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The Only True Lords	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 54632 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty—Grimmauld Place
            “Hello?”
            Harry called into the depths of the dusty house, and ended up grimacing and shaking his head. Kreacher wasn’t here, he thought. Probably still at Hogwarts.
            His shield mark burned, briefly, and then he heard Parkinson’s disgusted shriek behind him as she stepped into a cobweb. Or maybe just a pile of dust, Harry discovered, as he turned around. The cobweb seemed to have been on her face, from the way she was pawing at it.
            “My house-elf isn’t here,” Harry said. “I suppose that means we have to do what we can to make the house livable.” He hesitated and glanced at Snape. He knew that Snape had seized a wand from the wizards they’d fought, too, and although Harry had given the one he’d taken back to Auror Stone, he hadn’t heard Snape say anything.
            Snape inclined his head, but said nothing now, either. Harry nodded once and turned around, walking to the kitchen. He ignored the shrieking from Walburga’s portrait, but heard it cut off when Draco said something.
            Well, good. Maybe now that she’s got a cousin here, she’ll stop screaming at us all the time. And most of them, minus him, weren’t blood traitors anyway. Unless Snape counted.
            Harry sighed and slapped his own forehead to try and cure his rambling thoughts. He knew what part of the problem was. He was bloody tired, that was what it was. He wanted to lie down and sleep for a year. That sounded like a brilliant idea, actually, the more he considered it. When he woke up, all of the trials would be done, one way or the other.
            The shield mark gave a chiding little sting, and Harry groaned and nodded again. No, he couldn’t lie back and just give in like that. He was financially and legally responsible for his Slytherins, at least for some of what they would suffer, and he had to be there.
            “Potter?”
            That was Snape, slipping into the kitchen. Harry concentrated a little, and deduced that Draco was still in the front hall, talking to Walburga’s portrait. Parkinson and Zabini had spread out, exploring rooms on the first floor. Goyle, whom their Auror escort had carried here, was asleep on the couch.
            “I am surprised that you did not ask your friends to stay.” Snape leaned against the table and folded his arms.
            “I wanted to,” Harry said frankly. And Ron and Hermione had wanted to stay, too. But the Aurors who’d brought them had explained that the Lord’s Oath had no provision for them, and from the insults that had already started flying between Ron and Draco, Harry could think of no excuse good enough for them to stay. “In the end, though, it was more trouble than it was worth.”
            Snape went on watching him. Harry watched him back. He was no longer so tired that it felt as if every thought was veering off into its own separate path, but it was true that he still felt as though his head was reeling and he would fall off the edge of the world any second. At least he thought he could concentrate on what Snape wanted from him.
            Whatever that is.
            “You know that Draco will most likely try to do something stupid soon,” Snape said quietly. “And Zabini, as well.”
            Harry made a swishing motion with one hand. He didn’t really know what he meant it to mean, and from the sharp glare Snape gave him, he didn’t, either. Harry dropped his arm back to his side and shook his head. “I know. In Draco’s case, I can understand. He thinks that I did something wrong by not letting him see his parents, and asking his father to make that sacrifice. But I don’t understand Zabini. He got hurt, once. Does he think that he can break free again?”
            Snape started to open his mouth, but sharply turned his head to the side. Harry felt through the bond, but as far as he could tell, none of his vassals was in danger.
            Then he heard the thunderous knocking on the front door.
            Harry rolled his eyes and stood abruptly. Great, more shit to deal with. I hate this shit. Why does someone always come along and interrupt just as I’m about to get some fucking rest?
            He didn’t swear aloud, but it was satisfying to repeat the words in his head. He nodded to Snape. “Stay behind me,” he said, and moved towards the door.
            “Who is the one who has a wand?” Snape hissed, and the shield mark on Harry’s arm snapped and stung at him. Harry rolled his eyes again and kept walking.
            “If they’ve come to kidnap someone again, you can defend me,” he said, noting that Parkinson was peering back around the corner as Harry went to the door. “But they might at least hesitate when they see me, whereas they won’t give a shit about you.”
            The wordless growl Snape gave was satisfying, too, in its own way—far more so than who Harry found when he opened the door. For a second, he stared, and then he smoothed his face into its most neutral lines and gave a little bow.
            “Healer Kislik,” he said, using one foot to nudge Snape hard on the ankle. “I’m afraid that I’m going to need an oath from you that you won’t try to hurt my vassals or break the bond before I let you come in.”
*
            Severus studied the woman on the doorstep with hooded eyes. She wore plain robes now, without the green or the symbol of crossed bone and wand that had marked her as a Healer at Hogwarts. She had small bells braided into her hair as well, made of copper and bronze, which tinkled when she turned her head. Severus did not know their significance. He wondered if Potter had noticed them.
            Of course not, he decided when he looked down. Potter was close to dead on his feet, having performed at least three powerful magical feats that day—whatever he had done with Lucius’s blood to come and rescue them in the cellar, the contest with the Wizengamot’s flunkies, and the Lord’s Oath he had made to Stone. Now was not the time for him to be speaking to someone like this Healer, who had bewildered him once.
            “You are asking me to betray other oaths I have made, oaths that mean a great deal to me.” Kislik’s voice was low and precise, and she watched Potter, considering every moment of weakness and what it meant. “I can deliver the message I have for you from the doorstep, if you will not let me in.”
            Potter shook his head and stood up a little straighter. “I can’t. You need to tell me what you came for, and that’ll be it.”
            Kislik bent towards Potter, the bells rattling in her hair. Severus tightened his hand on his stolen wand. A conquered wand never worked as well for the conqueror as the one that had chosen him, but they usually yielded, and this one was warm and congenial under his touch.
            “We will never stop,” Kislik whispered. “What you have done is slavery. What you will do is slavery. Carving paths in their mind with the Lordship bond and binding them closer to you was never anything but slavery. We will destroy you, if we have to, so that you cannot bond or bind any more of them.”
            Potter went on blinking at the Healer as if she had stepped out of a dream.
            Then he shut the door in her face.
            Severus released the wand and rubbed his right arm, only then aware that the shield mark had tightened as though the skin there was scarred. It relaxed as he touched it, and Potter sighed and leaned his forehead against the door.
            “Stupid woman,” he muttered.
            Severus shook his head slightly. He was not entirely pleased that he had a Lord with such a simple vocabulary, but he had to remind himself that this was the same young man who had stood in front of the Wizengamot—less than a day ago, yes—and challenged them with arguments they couldn’t answer. Potter possessed the capacity and the talent to do what was needed. He simply did not always have the resources.
            The Healer knocked again. Potter raised his head, frowning, and glanced around as though he had no idea what to do. Then his face brightened, and he crossed the hallway to the wall, where a small, flat patch shimmered on the paper. Severus had to smirk as he remembered what it was. During the Order’s tenure in Grimmauld Place, they had established this as a crossing place of the wards, and one could tighten them or relax them at will by pressing on it.
            Potter pressed on it now, and there was the sound of someone staggering back from the door as the wards came into effect and pushed her off the stoop. Potter snorted and folded his arms. “Should have thought of that right after the Aurors left,” he muttered.
            “You were too tired to think of it,” Severus said, only hearing how low his voice had gone when it emerged.
            Potter turned to stare at him in surprise. “Since when have you been the one to make excuses for me?” he demanded.
            “Since I saw how directly your poor performance is tied to your weariness.” Severus gripped the boy’s arm when he spluttered and pressed his fingers, warningly, into the shield mark. “I think that you need to go to bed, Potter. It needs to be in a room a distance from the others, where no one will disturb you.”
            Potter shrugged wearily. “I can’t cast Silencing Charms since I don’t have a wand.”
            “I will cast them,” Severus said, and dragged him towards the nearest staircase.
*
            Draco had stopped talking with his cousin—or was she an aunt?—in the portrait when the knock came, to see how Potter would deal with it. To his disappointment, it wasn’t much of a challenge for him. If he had admitted the Healer to the house, the way Draco thought he would with his guilt and fear preying on him, then Draco might have been able to watch something amusing, but he’d shut her out.
            And now Professor Snape was bending over Potter, as though Potter was the one who deserved his anxiety and his kindness. Well, the gruff kindness that Snape sometimes displayed as Head of Slytherin House, anyway. Draco, and all the other Slytherins, knew better than to expect Snape to act like a parent.
            But even the hold he used on Potter’s arm to drag him towards the staircase wasn’t as rough as it could have been.
            Draco frowned. He had the impression that Professor Snape had more freedom under the bond than any of the rest of them; at least, Potter seemed to talk to him and ask his permission more to do things instead of just commanding him the way he did everyone else. What would happen if Professor Snape gave in to Potter’s idiocy and started acting like a servant towards him? Draco would lose the opportunity to watch some of the challenges that could entertain him, and if Potter wasn’t worn down from fighting Professor Snape, he might never weaken the hold that the bond had over Draco.
            “Malfoy.”
            That was Blaise’s voice, coming from the doorway of what looked like a drawing room when Draco turned around. He walked towards it, ignoring, for the moment, the burn of resentment in his stomach. He should know exactly what this house looked like, the rooms in it and how many of them there were and what treasures they contained. This house should have come to him, as his inheritance, instead of going to bloody Potter. He should have been able to do what he wanted.
            His father shouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself.
            The shield mark stung a little. Draco rubbed it and ducked in beside Blaise.
            Yes, it was a drawing room, although with the paper hanging in strips on the wall and something black, mold or worse, along the floorboards. Draco wrinkled his nose and turned to Blaise. Blaise was sitting casually in the middle of a dark-flowered couch that was either cleaner than it looked or—well, it had to be cleaner than it looked, that was all.
            “What do you want?” Draco demanded.
            “Come.” Blaise patted the spot beside him and gave him a smile that Draco wasn’t stupid enough to trust. “Sit.”
            Draco dragged his way slowly towards Blaise, and ended up sitting down after deciding that, since Professor Snape had a wand, he could just perform a Cleaning Charm on Draco’s robes tomorrow. “What do you want?” he repeated, leaning forwards with his hands clasped in front of him. “Don’t tell me you have some great master plan to escape Potter again. You know the last time didn’t work.”
            Blaise twitched, but his eyes grew deeper and darker, and he leaned forwards with one hand pressed down on the couch as if crushing his temper. “I have come up with a plan. I’m not going to flee on my own, though. You’re right, that didn’t work.” He waited, but Draco had nothing to say without more of a clue, so Blaise continued. “But I was thinking, if two of us rebelled at once…”
            Draco stirred in interest despite himself. “What makes you think I have any interest in rebelling against him?”
            Blaise looked quietly at him, and then continued when he seemed to have decided that silence wasn’t working again. “Your face. Your eyes. Your words about your father. You know that Potter should pay for what he did to your father.”
            “Don’t pretend that you care about my family, Zabini.” With an effort, Draco kept his eyes bored, his lounging back on the chair smooth and slumped instead of tightly controlled. “You don’t give a shit about anyone except yourself.”
            “But in a case where we could help each other, of course I have to care about my allies,” Blaise said in a small, shocked voice, holding his hands up. “My mother taught me that. It’s only good politics.”
            Draco rolled his eyes again, but he had to admit that they might stand more of a chance together than apart. Potter only had five vassals. If two of them rebelled against him, that was almost half. And Pansy had no reason to stand in their way, as long as they could present her with proof that the bond would weaken. Then she could go away and do the precious political work that mattered to her so much.
            Maybe they could even convince Greg to join them, if he ever woke up.
            But Draco could think of one problem, and he moved his chin in the direction of the staircase it had walked up. “What about Professor Snape?”
            “What about him?” Blaise had tensed. Draco knew he had. No one else might have noticed, but he hadn’t shared rooms with the boy for seven years without knowing him.
            “He’s protecting Potter,” Draco said, letting his disgust fill his voice. He had thought Professor Snape would stand with them if anyone did. He might not have Draco’s family reasons or Blaise’s insane desire for freedom, but he couldn’t stand Potter. For some reason, though, he seemed to have decided that coddling the idiot was the best way to advance himself in the bond. So much for all his words about wanting to defend his Slytherin students. “You think he’s going to stand aside if we try to do something?”
            “No.” Blaise shivered and rubbed the shield mark on his right arm. “But we can come up with something to get him out of the way.”
            Draco rolled his eyes and stood. “You do that.”
            “What do you mean?” Blaise asked sharply, tilting his head back to scowl at Draco. “If we’re allies, we have to do things together.”
            “Yes, but you rebelled once before and failed,” Draco said. “I don’t want my arm almost burned off by the magic of the bond, thank you.”
            Blaise’s eyes flashed once, and his hand moved towards his right arm before he dropped it back to his side. “That only happened because I tried to kill him,” he said. “I know better than that now. We won’t confront him directly.”
            “But we might have to confront Professor Snape directly,” Draco pointed out. “So. Impress me. Come up with a plan that can take Professor Snape out. You don’t have to do it by yourself, but you have to show me that you can think about more than running away. When you have something, we’ll put it into motion, and I’ll come up with a plan to confront Potter. One thing’s for certain, he trusts me more than he’ll ever trust you. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
            Blaise’s dark face flushed, and he clenched his hands into his lap for a second. But then he nodded. “Fair’s fair,” he said, ducking his head.
            “Good,” Draco said, and left the drawing room to make his way to the first floor and choose a bedroom of his own. He didn’t think he needed to worry about it being too near Potter’s. The charms and wards that would be around Potter’s door, because Snape was the only one of them who had a wand, would warn him away, and he would pick one at least several doors down.
            He didn’t want to be anywhere near the man who had made him and his parents a promise of safety and then betrayed them so effectively.
*
            It’s going to be up to me to do something about this, isn’t it?
            Pansy lay back on the bed in the room she had chosen as her own, and sighed. At least it was relatively free of dust and cobwebs, even if the walls still had smells that her mother would never have allowed in the house and Pansy thought she had caught a glimpse of a doxy giggling behind a curtain before it darted out of the way.
            Besides, she had other things to think about than the cleanliness of her surroundings. Like, the stupid way Blaise and Draco were handling themselves.
            Pansy groaned and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about them. She didn’t want to do anything but lie here and brood.
            But Professor Snape had given no sign that he’d overheard their conversation, which left Pansy as the only witness. She’d had to move away smartly when Draco stood up from the couch, but otherwise, they’d talked freely, and Pansy didn’t think either one of the fools knew she’d been there.
            That infuriated her as much as anything else. They hadn’t always been intelligent in the past—witness the utter mess Draco had made of his own sixth year—but they were supposed to be. They always went around bragging that they were better than other people, and most of the people in Slytherin House did the same thing. Pansy didn’t think arrogance was a bad character trait, but you had to be able to back up your claims, and you had to understand when circumstances changed. If it was better to act right now, then you had to do it and not whine about immediate action being for Gryffindors. If it was better to stand down and wait for another time to act, then you also had to grasp that.
            Blaise wanted his freedom so badly that he didn’t care who heard him, or overheard him. And Draco hadn’t listened to Professor Snape’s assurances that his father was probably fine. He had decided that Potter had no right to ask someone else to make sacrifices to save his vassals, even though Draco knew more about the Lordship bonds than Potter did and should have anticipated everything that had happened so far. They would do something stupid that would further tighten the restrictions on all of them, and might prevent Pansy from ever being comfortable with the bond.
            Because if Potter felt that he had to ride herd on them, he would do it on all of them. That was his Gryffindor notion of fairness.
            Pansy grimaced and sat up. All right, so she had decided in her righteous anger that Draco and Blaise were wrong and something needed to be done about them. The question was, what should it be?
            Professor Snape was busy guarding Potter right now. Potter was exhausted. Greg was still out of the equation. No one else was in the house. Pansy was on her own, without even a wand to protect her.
            Then she bit her lip thoughtfully. Without a wand, but she thought she’d seen…
            She rummaged in the drawer of the table beside the bed, and finally found a stack of relatively clean parchment and a quill. When she picked up the inkwell locked in the table, gingerly, she ended up exhaling hard in relief. It still had liquid ink in it. It was either charmed or protected by house-elf magic.
            She spread the parchment on the table and spent a few minutes practicing flourishing letters and the signature she needed. Then she picked up a clean piece of parchment and wrote,
            If you two dunderheads think that I am unaware of your plans, then you should think again. You will do nothing to jeopardize the bond or Potter, because you will face me if you do. Deciding to split up the task into dealing with me and dealing with Potter will only be the beginning of your downfall.
            Pansy considered it for a second, then smiled and signed, Professor Snape.
            She knew the professor’s handwriting from seeing it on countless essays over the years. She didn’t think it was perfect, but the reference to a specific part of Draco and Blaise’s conversation ought to shake them and make them act at least a little more cautiously. And by the time they came up with something else, maybe Potter and Professor Snape would be back in the game.
            She stood up, folded the parchment, and went to slide it under Draco’s door. He was the less stubborn of the two, at least as far as the bond went. Better to shake him up first. He would also go to share it with Blaise right away, Pansy thought, whereas Blaise might keep it to himself because he was afraid that Draco would back off on helping him if he didn’t.
            She heard Draco come over to pick up the parchment, and whisked back into her bedroom. Then she locked the door and draped herself on the bed as if asleep. That ought to convince anyone who did manage to look in. Pansy had been fooling her mother that way for years, and her mother had pretty sharp eyes.
            She did shake her head a little as she closed her eyes.
            Why do I have to do everything around here?
            Then she snorted lightly to herself.
            Maybe I should think of it as future practice in politics.
*
            polka dot: True, but Pansy has ambitions to stand on her own more than Draco does.
            delia cerrano: I think Draco’s actions do make sense, but he’s forgetting that the Ministry has more power than Harry does in this situation.
            kain: Thanks! Harry might have slapped Draco if he didn’t have an audience, but given where they were, it wouldn’t work very well.
            Both Draco and Blaise are going to do something stupid if no one watches them, but Pansy and Snape are on the case.
            moodysavage: Thank you! The problem with making Blaise swear not to leave the house is that then it might cause a problem when the Ministry tries to take them to trial.
            Genuka: And until Draco receives some confirmation that Lucius is still alive. That’s what’s causing a lot of the problems.
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The Only True Lords