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Yuletide Yearning - A Curious Carol	By : Andreas Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1566 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Stave Four

SERPENT SPIRIT

The glottalic sibilants meant nothing to the creatures crouching in the darkness, petrified and poised to flee should the hooded spirit take an undue interest. The sounds meant nothing, but danger. The forest tried to make itself inconspicuous.

To Harry, hurrying after the spirit down the steep path, the sounds had lost any real meaning after the initial Come!. Parseltongue curses were not his forte, though he was pretty sure these were some particularly vile ones. And though the black shadow-figure paid him no heed, he was surely the unwilling inspiration for most, if not all, of the hissed expletives.

With nothing but moon-speckled darkness and forest scents to engage his senses, Harry focused on the possible identity of his guiding spirit. He�d suspected Voldemort at first, but didn�t think Tom Riddle would have shrunk quite so much with age. Besides, it seemed highly unlikely that he�d have been keen on playing a bit part in any Christmas Carol, let alone Harry�s. And Salazar Slytherin would most likely be too dead and too, well, Slytherin to care. And that exhausted Harry�s personal list of known Parseltongues. Still, there had to be some connection. All the other visitors had been part of his life somehow. And yet, Harry didn�t particularly like to imagine the dark wizard drifting silently down the hillside before him being in any way part of his life, or death.

They stepped into a moonlit clearing, the spirit standing aside to let Harry pass. At first, Harry wondered why on Earth anyone would place a birdbath in the Forbidden Forest, but as he approached the stone font in the centre of the clearing, he recognised it for what it was � a Pensieve. (Not that this made its placement any less peculiar.) Harry stopped in front of it. The tiny skeleton of a terminally nearsighted sparrow lay half submerged in the silvery liquid. This, in combination with the Pensieve�s placement in a forest called Forbidden, made Harry wary of examining whatever memories swirled beneath the shimmering surface. Not that he should have presumed to have any say in the matter, all things considered. A claw-like hand clutched the back of his head, pointed nails digging into his scalp, and thrust him face first into the Pensieve.

Howls, screams, guttural sound explosions and cut-off whimpers, they all echoed through the dingy corridor Harry had never seen before. And for a moment, his own cry of terror fed the cacophony as a Dementor swept towards him, and beyond. But his terror was instinctive, the result of expectations rather than any outside influence. The Dementor was just a bedraggled spectre, a bogeyman with no real power. Because Harry wasn�t really there. He wasn�t really in Azkaban. But something else was.

As Harry spun around to stare at the billowing back of the Dementor, he saw a pulsing, glowing light at the end of the corridor. It clawed at the walls, occasionally reaching as far as the open door to Harry�s right. Flickering tendrils of orange played across a whole row of doors, all but one of them ajar. This last closed door was unceremoniously torn open by the Dementor to the sound of screaming from within the dark cell. A moment later, the twitching, malnourished inmate was dragged into the corridor and away towards the light. Harry followed, aghast but curious, pushing aside irrational fear. He was, after all, not there.

There, however, seemed to be where just about every living being on the island was. There being the central hub of the prison complex, a chasm three floors high, withered balconies and twisted staircases at every level, corridors spreading into darkness like spokes in a wheel. There was also where a great portion of the island�s dead were that night, crumpled on the floor or slumped across the railings, recently demented, no longer suffering the extended torment of their living fellows.

Approaching a second-floor railing, Harry looked around in horror at the Dementors lined up on the balconies and on the floor below. Each gripped an inmate, its foul mouth close enough to suck out the witch�s or wizard�s soul, slowly, painfully. But the misty energy was diverted before it could enter the dark abyss of the Dementor. It veered off into the chasm, towards a solitary creature on the floor. It was hooded, dressed in a black wizard�s robe, too small to be a Dementor, and yet the hands clawing at the floor as it crawled on all four, as though in prayer to dark gods, were almost skeletal.

The floor was covered in something Harry could only think of as soul substance, a lake filled by waterfalls of stolen life. And it all surged towards the dark being, giving off bright, pulsing light as it impacted. The hooded one was feeding.

Harry staggered backwards, and discovered that the sinking feeling in his stomach was rather less metaphorical than usual. His hazy form was dissolving into the chasm, atom by atom, streaming like smoke from his fingers. The pull was increasing. A Dementor to Harry�s left turned towards him, let out a shriek and discarded its emptied inmate to charge towards Harry. The last thing he saw before turning was the hooded one rising, hissing an all too clear order: �Get him!�

Harry ran against the current, tied to the hideous being at the bottom of the chasm, the Dementors� claws of terror ripping through his mind. But while his spectral state made him vulnerable to the pull of the chasm, it had the benefit of allowing him to escape the Dementors by sprinting straight through walls, cells, and corridors, purposely ignoring the overwhelming smell of decay and the skeletons at his feet. He had to get out of the collapsing prison, escape the influence of the soul-sucking vortex circling the black hole of the hooded one. He could feel the fortress tremble. Two more steps and he burst through the outer wall. The pull grew faint. He scrambled onto bare rock, fell and rolled over. Light was bursting through the prison complex. The walls crumbled. And then it all went up in a ball of flame. Harry could feel the sting on his face as he was yanked from the Pensieve, the hooded one hissing in his ear. �Don�t dawdle.�

Harry was pushed back into cold liquid and pulled up from the Burrow�s water-filled kitchen sink. There were voices behind him. An uninterrupted flow of conversation suggested no one had noticed the splashing of the water. (This not being properly present yet subject to surprise soul-sucking and general dampness was really starting to get to him. He pouted at nothing in particular.)

�Pay attention!� hissed the hooded one and spun Harry around with a vice-like grip on the latter�s shoulders. Harry could do nothing but observe a family Christmas dinner further reduced by the ravages of war. Molly was there, as was George and Bill, the latter with a new girlfriend at his side. Ginny had brought Neville, but whether there was any romance behind it, Harry couldn�t tell. But he could tell, all to well, who wasn�t there, at all. Ron, Fred, Percy, Charlie, and Arthur. Dead, captured, or ostracized. He didn�t know which was worst.

�I still say he�s out there somewhere!� said George, his voice a peculiar mixture of hope, awe, and dread. �I mean, dark wizards never quite did get the hang of this being dead business, did they?�

�Well, You-Know-Who was mad enough to drink unicorn blood,� said Bill. �I find it hard to believe��

�That he would be up for a repeat performance?� George snorted. �Don�t bet on it.�

�But he wanted to rule the world.�

�Exactly.�

�It�s hardly the same.�

�Well,� ventured Neville hesitantly, �I�ve observed that in many Muggle dictatorships, the victorious rebel leader turns into yet another dictator. So, well��

�The dark lord returns,� muttered George.

Molly slammed down her glass. All eyes locked on her. �I�ll not have � that discussed at this table! Understood?�

�So,� said George, �now it�s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned, then?�

Molly�s eyes narrowed and she set a clear example of Not Mentioning It. Cutlery clinked delicately; food was rearranged.

�I miss Harry,� said Ginny, piercing the pointed silence.

�Oh, I do too, dear,� said Molly. �Such a dear boy. Always polite, and so happy to get presents � any presents at all.� She smiled wistfully.

Harry�s stomach was all a-tumble.

George snorted. �Before he decided Christmas wasn�t worth the bother, you mean.� He looked poised to continue, but a glare from his mother cut him off.

�Don�t speak ill of the dead,� she snapped, agitation resurfacing, and Harry fainted as though a Dementor had burst from the Christmas pudding.

When he came to, he was lying on the cold ground, in freezing snow, and in front of a tombstone. His tombstone. Harry Potter, 1980-2001, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Beloved Friend, Excellent Wizard, etc, etc. He would have fainted again, had he not been yanked up and away in the clutches of the spirit. The pain of those claws refused to let him faint for any other reason, and so, being accustomed to physical pain, he didn�t. He allowed himself to be dragged into the shadow of a nearby oak. He followed orders and stayed as quiet as a morsel. And he watched in wonder as a cloaked figure � dazzling bright, from silver hair to silver boots � stepped into the moonlight and up to his grave. A white lily landed on the undisturbed snow. Was Malfoy trying to remind Harry of his murdered mother even in death? But then, why did he look so sad? Did the bastard long for a reaction; a skeletal hand bursting forth to give him the finger? Had the shock made Harry lose his mind? He shook his head and crept closer.

�I am sorry,� said Malfoy, gazing mournfully at the tombstone. For the first time since his arrival, Harry noticed that despite the pompous etchings, the stone itself was rather bland, a slab of granite. And the churchyard was clearly of the elegiac country variety. But who, then, was the Heavenly friend? �But it was the only way I could � honour the � friend I sought � once.� Malfoy? His voice was peculiar, erratic, low, breathy. Would he cry? Malfoy?

�If only,� Malfoy continued, �if only you�d been sorted into Slytherin.� Harry felt like snorting, but the biting cold suggested to his numbed senses that, maybe, he was really there, standing before this sad, solitary grave � right behind Malfoy. He breathed softly.

Malfoy crouched, pushing the lily closer to the stone. �If only you�d come that night. I would have defied the mark for you.� He snorted. �No, I lie, as usual. You�d have been my excuse for inborn cowardice. I would have hit on you because I had nothing to lose, and your darkness drew me in, as your � prettiness always had.� Harry blinked. What about handsome? he thought, as a blush crept up his face. �And if you�d been � receptive, I�d have asked for Dumbledore�s protection. Having shagged you would have been the perfect excuse. And then, later, you might have learned to � like me. Stranger things have happened. You happened. And I killed you.� It was all Harry could do to suppress his shocked gasp. �But I meant to save you. You must believe that. The darkness was consuming you. Independent, bold Gryffindors and Dark Magic: Not a good mix. You would have turned into a new Dark Lord, refusing to stop at killing Voldemort.� He sighed. �If only you�d left the Dark to me. I was raised in it, and much too cowardly to dive headlong into it like you did. And yet, I�m sure we could have defeated the Dark Lord, together. Not just you and I. All of us. Yes, us. I�m the hero now, would you believe? I�m the centre of attention, what I always wanted to be, or thought I wanted to be: You.�

Malfoy hung his head, heaving a deep sigh. �Your willingness to sacrifice even your closest friends to defeat the Death Eaters and save this world, it frightened people, beyond reason. And when you started to prey on the prisoners to gain power, well, Dementors were one thing � the Boy Who Lived turning into one was another matter entirely. So, I had to bring you in, before there was no one left to remember who you really were: the boy who lived to be a hero, even though he wanted nothing more than a simple life. That was what I�d realised, why I waited for you that Christmas. That was why I stopped hating you.� He looked up, gazing intently at the tombstone. �I didn�t want you sent to Azkaban. But they thought your crimes warranted it. And when it all went up in flames, many thought of it as some sort of divine retribution, on you and your Dementors. Yes, they call them your Dementors. And these are the people who fawn on me. Make me despise myself. I killed you. I couldn�t save you. I don�t want to be a hero to this world. It was you I tried to save, not them.� He traced his pale fingers across the etchings. �Some say you destroyed Azkaban. That you�re still out there. That history is repeating itself. I refuse to believe them. If I did, I�d � I�d not want to live.�

A solitary tear ran down Malfoy�s face, and as Harry gazed fixedly at it, he noticed something else, at the edge of his vision: The spirit was advancing. Suddenly, it was behind Malfoy, claw-like hands on both sides of his head, poised to�

�NO!� cried Harry, starting forward, arm stretched out.

Malfoy�s head turned, with far too much help from the dark spirit, eyes widening at the sight of Harry, before the snap and the sudden emptiness. The body flopped towards the stone, head at a sickening angle.

�NOOOOO!� As he staggered from the terror he�d witnessed, Harry�s outstretched hand closed on cloth, the spirit�s hood, and he knew that he had to see who this evil beast was, before he killed him, before he ripped him limb from limb. Darkness boiled within him and he pulled down the hood, and he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed and fell into the shadow of the tree, still screaming.

Staring back at him were green, snake-like eyes. Before him was a multitude of scars, but one that outshone the rest in all its flashy radiance. The hair was wilder than ever and the glasses were but markings on shiny skin. Indian cobra. The beast called Harry Potter sneered at himself.

�Do ssssstop ssssscreaming!� His voice was husky, most likely from prolonged disuse, and there was a constant echo of Parseltongue. He smirked. �Dead sssnakess don�t ssspeak muchhh. I�ve had to lay low.�

Harry�s screams had dissolved into ragged breathing. He glanced at the crumpled shape propped against the tombstone. �Why?� he croaked. He stared into his own, cold eyes. �Revenge?�

�No. A ffavour. I sstill live, sso he�ss better off dead. Ssaid sso himsself.� His canines were fangs, his leer that of a lost soul.

�But,� stammered Harry, �why? How? Who?� He gestured faintly towards his older self.

�Who did thiss to me? No h-one. I did it. Becausse I had to!� His eyes flashed. �Becausse you have to!� He towered over Harry, the angry flush on his face an unhealthy shade of green. �Voldemort isss too sstrong!� And then, suddenly, he slipped back into Parseltongue, and Harry wondered why the beast had ever strained his tongue in human speech. Perhaps to remind Harry that this was he, his voice, bastardized but still the same. And if so, he had succeeded. Harry could feel the snake uncoiling inside him and he whimpered in fear and self-loathing, wishing to tear out his innards, if only he�d had the guts. And then rip out whatever sick part of his brain had made that perfectly mental pun. Venom surged through his veins, soaking his mind and making him quiver at every pointed hiss.

�Voldemort can only be defeated through Dark Magic. You must get better at it than him, because only one can survive. Voldemort can�t be destroyed by a lesser power, only displaced by a stronger one. And the prophecy means you have to be that power, at any cost. Use his own tricks against him. Feed off his army like he�s fed off ours. Only then will you grow strong enough. You must become me!�

�Never.� Two syllables. All he could manage.

�But, don�t you see?� The dark one�s face contorted in near anguish. �That is what they�re trying to achieve by sending you here! They�re trying to scare me, you off the path that will ultimately lead to their Lord�s destruction! I know what I�ve become, and I�ve learned to live with it, learned that it was inevitable, for the greater good. But it would have terrified me when I was still � human.� His face softened. �It does terrify � me, I see. I understand. But you must understand. This isn�t to help you � to save you � it�s just another attempt to bring back Voldemort. And as any traces of him are now in me, this is their only option.�

Harry teetered on the edge of blacking out but managed a few more syllables: �Sacrifices?� Four. A definite improvement.

�Un- unavoidable, I�m afraid. Voldemort was tearing this world apart. I would have sacrificed myself, but then the prophecy would have worked in Voldemort�s favour. I couldn�t let that happen. So, I did whatever it took. Whatever it took. As you � as we � always must. Or the darkness wins.�

�They � fear � you.� Three. Temporary setback, though his tongue felt ready to wither and die.

�They fear you. They always have. But, yes, they fear me more. I�m the darkness they no longer want to recognise. I did all those things they condemn me for to save them! Because the Wizarding World is too bloody retarded to know what�s good for it, I had to play the bad guy! They were going to re-elect Fudge! I bear the burden of their sins and darkness, but do they thank me for it? No. They lock me up and throw away the key!�

Harry could see the benefits of that, certainly. Madness contained; a soft, padded cell and peace and quiet. Though Azkaban, that he wouldn�t wish on anyone. Not even himself, not even like that.

�And then, you arrive, and everything changes. If you stay here, you can�t turn into me, and if you go back, you won�t.� His nostrils flared. �They couldn�t kill me, so they decided to obliterate this entire timeline! All the suffering, every sacrifice, all for NOTHING! Can�t you see the EVIL behind this?� Suddenly, a wand was in this madman�s hand. His wand. Their wand. �You can�t let them succeed! You can never lose sight of this future, as it must be! I may be defeated, but we will live on and the prophecy WILL work in our favour, always! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?�

�You�re � mad.�

The laughter was colder than the wind, more frostbitten than the ground beneath him. �Maybe. But so was � so is Voldemort! You can never hope to defeat him unless you learn to think like him! Do you really think I would have done this to myself, if it hadn�t been absolutely necessary? Do you really think I would have done this,� he aimed his wand at Harry, �if I hadn�t been sure? I have the power to keep you here. They are too weak to stop the most powerful wizard in the history of our race. Much too weak. But as long as you remain, this timeline will be divorced from its past and future, floating in temporal limbo. We negate each other and the timeline cannot be resolved until you return, or die.�

Harry scrambled back against the trunk of the tree, face deathly pale.

�I could continue my work here, keeping you alive for a very long time, but it would resolve nothing. I could let them take you back, but I can see that you still don�t see the inevitability of this future. My only hope, my last recourse, is to end my own existence by killing you, and hope the timeline will fall into this shape once more. Perhaps you�ll forget a future that never was, but will be, or remember that, yes, this is the only way, and we ARE capable of going to any length, even sacrificing ourselves, to save this world! This is our destiny!� And then he shifted once more to human speech to pronounce the unforgivable words. And again, Harry screamed.

Death was preceded by a brief flash of green and a curious feeling of release, and then all was nothing.

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One chapter left. What do you think of the story so far?
(Yes, I know it stopped being Christmas quite some time ago. The first three staves were posted elswhere around Christmas, but I've been too busy to finish the rest till now. Stave Five will most likely be posted within two weeks time.)
While you're waiting (hopefully) for chapter five, check out another h/d 'adaptation' of A Christmas Carol, with Draco as 'Scrooge':

The Long Winter�s Night (A Solstice Song) by C Dumbledore

The review I left: A gripping read. Bittersweet, and with a social pathos worthy of a Dickens 'adaptation'. Made me grin like a sappy fool! :)

http://www.knockturnalleyarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=307

Go. Read. Review. :D
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Yuletide Yearning - A Curious Carol