Ceremonies of Strife | By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16218 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
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Chapter Forty—A
Black-Bordered Letter
Harry went
to Diagon Alley to buy the cat Draco needed. He gave three Galleons for an
all-black one at the Magical Menagerie and didn’t look the manager in the eye
when he chattered on about how much fun Harry would have with his new pet.
Harry got out of buying food and other necessities by pretending to already
have a cat, and fled as soon as he could.
He walked
down the alley with the cat in his arms. It touched his face with one paw and
then settled down in the travel cage he was carrying it in, staring at
everything with wide green eyes.
Somehow,
Harry thought things might have been better if it had struggled.
He closed
his eyes and communed with himself before he Apparated. He knew what was likely
to happen to this cast when Draco got hold of it. He couldn’t pretend he
didn’t. Could he really bring himself to do this? Didn’t even a cat’s life
matter more than—
More than
what? More than Draco’s chance to confront his father and get out of the
confrontation alive?
In the end,
Harry shook his head and Apparated, holding the cage close to him. He had
already made his choice. He had decided to leave his friends behind; he had
decided to lie to the Auror instructors. He was going to take Portillo Lopez’s
strange weapon with him, even, all because he wanted to protect Draco.
Set against
that, what was a little more Dark Arts?
*
Draco had
spent most of the day sleeping, ignoring the contemptuous glances that Portillo
Lopez gave him whenever she crossed the room. She was free to think whatever
she liked, but the plain truth of the matter was that Draco would have to do
something hard and draining of his own vital force tonight, and he needed to be
as alert as possible when that happened.
After he woke, he ate three of the
sandwiches that Harry had brought for him from the dining hall and locked under
a Preservation Charm. Three, and no more, because although he’d meant to eat more, his jaw locked when
he reached for the fourth and his stomach started swimming.
All
right, Draco thought, sitting back and watching the door, which he expected
to open at any moment to admit Harry with the black cat he needed. It’ll be all right. Do what your body needs
and don’t push it.
He would be
pushing his body so hard later that he didn’t need the distraction of nausea.
That was the way Draco phrased it to himself, and even mostly managed to think,
rather than thinking himself weak.
Mostly.
The door
swung open at last, and Harry staggered in holding a large cage. His face was
grey. Draco suspected he knew why, and it wasn’t from the weight.
But he had
to be the calm one, especially since panicking during the ritual he had to
perform would ruin their chances utterly. “Thank you, Harry,” he said quietly,
and took the cage. The black cat inside stared at him as Draco scanned it. Yes,
he couldn’t find a white hair anywhere on the body.
He turned
back to find Harry watching him anxiously, and gave him a smile that was as
reassuring as possible. “He’s what I needed,” he said. “Thanks.” He opened the
cage, and the cat emerged into the room, whiskers twitching as it began to
sniff the furniture. It appeared to be an even-tempered cat, which suited Draco
just fine.
“What else
will you need?” Harry stood with his hands locked together behind his back,
staring at the wall. He carefully kept his eyes away from the cat, Draco
noticed.
Draco
looked at him. “Are you going to be able to do this?” he asked. “Because if
not, you don’t have to participate in the ritual itself.”
“But I want
to help.” Harry frowned at him.
“I know.”
Draco touched his shoulder. “But you’ll be more help if you stay at a distance,
if you can’t bear this. If anyone interrupts me at any moment during this, I’m
probably going to suffer irreparable damage to my mind and body.”
That made
Harry look horrified, as Draco had known it would. He swallowed. Then he said,
“And there’s no other way?”
Draco shook
his head. Then he thought about it, and added, “A few other ways, but they
would either require books that are locked up in Malfoy Manor or time that I
don’t think we have, given that Portillo Lopez can’t hide us for long.”
Harry gave
a clipped nod. “Then I’ll help. You matter more to me than a cat, Draco.” His
face heated up.
Draco
leaned in and kissed him, making sure to keep it lingering, soft, affectionate.
His fingers touched Harry’s cheeks, and Harry sighed and parted his lips. Draco
slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth and shivered with longing. It was too bad that they didn’t have time
to do more than kiss right now.
On the
other hand, that would distract him even further. Draco had been trying to sate
his body’s needs today, but there was no sating his need for Harry. He stepped
away, keeping one hand in place on the back of Harry’s neck, and asked gently,
“You’re sure?” Not everyone was suited to Dark Arts, his father had taught him,
and it remained one of the most valuable lessons Draco had learned. It had
saved him from trusting several people it would have been foolish to trust.
“Yes.”
Harry swallowed, but kept his gaze locked on Draco’s face. Draco thought that
was the greatest guarantee that he was going to get.
Draco
stepped away from him completely. “Then let’s begin.”
*
Draco sat
on the floor, his legs crossed, his arms folded, a small humming noise rising
from his throat. Around him was a circle made of salt and tiny pieces of
silver. Harry wasn’t sure if Draco had conjured the pieces of silver, or stolen
them, or maybe smashed an heirloom he owned to get them.
He hoped
not. The whole point of this exercise was to keep Draco from having to
sacrifice his heritage, after all.
Harry stood
outside the circle, the cat in his arms. The cat had been fascinated by Draco
ever since the humming began. Now and then he struggled to get free, but so
far, Harry’s grip had been stronger than his struggles. Harry didn’t know how
much longer that would last, especially since the cat had all his claws. But he
would do whatever needed to be done for Draco’s sake. He juggled the animal and
waited for the signal Draco had told him would be needed.
Draco
opened his eyes. For long moments, he seemed to be looking straight past Harry
and the cat, and Harry held his breath, debating whether he should act. But
then Draco blinked once, turned his gaze to them, and nodded.
That was
the signal. Harry opened his arms, and the cat leaped to the ground and ran
madly forwards. Harry expected him to pause when he came to the circle—Harry
could feel the power locked in the silver and salt from here—but instead he
ghosted through as if he couldn’t feel the power at all. He settled at Draco’s
side, purring.
Harry
nodded. That was what was supposed to happen. Draco had told Harry that he
intended to make the cat his familiar first, because the ritual to open his
memory and locate the spell that would transfer his heritage from Lucius to him
required a sacrifice of a large part of himself. Draco would rather sacrifice a
familiar than his sight, or one of his hands.
It made
sense. It was, in fact, much less damaging than Harry had thought Dark Arts
might be.
But he
still had to avert his eyes some of the time as Draco touched the cat’s head
and then ran his hand down his throat, scratching his cheeks. The cat responded
with a purr Harry had no trouble hearing and stood up, walking in his own neat
circle around Draco. Then he jumped into his lap and settled his chin on
Draco’s arm.
Draco spoke
a few last words. A bright star of silver light came into being above the cat’s
back and settled into his fur. The cat blinked lazily and turned his head.
Harry saw he wore a silver collar, a neat line of metal that ducked under the
fur of his neck here and there.
Harry had
asked what was so special about making a familiar, when he had thought Hedwig
was his familiar, and Draco had told him that the casual connection to an owl
or a pet was different. A familiar was an extension of the witch or wizard who
bonded it. They could see with its eyes, hear with its ears, and get its help
in spells. The ritual to make one invested part of their life force in the
familiar, and so they could be hurt badly if it died.
“How
badly?” Harry had asked.
Draco had
looked at him and hadn’t answered. But seeing the way his hand stroked the
cat’s head now and the way his humming had slowed to match its purring, Harry
thought he could understand.
Still, the
pain was the point. The pain of the sacrifice would tear open his mind, Draco
had explained, and allow him access to his buried memories. And the value of
the sacrifice—the thing the Dark Arts spell needed, in the way that necromantic
rituals required someone’s blood—would give him the power necessary to invade
his own subconscious for several minutes, rather than getting a flashing glimpse
and nothing else.
It wasn’t
the sort of thing Harry could have brought himself to do, killing an animal who
trusted him. Then again, he wasn’t being asked to do it. Only to watch.
And Harry
could do that much, because it was Draco who was asking. He braced himself and
watched.
*
Draco had
never made a familiar, because he didn’t see why he should have a vulnerable
part of himself running around outside his body. It was bad enough having
secrets that other people knew, family members they could attack (or who could
turn on him). It would be best if he could learn what he needed to know on his
own.
Feeling the
connection between him and the cat now, like a cord that ran from his heart to
the heart of the cat, he understood why some wizards wanted them. It was for
that feeling of connection as much as anything else. Someone who was lonely or
not sufficiently ruthless would pay a lot for it.
Draco had
to resist the temptation to bury his cheek in the cat’s fur and hang on. He
could already feel a name forming on the edge of his thoughts—the sort of
private name that most wizards gave their familiars—which would become real if
he let it.
But naming
the cat would give this bond a kind of reality he didn’t intend to let it have.
Instead, keeping one hand in place on the back of the drowsily purring cat’s
neck, he reached down and picked up the weapon that had rested beside him.
It was a
silver knife. Draco lowered it, and still the cat purred and didn’t turn around
or flinch. Why would he? He was Draco’s familiar, and he trusted him.
Draco
gritted his teeth. He hadn’t wanted to know the cat was male, either, or at
least he could have lived without the knowledge.
But the
greater the sacrifice, the deeper he would be able to see into his own mind. So
he let a few minutes more pass, the bond sinking deeper into himself, before he
lifted the knife and shut his eyes.
“Do familiarem meum,” he whispered, and
chopped down. He could have cut smoothly, and the death would be less messy,
but the point was to cause pain.
The cat
uttered an astonished yowl and flexed against him before Draco cut his throat.
Then the blood was spilling over his hand, and there was a moment of shocked
stillness while Draco concentrated on his goal, finding that spell that would
enable him and Harry to survive.
Then the
pain attacked him.
Draco
closed his eyes. He could feel his own throat being cut, the new bond severed,
and he wanted to flop around like a fish. He dug his bloody fingers into the
cat’s fur and hung on, though, as a piece of his soul was ripped away. It
wasn’t his real soul, and he couldn’t
be permanently damaged by the ending of a bond to a familiar that was so new.
His throat ached and his chest was splitting and he could feel a braid of fire
encircling his heart, but the point was
what he wanted.
A red-edged
tunnel opened in his mind’s eye. Draco was speeding down it, falling down it,
moving so fast that it was its own kind of pain. He could see colors from the
corner of his gaze that were other memories, ones he didn’t want and didn’t
have time for. He pushed them away and refocused on his goal.
He landed.
The spell
he wanted was suddenly searing against him, pressing into him in letters of
white flame that felt as though they’d been branded into his flesh. Draco
screamed. He knew he did, because he heard Harry gasp back at him, the
trembling cry of an animal whose mate had been wounded.
But still
Harry didn’t cross the circle, although it was howling with so much power that
Draco wasn’t sure he could have, at this point. He stood where he was, and had
faith that Draco could do this.
That kind
of faith gave Draco more strength still, and he recited the words to himself
until he was sure that he wouldn’t forget the incantation. The tunnel was
already fading around him, but not the shocking pain. He would have to write
down the spell as soon as he could, because then he would drop.
He forced
his eyes open.
Harry knelt
at the edge of the circle, his face stricken. He had one hand reaching out, but
he had halted himself an inch from the barrier of flicking light that outlined
the circle. His expression changed when he saw Draco opening his eyes, to one
that Draco couldn’t easily define right away but knew he would remember for the
rest of his life.
“Are you
all right?” he whispered.
Draco shook
his head. “But I got what we needed,” he said, which was the answer to a
different question. He shoved, and the limp body of the cat fell from his lap.
His fingers that held the knife were sticky with blood, and he had to use his
other hand to wrench them free of the blade. “I don’t—I’m tired.”
“Lower the
circle,” Harry whispered.
Draco
glanced over and blinked twice. It was the most effort he felt capable of
giving, but it worked. Since he had completed his purpose, he had no reason to
will the circle to remain, and rituals like this depended greatly on the will
of the wizard. The light dissolved into a series of thin lines like winter tree
branches and then vanished.
Harry was
across it in a moment, kneeling with his arms around Draco. He didn’t seem to
care that he was crushing the cat’s corpse with his knees or that he was
getting blood all over him, too. His eyes were the whole world.
Draco
smiled at him. He would have liked to stay in the embrace, but he needed
parchment and a quill and ink before he faded. He whispered, “Please?”
Harry knew
what he needed, since they’d arranged this before the ritual even began. Though
he looked reluctant, he unwound his arms from Draco and reached into his
pocket.
Draco wrote
the incantation down, using Harry’s knees as a table. Then he glanced once at
the cat, because he thought he had to acknowledge the beast who had briefly
been his familiar, however unwilling the bond had been on his side.
The cat’s
fur was matted and even darker around the throat. Looking at it made Draco’s
eyes swim. He dashed an irritated hand across them. He didn’t want to cry.
“Let’s get
you to bed,” Harry said, and carefully moved the parchment out of the way so it
wouldn’t get smudged by blood or the weight of his body. Draco approved of
that. He’d chosen a good person to fall in love with, he thought hazily, as he
leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder and felt Harry lift him.
That was
the last thing he felt for quite some time.
*
Harry had
already cast a Cleaning Charm, tucked Draco into bed, and disposed of the cat’s
body by the time the letter arrived. It didn’t come in the claws of an owl, but
in the hands of Portillo Lopez, who stepped into the room, frowning.
“A Ministry
owl brought this,” she said, and then stiffened. “What Dark Arts spell did you
work here?”
“The one you knew about,” Harry said. He wasn’t
about to let her get away with pretending ignorance, when he had dropped
several hints about what they were going to do and why he had to go shopping in
Diagon Alley and she had ignored them all. He took the letter from her and
turned it over. The border around the envelope was black. He swallowed and sat
down hard on Draco’s bed.
“There was
damage to another living being,” Portillo Lopez said, prowling around where
Draco’s circle had been. “I agreed to let you use your own blood, but not
another’s.”
“It was a
cat,” Harry snapped, distracted from his debate about whether he should open
the letter or not, learn the news, and hopefully spare Draco some of the agony
that would come with it. “Draco made it his familiar and then sacrificed it.”
Portillo
Lopez paused, tilting her head and half-closing her eyes as though she was
trying to identify a smell. “That would have hurt him greatly,” she murmured.
“Yes, I know,” Harry said, while his fingers
nervously tapped the edges of the letter. In the end, he decided that it was
better he be the first one to face the news of Narcissa’s death which he
thought the letter carried. He was supposed to be Draco’s shield at all times
right now, after all. He tore it open.
“I think
the pain has been great enough.” Portillo Lopez rocked in place, nodding. “Yes,
I think he may live.”
Harry did
his best to ignore her. He was frowning at the top of the letter, wondering why
Azkaban would send a letter to Draco.
Draco Malfoy:
It is within our duty to inform you that
your father, Lucius Malfoy, died trying to escape the prison last night. His
body was found at the edge of the wards. How he got that far, we do not know,
though our investigation is continuing. We believe he died because of the
wards’ magic reacting to the tracking spell that is implemented on all
residents of Azkaban while they remain in our care.
Harry
sneered. It seemed as though the wardens of Azkaban wanted to make the prison
sound like a hospital.
We will notify you at once if we learn that
anyone gave him a wand or anything else that would enable him to escape. We
sorrow for your loss, and await your questions.
There were
signatures that Harry didn’t bother paying attention to; he didn’t know
anything about Azkaban’s hierarchy. Perhaps Draco would recognize them. He
leaned back and took a deep breath. So it wasn’t bad news. Draco had told him
that Lucius had left behind a complicated illusion of himself which would die a
slow death. The wardens must have discovered the corpse at last, that was all.
Although
something niggled in the back of Harry’s brain, something Draco had said about
the illusion that bothered him.
But he
couldn’t recall it right now, and Portillo Lopez had finally left. Harry sat
back in the chair and waited for Draco to wake up.
*
Draco swam
out of a thick slumber and grimaced as he opened his eyes. He could still feel
the pain of his familiar’s death like a stake through the center of his chest,
creating a wound that would exactly correspond to the missing life force that
he’d invested in the familiar.
But he’d
known that would happen, and he had determined the price to be worth paying. He
didn’t intend to think about it any more than he had to. He sat up and looked
around, wondering if someone had food.
Harry was
right there beside him, a tray with covered dishes steaming on the bed. But Harry
was asleep. Draco smiled and took a moment to touch his hair before he picked
up the tray, revealed toast and porridge, and started eating. The bland food
tasted better than many luxurious meals had in the past.
He had
almost finished when he saw the black-bordered letter in Harry’s hand.
Draco
forced himself to stop eating before he reached for it. Already he was bracing
himself. The Ministry sent out an official notice of death only when they were
involved somehow. If Aurors had found his mother murdered…
And then he
saw what was in the letter, and felt a moment’s blank relief before doubt made
him curl his fingers tight, crumpling the parchment.
If Father made an illusion and left it in
the cell, as he told me he did, why was his body discovered near the edge of
the wards? The illusion couldn’t have moved like that on its own. That would
defeat the whole purpose, especially because an attempted escape would make the
guards more suspicious and more likely to look for contradictions or clues.
It fit with
that piece of news about his father already seeming to know about his
relationship with Harry. Draco didn’t like it.
But he
didn’t see that there was much he could do about it now. He looked around,
found the parchment with the incantation he had written within reach, and
picked it up to study it. It was a complicated spell, but nothing that required
a ritual or a circle, thank Merlin. Draco had had about enough of rituals and
circles for now.
When Harry
woke up, the first thing he did was touch Draco’s face and then his lips,
apparently confirming his reality. Draco permitted it, as well as his kiss. He
was now bound more strongly to Harry than he had ever thought he could be bound
to anyone.
He
explained the puzzle the letter had given him to Harry, who snapped his
fingers. “That was what sounded
strange about it,” he said. “I know you told me the illusion should have been
in his cell.”
“I don’t
know what it means,” Draco admitted quietly. “And it makes me frightened to
proceed.”
Harry gave
him an exaggerated smirk. “But you have the easy part! All you have to do is
hide and cast an insanely complicated spell against a member of your family. I have to stand out in the open and take
the risk.”
Draco
surprised himself by laughing. He hadn’t ever thought he would have a lover who
would make him do that at such a desperate point, either.
Harry
smiled, but was quickly sober again. He touched Draco’s brow, his lips, his
hair. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he said. “You know that.”
“I know,”
Draco said, turning his head to kiss Harry’s palm. He caught sight of the
letter from the corner of his eye, but told himself it would just have to wait.
If he was lucky, he would be able to make Lucius tell him the truth about how
he had escaped the prison when he was in a position of power over him.
Then he
began to tell Harry the details of his plan: where they would hide, where Harry
should stand to challenge Lucius, and so on. Harry listened with wide eyes and
more than one nod, and, once, a grim smile.
Draco had
magical power, surprise, and a faithful, skilled lover on his side.
It would
have to be enough. Draco wouldn’t permit anything less.
*
Clau: I don’t
think Hermione fully recognizes their devotion. Partially she’s still caught up
in pretending that the love affair between Harry and Draco doesn’t exist or
will end soon, though hopefully Harry’s latest talk with her has made her wake
up.
Well, I
hope this chapter answered the question about the sacrifice! Lucius is…somewhere.
Dragons
Breath: Thanks! I think praise like that for Harry is rare from Draco in most
of the stories I’ve read.
polka dot: I
think you could argue that a lot of the Aurors are potential vigilantes unless
they obey all the rules of the Ministry. Portillo Lopez doesn’t see herself that
way because she obeys the rules of her Order.
SP777: No,
confrontation starts in Chapter 41; it may not finish there.
Glad you
like Harry! I think he seems a bit weaker in this chapter, but that’s because
it’s still hard for him to face up to Dark Arts.
MewMew2:
That might work for Nihil, but it’s not necessarily going to work for the
imbalance of death and life in the world.
And that’s
an interesting idea about spell languages.
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