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Parsimony	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14122 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Twenty-One--The Forest of Dean

            "You're ready, Potter."

            Draco didn't make it a question. Harry wondered if that was because he knew how insulting that would be, or because he just didn't care for Harry's answer. Watching his profile from the side, the way Draco's hair seemed to quiver and his eyelashes beat a nervous tattoo up and down, Harry knew which answer he would bet on.

            They stood at the very outer limit of the wards surrounding Hogwarts, on the road to Hogsmeade. The night was quiet around them, without the hum of the spells and the breathing of the other boys Harry was accustomed to hear if he was wandering the castle or lying awake in the Gryffindor boys' bedroom. Draco had a faint Lumos Charm on his wand, giving Harry the ability to see, but beyond that faint radiance, all faded away into moonlight and shadows.

            "Yes, I am," Harry said, and spent a moment juggling his wand and Invisibility Cloak--it'd got them this far, though it had been a hard fit for both of them underneath it--and the potion Snape had given him last night. The vial was made of hard green glass that Harry had hesitated to add charms to, just in case he ruined the brew inside. "Snape gave me this. He said we should each drink half of it."

            Draco frowned and lifted the vial up to the moonlight, no doubt seeing things in the potion and the cork and maybe even the glass that Harry couldn't. "Why would he do that?" he murmured at last. "It makes no sense."

            "Why?" Harry darted a glance around at the trees. As yet, nothing had come out either to pursue them or yell at them, but he could hear sharp cracks, and now and then caught a glimpse of golden eyes peering from the Forest.

            "It's a Philomela's Revenge potion," Draco murmured. "It will make us move in absolute silence, but--we can't hear each other, either. That's part of it being absolute." He tilted the potion and stared at it again, then stared at Harry. "You didn't ask him what it was, did you?" he added in a different tone. "You took a potion from Professor Snape and didn't bother to investigate it."

            Harry hated the wonder in Draco's voice, because it sounded like a nasty, jeering kind of wonder. He shrugged. "He told me that we wouldn't succeed in this--thing without it. And he told me there's no charm that can strip a glamour off someone's face permanently, and that you're wrong if you think so," he added. If he could get Draco angry at Snape instead of him, then he might as well.

            "He doesn't know every spell," said Draco, and instead of getting angry, his face also had a nasty, jeering little smile on it. He nodded once or twice as if in reply to questions Harry hadn't asked, his face distant and awful in the moonlight. "Especially not every spell my ancestors invented."

            "This is a Malfoy spell, then?" Harry asked cautiously. He should have reckoned on that, he decided. It made sense that Malfoys would invent such things purely for the pleasure of inventing them--and of having weapons at their disposal that their enemies might not have.

            "Yes, it is." Draco took a step forwards, and then abruptly swung the dark green vial up and cast a stronger Lumos. Harry hissed at him, staring backwards at Hogwarts, but so far no one came charging out to catch them. "Wait," Draco said, in a tone of revelation. "This isn't Philomela's Revenge."

            "It isn't?" Harry glanced at Draco, then at the potion, but of course it looked no different than ever to him.

            "No," Draco said, and his smile was growing into an evil, delighted one that he turned and included Harry in, so Harry couldn't help but return it. "It's similar, but--I take it all back, Potter. This potion will be useful after all." He uncorked the vial and tilted it against his teeth, waiting for a moment before he swallowed. The potion was too thick to creep down his throat until then, Harry reckoned.

            Draco swallowed several times before he seemed to think that he had cleared his throat of all the potion, and then turned and offered the vial to Harry. His eyes gleamed with a challenge that Harry knew perfectly well how to translate. If Harry trusted him enough to drink the potion without asking what it was and why Snape had wanted them to take it, that meant one thing. And if Harry insisted on asking questions, it would mean something else, something that Draco would know how to translate in turn.

            Harry didn't much like either thought, but he took the vial and swallowed the potion with an effort. The taste wasn't as horrible as he thought it ought to be, rather like very sour apples, but it did stick in his mouth something awful. He wanted to spit, but the spit would probably contain some valuable part of his portion. He grimaced when he was done, though.

            He turned back to Draco and found him standing with his eyes shut, as if waiting for a cue. Harry opened his mouth to complain, but no words emerged. Of course. The potion was working already. Nothing they did could make a sound.

            Bloody well hope that Malfoy can Apparate nonverbally, because I don't know that I can, Harry thought in irritation.

            Then Draco glanced at him and smiled. Can you hear me, Harry?

            His words cut oddly through the silence, and it took Harry a moment to realize that he heard them in his head, sort of the way he had heard the words when Voldemort possessed him--only much, much better than that, he hastily qualified to himself. Yes, I can, he said back, and found that it wasn't hard to reach Draco's mind. His thoughts aimed in the right direction, and there it was. I reckon that you can do the same thing, and this is what the potion does?

            Draco rolled his eyes, and probably snorted, but that sound didn't seem to come across. Well, unless you think that we just developed a spontaneous telepathic bond, yes.

            Harry wondered for a moment whether Draco would be able to read his feelings as well as his mind and tell what kind of thing Harry was developing for him, but there was no sign in Draco's eyes or face that he could. Harry let his breath out shakily, but, of course, heard nothing; he only felt it flow across his lips. Fine. Will anyone among the Death Eaters be able to sense it? I mean, this was a man smart enough to think of glamouring his face like someone in Azkaban. He might be smart enough to set up wards that would sense potions.

            A straightforward thought at last, Potter. Draco gave him a smirk and turned towards the road in front of them, holding out an arm. Deciding that he did probably know how to Apparate nonverbally, Harry moved over to take it. But no, few wards can do so. Potions flow in the blood and body of the wizard who takes them, and are surrounded by his magical core. They are not separate, the way that spells that surround the body are.

            Harry blinked as he laid his hand over Draco's arm. It was eerie to watch the cloth flowing as Draco's robes bunched and know that he should hear the sound, but to hear nothing. I wish you could teach Potions. You explain things more clearly than Slughorn and Snape combined.

            Draco lost his smile, but Harry couldn't tell why. Disappointing as that was, it was at least confirmation that the potion didn't allow them to read all of each other's minds.

            Draco held his wand high and assumed an expression of intense concentration. Harry held his breath, in case it would help, and moments later the squeeze of Apparition surrounded him.

*

            They appeared in a clearing that made Harry ache, for a moment, for the time when a bunch of evil wizards were chasing him and trying to catch him and his life was simple.

            Without thought, he raised a Screening Charm around them, followed by a Shield Charm, and was glad that they both seemed to work despite him just being able to mouth the incantations; he knew he couldn't do the first one nonverbally. Snape's potion was great for sound, but did nothing to keep them from being seen by a Death Eater sentry watching this portion of the woods.

            Then he bent close to Draco and whispered, "This looks close to the place I described. Which direction do you want to go?"

            Draco looked at him patiently, and Harry flushed, then repeated the words in his head. Draco seemed to spend several minutes considering the choices, and maybe when he was thinking deliberately like that, the potion could help Harry pick it up; he got a definite sense of something, clockwork or something like that, turning or ticking over nearby.

            East, Draco decided at last. That leads into the darker part of the forest, and that's the best place for Death Eaters to hide. They like symbols.

            Harry saw him put his hand on his left arm, and pretended not to notice. Yes, he was learning how to handle Draco. East it is, then, he agreed, and cast a mobile Screening Charm that would hover around them and prevent anyone from seeing the light on Draco's wand. It also limited their visibility, but one couldn't have everything.

            Is that the best you can do, Potter? Draco reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and took out something that looked like a wheel made of tarnished silver with black and glittering spokes leading out to the rims. He breathed on it, and it began to spin, moving faster and faster until it was a blur of motion. He nodded curtly at Harry. Remove the silly Screening Charm, and I'll show you.

            Harry experienced a brief spasm of panic as he obeyed. It seemed part of him still distrusted Draco after all, or at least thought he was out to ruin Harry's life any way he could. Bringing him all the way here just to push him off on the Death Eaters seemed odd, but it would be convenient, in a weird way--

            Shut up, Harry told himself firmly, and watched as the air in front of him shimmered and brought up something else that looked like a Screening Charm made of black, transparent lace. Draco turned to him.

            It prevents anyone from seeing us, but we can see out. It's a Black invention. Draco balanced the wheel on the air in front of him with a simple Levitation Charm, and began leisurely walking through the crumpled grass. You didn't inherit everything good when you took the title.

            I didn't want the stupid title! Harry snapped back as he walked beside Draco, watching his feet rise and fall without any sound. It was more than slightly eerie, and he could see why not many people used Philomela's Revenge, even if they were brilliant nonverbal spellcasters. And I don't think there's a title, anyway. Just an old house with a lot of spooky screaming things I don't want. And some money. And a house-elf.

            Draco didn't have to speak. He looked at Harry with his eyebrows raised and then turned back to what Harry could now make out as a regular, if faint, path in front of them.

            Shut up, Harry said anyway, because some things needed to be said.

            They crossed the Forest, more than once passing a badger or a deer or a fox that glanced up and stared around, apparently puzzled by smells without a trace of sound or sight to link them to. Harry squinted as the trees ahead seemed to grow brighter, and then smiled. Yes, the light came from a giant bonfire like the one he had seen in the vision. Or else a bunch of Death Eaters dancing around a steady light so it would cast scary shadows, but Harry knew which one he was willing to bet on.

            Draco abruptly slammed an arm into place across his chest, and his mental voice in Harry's head seemed somehow softer despite all evidence that it couldn't be. I can feel the presence of wards, like the ones the Dark Lord put on the Manor when he took it over. Be careful. They can sense us by the sweat of our bodies and the beat of our hearts. It's more than a little insane, and they'll hurt us if they find us.

            Harry would have said he knew that, but Draco's words hinted at whole new dimensions of pain. He stood where he was, felt the pressure of Draco's arm in a way he didn't want to, and said, If they have wards like that, how can we outwit them? And how do we know when we're close enough to trip them?

            Draco reached into the bag that he'd carried the wheel in and took out a large book in response. The book creaked, and Harry noticed its pages were chained shut. Squinting, he thought he could make out teeth on their edges, and shuddered as Draco opened it. The teeth shut on empty air a few inches from his fingers, though, and Draco smirked at him again. This is what comes from having the right blood, and not simply an inheritance you shouldn't have had.

            Sirius never wanted it, and neither did I. I would have traded it all for having him back again.

            Draco let his smile fade, the way he had when Harry said he would rather Draco taught Potions, and turned back to the book, his hunched shoulders shutting Harry out of what he was doing more effectively than a locked door. Harry frowned and glanced at the fire again. A four-legged shadow slinked by. Probably a werewolf, he decided, and lifted his wand just in case.

            Then Draco thought a series of syllables that wriggled across Harry's brain like inky black snakes, and not the kind that were fun to talk to, either. He tried to listen, but the only thought he caught was far too many s's and k's. Then Draco shut the book, put it back in the bag, and stretched out his hand. Instead of his wand, a knife hung there.

            I need your blood.

            And this was the point where Harry found out that he really did trust the git, idiot though that made him. He hesitated no longer than three seconds before holding out his hand, although he did think in Draco's direction, What? Your superior blood isn't important enough for this?

            My blood deserves to stay in my veins and go on keeping me alive to produce the next generation of Malfoy children, thanks, Draco retorted smartly, and Harry was glad that Draco couldn't feel Harry's odd reaction to the thought of Malfoy children. Draco drew the knife gently across Harry's hand, and at first Harry thought he hadn't been cut. Then he felt the well of the blood, the thick drops on his thumb, and the single sting of pain. Draco held his hand near Harry's and said something with a movement of his lips that Harry doubted he would have been able to hear even if they'd been still in the world of sound. Then he held up his hand, and there was a thin scarlet thread stretching away from the heel of his palm to the black lace veil in front of them that the wheel had created.

            We have half an hour, no more, Draco said. These wards are the kind of thing that you can only cast if you don't care about suffering and pain. I used blood magic by drawing from the veins of someone who cares a lot about that kind of thing, and it's a natural counter. He glanced at Harry. Come on.

            What was that about whose blood was important, again? Harry asked smugly.

            Draco ignored him, and turned towards the fire. After a moment of hovering behind him, and half-expecting an answer even though he knew he wouldn't get one, Harry followed.

            A few sentries passed them on their rounds, people in black Death Eater robes and white Death Eater masks. Harry blinked at that. He had thought they would at least attempt to disguise what they were doing, but if someone stumbled across the camp, even someone who wasn't him or Draco, they would recognize the symbols in a minute and help raise the alarm.

            Maybe that's what this bloke wants, though. Maybe he wants everyone to follow him, and fear him, just the way they would if he was Voldemort.

            And then Harry frowned as he realized that he was acting as if this man definitely wasn't Lucius Malfoy, just someone who had adopted his face to play a part. He would support Draco in the things he believed, but they weren't always going to be true, and he had to be ready in case it turned out that, this time, it really wasn't.

            This is confusing, he thought, and didn't realize that he'd directed the thought to Draco until Draco stiffened in front of him and glanced once over his shoulder.

            I don't care, Draco said. This isn't about you.

            That much, Harry could admit. He nodded back, and watched for tripwires and more mundane traps as they walked through the wards, which bent above them and then sprang back. No one could see them, no one could hear them, but Harry had to assume they would be at least a little suspicious if Harry or Draco tripped something and no one was there when they came to look.

            The big fire was the center of the camp, as Harry saw a moment later, but smaller ones blazed in front of tents that looked a lot like the one he and Ron and Hermione had used last year. Some of them had flaps drawn back, and Harry caught glimpses of shadowy rooms that probably meant they were using wizardspace inside. A lot of the Death Eaters in the camp had weapons in their hands, or bones, or musical instruments of silver and steel they were polishing. Harry frowned and glanced at Draco, wondering what he knew about that, but Draco was turning his head slowly, scanning the camp in front of them for his father.

            Or the man who looks like his father, Harry reminded himself. He had to keep both possibilities in mind.

            He looked for werewolves, because he didn't think Draco's spell or Snape's potion would shield them against scent, but saw none. Perhaps they only transformed on specific evenings, or they were all out hunting right now.

            Draco led them on a delicate, wandering path through the middle of the camp, one that let them avoid the people--a lot of them didn't move around much, anyway, just sat there as if waiting for something--but gave them a good view inside the tents and past the fires. At one point, Harry saw Parkinson, standing with her head bowed, her arms extended tensely in front of her. She held what looked like a silver harp, only the harp had a sharp upper edge and was slicing into her palms. Harry nudged Draco and pointed. Do you know what she's doing?

            Draco was staring straight ahead of him. Harry turned and looked. And there was Lucius Malfoy, or the tall man who looked like him, walking between some of the fires, nodding to the people who stared at him. Not all of them bowed or nodded back, Harry noted. Maybe some of them aren't sure about following him?

            Or the person he appears to be, Draco snapped back. His fingers were curled around the book again, and he was flicking through pages without looking at them. That's not my father. My father doesn't walk like that.

            You would be the one who would know best, Harry answered, since he hadn't really seen Lucius many times in circumstances that would let him know how he walked. If it was a glamour, though, it was a good one. The face and the hair and the way he wore the clothes seemed exactly the same.

            Since when did you notice how the Malfoy men wear their clothes?

            Luckily for Harry's burning face, that seemed like a private, inward-directed thought, not one that Draco could hear. Draco didn't turn around or make fun of him or say anything, which he would have to if he heard it, right? He had found the page he wanted in the book, and he only moved to the side as the false Lucius passed so he wouldn't bump into them. He was whispering the words of the spell, feverishly from the way his lips moved, and Harry held his shoulders and tried to remember how long it had been since they used the blood spell that would let them pass the wards.

            The false Lucius turned back towards them for a moment, and laughed at something Parkinson said. Harry couldn't really hear what it was. The crackle of the fire and the sound of his own heartbeat were acting to dim it.

            The spell seemed to be coming to the end. Draco was trembling and lunging against Harry's hands now, and Harry kept having to readjust his grip, digging his fingers deep to feel real skin past the slippery cloth. Then Draco looked up and extended his wand towards his father, under the wheel, past the edge of the lace that it set up to protect them.

            The false Lucius turned around as the spell hit him. His face seemed to tremble and shimmer, and for a moment Harry was reminded of watching water run down the Dursleys' car one summer when he'd had to clean it. He felt his hopes surge. The spell was working! Now they only had to get out of here, and if he could use enough magic to break the anti-Apparition wards, it ought to be--

            Then the magic faded, and the ripples died away, leaving Harry blinking in the heat shimmers from the fire and nothing else.

            And Lucius's face was still on his head.

            No! Draco screamed, loudly enough that Harry felt his head pound with the force of the shout. Then he sagged to his knees, and at the same moment, his grip on the book faltered and the little spinning wheel fell to the ground in front of them and stopped.

            And they were standing visible in the middle of a camp full of Death Eaters.

            Lucius took a step towards them, pointing at them. Other people seized the weapons they'd been polishing and started running in their direction, yelling. Harry heard snarls and saw werewolves emerge from the woods, dropping the rabbits and birds it looked like they'd been hunting for the rush.

            And Draco just sat there, his head in his hands and the Black artifacts lying on the ground in front of him.

            Oh, well, Harry thought, and held up his wand, ready to cast the first spell that he had decided on before they ever came here. Not like you didn't know it might go wrong.

*

            unneeded: Oh, don't mistake me, Draco would have gone alone if Harry hadn't wanted to come with him. But he is glad Harry did.

            ChaosLady: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

            SP777: Thank you! I think in this story, it does help that I'm only trying to do one character's POV.

            Fullmoons_wings: Thanks! Don't know if I can say that this chapter was as fun, but it was at least fun to write.
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Parsimony