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Hero's Funeral	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4933 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Four--A Show of Force

            "He's in there."

            Draco held back the eyeroll he wanted to give at Latham's simple, pretentious statement and contented himself with a tense nod. Now wasn't the point at which to take offense to comments like that, not when they would need all the Aurors on the raiding team to take Larkin.

            If we will.

            Draco had to admit, his guard was falling in spite of himself. How hard to take could Larkin be, if he appeared from nowhere, sat down in the Leaky Cauldron, and calmly ordered himself a pint? Their informants said that he didn't appear to have his wand with him, since he hadn't drawn it even to cast a Warming or Cooling Charm on his drinks. The man might have decided not to run after all. Perhaps he wasn't a twisted, and reckoned that it would be better to face a few years in prison for theft, or a fine, than a life on the run.

            Draco smiled to himself, then. He could admit that he wasn't exactly eager for Larkin to prove that he wasn't a twisted. It would make the first case he had worked on for the Socrates Corps fizzle out to nothing. But he would enjoy the chance to prove Potter and all his guesses about Larkin's flaw wrong.

            "The conditions have been met?" That was an older Auror, one with fox-red hair and fox-brown eyes who reminded Draco unpleasantly of a Weasley as she rocked forwards on her heels. Draco searched through his mind and produced her name: Thomasina Warren.

            "All of them," Latham said in a slightly trumpeting voice. He had a tendency to be impressed with himself beyond what his capacities showed he had to be proud of, Draco thought critically, but he was a good reader of body language. If he said that Larkin didn't look as though he was getting ready to move, then he wasn't. "There's no danger to any member of the public. We have containment wards ready for the capture, and there are few people in the pub anyway."

            "There's no danger to any of us," added Simone Jenkins, on Draco's right side. She had long blonde hair, a faintly wistful look in her eyes, and the scariest smile that Draco had ever seen. She was Warren's partner. "We all know what Larkin's capable of, and we'll kill him at the first suspicious move."

            "There's no sign of his wand," Latham said. "He's been separated from it, probably when he escaped. The Aurors who first investigated the scene in his cell did say there were broken scraps of wood about, consistent with the kind of wand that we know Larkin to have been carrying."

            He turned expectantly to Draco, who cleared his throat and did his best to remember the conditions that he'd been told to memorize, the conditions that all had to be fulfilled before one could attempt a capture of a twisted, rather than a kill. "None of his companions have been seen since that initial escape," he said. "It's extremely likely that they're separated from him. Or were only delusions in the first place."

            Latham nodded, smiling, and waited. Which meant Draco had to remember the fifth condition as well. He squinted at the imaginary page in his mind and wished that bloody Potter was here. That task would have been his if he hadn't got himself taken out of commission.

            "And we have the resources to hold him, and to counter his flaw," Draco said. He ignored the squirm in the back of his mind that said they weren't sure what the flaw was, yet. He had told Latham Potter's guesses on the way over, and Latham had agreed that they sounded likely and added that putting Larkin in a cell with Dementors instead of humans as guards should solve the problem of him persuading someone else to open the doors. The Ministry still kept a few Dementors on hand, for emergencies.

            Given that he'd asked about it, Draco really ought to have remembered that condition sooner than the one about the twisted's companions having been captured or killed. He hoped that no one else could make out the faint blush on his cheeks in the gathering dusk.

            "Exactly." Latham faced the Leaky and held up his wand, saying something softly under his breath. Draco didn't hear what it was. Perhaps a curse on Larkin, perhaps a blessing on his wand or a prayer that his spells would fly true. His father had had similar ceremonies, not that that was something Draco should be thinking about. "Let's go."

            They started towards the Leaky. Once, Draco thought he heard a flutter of wings, as though the owl he'd seen flying towards him before they left had caught up with him, but he didn't look up to see if it was true. All his consciousness was focused in front of him, on the battle to come.

*

            "You don't need anything?"

            Harry bit back a sigh and did his best to smile at the young mediwitch hovering in the door. He disliked the way that Healer Tella seemed to blame him for getting injured, but her attitude was better than the hero-worship that he sometimes inspired from the apprentice Healers. This was the third time that Ellen Garrett, as she'd introduced herself in a hushed voice, had come by to ask if he needed anything, and the fifth time she'd come by. The other two, she'd just stared with adoring eyes and forgot to speak before she stole away.

            "No, thank you," Harry said, and waited until she was down the corridor before he closed his eyes and ground his teeth. You can't make Malfoy respond to me. Fuck you, Malfoy, for going into danger without a care for what your partner thinks.

            Of course, for all Harry knew, they could have captured Larkin by now. He could be safely in a holding cell. Or Malfoy might be at home, sleeping the sleep of the unjust. There was no way for Harry to be certain, because he was stuck in this fucking hospital and no one would tell him anything until morning. He'd ask Garrett, since she was eager enough to help, but he doubted she knew anything.

            If Larkin's in a cell, then he's going to get out again. You know that. Any pretense of coming along quietly will be a ruse.

            Harry hissed, and then hissed for a different reason as his regrown skin brushed against the blanket again. Yes, he knew that, but he didn't see what he could do even if he broke out of hospital and went to the Socrates office or Malfoy's flat--wherever that was, Harry would have to steal a file to find out--and warned him in person. He couldn't walk. Most of the time, when someone told him to stay put, it was because they wanted to hide information from him or were worried about what would happen if the famous Harry Potter died on their watch. This time, it was pure and simple fact.

            He closed his eyes, deciding that he would have to try and get some sleep, so that when the moment came that he could walk again, he wasn't useless to Malfoy and the hunt for Larkin because of his exhaustion.

            And the vision blew in on the wings of the wind.

            This time, it was a perfect, clear picture, without any of the inconsistencies or blurriness he'd noted in the other visions that Larkin handed him. Harry saw Malfoy rounding a corner, his hair flying and his mouth set in that prim little way Harry remembered from Hogwarts. It probably meant something else now. He saw Larkin laughing, aiming his wand. They were outside, beneath a sky grey and sagging with rain. Small puddles gleamed on the cobblestones. Tiny rivers rippled away.

            The curse that left Larkin's wand froze Harry, not because of the incantation--Larkin must have spoken it nonverbally--but because of the way it looked. A crawling mass of crystalline light, with tendrils and hooks coming out of the sides.

            The same curse that had killed Lionel, in the end, although not before plenty else had been done to him.

            And Harry leaped from the side and took the curse on his own side, his own skin. Larkin laughed. The world flared around Harry like a sun, and then died down to heat and to pain and to acid-like sensations eating their way steadily into his major organs. He knew the curse. He would be dead inside a minute.

            This was the future. This was the way he would die. Nothing could save him this time, there was no innocent explanation for what he saw, and although the pain was intense, Harry no longer believed that Larkin was simply reaching out with pictures of what the victim feared. Information on the curse that had killed Lionel would be in the Gina Hendricks case file, of course, but no one would know why Harry had so hated that curse, because no one knew what Lionel had meant to him. Not even Lionel.

            Harry would die this way because there was no way that he could let another partner die.

            The pain faded. The vision faded. Harry spent a few minutes with his eyes closed, glad that he hadn't tried to leave hospital after all, getting the details straight in his head.

            It couldn't be tonight. The scene had been filled with the light of day, although muted and challenged by the rain. And Harry had had time to fling himself in between the curse and Malfoy, which argued that he wasn't still staggering along on feet that were little more than slabs of raw meat. It would be tomorrow at the earliest.

            That meant Larkin would escape, yes, and perhaps damage someone in the process. But not Malfoy. It wasn't as urgent as Harry had thought that Malfoy receive his message.

            He began to think of other things that he should do. Of course, he did hope to survive, but there had been no indication so far that the futures Larkin's visions showed could be changed, which meant he had to prepare for the worst.

            His will was intact. That had been something to occupy himself with, the long weeks he lay in hospital after the Gina Hendricks case. He would write farewells to his friends explaining what had happened, in case he died and no one else knew why. With any luck, he would explain this to Ron in the pub a fortnight from now, but he couldn't count on luck.

            And a letter to Malfoy.

            Harry sat up when he thought he was strong enough and looked towards the door. Garrett hovered there, sure enough. She flushed when she realized that he'd caught her and started to duck out of sight, murmuring in a confused way.

            "No, don't go," Harry called after her softly. She paused and looked back at him. "Ink and parchment? Four sheets." One for Ron and Hermione. One for the other Weasleys. One for the Ministry, so that Malfoy could be cleared of any complicity or blame in his death, if it happened.

            One for Malfoy.

            Garrett took off at a gratifying pace. Harry bowed his head into his hands and breathed for a bit.

            They had said, when they looked at Lionel's body and discussed how the curse had killed him, that there must be a counter somewhere. The Killing Curse was famously the only one that couldn't be stopped or turned aside. That was the fearsome thing about it; it didn't kill painfully, but it was unstoppable.

            There was a cure for what had killed Lionel, for the curse that would kill Harry, somewhere out there.

            But they hadn't found it yet.

*

            "Auror Malfoy? So nice to meet you at last."

            Larkin looked exactly like the photograph in his file, the one that Draco had privately marked as untrustworthy, and less like his sister than Draco had assumed. He lifted a full mug of beer in a toast to Draco, not deigning to pay attention to the other Aurors, while his gaze did a slow crawl over Draco's body.

            "Alasdair Larkin," Latham said, taking the lead. His voice sounded too loud in the pub, although there were a few people there staring at them and pressing back against the walls, and the echoes of their voices had only recently died. Draco shook his head to clear it. There was a ringing in his ears that he distrusted. "You may surrender and come with us quietly. That would be best for you. We will undertake to defend your life from any associates you have who might--"

            "Oh, come off it," Larkin said, with a careless gesture of his hand that Jenkins and Latham both flinched back from. Larkin didn't seem to notice; he was still staring at Draco. "We both know that you came here to kill me, not arrest me."

            Someone in the corner made a noise, and Latham's face tightened. Draco knew why. The Socrates Corps didn't officially exist. They would have to order Obliviators into the pub the moment they were done here, since they had no hope now of making it look like an ordinary arrest.

            Draco spoke up. If Larkin was interested in talking to him, then Draco might as well provide some means to keep him fixated. "Are you going to try to make us fear you? I was told that's somewhat of a preoccupation of yours."

            Larkin stood in a single smooth, flowing movement. Jenkins and Warren cast binding curses at the same time, tying his arms behind his back and his legs together. He started to fall over, but caught himself on the chair. His eyes were wide and never moved from Draco's face, and in them, for the first time, Draco caught a glimpse of something that might have been fear.

            It was gone in seconds, of course, and Larkin lowered his eyes to the floor and shook his head. "You don't understand the nature of fear," he said softly. "So sweet, the way it scents the air. So wonderful, the way it can stretch the nature of time and make a moment seem an hour." He looked up with a dazzling smile, and if it hadn't been for the darkness in his eyes, the knowledge he had of his crimes, and the reek of Dark magic around him, Draco might even have thought he was innocent. "Do you understand the nature of time? I suspect your partner knows more than you do."

            Warren put a gag on Larkin before Draco could answer, and Jenkins went over to reassure the other people in the pub; Draco knew that had more to do with keeping them there until the Ministry could call in the Obliviators. The capture had gone surprisingly well, Draco thought, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow. Of course he wanted to find out what Larkin had meant by looking at him specifically and addressing him the way he had, but on the other hand, those were truths that could be winkled out of him in interrogation once they were back at the Ministry.

            Then Larkin looked at Latham, and smiled.

            And Latham fell to the floor, spasming.

            Draco took a step towards him, and then stopped. From behind Larkin's gag came the deep sound of muffled laughter. Warren let out a loud curse and bent over Latham, who was screaming, soundlessly. Draco turned to the pub's fireplace, thinking of opening a Floo connection to the Ministry.

            Latham finally did scream with some sound behind it, and then clutched at his chest. The next moment, he stopped breathing. Warren began to cast healing charms, but Draco turned to look at Larkin, at the expression of satiated satisfaction on his face, and knew it was too late.

            While the others gathered around Latham, calling and staring and trying to make him respond, Larkin leaned back in his bonds and looked pleased with himself and the world. Draco held his eyes until he stopped smiling and raised his brows. Draco leaned in and removed the gag. His left arm burned with the Dark magic just released, but he knew that Larkin hadn't raised his wand. This was the operation of the flaw.

            "What did you do?" he whispered. "Fear, the nature of time...I don't understand them, but I want to."

            Larkin ducked his chin, gaze intent on Draco's expression as if he were looking for evidence of what he'd just said. Then he shook his head and sighed. "You don't, really," he said. "Besides, I've already taught all the truths I have to give to your partner. You should listen to him if you want to know what they are."

            And he remained silent throughout the bustle of the next few hours, with Obliviators called in for the regular clients and the people who worked in the Leaky, the arrival of Healers from St. Mungo's who couldn't save Latham's life but did confirm that he'd died in the same way that Whitley did, and the transportation of Larkin to his cell. He went quietly, and sat down in the center of his cell as though he was too thick-skinned to need a bed. Draco did insist on a search of his robes, but found no charcoal or anything else that could make a drawing like the one that had chewed up Potter.

            Larkin met Draco's eyes as he was leaving the cell and nodded thoughtfully. "You don't need my lessons," he said. "You know them already."

            Draco didn't touch the Dark Mark, but it took a supreme effort on his part. "I would be less haughty than you, if I were in your position," he said softly. "At least I won't spend the rest of my life in Azkaban."

            This time, the smile Larkin gave him was pitying. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

            Draco stepped into the Socrates office to retrieve his cloak that he'd left there, and an owl leaped up from the window and practically screamed at him to take the message in its beak. Draco stared at it. He recognized it as the bird that he'd seen circling down to him before he Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, but he had no idea why it would have waited for him here instead of pursuing him.

            Perhaps the constant Apparitions back and forth from the Ministry that he'd done and the presence of Larkin's magic had deterred it, he thought, and stretched out an arm. The owl landed and dropped the message into his hand. Draco unfolded it as best he could, since the owl refused to move; he had to give it two whole biscuits before it seemed satisfied and soared over to sit on the windowsill again.

            Malfoy,

            I've been working it out, and I think Larkin does see the future. He can share the visions, though, unlike me. If he showed his sister a vision of himself captured, that's what's going to happen, but I don't think he'll stay there, and any Auror who goes after him could be in danger.

            Potter.

            Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. "Potter, saint of useless information," he muttered.

            He considered going to over to St. Mungo's for a moment. He could discuss the letter and Latham's collapse with Potter, and perhaps they could work out what Larkin had shown Latham to cause him to die. The Healers had said that Latham had a weak heart, and that it had burst. He could have died at any time in the next year, or decade, or week. It seemed information Larkin was unlikely to have access to, unless his flaw included a way to pluck memories from his victims' heads...

            Draco shook his head violently. No. He was tired, and not thinking clearly. The Healers would deny him admission to Potter at this late hour, anyway. He was going home, and going to sleep.

            The most he would do was consent to pick up Whitley's file on the way out of the office, to see what the Healers had said her cause of death was.

*

            By the time that the soft bells that chimed to tell the morning Healers to begin their shift had rung, Harry was almost calm. He would do his best to survive Larkin's curse, and he would leave the letters for his friends and Malfoy only if he couldn't.

            And he also prepared a small, nasty surprise of his own, so that he might at least stand a chance of taking Larkin out if he was dying. He doubted Larkin would expect it of him. The most famous Auror in the Department wasn't supposed to know Dark magic.

            Healer Tella came with the start of the morning, to examine him and give him a disgusted look when Harry asked if he could leave. "There isn't an urgent case this morning, but I still resent attending someone who doesn't care if he lives or dies," she told the wall.

            "Noted," Harry said. "But I have an appointment to keep this morning, and I want to know if I can walk."

            Tella didn't respond as he had expected, instead taking a step away from the bed and staring at him. "You're planning again," she said, not raising her voice. "You're planning a way to get yourself killed, and you expect me to let you out of here to do it instead of locking you right away in the Janus Thickey ward."

            Harry blinked. He had no idea how she could tell that he expected to die, but he couldn't let it stop him. "This isn't what you think," he said. "The case that my partner and I are working on--"

            "I meant it," Tella said, moving away from him with calm, slow steps, never taking her eyes from him. "I resent that I'm called to attend to you and it takes me away from other cases. I resent that you try so hard to commit suicide and they pat you on the head for it. I resent that you have an Order of Merlin when braver people than you die every day."

            Harry nodded back at her, and hoped that it didn't look frantic. "That means that you ought to want to get me out of hospital as much as I want to go," he said. "So if we can sign--"

            "But I'm not going to let you die on me," Tella said. "If only because I know that I'll be blamed." She reached out and rang the bell on the wall Harry had never seen a Healer use, because he wasn't a patient who was dying of poisoning or going insane at his Healer. "This is the end."

            Harry tensed, then swung his legs out of bed and lunged for the door the moment Tella was distracted by the noise of running footsteps outside. If he could just get past her, then he thought he would have a chance to meet Larkin the way he was supposed to and save Malfoy's life--

            Tella's Body-Bind caught him and dropped him straight to the floor. Harry swore and cursed and struck out, but he couldn't move a muscle for long, as the spell settled over him and strengthened. He stared furiously at Tella, who bent over him and stared right back, unimpressed.

            "You are not going to die," she said. "No matter how much you want to." And she turned and spoke to the mediwizards who had come running at the bell about moving him to the Janus Thickey ward.

            Harry lay there cursing steadily inside his head. He had to get out of here somehow, if Larkin's visions were true, and meet his destiny. But he had no idea at the moment how that would happen.

            If Larkin's visions were true...

            Harry tried to force himself to relax. If they were always true, then he would be there, because he had to be, because that was the future.

            But he still didn't know if he had identified Larkin's flaw correctly, or if some of the visions could be real and others false.

            As he lay there, fuming and trapped and trying furiously to calculate angles of light from his memory so that he would know how many hours he had left, he thought he could hear Larkin's laughter inside his head.

*

            SP777: I never make a conscious decision that way with a chaptered story. But if it feels that way, it feels that way.

            Draco certainly is doing something, since he saved Harry's life twice now.

            unneeded: Nothing about this story is really good for the heroes so far.

            polka dot: Draco might feel that way if he knew about Harry's latest vision.

            Yami Bakura: Yes, Draco will get in trouble. And I promise I haven't given up on this story. "Invisible Sparks" is the first story in the series, but that's only a one-shot. I update this one every Wednesday.
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Hero's Funeral