
to get rid of it?� the cormorant
demanded, with all Malfoy�s arrogance and lack of understanding. At least Harry
didn�t have to doubt that this was someone impersonating Malfoy to try and
trick him. �When you�re so strong that you make the room shake and my body come
to life? Are you mental?�

�� Harry
rolled his eyes. At this point, he didn�t care if the cormorant saw him do it
or not. Malfoy was clearly the one who
was mental, and Harry was beginning to regret that he�d made an exception to
his refusal to listen to offers. �Yes, of course I am. Because I can do nothing�not even light up my own
wand�for myself except destroy, and have to have people take care of me like
I�m a child, or a Muggle. Because I know that I�m going to die soon with my
magic destroying my body in lieu of anything else to eat. Because I want to
live a normal life, among normal people, and stop being a weapon.� He rolled
over on his bed. �You can�t understand. Leave.�

*

�� Draco,
sitting in his drawing room, had to concentrate to keep peering through the
cormorant�s eyes. It was difficult enough at this distance, when it was only
his enhanced power that forced the Patronus to behave unnaturally and act as a
permanent conduit for him, but his surprise made it all the harder.

�� Why hadn�t
he anticipated this? Of course Potter would want to stop being a weapon�he had
seen that far�but it was for a different reason than the one Draco had dreamed
of, where Potter would be glad for someone who respected his wishes and treated
him like an equal instead of a slave. Instead, Potter�s dreams were too small.
He couldn�t imagine any richer bliss than spending his life reproducing and
languishing among the smallest people of the wizarding population, when he
might have been among the grandest.

�� Draco would
have withdrawn in disgust, the way that Potter looked poised to, but the memory
of what he had felt this afternoon made him pause. He could find other allies,
true, but someone with Potter�s level of magic didn�t come along every day.

�� Listen to
me, Potter,� he said, when he could speak. �Have you ever thought about the
fact that you changed fundamentally when you interrupted that ritual?�

�� Potter
jolted as though someone had stabbed him and rolled back over. Draco squinted.
The vision of Potter appeared surrounded by a silvery mist the color of the
Patronus, and it was hard to be absolutely
sure, but it did seem as though Potter wore an expression of pure contempt.

�� I went
from being an Auror to being a murderer,� Potter said, his voice charged with
enough menace to make Draco�s breathing quicken. �But you have the gall to
suggest that I wouldn�t know that�s a change?�

�� I didn�t
mean it that way,� Draco murmured, trying to sound repentant when he was
quietly delighted. Potter had some spirit left after all. �I meant�you�ve changed, Potter. The old rules no longer
apply. You�re not a wizard as much as you are��

�� A weapon,
I know,� Potter said. �Congratulations. You�ll soon fit into the Wizengamot,
with a mindset like that.�

�� Draco shook
his head and knew the cormorant was imitating his gesture, though it cost him
more sweat and effort to make it do so. �I was going to say, a ruler. You�ve
been lifted out of the ranks of ordinary people by this ritual. Elevated. Instead of thinking about how
to get rid of the magic, maybe you should be thinking of how to live with it. I
have.�

�� Potter was
silent, looking at him. His green eyes were wide, but other than that, Draco
could tell nothing. Potter still wore his emotions openly on his face, yes, but
Draco didn�t think he had as many of them as he used to.

�� I hadn�t
thought of that,� Potter said, �because it�s not true. I told you, the merest
child can perform charms that I can�t.�

�� So think
of ways to get around that.� Draco made his voice soft. �Think of ways to make
your magic work for you although it only destroys. You can get rid of dust by
making it vanish, after all. You can alter your clothes by annihilating the
parts of them that you don�t like. You can change the look of your house by
creating new windows through the walls.�

�� Potter
snorted and lay back on his bed, crossing his arms behind his neck. �It doesn�t
work that way, Malfoy. My magic can�t be targeted so finely. It�s not water
that leaks through a dam in controlled bursts, it�s a flood, and only that.�

�� Draco could
see the limitations now, more clearly than he had from his conversation with
Risidell. What he did not see was why Potter should give in to them. He�d never
given in to anything else before�though Draco could also see that ten years of
service to the Wizengamot and hiding his existence from anyone else might
affect his will and hopes.

�� There are
rituals that could help you learn,� he said quietly. �I would be willing to
work with you on them.�

�� There�s a
ritual I found that could get rid of my magic,� Potter said just as quietly,
�but it needs two people, one of them near my level in power, to perform it. I
would be willing to work with you on that.�

�� But then
you�d become a Muggle,� Draco said, who suspected that he knew what ritual
Potter was talking about. Yes, it could be done, but he doubted that Potter had
thought through all the implications. �There�s no way to leave you with any
level of magic after that one.�

�� I don�t
care,� Potter said, and his voice rumbled with a low passion that Draco thought
he could have heard through much worse ears than the cormorant�s
magic-generated ones. �For the chance to walk in sunlight again and live among
people, love and hurt and die at a
normal age instead of when I was thirty? I don�t
care.�

�� Draco spent
a moment considering. He would have to go carefully. Potter had somehow,
astonishingly, managed to retain a core of Gryffindor values under everything
that had happened to him. That core would be opposed to helping Draco rule the
wizarding world or transferring his magic to Draco, which had been the next
suggestion waiting under Draco�s tongue, because Potter would fear what someone
else might do with it. That particular fear was probably too strong to
overcome.

�� However, he
might persuade Potter slowly and gently towards the first of those goals.
Potter wanted to walk in sunlight? That could be arranged. And Draco thought he
could also manipulate matters so that Potter would live longer than he thought
he would.

�� And if
Potter wanted someone who treated him normally, someone who could give him
passion and defiance and challenge�

�� Draco
didn�t know if he could manage love. But for someone like Potter, the closest
thing to an equal he would ever find, he might try.

�� How about
this?� he asked. �You help me with rituals that will increase my power. There are also some I�ve found
that need two people to perform them, and the stronger the better. In return,
we work on your ritual. It�s going to need a lot of preparation before you�re
ready, you know. Otherwise, it might simply kill you.�

�� Potter let
his eyes fall shut. �If I don�t die before then,� he whispered, �you have my
agreement, Malfoy. Anything else you want from me, I can give.�

�� I don�t
think you�ll die,� Draco said. It was as close as he could come to saying what
he believed: that Potter�s magic was responsive to his state of mind. It was
destroying him because he didn�t want to live this way, plain and simple. Give
him a chance to live another way, and the magic would probably back off. Draco
refused to believe that it was utterly impossible to control. Nothing was.

�� Thank
you,� Potter whispered. �Anything.�

�� And I will ask for everything, before the
end, Draco thought.

*

�� Paigeey07:
Thank you!

�� Necromancer10:
It will most likely be a switch story, as I can�t see either of them letting
the other top exclusively.

�� SP777:
Nope, not the gods. The theme is destruction.

�� W�lkchen:
Thanks so much! I hope you like this chapter.

�� angelmuziq:
Thanks! I haven�t written both of them as this powerful very often; it ought to
be fun.

�� Petalsoft:
Thanks for reviewing.
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Ragnarok