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The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 19
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- 21
Draco woke and rolled out of the cot-bed before he even knew why he was awake. He grimaced as he felt stones and small twigs bite into his shoulders. Of course, he was in the uncivilized forest among the even more uncivilized people who thought they didn’t have souls.
But something had awakened him.
Draco’s first thought was that the rain unicorns had arrived for another attempt at eating him. He kept his grip on his wand relaxed, but he ran through the movements in his mind that he would need to cast a spell that shattered hooves. It had once been used to stop charging centaurs in the old, war-mad days. Draco could only hope it would work on the unicorns’ strange, axe-like hooves.
But there was no sound of hooves or neighs, and no flowing motion like the one Hail had used to attack Potter. That something had happened, though, Draco had no doubt. There was too much prickling awareness working its way along the nape of his neck and down his spine.
Then he heard something that was like a displacement of air, and smiled a little. Yes, there it was. Without standing, Draco slithered on his belly to the far side of the tent-house and looked out through a slit in the half-transparent door.
Nothing now. Draco was fairly sure that there was a wizard out there, though, and not one who meant him any good. Again he brought his wand up, and his mind filled with the sorts of charms and curses that would work against elemental magic, which he assumed most of the soulless—
Markless, damn it.
—would wield.
His unseen opponent was being more cautious now, though. Probably Draco wouldn’t have sensed them at all if not for years of sleeping lightly when he was on Auror duty. And he was growing tired of waiting, and wanted to see who he was dealing with.
Making sure that no sound slipped past his lips, as had used to happen when he was first practicing with wordless magic, Draco chanted an incantation in his mind and moved his wand from left to right, ending with a little curlicue in front of his chest.
Occaeco lucem.
A soft glow began to pick up in front of his eyes, and then spread out to encompass the cot and the floor and the sides of the tent-house. Draco nodded to himself and then moved slowly onto his side, letting his head, and thus his sight, extend a little past the bottom of the door.
The Invisible Light Charm lit the darkness for Draco, but only for Draco, not revealing anything to his enemies. Draco saw outlines and living beings lit up with a wavering green-grey radiance that reminded him of pine needles in color. It was somewhat disconcerting to get used to when he’d first learned the spell, but it would get the job done.
And it did. It showed him the figure who stood motionless and patient by the side of the tent-house, using a specially modified Cutting Charm that turned his wand into a knife. He was slitting the moss and branches that covered the “wall” above Draco’s cot, but not in a way that caused any noise. Pure magic separated bark and other materials, the kind of thing that would alert no one.
And he wore scarlet robes.
Not the rain unicorns after all, Draco thought, surprise slowing his heartbeat for a moment instead of speeding it up. And not the soulless. It seems the Minister is a little more nervous about what I know than I thought he was.
Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and one that would float him slightly above the ground, enough that only the heels of his boots would touch the dust. He still had to be careful, because this was a fellow Auror, but on the other hand, surprise should give him the advantage. The man couldn’t suspect yet that Draco had moved, or he wouldn’t be bothering to cut above the cot.
Draco drifted to the side first, and then moved, subtly, slowly, carefully, towards the Auror. The one big disadvantage of his Floating Charm was that he couldn’t control the speed. He would have to cancel it if he actually engaged in battle; drifting about was suicide when one needed to dodge spells.
He waited, watching, as he drew nearer and nearer. The man had Auror instincts, too, if he’d been through the same rigorous training as Draco. He might react to the same indiscernible combination of clues that Draco had.
But the Auror didn’t turn, and kept his eyes and his wand both trained on the “cloth” in front of him. He had almost cut a hole that would enable him to reach his forearm inside, Draco saw. He tensed and sped up his pace as much as he dared, using a tiny conjured wind to push himself along. Any second now, the Auror would be able to look through the hole and realize Draco wasn’t in bed.
Before the Auror could do that and before Draco could get close enough to strike at him, something else happened.
A fountain of earth erupted at the Auror’s feet, and gigantic stone hands thrust up through the dirt and grabbed hold of the Auror’s legs. The Auror screamed—Draco thought it was probably just from shock—and tried to kick, but the hands were closing relentlessly, pulling him down and backwards, and soon he was up to his neck in earth.
Draco looked instinctively for his wand. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have been able to use it effectively anyway, with his arm buried to the elbow the way it was, but Draco still didn’t want to dodge the spells of a panicked Auror who had just met Potter’s earth magic.
Then Potter appeared, striding out of the darkness and staring down at his captive. For a second, he looked as if he was debating with himself.
He turned his head a little before he spoke, though, and saw the hole cut in Draco’s tent. In an instant, he wheeled back, his eyes cool, his hand flashing up, and the stone fists thrust out of the earth, tossing and turning the Auror. Draco thought he heard him retch, although nothing came out of his mouth.
By the time Potter settled the stone fists, the Auror was splayed flat on his back across both of them, and clenched around the middle and the legs, keeping his arms pinned by his sides. Potter moved his hands, and a third, smaller fist grew out of the side of one of those enormous stone fingers, reaching up and patting delicately around until it found the Auror’s wand and slid it free. Immediately it turned and tossed the wand to Potter, who caught it and examined it for a second before he tucked it into his robes.
“Well?” Potter asked, walking around so he could catch the Auror’s eye from the ground. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Not unnaturally, the Auror stayed silent. Draco was doing the same himself, although not because he wanted to creep up on Potter or surprise him. It was pure shock, combined with a tingling, face-flushing sensation that he didn’t particularly want to think about.
He had known Potter could do things that Draco had never heard of any earth mage being able to do. Spinning a cord out of diamond and using it on a creature that could devour souls was one manifestation of that.
But Draco thought of power as being on different levels. There was pure, raw force, which showed up in cases of accidental magic by children and people like the Dark Lord who gained followers because of their sheer might, but who had no finesse. There was the delicacy and knowledge exemplified, in Draco’s mind, by Professor Snape; one had to have that knowledge, or potions would explode around one on a regular basis. There was the sort of training given Aurors, which was meant to meld many different kinds of gifts and make them an asset to each other in battle as well as when it came to protecting others from Dark magic.
But Potter was showing a mixture of raw power and control—that simple wave of his hands that commanded earth and stone—that Draco hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps not ever, since he was also doing it without any other training than what the rain unicorns have given him. Elemental magic was so rare, at least without the accompaniment of a wand, that Draco couldn’t imagine who else Potter would have found to train him.
He was doing this because he could. Because he had the skill, and the delicacy, and the knowledge, and the might.
“All right, then,” said Potter, calmly enough, when the Auror continued to remain silent. But he was shaking. Draco moved a little to the side so he could see Potter’s face.
The expression of fury there, as strong as his magic, slapped at Draco’s senses.
This is for me. This fury, this working over of the Auror, is for me.
The sensations cascaded around in his head, and Draco closed his eyes and took in a breath that burned like mulled wine in his lungs. Then he shook his head and moved forwards, reaching out to lay a hand on Potter’s arm.
He wasn’t looking where he was going, and his foot sank down into what felt like a sand trap. Draco yelled indignantly and flailed his arms. Potter whirled around at once, staring at him, before he jerked his head and hand. The sand released Draco, even floating him back up to level ground with what felt like an apologetic pat on one leg.
“I’m all right,” Draco said. “I sensed him in time. I was here waiting for the attack.”
“Could you remove the spells so I can see you?” Potter tilted his head from side to side, his eyes focusing past Draco’s face. “I know you’re there, but it’s better if I can look at you and see that you’re not wounded.”
Draco snorted and waved his wand, cancelling the Disillusionment Charm and the one that let him drift above the ground. “Here, Potter. And trust me when I say that I’m not wounded. How could I be, when that man and I never even clashed?” He looked up to see the captive Auror staring at him with something like rapt hatred from the clutches of Potter’s stone hands.
“Well, I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.” Draco took a step back and eyed Potter curiously. “Does that mean you’re going to let him down?”
“It means I could be persuaded to do so.” Potter looked at Draco finally, a wash of relaxation traveling through his body as he studied Draco’s sleeves and his robes as if he wanted to make extra sure that no spell had ripped them. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes, please,” Draco said, trying to sound only polite and not excited that Potter was offering to do something for him, was putting all that immense power at Draco’s command. What if he asked—
I won’t. He would refuse to gratify me in what I really want, anyway. He doesn’t want to take revenge on the Minister for what happened to him.
But Draco’s desires tumbled in his head like a waterfall anyway, presenting him with tempting image after image. Potter catching de Berenzan up in hands like that and shaking him until he nearly bled out his brains through his ears. Potter smiling as he watched one of Draco’s enemies choking in stone or sand until they agreed to pay the reparations Draco had demanded. Potter at Draco’s shoulder as Draco carved out a new place for himself in the wizarding world.
Draco wanted that, the way he wanted Potter. But he looked away before Potter could see that in his face, and instead studied the Auror as Potter’s hands lowered him and released him. Still, the hands didn’t drop back into the earth. They hovered around either side of the Auror, ready to close in an instant and snatch him back up if he moved wrong.
The Auror glanced at them from a sick, white face. Draco half-smiled. He knew that Potter would never crush someone like that, not to kill them. But he hoped the Auror didn’t know it.
“You know him?” Potter asked.
Draco nodded. Now that he thought about the sick expression, he could match the face to memories. “Yes. His name’s Donald Henson. He came through as a trainee about three years after me.”
“And was there any particular personal enmity between the two of you?” Potter walked around to the side. Henson promptly turned to face him, and then froze as he seemed to realize that his nose was brushing one of the huge rock fingers in front of him.
Draco held back a chuckle and shook his head. “I think he’s probably here on de Berenzan’s orders.”
“Really.”
Potter sounded just the right mixture of doubtful and unimpressed. Henson must have decided that Potter was going to torture him, because he blurted out, “Yes, it’s true! The Minister asked me to track down Auror Malfoy. He said he’d gone rogue. That was it. That was all my orders. I swear!”
“We can’t let him go, though, Malfoy. You know that. Not now that he’s seen this place.”
Draco had to smile. Potter was playing harsh interrogator wonderfully, with a spirit of playfulness that Draco had thought might not still be in him. “You’re right. I wonder what we should do with him.”
Potter didn’t appear to move, but one of the stone hands suddenly dipped down, and even though it went straight past Henson and smashed into the earth, it still made Henson leap and look as if he’d wet himself.
“Well,” Draco said, feeling his voice fall naturally into the words as if he’d been sharing these jokes with Potter all his life, “I could always use a Memory Charm on him.”
“Yes,” Henson said in a hurried whisper, as if de Berenzan was hiding somewhere in the swamp, “that would be best.”
“But could we be sure that no one would realize he was Obliviated, and try to break through the Memory Charm?” Potter gave his head an irritable shake and focused on Henson. “I’m not so sure we can. I think it’s safer to just kill him.” Here one of the stone fingers unfolded and scraped up and down Henson’s waist, as if trying to figure out how fat he was, so that he could crush him.
“It’s not! It’s not! The Minister would send someone else after Malfoy!” Henson was clutching at his robes and trying to speak and hold his breath at the same time, it looked like. Draco turned a little away to hide his grin. “He’s a dangerous rogue! All the Aurors have been told the same thing!”
“How did you find him?”
Draco thought Potter’s question was a little too abrupt for the scenario they were trying to portray, but Henson didn’t seem to notice that, and answered immediately. “I had one of the amulets the Minister made.”
“Amulets?”
Draco didn’t need Potter’s earth magic to sound threatening this time. Henson hastily fumbled in his robe collar—Draco and Potter decided without even speaking, at a glance, that he would be allowed to move that much—and pulled out a tiny pendant made of cracked stone.
Draco took a step forwards, staring. When he was concentrating on the damn thing, it was obviously magical, but it looked so poor that he would have dismissed it as one of those good luck charms that even sensible wizards sometimes wore. He looked doubtfully at Potter.
One of the stone hands curled around the amulet and broke the leather thong that held it on Henson’s throat with a delicate tug. Henson whimpered and fell on his face. But Draco was focused on the savage expression on Potter’s face as he turned the amulet back and forth.
“What is it?” Draco demanded in a low voice.
“It’s stone imbued with a Tracking Charm, and then set with something from you.” Potter gave him a quick glance. “Either a hair or a skin scraping, I would assume. Probably a hair. They could break down and drift loose, and you wouldn’t notice.”
Draco held back the temptation to retort that he would so. He took great care of his looks, but that didn’t mean picking up every hair or skin scraping or fingernail or drop of blood the way it once would have. Sympathetic magic had not only been out of favor for a long time, it was notoriously tricky to practice.
“Where did the Minister get this?” Draco asked, turning back to Henson.
“He went into your house. I don’t know how he made the amulet, I don’t know how many of them there are.” Henson threw his hands into the air as if he could provide a shield for his head and stared at them with such obvious fear that Draco didn’t think he was lying. “That’s all I know.”
“Why did he think I’d gone rogue?”
Henson looked at him with wide eyes. “Because you hadn’t brought back Harry Potter yet. Henson said that either you were in league with him or you’d died trying to find him, and he knew you weren’t dead because of the amulets.”
Yes, sympathetic magic, Draco thought grimly, and looked at Potter. “Is there anything else you want to ask him?”
“I can think of a few questions.” Potter gave him a hard smile and faced Henson. “Obliviate him afterwards?”
“Probably,” Draco said, just to keep Henson’s terror alive, and stood staring down at his hands while Potter asked some more questions about the Minister’s hunt for him specifically, rather than Draco.
This meant that Draco was not only in more danger than before, he’d lost the thin cover of pretending to work for the Minister. He didn’t think all the Aurors would turn against him, but a lot of them would.
So this meant…
Step up the rebellion. This is about protecting me now, as well as Potter.
Draco smiled before he could stop himself, and then thought he was being ridiculous. His job was gone now, he was a hunted criminal like the ones he’d so often brought in, and he was allied with a man who might or might not agree with Draco on the best course of action.
But it also brought him the sensation of standing on a high cliff under the stars and breathing in the night air.
I’m free.
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The Rising of the Stones