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Darkness Within The Light	By : crimson96 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8759 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 35
- 36
- 37
"Get to work!" Shacklebolt barked, clapping his hands to get the attention of the stunned aurors, who had just begun to lower their wands. "I want the building cleared, and I want Phillipe Moreaux found and arrested. This is top priority!"

The aurors all gave their assent, and several apparated away while the remainder set to work rounding up the onlookers that remained. Shacklebolt himself started across the Atrium, pausing here and there to give orders to an auror or speak with one of the confused spectators. In addition to the people who had never left the atrium, the members of the Wizengamot were just now making their way to the scene, along with Narcissa, Andromeda, and Teddy. Seeing them, Harry stood on his toes and waved, motioning for them to come over. Draco remained frozen in place, staring at the spot where Lucius had fallen.

Wearing a triumphant grin, Rita Skeeter pushed her way past the two women and strode toward Harry and Draco. As she approached, a short, balding man in drab brown robes stepped out from behind the fountain, looked around to verify that the aurors were all busy shoeing other people away, and began to walk toward Harry and Draco as well. Like Skeeter, he carried a quill in one hand and a small notepad in the other.

"Harry," Rita panted, winded from the quick pace of her walk, "why would the savior of the wizarding world risk his own newly-restored reputation in order to save a known Death Eater? Would your appearance in the courtroom today have anything to do with the time you and Draco spent together in London?"

"Whatever you say, she'll twist it to mean what she wants it to mean," Draco muttered. "Don't answer her, Potter."

"Ri-ight," Rita licked her lips, tilted her head, and turned to scrutinize Draco. "So Harry Potter takes direction from you now, then?"

"No!" Draco spat.

"I see." She scribbled something on her parchment and nodded to herself. "So how long have the two of you been, shall we say, close friends?"

Standing just behind Rita, the bald man chuckled. "Really, Skeeter? That's the story you're working?" He had a strange, nasal accent that Harry guessed was American, although he sounded nothing like Janus.

"Readers will be dying to know, Stan. Who doesn't prefer a bit of human interest over another expose on the price fixing of flesh-eating slug repellant?"

Ignoring her, the man addressed Harry. "Stan Sharpe, Daily Prophet. Mr. Potter, what's your reaction on hearing that Voldemort has returned?"

"What-" Rita began stammering. She turned in a slow circle, seeming to note the destruction around her for the first time.

"You can read all about it on the front page tomorrow," Stan promised her, "right under my byline. Now, back to the question, Mr. Potter-"

"It's not Voldemort," Harry cut the man off. "I'm sorry if it spoils your front page story, but this is all some..." He flapped his hands, searching for a word. "Some prank!"

"Lucius Malfoy murdered the day of his trial, you call that a prank?" Stan tapped his pad with the end of his quill.

"It wasn't Voldemort!" Harry snapped. "If it were, I would know, I would feel it."

"Because of your..." Stan traced an imaginary lightning bolt on his own forehead.

"Because of my connection with him, yes. I. Would. Know." Harry looked Stan in the eyes as he spoke, emphasizing each word.

"And is it your connection with dark magic that drew you to Draco Malfoy?" Rita piped in, smiling.

"You're unbelievable," Stan muttered to Rita before jogging away to catch up with Shacklebolt.

"My son has nothing to say to you," Narcissa said sternly, moving to stand between Rita and Harry. "Neither does Harry."

Undaunted, Rita turned her smile on Narcissa. "Then perhaps you would like to share your thoughts on your son's choice of-"

"Enough!" Andromeda barked. Holding Teddy against her body with her right arm, she draped her left protectively across her sister's shoulders. "My sister and nephew have just lost someone close to them. Even a vulture like you can understand that."

Before Rita could reply, a harried-looking auror took note of the small group. Gesturing with his wand, he said, "Move along, move along, by the order of the Minister of Magic!"

Skeeter's eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly as she eyed the auror as if sizing him up. Her eyes lingered on his wand, then his face. Apparently not liking what she saw there, she pivoted and sauntered off in the direction of the nearest exit. Someone across the room caught the auror's attention, and he left as well.

Narcissa stepped away from Andromeda and turned to face Draco. With one hand on his shoulder, she used the other to lift his chin so that he had to look at her instead of the spot on the floor he seemed to find so captivating. "It's finished now."

"It won't be finished till we track down Moreaux and whoever it was who set him on Father!" Draco pounded his thigh with his fist for emphasis.

"Weren't you going to kill Lucius yourself?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I had the right to, after everything he did to me, to Mother! I had the right!" Draco spun away from his mother and moved to stand in the spot where Lucius' body had lain. "For someone else to..." Draco's words trailed off into a growl. "I don't expect you to understand. It's a matter of honor."

"You're wrong. I do understand. Moreaux has to be stopped, but you can't beat him by flying off in a rage. If all of us work together-"

"Because that worked so well before?" Draco laughed humorlessly.

"We won't make the same mistakes," Harry promised. He stepped toward Draco as he had during the trial and caught him by the shoulders. Draco tensed but did not pull away. Encouraged, Harry let his hands slide downward. Taking both of Draco's hands in his, he brought them to his chest. "Give me time to think and plan and get everyone working together."

"Fine." Draco jerked his right hand free, keeping his left hand joined with Harry's right. "Let's go home. I'm tired of this place."

Andromeda nodded agreement. "Yes, I've seen enough of the Ministry for today, and Teddy will be glad to be back in his room."

Draco shook his head. "I didn't mean your house. I meant home."

Narcissa's eyes went wide. "But, Draco, the mess!"

"That's what house elves are for, but they need someone to give them orders. I'm not hiding anymore, and I'm not taking charity. We're going back to claim what's ours." Draco used his free hand to seize one of Narcissa's wrists.

"Yes, yes, of course," Narcissa murmured, looking unconvinced. "Harry, you're coming, too, yes?"

"Not now." Reluctantly, Harry pulled his hand free and took a step back. Breaking away from Draco was almost physically painful, but the mention of house elves had reminded Harry of something he needed to do. "I never had a chance to bury Kreacher."

"You're as bad as Granger!" Draco rolled his eyes, and his lip twitched with irritation. "Go bury the bloody elf, then. You know-" he locked eyes with Harry for a moment before looking down at the gleaming stone floor. His face turned a deep crimson. "- you know where to find me when you're done."

Powerful fingers released the silver strands of hair causing the lifeless body to fall onto the dirty kitchen floor. "Couldn't have you slipping away to who knows where and ruining things." Moreaux closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, savoring the job that he had just completed. "Perfection such as that requires a drink, don't you agree?"

Phillipe reached toward the littered countertop for the one unbroken bottles of liquor that stood amongst the shattered remnants. "They say this stuff will kill ya, but I say it's all bollocks," Phillipe smirked, as a low chuckle escaped his throat after swallowing the alcohol. "Not bad, for a Muggle-made brew. Like some?" He asked, holding the bottle above the dead body. "Not like it will hurt you anyway. Drink up."

He tilted the bottle forward, spilling a small sample of the liquid. His gaze drifted from the dark droplets of alcohol that soaked the silver-colored hair over to the open refrigerator door, and to the severed animal's head that stared back at him. Spinning around, he scanned the table in the kitchen, searching for one particular item. Moreaux pursed his lips and took another drink from the bottle. "It appears we have a guest in our home. What do you say; shall we go and find out exactly where he is?"

The corpse, of course, made no reply. Dead men were dreadfully boring that way, nothing more than broken toys, really. Phillipe promised himself that he would make his next plaything last longer. After all, this one was special.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inhaling through both his mouth and nose, tasting the air on his tongue. The symphony of death and decay had a new note- the distinctive stench of something alive. He could have followed that scent to its source, but then the anticipation would be over too soon. He forced himself to move in a methodical sweep, opening and closing each door he encountered, imagining his guest trembling with each loud bang.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped, his nose wrinkling with a new discovery. Something was missing. He flung open the washroom door and growled at the gleaming, white porcelain and the sterile tub. The air reeked of emptiness, a blank canvas where there was once a work of art. Suddenly tired of this phase of the game, he strode toward the bedroom.

Quickly, Phillipe reached for his wand with his right hand as the bottle of liquor remained clutched in his left. He placed the edge of his boot against the bottom edge of the door and pushed with all of his strength. The door crashed into the wall causing the top hinge to snap.

Leaning on the doorjamb, Phillipe took another drink from the bottle as he surveyed the room. The bitter liquid dulled his rage, and when his eyes came to rest on the room's occupant, he had regained most of this enthusiasm. In truth, the man was something of a disappointment, average in height and in build. He wore Muggle clothing under a long duster, and the brim of a canvas hat flopped down over his eyes. In his hands, he cradled the wallet.

"Here you are. All nice and comfortable, I see," Phillipe commented as he entered the room.

The man on the bed made some tiny, pitiful sound in his throat. It was probably meant to be a string of words, but his cursed lips refused to move and so it came out as a moan like that of a wounded animal.

"And you found your gift!" Phillipe pocketed his wand, set the bottle down on the floor, and took the wallet in his own hands, thumbing the large, clumsy stitches that held it together. "Lucius told me to expect you, and so I prepared this little surprise." He opened the wallet and withdrew a still photograph, which he held next to the man's face. The photo showed a man, a woman, and a small boy in a stiff, unnatural pose. To improve his view, Phillipe flicked the floppy hat with his index finger, knocking it back and exposing the man's face. The boy in the photograph had soft cheeks and a round, little mouth. The man, on the other hand, had sharp, fox-like features. Only the hazel eyes were the same.

"Jamie? Jam-ieeeee!" Phillipe called in a high-pitched tone. "Jamie, run!" He turned the picture and held it up in front of the man's eyes. Pointing to the woman in the picture, he said, "Maybe you should have listened to her."

The man grunted as loudly as the curse would allow. Tiny spasms wracked his face, making his nose twitch like a rabbit's.

After letting the wallet fall to the floor, Phillipe reached for a toppled chair, which he placed next to the bed. Sitting down in the chair placed him almost knee to knee with his visitor. Gently, he placed his index finger on the man's lips. "Shhh. Don't waste your breath trying to speak. That's a body-bind curse, with a touch of something special that I added in, just for you, James. Or, is it Janus now? Did you think a name would be enough to hide you from me? I can smell my own kind, especially one of my progeny."

Janus howled through clenched teeth, and the muscles of his neck bulged as if he were trying to shake his head in denial.

Phillipe leaned the chair back on two legs and watched as Janus struggled against the powerful curse. "Save your strength, or at least what strength you have left. The more you struggle against it, the more weakened you become until all of your muscles collapse, including your heart. The longest that anyone has survived in this curse is eight hours. After that," he grinned showing his rotted teeth, "all bets are off, mate."

Tilting his head to one side, Phillipe studied Janus, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tic in his left cheek. He leaned forward and placed his ear next to Janus' chest, listening to the shallow, raspy breaths. The man's heartbeat was beginning to weaken, and its rhythm was no longer perfect. "Been here a while, haven't you? But, you're fighting it. That's good! It wouldn't do to have you break before I even have a chance to play with you."

Phillipe growled in frustration as he stood up from the chair and began to rummage through the house, leaving his victim alone in the bedroom. He had planned to leave the curse in place as he took his time with Janus, but that would be too risky now. In his current state, the man might expire at the first sign of real pain, leaving Phillipe with yet another boring corpse and no way to amuse himself. He would have to release the spell, and that meant finding another way to hold Janus in place.

In one of the kitchen drawers, he found what he needed. Holding the roll of silver tape up like a prize, he took the stairs two at a time and returned to the bedroom. The spell had made Janus' limbs stiff, like those of a poorly made doll, and taping the man's wrists together proved a challenge. Once Janus' hands were bound securely behind his back, Phillipe moved on to the ankles and knees. Unlike rope, the shiny tape left no knots for the victim to pry. For a Muggle invention, it seemed almost magical. Pleased with his own handiwork, Phillipe murmured the incantation to release the spell.

"You can scream, but no one will hear you," Phillipe said, sitting back down in the chair and picking up Janus' wand and the wallet from the floor.

"I'm…not…going t-to scream," Janus replied, pulling in deep, loud breaths.

Phillipe pocketed the wallet and the wand and reached for the bottle he had left on the floor. He took a long drink, before resting the bottle on his leg. "It's funny," Phillipe started, wiping away the last drops of the liquor from his lips with the back of his dirty hand. "Outside these walls, there is life happening all around us. There are couples kissing one another good-bye for the day. Little children are off with their friends, playing in the fields, all of them oblivious to the fact that death is always tugging at their sleeves." Phillipe stopped speaking as he looked into Janus' eyes, seeing the same spark of fury he had noted the night they first met. "This is exactly the situation that you find yourself in at this moment. Death is tugging at your sleeve. Isn't that right, little Jamie?"

Moreaux scratched the side of his face with the chipped edge of his brown-stained fingernail. "Interesting, is it not?" Phillipe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I was always curious what happened to you," he growled as his eyelids slowly opened. "Thought that maybe you might've gone to work for the Ministry, or perhaps even You-Know-Who?"

"The Ministry? No, I never cared much for how they ran things," Janus flatly replied. "As for Voldemort, I'm smart enough not to join a losing cause, unlike you."

A loud crash echoed in the room as Moreaux swung the near-empty liquor bottle against the side of Janus' head, causing him to fall over onto the mattress. Blood gushed from the fresh wound as Moreaux pounced upon the helpless man, tasted the blood, and backed away, knocking over his chair. Janus sat back up, shaking the dripping blood out of his vision. A thick, red curtain oozed over his face, dribbling over his mouth and down his chin.

Moreaux's tongue flicked out, wiping away a few drops of Janus' blood from his lips. "You tasted different then, like snips and snails and puppy dog tails." He sighed in exaggerated satisfaction. "You came here to kill me, didn't you? You want your revenge?"

"And I'll have it!" Janus shook more blood out of his eyes. "Not just for my parents, but for all the other innocents you've killed."

"Futile, but noble. Not many men would dare to seek me out. It takes a lot of guts to come after a man like myself."

"You're no man!" Janus shouted, lurching forward.

A slow smile spread across Moreaux's lips. "Right now, I am. Which is something you should be thankful for; otherwise you'd already be dead."

Janus spat blood onto the floor and on Moreaux's boots. "You should have killed me when you first had the chance!"

"Perhaps, but fate, it seems, has given me another chance. And this time I won't be merciful," Moreaux growled. "Didn't you wonder why you got in here so easily? Why I left the wallet for you to find?"

Janus closed his eyes. "Lucius…stupid…stupid," he whispered as he tilted his head back so that his eyes would face the ceiling.

"Stupid? I don't think so. Over-zealous and a bit cocky? Definitely. But then again, you do have the best of me flowing within your blood."

"Piss on you!" Janus shouted at the ceiling. He brought his head down and continued, "I'm nothing like you. You're nothing but a murderer, someone who deserves to lay with the worms and let the maggots feed off his rotting corpse!"

Moreaux stood up and kicked Janus in the sternum with the heel of his boot. The force knocked him back onto the mattress, and Phillipe rammed the point of his boot between Janus' ribs. Janus wheezed and began to cough, his arms straining at his bonds. "That is for your bloody cheek!" Janus labored to breathe as he struggled to right himself on the bed once more.

"I did you a bloody favor," Moreaux growled grabbing and squeezing Janus' jaw with his strong hand. "I made you what you are today." He released his grip and stood back.

"You took away everything that I cherished about my life, and turned it all into a living hell!" Janus screamed.

"But you are so wrong!" Moreaux shouted, raising his finger in Janus' face. "I gave you a great gift, an opportunity at a new life, because I sensed something about you that night. That's why I didn't kill you then. I longed for a companion, someone that I could pass my dark gift to and watch as he followed in my footsteps! You were that one." Phillipe bent and brushed a blood-soaked lock of hair from Janus' face, reeling from the sense of loss that came from contemplating what might have been. "We would have shared the joy of the change and the sweetness of the kill together if Dumbledore hadn't gotten to you before I could. Once you were inside Hogwarts, I knew there would be no chance. He ruined you, made you useless to me!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Moreaux. If you'd come for me, I would have killed you. You're insane!"

"The difference between insanity and genius is measured by success."

"Yeah, so successful that you got yourself captured and locked away in Nurmengard," Janus chuckled. A forceful blow to his face knocked him back as Phillipe recoiled and struck again with his fist, connecting first with his jaw and then with his torso. Both blows sent deep jolts of pain through his fist and forearm, and both made the loud, satisfying crunch of fracturing bone.

"And tell me, just how insane have you gone?" Phillipe asked, sitting back down and flexing his fingers. "Every man is a finger's breadth from being mad. Tell me that you haven't felt the true calling of the beast that roars inside you?"

"Go to hell!" Janus mumbled. Phillipe reached into his pocket, bringing out his wand and pointed it at Janus. "Go ahead! Kill me and get it over with," Janus whispered as more blood splattered from his lips. "Kill me like the coward you are."

"The art of life is having fun within the chase. And you, my friend, are going to be my bloody masterpiece!" He tossed the wand on the floor and began fishing in his pocket for something small, cold, and smooth. "Wands, they are for peasants; wizards that don't know the thrill of the kill. It's like a Muggle gun. The machine does all of the work, while you stand back and watch. I suppose that's why I've never completely understood all of these elaborate tortures by a wand. It is the simplest thing to cause more pain than a man can possibly endure. And of course, it is not only the immediate agony, but the knowledge that if you do not yield soon enough, there will be little left to identify you as a man."

"Keep on with your-" Janus began.

Phillipe struck, interrupting the man's empty words. The hidden dagger penetrated Janus' shirt and skin, leaving a trail of destruction across the man's chest and down below his abdomen. Blood instantly began to ooze from the narrow wound. With his free hand, Phillipe ripped open the remainder of the shirt, displaying Janus' bare torso like a canvas graced with the first stroke of the artist's brush.

"That is a small sample," Moreaux barked as the dagger slid out of sight. He set the chair next to the bed, settling himself into it.

Janus shrugged, his shoulders straining against the tape binding his hands behind his back. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you're too scared to fight me like a man?"

The dagger was back in Phillipe's palm before Janus could breathe another word. Moreaux growled as blood flowed over his fingers when the knife penetrated Janus' chest. "An inch deeper and it would have been your heart."

Cautiously, Harry eased open the door to Grimmauld Place. The air inside had the familiar smell of dust and old things mixed with the nauseating odor of rotting flesh. Behind him, Ron groaned, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Hermione raise her arm so that the sleeve of her robe covered her nose. He had stopped at the Burrow to reassure his friends that he had survived the attack in the atrium, and upon hearing that he planned to bury Kreacher, Hermione had insisted that she and Ron come along.

The house was silent, without even the hum of electric appliances that had pervaded Janus' house. Harry felt his shoulders relax slightly. A part of him had worried that someone would be here waiting for him, as Lucius had waited before. Once inside, he walked quickly to the library, steeling himself against the smell, which grew more pungent with every step.

Books lay scattered across the library floor, some of them soaked in spilled firewhiskey from the bottle Lucius had stolen. Kreacher slumped against the wall, his eyes sunken back into his head, a snarl fixed on his face, which had bloated with decomposition. Still holding her sleeve over the lower half of her face, Hermione waved her wand and made the books leap from the floor and back onto the shelf.

She looked from Kreacher to Harry. "Do you have something to wrap him in?"

Harry nodded and summoned a moth-eaten blanket, which he draped over the small body. He felt a wave of relief; not having to look at Kreacher's remains made this easier. An inner voice reminded him that this wasn't supposed to be easy. Ignoring the smell, he bent to pick up the body, wrapping it in the blanket as he did so. The house elf was light, but the corpse had stiffened in its strange position, and lifting it was awkward, like moving a chair.

"Did- did you have someplace in mind?" Hermione asked. "You know, to bury him?"

Harry nodded. "In the woods, near Janus' house." He struggled to shift Kreacher's weight so that he could balance it with one hand while retrieving his wand with the other.

"Here. Let me." Ron gently took the bundle from Harry's arms, freeing Harry to apparate.

A moment later, the three of them stood among familiar trees on the narrow road where Draco had taken his first car ride. Harry started down the road, taking long steps that made Ron pant as he kept up, still carrying the body. Soon, the house came into sight, and Harry lengthened his strides. The Mini Cooper was gone from the driveway, much to Harry's disappointment. Even so, he decided to knock on the door on the off chance that someone was in the house. He hadn't seen Janus since that night at the Burrow, when Janus had left with a rubber duck in his pocket and cryptic words on lips.

Before he reached the door, he heard a yelp of surprise from Hermione and sounds of distress from Ron. He turned to see his friends looking as if they were stuck behind a glass wall. Hermione rubbed her nose with her left hand while raising her right palm to touch the invisible surface as Ron probed the shield with his foot.

"Sorry," Harry told them. "I forgot about the wards. Just hang on. Janus can let you in." He jogged the remaining distance to the house, bounded up the steps and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he knocked, waited a moment, and knocked again.

"Looks like we're on our own," Ron called, still holding the body in his arms and still trapped behind Janus' protective spell.

Harry returned to the spot where Ron and Hermione stood. After a wistful glance back at the house, he led his friends through the trees until they found a clearing with soft, mossy soil. The sun blazed over head, warming the earth and enhancing the smell of rich soil and greenery. "It's a good spot," he said.

Hermione conjured three shovels and then handed one to Ron and one to Harry. With the three of them working steadily, it took no more than half an hour to make a hole big enough for the house elf. Harry eased the small body into the hole and then leaned on his shovel, resting.

Ron clapped Harry on the back. "He was a good, er, he was-"

"He saved my life," Harry said simply.

Hermione nodded approval and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "He did the best he could, given his circumstances. If he had had time, he could have been your friend."

Harry exchanged a silent glance with Ron and both shook their heads slightly. It was too hard to imagine Kreacher being any wizard's friend.

Wand pointed at the newly-shoveled earth, Hermione spoke a short incantation. Tiny threads of green popped up from the loose earth, growing into leafy chutes that soon sprouted buds. The buds opened to reveal velvety purple petals, and soon Kreacher's grave was carpeted in a thick mat of violets.

Janus tilted his head back, and inhaled through flared nostrils. Fresh blood flowed from the new wound, and Janus' lips compressed into a tight line. "I know all about you, Moreaux," Janus started, tilting his head back down, and forcing his eyes to meet Phillipe's. "And so does the Ministry, along with the WTF. Even if you kill me, you can't possibly defeat everyone that will be sent after you. Eventually, they will hunt you down."

"I think the Ministry, as well as your precious WTF, have bigger problems to worry about right now," Moreaux smirked. "However, you still fail to see everything."

"I've seen enough from you to know-" Janus began, but cringed in pain as Phillipe's blade sliced upward from his abdomen to his shoulder.

"Silence!" Moreaux shouted as he pounded the butt of the dagger against Janus' forehead, causing more blood to trickle back into the duster. Unable to resist another taste, Phillipe ran his thumb along the shallow cut and then brought it to his lips. "I taste myself in you. My gift runs deep in your veins."

"You gave me nothing! You stole my humanity." Janus' mouth twitched, and his neck muscles bulged as he jerked his head up and spat in Phillipe's face.

Moreaux growled, reaching for his wand. "Crucio!"

The curse seared through Janus body, making it stiffen and convulse, arms and legs straining against their bonds. The glow of the spell illuminated the room more brightly than the sun shining through a full-frame window on a cloudless day.

Phillipe continued to growl and grind his teeth as he held Janus with the curse. He watched the man's face go red, then white as pretty little beads of sweat bejeweled his brow. Finally, he released the curse and let Janus' limp torso fall onto the mattress.

"Enough of this." Phillipe waved a hand as if brushing away an insect. "We have better things to do." He got down on his hands and knees and reached under the bed, searching for the tools he had left there. For a second, he feared Janus had disturbed them, but a moment later, his hand found the soft terry cloth of the towel, and he slid it out into full view.

He scooped the towel and its contents into his hands and stood up, looming over his prisoner. "Until this morning, you know, I had no idea what I was going to do with you. I even entertained the idea of giving you a quick death, but then I saw what you did to my masterpiece in the upstairs bathroom!"

"I gave that poor woman some dignity!" Janus rasped as more blood flowed from his wounds.

"Well, it came with a price!" Phillipe snapped. "Now you're going to be my next masterpiece." He unfolded the towel, revealing a series of five silver, claw-shaped hooks. Each of them had a handle made out of bone, with two of the instruments having a triple hook, like an eagle's talon. Each hook was in fact a curved blade, sharp enough to make insertion easy and serrated in order to make extraction exquisitely difficult-for the subject.

"What in God's name?" Janus gasped.

"God? He can't help you now," Phillipe growled. "This small beauty is my creation. I had it made by a craftsman who has a special talent. And now you will have the honor of being its first victim." His finger slowed along each serrated edge and lightly dabbed at each razor-sharp point. "Long ago, there were ancient cultures that tested the honor and strength of their warriors. They would insert devices similar to what you see here into their warriors' bodies, probing certain energy areas, such as the heart, the brain, and even the genitals, for life source and strength."

"Now, this will only hurt for a bit," Phillipe softly spoke as he extracted the shortest probe, and slowly inserted the tip of the curved barb into Janus' naval. Deep, red blood began to flow from the wound as the teeth of the device sliced through skin while Phillipe lightly pulled upward. Seconds later, he gradually extracted the hooked blade, and stood up over Janus' prone body.

"Is that all you got?" Janus panted, his chest heaving as he recovered from the pain. His arms and legs continued to thrash against the bonds so that he reminded Phillipe of a fish flopping on dry land. "You're pathetic! What's the matter with you, anyway? Not enough hugs from Daddy? Or did he love you a little too much? Huh?"

"Wrong on both," Phillipe said dryly. Reaching for the next probe, this one several inches longer than the first, Phillipe positioned the point above Janus' collarbone. Bored with quick stabs and slashes, he casually pressed, watching the tip of the blade edge deeper into the flesh with sweet, maddening slowness. "The truth is, I always knew that there was something different about me. I had a twin brother. Fraternal, unfortunately, and dreadfully common. He couldn't do the things I could, but Father liked him best. They would call me an aberration, a monster, and say that I didn't deserve to live because I could do things that normal people could not."

The tip of the hook had found its way under Janus' collarbone, where it struck a sensory nerve, and then grated against a rib.

"Cry me a river, you bastard! Is that your big sob story?" Janus' eyes rolled into the back of his head. The sweat that poured in a steady stream from his brow belied his bravado. His body shuddered, trying to get away from the hooked-knife, but instead helping it to slide past the rib and deeper into his chest.

"When I was eight," Phillipe continued, "my brother was diagnosed with cancer. He died several months later from it, and my mother slit her wrists shortly afterwards. Of course, my father said that I had destroyed both of them with a magical spell, and he banished me to my room, with only my books for company. For seven years after that I endured his abuse, until one night I slipped into his bedroom and sliced his throat with a knife, just like this one."

With his left hand still holding the hooked dagger in Janus' chest, Phillipe took his hidden knife in his right hand, held it close to his own throat, and traced it lightly across his skin from ear to ear. "I stood there, watching death come and take my father away. I enjoyed seeing his eyes frantic and pleading for help while he choked and gasped his last breath."

"You're sick!" Janus spat.

Phillipe sighed, and shrugged his shoulders, then began to twist the knife so that its teeth scraped against Janus' rib. A sense of nostalgia had overtaken him, and he continued his story. "I left my parents house and wandered from village to village killing small animals and stealing food when I could. I became adapted to sleeping in the woods, and I began to enjoy myself. However, it was then, at my zenith, that fate showed me what it had in store.

"It was late in the summer, and the full moon allowed me to see the farmer's sheep. I was hungry, you see. A young man can only last so long on rabbits, squirrels, and wild berries. From behind, I heard a low growl and turned to see two yellow eyes staring at me from the brush. I raised my knife but the animal leapt onto me, biting for my throat like a mad dog. Stabbing and trying to scream, I fought until I heard a gunshot. The farmer, mistaking me for one of his sheep, had fired from his window. The bullet grazed the animal, and it ran back into the woods."

"Too bad it didn't hit you," Janus murmured. His face was ashen now, his voice a barely audible rasp.

"Too bad for you," Phillie agreed. Holding the dagger still, he continued, "Wounded, but still with enough fight to find the creature that had attacked me, I followed the blood trail with every intention of killing the animal that had just bitten me. I walked for what seemed like miles through the forest before I finally came to it."

A slow smile spread across Phillipe's face. "To my surprise it was not a wolf or a large, vicious dog that stood before me, but a man. He had tended to his wound and had tied a make-shift bandage around it to stop the flow of blood. I fell to the ground, my own wound having sapped my strength. Strong hands lifted me up, and two dark eyes gazed into mine. He spoke, and explained to me about what would soon begin to happen to me. The man became my maker, my master, and my true father. His name was Fenrir Greyback. He was the one who gave me my dark gift, just like I gave you."

Phillipe pulled the device out and longingly gazed at the blood that dripped from the gleaming silver down onto his fingers. Reaching across Janus' torso, he gave the instrument a short, playful thrust, just below the ribcage. He then began to twirl the bone handle between his thumb and index finger as a bored clerk might do with a pen. The tip bored into in Janus' tissue like an auger, slowly, ever so slowly. A crimson and black mixture seeped through the wound as Phillipe paused to observe. He tisked, calmly shaking his head side to side and wagging his index finger in front of Janus' eyes. "That's not the best of signs.

"All of this brings me to the night that has bonded us together. I was ravenous with the animal inside me, close to the change. The moon would be full the next night. I could smell you and your family. It drove me crazy, so that I attacked and killed your parents without mercy, not even savoring what I had done. Then I saw you, and my natural killing machine took over, except for when I tasted your blood, I knew that you were different. So I left you with a small chance of surviving, and a small share of my gift. Not the true gift, of course, since the change hadn't come to me that night, but a part of it- your strength, your heightened senses, your ability to endure pain." He tapped on the end of the dagger, sending vibrations down the blade. "And when the full moon comes, you become something more, yes?"

"The gift that you gave me will be your undoing, Moreaux!" Janus groaned through gritted teeth.

"I think not." With a final twist of the knife, Phillipe snapped his wrist forward, causing the curved point to pierce Janus' lung, eliciting a wet, rattling gasp.

"Ah yes, you are beginning to feel it now," Phillipe whispered as he pulled the probe out, dropping it onto the floor. "Your strength is remarkable, so let's skip these others and go for the last one." He reached behind him, found the talon-shaped dagger and brought it forward, holding it in front of Janus' eyes. "This special device is used for the heart, solely. Look closely, James, as this will be the instrument of your death. When you next see this curved hook, you will be able to feel your heart stop.

The conjured shovels disappeared, leaving Harry rubbing his blistered, empty hands. Ron had been leaning on his shovel, and he stumbled, windmilling his arms until he regained his balance.

Hermione stepped around the grave and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You know, you don't have to go back to Grimmauld Place. In fact, it's better if you don't. With Kreacher gone, you'd be completely alone, and if Phillipe Moreaux finds you..."

"Then I'll be ready for him." Harry glanced over his shoulder at Janus' house. "You saw for yourself how well Janus' wards work. I'm going to get him to help me protect Grimmauld Place the same way. We need a headquarters if we're going to beat Moreaux, someplace to meet and plan."

"I still say you're better off staying with us than being alone." Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

"I won't be spending much time alone," Harry mumbled, warmth spreading through his cheeks as he remembered his last few moments with Draco. "I was invited to Malfoy Manor."

A broad grin spread across Hermione's face, and she leaned forward to give Harry a brief squeeze. "He came to his senses- I knew it!"

"Great. I'm happy for you." Ron looked as if he were about to vomit a slug.

"Thanks." After a final glance at Kreacher's resting place, Harry turned back towards the house and motioned for his friends to follow him. "I'm going to check one more time to see if Janus is home."

Janus knew that his life depended upon timing. The bastard's monologue had bought him enough time to scratch through the tape with his fingernails, freeing his wrists. His hands readied as Moreaux closed in with the hellish instrument, anger seething from his doll-black eyes.

The points of the curved hooks began to penetrate his flesh, flooding his body with pain. Thousands of images flashed into his mind as the barbs dug deeper into his skin. Memories of his childhood, the faces of his mother and father, smells and sounds from his first visit to the ocean, the soothing touch of his mother's hands as she bathed him, the agony of staring at the stars and wondering if he was going to die and go to them, the beautiful faces of his past loves, the voice of Remus, and Harry. If he died now, he would break his promise to protect Harry.

He screamed as he had never screamed before. His free hands flew to Moreaux's wrist, forcing the killing hooks away from his heart and out of his body. Then he twisted fiercely, snapping the bone and breaking it. He could see the butt of his wand protruding from Moreaux's robe pocket.

Janus lunged, missing the wand, and crashed to the floor on his stomach. He began to rise up, but a large, blunt force struck his shoulder from behind. The actions repeated until Janus could not muster the strength to pull himself up to his knees, let alone his feet.

He felt the floor shake with Phillipe's footsteps as the man planted his boot firmly on Janus' shoulder, digging the heel and then the toe into his back, and then forcefully kicking Janus in his ribs and stomach, driving the air from his lungs, and further damaging Janus' wounds.

Gasping, coughing, and spitting up large wads of blood from his mouth, Janus hurled himself to the side, willed himself up to his knees and gazed ahead at the snarling figure that stood before him. A small smirk toyed with Janus' lips as a single thought ran through his brain.

Pain. The bastard can feel pain.

His knee brushed against something as he glanced down at one of the medieval probes that stained the floor with his blood. His fingers curled around the handle. Moreaux walked closer, clutching his broken wrist.

"For that, you will pay!" Phillipe lunged forward and swept Janus' knees from under him with a kick. Still bound at the knees and ankles, Janus fell forward onto his belly, his face nearly touching Moreaux's boot.

Janus craned his neck up and watched as Phillipe's good hand pulled the dagger from inside his robe, once more revealing the two wands that were hidden. "Now, kiss my boot!" Moreaux shouted. Janus felt the tip of the boot touch his nose as the dagger touched the back of his neck. Phillipe took a step back. "Crawl to me like the worm that you are and kiss it!"

Slowly, Janus inched forward, his hand bringing the razor-sharp probe up as his lips neared the toe of the blacked boot. He paused, his lips millimeters from touching the leather.

"Kiss it!" Moreaux shouted.

Janus' gaze drifted to his right hand as it began to swing upward with dazzling speed and strength.

Just hope this is enough.

Seconds later, he heard the loud, piercing thud and a scream from Moreaux. Simultaneously, he felt the pointed edge of Moreaux's dagger leave the back of his neck, as the man flailed backwards. Phillipe dropped the dagger, and his uninjured hand reached to pull the clawed hook out of his heart. This was the moment that Janus had needed. Reaching for the dagger that Phillipe had dropped, Janus ripped the tape away from his knees and ankles. Standing to his full height, Janus witnessed Moreaux clutching at his chest where the torturing device had dug deep into the area around his heart. Janus sliced at Moreaux's robes, cutting away the hidden pocket and causing both wands to clatter to the floor.

"Accio, wand!" he shouted, as Moreaux pulled the probe from his flesh and grabbed his own wand from the floor.

Janus dove onto the bloody mattress for protection. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. His aim was inches off; the killing curse passing just to the side of Moreaux's face and then exploding into the wall behind him, causing chunks of board and plaster to fly across the room.

Janus gasped as he saw the green light begin to form at the tip of Moreaux's wand. With a fast whip of his own wand, Janus disappeared as the killing curse reached him. Spinning away, Janus felt the icy coldness from the spell. Before darkness and the spinning sensation overtook him, Janus last thought was how beautiful the green light was.

The three made their way through the trees, Harry listening for the sound of the Mini Cooper's engine but only hearing the vapid noises of the birds in the trees and his friends' heavy breathing as they kept pace with him. When they emerged from the woods, Hermione gasped and bolted forward at a dead run. Puzzled, Harry looked over his shoulder but saw nothing approaching from behind. When he looked toward the house again, he saw Hermione kneeling next to a dark, still lump on the ground. Moments later, he was kneeling beside her, watching in shock as she chanted Snape's healing spell.

When she had finished, she turned to Harry. "Is this your friend?"

Harry nodded, his mind recoiling from the sight in front of him. Janus was splayed face-down on the ground, his left arm outstretched, the hand still touching the butt of his wand, as if he had tried to cast a spell before losing consciousness. The back of his duster had a blackened patch where the fabric looked stiff and crumpled. Other parts of his clothing, as well as some of the ground around him, were soaked with blood.

"Janus?" Harry ran a hand down Janus' cheek to the side of his neck, feeling dizzy with relief when he sensed a faint pulse. He drew his wand and pointed at the unconscious wizard. "Renervate!"

Janus twitched and began to thrash ineffectually, trying to turn himself over onto his back. With one hand on Janus' shoulder and the other on his hip, Harry helped to turn him face up so that they could look each other in the eyes. When Harry saw Janus' face, he cringed. A thick layer of dried blood caked Janus' skin, and one side of his face was swollen beyond recognition. His shirt been cut open in the front. Blood matted his chest so thickly that Harry couldn't tell where all of the wounds were. Janus' breath came in short, pained gasps, and he winced with every inhalation.

A small squeaking sound came from Hermione, along with a low whistle from Ron, who stood behind her. "We have to get you to Saint Mungos, now!" Hermione told Janus, reaching for her wand.

"No!" Janus rasped. He seized Hermione's wrist in his blood-slicked right hand. "That's the first place he'll look for me. No hospitals." His hand fell to the ground, and he strained to sit up, his face contorting with effort. A series of coughs shook his body as a fine spray of blood left his mouth.

"You're still hurt," Hermione protested. "We can't just leave you here."

"Let's get him inside," Harry said, crouching beside Janus and holding his left hand. The fingers felt cold and limp. "He has healing potions in the cellar."

Hermione shook her head. "Ron and I are locked out, remember?"

"I can let you in," Janus said. He reached for his wand, which still lay on the ground, then drew back, hissing in pain. Before he could try again, Harry bent, retrieved the wand, and put it in his hand. Gritting his teeth, Janus murmured a low incantation. The invisible barrier surrounding the house shimmered for a moment, as if it were made of water, and the wand fell out of Janus' hand as his head sank back to the ground.

Hermione stood, wiped her hand on he robes, and shook her head. "Harry, he needs a proper healer, I can't-"

"You can!" Harry stood, too, and looked her in the eyes. "What could they do at Saint Mungos that you can't do here?"

Unable to answer, Hermione shrugged, pointed her wand, and said, "Locomotor Janus."

The injured man floated up from the ground, his duster trailing on the grass and leaving a bloody track as they approached the house. Once they reached the door, Harry fumbled in Janus' pockets until he found the keys to let them in. He then directed Hermione to Janus' bedroom and flipped the light switch on the way in.

"What now?" Ron asked.

"Well..." Hermione hesitated, watching Janus float in the air, bobbing slightly as she wavered. "I suppose we have a look at the injuries. Help me get him undressed." After pocketing her wand, she approached Janus and began to tug at the duster, removing one arm, then the other. The coat fell to the ground, revealing the staggering extent of the blood stains on Janus' jeans and the remains of his tee shirt.

Ron and Harry each unlaced one of Janus' tennis shoes while Hermione worked on the rest of his clothing. When they had finished, Janus hovered above a pile of blood-soaked clothing wearing only a pair of briefs.

"Tergeo." Hermione said the spell, and the blood stains vanished from Janus' body, revealing flesh mottled with new bruises and marred by several angry wounds that Hermione's earlier healing spell had closed. Some of them were already beginning to split open, oozing fresh rivulets of red over the near-white skin. Blood pooled under the skin near his navel, ballooning up until the torn flesh burst. With her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, Hermione began to probe Janus' torso with her fingers, occasionally stopping to exclaim over something. When she had finished, she said to Harry, "He's going to need Bonegrow, dittany, wound-cleaning potion... Just bring me any healing potions he has."

"I'll show you the cellar," Harry told Ron as he opened the closet door. They descended the wooden stairs into Janus' potions laboratory.

"Smells like Snape's dungeon!" Ron commented, craning his neck to take in the sight of the bookshelves, the benchtop, the cauldron, and the cabinets that hopefully held the potions Hermione had requested.

Harry flung open one of the cabinet doors to find several shelves filled with identical, unlabeled bottles. The next door revealed a more promising collection, including several vials of dittany, which Harry put in his pockets, and a large bottle of wound-cleaning potion, which he handed to Ron. Yet another door yielded more potions with promising names like "essence of feverfew" and "invigoration potion". Soon, he and Ron had filled their pockets and were carefully climbing the stairs, balancing armloads of glass bottles.

In the bedroom, Hermione had spun Janus so that he faced downward. As Harry and Ron unloaded their bottles onto the night table and desk, she ran her fingertips over an angry red mark that was just beginning to darken to a bruise. When Harry noted the shape of the mark, he set down his remaining bottles and moved closer for a better look. "Is that a boot print?"

Hermione nodded and sighed. "Yes, and I think he has more cracked ribs under it. He's hurt badly, Harry. Are you sure-"

"He said 'no hospitals'. Just turn him over and keep holding him up while I clean the wounds." After Hermione spun Janus into position, Harry poured purple liquid onto the reopened wounds on Janus' torso. Some of the cuts looked like simple knife wounds, but others were wide and messy, making Harry's mind spin grotesque fantasies of Janus being impaled with stakes or torn with some cruel spell.

"Do you really think he's going to make it?" Ron asked, watching the purple potion fizz on Janus' skin.

"Yes!" Harry said at the same time Hermione said, "I don't know."

When Harry had finished with the wounds, Hermione lowered Janus onto the bed and used a spell to wake him up once more. Jaw twitching with the effort, Janus raised his head and seemed to relax when he noted the familiar surroundings.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?" Janus raised a trembling hand and pointed vaguely.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "That's us."

"I've heard all about you," Janus rasped.

"We've heard about you, too," Hermione said impatiently, holding up the bottle of Bonegrow. "You need to drink this before the renervate spell wears off."

"Right." Janus took the bottle from her and held it to his mouth while she steadied his hands with hers. When the bottle was empty, she reached for another potion from the end table, and then another. After emptying the third bottle, Janus let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

"We'll need more of those," Hermione said, pointing to the empty bottles. "We can buy them at Mulpepper's, but one of us should stay here with him in case..."

"I'll stay," Harry volunteered. "If Moreaux is able to break through the wards, I'll make him pay for this."

"I meant in case..." Hermione's eyes swept over Janus. "I meant he shouldn't be alone, that's all. We'll come back tomorrow with more supplies. In the mean time, we can see if Molly and Arthur know anything."

"Thanks for everything," Harry said. As his friends left the house, he eased himself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jolt it. From his robe pocket, he pulled the bottle of dittany that Janus had given him days ago. He began to spread it on the red, puckered patch of flesh under Janus' left collarbone. Doing this reminded him of how Janus' fingertips had felt on his own wounds. Janus' touch had been cool and light, delivering the soothing liquid with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with Draco's treatment of Harry that same night.

When he had finished with the marks on Janus' chest and abdomen, Harry put a hand under Janus shoulder, lifting until the unconscious man rolled onto his side. The boot-print bruise had darkened to a sickly olive green, and Harry watched in fascination when the color receded from his dittany-laced fingers, as if he were erasing it from a page. Another patch of swollen, bruised flesh was just above the band of Janus' briefs. He had to pull the elastic down to expose the full injury, which made him suddenly aware of the strangeness of the situation.

I'm not a saint, Harry. I'm not going to kiss you on the cheek and tell you I could never take advantage of you. If you had stayed tonight-

He tried not to think about Janus' words to him at the Burrow, or about how it had felt to sit next to him on the couch, sharing secrets. Thinking these thoughts felt like disloyalty to Draco, and he reminded himself that if it weren't for Janus' recklessness, Harry could be with Draco now, alone, in any of the many rooms of Malfoy Manor. That thought made his mind run in other distressing directions, comparing Janus' body to Draco's. Both were beautiful, but Janus looked more mature, with broader shoulders and arms that looked especially striking from the back.

Better not to look, Harry thought, squeezing his eyes shut as he lightly ran his damp figertips over the swollen area on Janus' back. Closing his eyes turned out to be a mistake, as it made him hyper-aware of the smoothness of the skin and the almost imperceptible presence of tiny, soft hairs. He opened his eyes and focused only on the injury, reminding himself that it was ugly. Wherever his fingers touched, though, they left a trail of flawless skin.

When Harry finished spreading the salve, he turned Janus gently onto his back again and wrapped the bedspread so that it covered him. He considered leaving the room but couldn't bring himself to let Janus out of his sight, so instead, he propped pillows up on the other side of the bed for himself, took Janus' book from the night table, and settled in to read. After an indeterminate amount of time, the words on the page began to dance and blur. Letting the book fall to his chest, Harry took one of Janus' hands and brought it to his cheek, noting the returning warmth as well as the slight roughness of the callused skin. As he drifted to sleep, he felt that hand squeeze down on his and heard his own name from Janus' lips. He wondered if he was already dreaming.
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Darkness Within The Light