Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Awakening To the Dream	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 45316 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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.

Chapter List
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-Ch8
- 9-Ch9
- 10-Ch10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-Ch19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-Ch22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-CH25
- 26-CH26
- 27-CH27
- 28-CH28
- 29-CH29
- 30-CH30
- 31-CH31
- 32-CH32
- 33-CH33
- 34-CH34
- 35-CH35
- 36-CH36
- 37-CH37
- 38-CH38
- 39-CH39
- 40-CH40
- 41-Ch41
- 42-Ch42
- 43-Ch43
- 44-Ch44
- 45-Ch45
- 46-Ch46
- 47-Ch47
- 48-Ch48
- 49-Ch49
- 50-Ch50 *End Part 1*
- 51-Ch51
- 52-Ch52
- 53-Ch53
- 54-Ch54
- 55-Ch55
- 56-CH56
- 57-CH57
- 58-CH58
- 59-CH59
- 60-CH60
- 61-CH61
- 62-CH62
- 63-CH63
- 64-CH64
- 65-CH65
- 66-CH66
- 67-CH67 *New 6/6/2015*
- 68-CH68
- 69-CH69
- 42
- 43
- 44
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CH43

The persistent tingle of magic had drawn Clive Forrestal out of his deep slumber and into consciousness. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, definitely nothing he had felt before, and he had been exposed to many different magics in his young life.
Rubbing his eyes blearily, he sat up and pushed the covers off, throwing his legs over the side of the bed with a yawn. He was thankful for the warming spell that kept the chill at bay when he had first acquired his own room in White Towers. Sitting, swaying sleepily, he tried to decipher just why he was awake at… four in the morning? Hell, he had barely fallen asleep three hours ago.
It had been quite a party, of the likes he hadn’t been to since he was ten and one of his Clan had gotten married. It had been nice to see the whole Clan again, no matter the embarrassing incident at the end of the evening with the Gryphons. He rubbed his bandaged arm ruefully and stared blankly down at his bare feet. Hopefully his nephew was well; from what he had heard from Lesley, Blaise had been quite drunk on magic by the time he had left.

Are you going to sit there all morning?

Yelping, Clive jumped to his feet, only to have his foot slip on the sheets and fall back to the bed in a rain of feathers from his pillow. Breathing ragged and panicked, he raised surprised eyes to the shadow that was padding his way before leaping elegantly onto the mattress. Kitty cat… it was a cute, little, telepathic shadow cat with burning green eyes that pierced his soul in a way he couldn’t fathom but he found oddly familiar. Feeling slightly foolish, he blinked up at the cat that was licking his forehead, and asked hesitantly. “Err… Harry? Is that you, Sire?”

Don’t be daft, Forrestal. I’m a shadow cat created to deliver messages for my master. I will be telling him of your foolish conclusions. The cat gave a final lick to Clive’s head, sitting back on its haunches and observing the man.

Eventually, Clive found his voice. “Forgive me, your eyes are so alike—”

My master has made me beautiful and more powerful than the others of my kind. He loves me greatly and showers me with tenderness. The shadow cat licked its paws, grooming behind its long, pointy ears that identified its kind along with its shadowy form. Now, get off your lazy ass. Master awaits with Sylph and Holdree in the stables.

Clive blinked, scrubbing his eyes again. A cat, Harry’s cat so therefore oddly intelligent, but a cat had just insulted him nonetheless. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet. “Fine, I’m moving. Am I allowed to dress first or is this urgent?” He scratched his long tussled locks that were always hopeless in the morning, hoping to put them into some sort of order while searching idly for the slipper shoes he liked to wear around the castle.

What you are wearing will be sufficient. I do not believe he intends to keep you long.

He nodded, picking up his dark, long robe from the bedside and slipping it on. The other Council members wouldn’t care if he was walking around in his pajamas, but, given White Tower’s size, he didn’t want to run across any of their family living there without at least a robe. There also ran the possibility of running across any lingering guests… no, that wouldn’t look good at all. He had seen enough of Rowland’s disapproving looks for the week.

“The stables?” He queried the shadow cat, attention still at his feet. Ah ha! He fished his slipper out from where it was peeking under a pile of clothes, stepping in it so he could now walk around with matching footwear. “Is everything alright?”

To the best of my knowledge. If you would kindly stop running your mouth and get those legs in gear, I can return to my bed, human. With a disdainful sniff, the shadow cat leapt from the bed and walked right through the door without hesitation.

Not sure whether to be insulted or amused, Clive followed after, opening the door and walking through like most mortals do. Hopefully, whatever Harry wanted wouldn’t keep him too late. He was so tired.

*******

It hadn’t taken long for Harry to determine what was wrong with the Gryphons and fix it to the best of his ability. The climate wasn’t the problem, per say, but it had been the deciding factor, along with their capture and imprisonment, that had effected their health so poorly. The temperature charms were easy to set, and since there were no other animals in the stables at the time, he made sure it was a pleasant 95 degrees. Holdree had thanked him, and his sister Sylph, who he had recently learned was pregnant, gave a deep sigh and sank into the hay he had rustled up for her.

“Have you given thought to my offer?” Harry asked, sorting through the food that had been left for the Gryphons. None of it was suitable for creatures such as them; the meat wasn’t even from the same area as their feeding grounds. “It will not be wise to move Sylph over such a long distance in her conditions and, once there, I cannot guarantee your safety. Whoever captured you in the first place will only come for you again.”

Holdree nodded solemnly, fierce blue eyes searching Harry. “And what of our blood? Our family dwells within the chasm. You cannot expect us to abandon them to the hunters.”

“And Sylph? Are you going to abandon her and her child to men while you try to fight an impossible battle?” Harry asked sharply as he caught the thoughts flitting in the Gryphon’s mind. “You cannot win against them. If you kill but one, all the wizards will swarm and wipe out you and your family.”

“They are weak…”

“It doesn’t matter! Their numbers alone will be your downfall. I realize an injustice has been done to you, but you cannot forfeit your blood because of it. You will lose, and your kind will be wiped from this realm. Is that what you truly want?” Harry growled, running his hand through his hair, eyes awash with worry and anger at the whole situation. “I will do what I can, but nothing good can come if you seek revenge, Holdree. It will not look good if I defend a man-killer.”

“Please, Holdree.” Sylph pleaded softly. “I do not want our blood to die. I do not want to be left here, alone with strangers, while I know that all that I love is dying at the same moment.”

Holdree looked away, feathered ears curling back and his tail lashing around agitatedly. “I want insurance. I will not leave them there to be hunted down like common animals. The humans were clear; they will be looking for the rest of our blood. What would you have me do, sister! The young cannot even fly yet, Dorren knows nothing of battle, and the cur have been tired from hunting and will be unable to defend them. Who will defend our people if I do not? There is no one who can!”

“I will.”

Holdree paused, turning to face the boy. Harry was casually leaning against a beam for support, a lot of his energy lost when he had created the shadow cat to convince the Gryphons that he was truly the Heir. He looked like hell but his jaw was set resolutely.

“I mean no disrespect… but you are in no condition to make that promise, new born. What I speak of requires immediate action.”

Harry smirked, but his eyes were filled with a strange sorrow. “I didn’t say I’d be going all the way to Africa, Holdree. Although, if needed I will. Unlike you, I have the ability to converse with humans. If I cannot convince them to leave your home alone, I will send those to defend it until I am well enough to go myself. Your homelands are still considered protected under our laws, if people know it or not. The appropriate action will be taken.”

“…I think I believe you.” Holdree finally answered, spreading his talons wide and idly scratching the side of a wooden stall. Long threads of shavings curled beneath his claws and drifted to the floor. “Tell me, what action will be taken if you are already too late. What if my blood is already dead? Will you be responsible for their deaths as well?”

“You cannot ask that of him, brother!” Sylph rose to her feet, throwing her weight heavily against Holdree. Holdree snapped back, beak clenching over Sylph’s but she slashed her talons across his chest, leaving four red slashes of blood to mat into his feathers. Rearing back with a roar, Holdree pulled away, watching his sister with angry eyes. Eventually he turned his face away, huffing loudly.

“Please forgive him, Sire. He has let his anger rule him.” Sylph apologized, sending her brother a hard look before settling back down in the hay. “He is young still and hard headed, like most of our males.”

Like most of your kind in general, you mean.

Sylph stiffened, turning her gaze to the shadowy newcomer. “Watch your tongue, cat.”

I suppose I should. I wouldn’t want you to eat it.

Harry snickered softly as Nips lunged out of the way of the Gryphon’s snapping beak and landed into his arms. Nips was actually short for ‘Careful, He Nips’—the Gryphons had gotten confused when Harry had introduced his creation and had thought it was the shadow cat’s name. He thought it was a cute so he had kept it.

Master. Nips purred and bumped its head against Harry’s chin adoringly. I have done as you have asked. He will be here soon.

“Thank you Nips; you have done well for your first task. If you wish, you may return to your sleep.” Harry scratched behind Nips’ delicate ears, smiling when the cat purred in response and padded his claws lightly on Harry’s arm. They both looked up when Clive came shuffling in, his dark eyes blinking at the lamplight glowing in the stables. The man gave a long yawn, stretching onto his tiptoes while being careful not to move his injured arm. “Good morning, Clive.”

“Mmph, if you say so.”

“Your hair is quite the haystack.”

Clive scowled, batting at his hair with no improvement. “Bed head; the scourge of long hair. I was so tired I didn’t think to brush it before I fell asleep. It’s all knots now… I should just cut it and get it over with.” He grumbled, glaring at his sleek locks. “I don’t know why I bother; it was a tradition of my Clan and they’re all dead. Just another foolish thing I try to hold on to.”

“I don’t know; it seems rather noble. No matter who you are and what you do, you are still the last of your Clan. You’re the only one who can uphold the Scion Incubus traditions, whether you choose to or not. No one else has that right… Besides, you have nice hair. I think it would look odd if it were short.” Harry pushed himself from the wall, leaving Nips on a low beam where the cat curled up contently.

“I suppose so… Are you all right?” Clive watched worriedly as Harry stumbled and grabbed the nearest stall for support.

Harry waved off his concern and straightened up carefully. “Rough night. I should be sleeping but I felt the Gryphons needed my immediate attention. We have come to an agreement and I felt, since you are involved, you should be present as well.”

“Oh?” Clive stared curiously at the two large animals, surprised to find them watching Harry with an expression similar to concern as well. “So you can understand them then? I had heard legends, but it just seemed a little too amazing to be possible.”

“Yeah, I was rather skeptic myself until my exritus. I’ve had to get a hold on my enthusiasm or I think I might run myself ragged trying out all my new powers.” Harry tilted his head toward the Gryphons. “Most magical beings can understand humans and a lot of different languages. Language isn’t the same to them as to us. They sense emotions and intent from others; the noises are just ways to voice these feelings. Like Nips, who doesn’t even bother with the noises and expresses himself telepathically. He doesn’t use words; it’s our brains that perceive and organize it into a way we can understand… So, that’s all well and good if the person you’re talking to can understand you, but actually being able to speak another’s language is far more difficult. I have the innate memories and the vocal ability, but all those guttural sounds are hell on my throat.”

Clive nodded absentmindedly, trying to process the fact that Harry could speak Gryphon with his sleep-addled mind. “So… what did you need me for?”

“I have granted the Gryphons their rightful freedom, but Sylph is with child and must stay until she is well. Since you are the only one capable with such matters, I was hoping you would agree to seeing that all her needs are taken care of while she and Holdree are here.” Harry kept the unease out of his voice, eyeing Clive’s arm inconspicuously. The Gryphon’s were not easy beings to deal with. They were intelligent and proud and had the temper to readily destroy those that would treat them as otherwise. He needed Clive to agree, and quite readily, without any persuasion or bribing from him. Any hesitation would reflect poorly, any misgiving would ruin the Gryphons’ grudging respect for Clive.

“Forgive me, perhaps sleep is still clinging?” Clive gave Harry a confused look. “I realize my wound is bad but I don’t recall giving the impression that I would stop caring for the two. The fault was mine alone. I let the crowd get too close and the Gryphons were spooked. I never even would have brought the female—Sylph is it? —into such a situation if I had known she was pregnant.” He blinked, a genuine smile lighting his face. “Pregnant, how wonderful! They are quite majestic; I’m glad they are not the last, as suspected.”

Harry nodded in agreement, smiling inwardly at the easy answer. “Is this acceptable?” He asked Sylph.

Holdree snort disdainfully but didn’t outright reject the offer. Sylph gave the short man a long look, waiting to see if he would flinch. Clive didn’t. “He will have to do. He is not capable to protect us but, if he can keep us comfortable, I will be agreeable in return.”

Actually, Harry was quite sure Clive was more than capable but the Gryphons didn’t seem to understand political power as much as physical strength. “And his arm?”

The prone Gryphon lashed her tail idly. “He has admitted his wrongdoing. You have my permission to relieve his pain.”

Harry smirked at the haughty response and bowed his head graciously. “Thank you. Clive, if you would remove your bandages, I can deal with this final thing and you may return to bed.”

“Uh, of course. Of course, Sire.” Clive hurriedly unwrapped the span of white bandages; eyes caught in the icy blue watching him spill the fabric onto the dirt floor of the stables. He wanted to ask what had just transpired between Harry and the Gryphon for he had never heard one converse in its language. They had an odd voice, a mix of sharp clicking and high screeching with growls so low it sent shivers down his spine. He pulled his gaze down to the dampness on his hands and carefully peeled the last of the bandages from his bloodied arm.

Harry followed the man’s concerned gaze. “Who healed it?”

“Jacques Tudor, he’s one of the more prestigious councilors. He’s a strange sort, but is a wonder with healing.”

Harry nodded, eyeing the wound. His impression of Tudor had been one of indifference from a man who felt no threat to his position. “Is he a trained healer?”

“Not formally; he’s been taught by his Clan at a young age when he showed promise of having the power. He probably knows things about healing that those with apprenticeships have never heard of.”

“He was able to contain the poison from Sylph’s talons. It is unusual.” Harry pointed out the discoloration, a blue tinge circling the wound but going no further to infect Clive. “Unfortunately, it has a corrosive property and will not allow the wound to heal. I’m afraid this will be quite painful for you. I’ll have to drain the poison first or the arm will never heal.”

Clive paled but nodded quickly. “It’s alright; I’ve had my share of painful injuries.”

Harry didn’t doubt him, but knew that getting a wound in the heat of battle and waiting, fully aware of what was to come, was a completely different thing. “Before I do anything, I need you to go over what he did to treat the wound. Spells, lotions, anything you can think of that Mr. Tudor used to heal you.”

“What? Oh, well, I’m not trained in all of that. I couldn’t tell you the names.”

“That’s all right, just describe it. We have plenty of time.” Harry urged gently.

“Uh, right. Well, he washed it in this yellowy kind of water…” Clive chewed on his lip, running over the events in his mind. “Then he took out this big green furry leaf of sorts; he said it was for the poison. I don’t know how it worked but it was kinda prickly and—Ahhh!” Clive stopped with a hiss, staring in disbelief as Harry carefully extracted his claws from the man’s arm. “By Siren— you could have warned me, boy!”

Harry gave him a small smirk. “And have you fainting on me? This way is far more entertaining. No, don’t tense your arm up like that; let your wrist go limp… good. Just let the blood drain out until it’s free of the poison.” Harry tilted his head, checking the color and looking for ways to distract the man from his pain. “It’s flowing well. Tell me, are you prone to getting cut up by the creatures you work with?”

Clive blushed, his anger forgotten at the little dig. “Not usually. Before I was accepted into the Council I spent a lot of time out in the wilds of South America doing field research. It wasn’t uncommon to gain some sort on minor injury at least once a week. …I wanted to go with Helena, you know. I mean, I’m not the most intimidating bloke around here but I know how to take care of myself out in the wilds. If anyone’s qualified for journeying to the Arc Fault, it’s me.”

Harry tore his gaze from the slow drip of blood staining the floor to give Clive a curious look. “Surely, you’re not that naïve?”

“I, uh… what?” Clive furrowed his brow, unable to meet Harry’s intense expression. “What do you mean?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry gave the man time to think it over. He was slowly getting used to people avoiding his eyes for the short time he found himself at White Towers, realizing that it wasn’t a sign of disrespect or ridiculous acknowledgement of his power, but because people couldn’t deal with the small connection of seeing Harry’s soul behind the green. Malfoy had never seemed to have a problem; if he looked away it was because of his many Veela issues or because the berk didn’t want to be spilling his private thoughts to him. Then again, his powers hadn’t been a strong back then.

Their last day together, Harry had picked up on strong emotions and thoughts from Draco but had blocked them fiercely when he realized what was happening. He had intentionally avoided breaking that barrier of privacy out of respect for the boy when he had felt the new power awaken. For some reason, he didn’t feel that level of respect for those he was with now. If he wanted to justify it, keeping up on the Council’s thoughts kept him informed of immediate danger. If he wanted to be honest, he really just didn’t give a shit about their privacy. Maybe because they were strangers…? Maybe because he was Heir and becoming as callus as his brothers were? The thought was unsettling, and he decided to try and keep from blithely wandering into other’s minds, and leave it for defensive purposes only until he had the time to debate the morality of it.

The blue had finally left Clive’s dripping blood, so Harry took the messy roll of bandages and used the cloth to catch the rest while he leaned in to make sure that the poison was fully cleansed from the blood. “They sent Helena to the Arc Fault to be killed. If she were qualified to take care of herself in that situation they merely would have found an even more dangerous mission to point Helena towards. As Magistrate, Christien was the only one who could have overrode Loxton’s order, which was why they had made sure he was busy with the Ministry.”

“But that means…”

Harry looked up, catching the man’s eyes before he could look away. For eyes so black, they betrayed far too much emotion for Clive’s own good. “That means that the people that you have worked with for so long are not beyond killing their own if the opportunity suits them. I will try to equip you with power to help protect you from the situation I have put you in, but you must be aware that you are now in as much danger as I, and the rest of our little group. You cannot afford to be lax anymore, Clive.”

Biting his lip idly, Clive nodded, free of Harry’s gaze once again. Under it all, he had heard the choice Harry was offering him. Things could stay the way they were or he could join his Heir and get in the middle of an all out war. “You… you have seen my blood last night. What was his answer?” He asked nervously, darting his eyes from Harry to his bleeding arm distractedly.

Harry smiled, sniffing at Clive’s wound for any signs of taint. “Who says I posed a question? Blaise was too drunk on magic to take such an issue seriously.” Last night Zabini was a figurehead for his whole Clan, as was Neville. Clive was obviously trying to use the judgement of others once again to make his decisions for him.

“But, you must have had some indication—” Clive let out a surprised breath, gaping blindly down at his arm. His knees trembled, and he would have surely fallen if not for the strong arm that wrapped around his waist and held him steady.

“What are you—why are you—oh gods…” Clive whimpered, his legs collapsing beneath him. Harry kept him from falling and carefully lowered the man, never moving his mouth from his task of healing his arm. He couldn’t help that healing had the odd side effect. Ignoring it relieved the wounded person’s embarrassment more than acknowledging it, so he kept silent and continued licking up the blood.

He sounds like prey. Nips commented, watching the scene with eyes slit open. His heart flutters like a moth too close to a flame.

“He is prey of a different kind, I think.” Sylph added sagely, more interested in the way Clive’s flesh was stitching together under Harry’s tongue, than the man’s condition. “It is a sufficient skill. Magic nor energy is wasted in the task, although a little awkward if a mouth cannot reach.”

Or where a mouth may have to reach. Nips quipped, stretching out on the beam he was resting on.

“Vulgar cat.” Holdree huffed, but watched as well as Clive’s arm became whole before their eyes.

Harry had to choke back his laugh, or risk coughing blood on his robes. If anything, he loved Nips’ sense of humor the most. He had needed something to cheer him during his horrible ordeal and the creation of the little shadow cat had inadvertently given him that, plus the added security of another pair of eyes to watch his back. It had exhausted him to make the creature, but now that it was whole Harry felt like it may be possible to continue at White Towers for the rest of the week without breaking down.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched forward to reach the top of the long slice, sighing at the tang of fresh blood and noting absentmindedly that Clive was more than enjoying the treatment. He liked blood now. He used to relate it to death and pain but now it was life and pain, but a good sort of pain that was thick, and heady, and sent his head spinning while bringing new instincts to the surface. Given that it was the only food he had eaten since leaving Grimmauld Place, he was more than happy to take advantage of the situation.

Harry would be the first to admit that he was most definitely changing, not only with his body and magic, but also with his mind. He was still himself; he knew that as surely as he knew anything so base and essential, but he also knew that he was something else as well. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He was wary of what he was capable of, but that mind numbing fear of loosing his soul had slowly faded as each change occurred and he remained whole… became whole even. A part of him wondered if his mind wasn’t just compensating, becoming skewed as each new instinct and power needed to be Heir was waking up. But it was waking up, not being planted or forced on him. Everything came from within; something sleeping inside him was quickly shaking off the years of hibernation and stirring to life again while in the familiar setting. Yet, even as wonderful as it was to let those fears and doubts disappear, more were quick to replace them.

“Ssssire… please!”

But these people here couldn’t reject him for changing. Whatever face he put forward, they accepted as truth. He might just hate them for that. Who he was here wasn’t who he really was, and they would never know the difference. They would never want to know the difference, just like his old friends never wanted to know who he really was.

Gods, was it just him? Was he a fool to expect people to care? But friends were supposed to. Ron wasn’t supposed to blanch every time he accidentally started speaking in Parseltongue. Hermione wasn’t supposed to look away after asking how his dreams had been and learning that his night had been full of torture, and death, and a laughing Voldemort. Quite clearly he could remember the talk them had had after a DA meeting. Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, had sat him down and went on this whole spiel of how they were worried about him not eating, or talking as much, and for becoming so seemingly obsessed with fighting all of a sudden. They hadn’t even tried to understand what he was going through. If they hadn’t gotten a jolt of reality during the whole Ministry thing they probably would have continued with their pitying looks as they slowly closed themselves off from him.

Hands tangled into his hair, persistent, demanding, but they only reminded him of a more elegant pair that shone in the low light like a pale ghost. He thought about Malfoy too much. Even now just the memory made him want to sob for the boy and he rather hated that too.

“Please, please… please…”

Malfoy smelled different than Clive, and he sounded different too. It would have taken him a lot more to beg; he was proud like that. His blood was sweeter too, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could almost feel the boy gasping and shaking under him. Malfoy made the softest sounds, quiet whimpers and moans in the dark when he thought Harry was asleep. And when he was done, the boy would turn back, his gaze heatedly heavy and worried over Harry’s face, before squirming against him and tucking his head under Harry’s chin and falling asleep. Harry had ignored a lot the past weeks to keep the poor Veela from dying of embarrassment but the memories came unbidden with the scent of blood and feel of fingers.

He liked feeling Malfoy’s soft breath curling against his neck as the boy’s breathing slowed to true sleep. He liked the way, when fast asleep, Malfoy would unconsciously rock against him. And hell, but he adored during those times when Draco’s perfect, long fingers would unconsciously grip his hair or his flesh none too gently, his short, manicured nails biting deliciously into his skin as the boy moaned from needy dreams most common to Veela halflings.

So lost in his memories and the elixir of blood, he didn’t notice the change until the too gentle hands were pulling him down. Eye’s wide in shock, he broke away from Clive’s mouth, realizing it wasn’t Malfoy’s and confused as to why he had wanted it to be. Shaking the thought away, he focused on the strange call of power that had suddenly arisen. “Damn it, Clive! Do you even know what you just—?” He rolled away, pulling himself to his feet shakily. “Nips! Get Lesley now. Tell him it’s an emergency! Sylph, Holdree, I need you to move as far from him as possible.”

Nips didn’t bother to question or even stretch, but leaped immediately from the low beam and through the wall towards Lesley’s sleeping chambers.

*******

“Bloody hell, who is it?” Christien shuddered, breaking off into a run as the screams that had been echoing in the hall grew louder and more frantic. From what he could hear, someone was in the midst of a very painful death. He slid too quickly past a corner and nearly knocked into the opposite wall in the narrow walkways of the servant corridors, his robe floating out behind him before wrapping around his legs. Two hops and his legs were free to run the rest of the way. He crouched, using his momentum to slide through a low doorway and skid unsteadily to a halt, arms flailing as he broke into the larger, more traveled corridors of White Towers and just missed knocking into two startled bodies reaching for the stable door.

“Saskia, Jacques, excuse my rudeness, but get the hell out of my way!” Christien cursed, whirling in mock ballerina fashion to keep his momentum from barreling the two over. He would have been prouder of his quick reflexes if the end of the maneuver didn’t land him face first into the solid door. “Oh hell…” He groaned, cracking his nose back in place while taking a step back and yanking the door open.

He didn’t know what he had expected to find. The most horrifying possibility was that someone had slain the Heir. The more sensible possibility was that the Gryphons had gotten a hold of some curious fool. Clive in a pool of blood, screaming at the top of his lungs like a mad man, while Lesley cradled his head and Harry looked on disinterested, had not crossed his mind.

“What’s happened here?” Christien asked, taking in the scene and dismissing all thought as he looked around the room for signs of danger. What he wanted to ask was who was it that he had to kill, but even in his agitated state he knew it probably wouldn’t sound courteous.

“Calm yourself, Christien.” Harry said, sounding utterly tired. “The only culprit is my temporary lose of wits and Clive’s inability to control himself. Could you kindly let Mr. Tudor and Ms. Hyte in, and close off the area from prying eyes? I’m afraid this will take some time, as with all birthings.” Yawning, Harry settled back against a pile of hay with a bone weary sigh.

Christien blinked at the odd words but did as he was told without question. He was good at forcing his thoughts aside and moving into action in times of urgency; it came natural to him, and he spent his worried energy setting up status and security wards to keep people from stumbling near.

“You asked to see us, Sire?” Saskia Hyte, a tall, slender brunette with soul felt brown eyes that were at odds with her cold expression, intentionally looked away from Clive’s shaking form and wrapped her silky sleep robe closer to her body.

“Yes, I did.” Harry waited for Jacques to turn his attention from the mess on the floor long enough to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry to have woken you both so early, especially from after such a long evening. Unfortunately, Clive needs your assistance and you two are the only ones with the right expertise for this situation.”

“I’m afraid you think too highly of me, Sire. I know very little beyond household healing charms.” Saskia broke in hesitantly. “I am more than willing to help but I don’t see how much use I can be.”

“I did not ask you here for healing, Ms. Hyte.” Harry amended with a smile that never reached his eyes. “That is why I asked for Mr. Tudor. You, Saskia, are here to ensure that Clive does not die from energy loss. You are familiar with transfusions, correct?”

Startled, Saskia gave a small nod, glancing over to where Clive gave a horrendous scream and fought against Lesley’s calming hands. “My Clan is well versed with all types of transfusions.”

Jacques, long and tanned with wild white hair and even wilder orange eyes, gave Harry a pointed stare. “Well, what ails him? I can’t heal what I don’t know, boy.”

“I don’t expect you to heal him, sir. My only hope is that you can keep him alive, possibly stable if all goes well.” Harry stretched his legs out and considered the best way to explain the situation. It was not easy; the words were there but to speak them aloud admitted a death he could very well have caused with his carelessness. “I—he, he’s in the middle of a process that once started cannot be undone. He will either be strong enough to live or… well, not.”

“What can I do for him?” Jacques asked brusquely, all sharp business. The manner was a relief to the worried expressions on the other faces, and Harry found focus in it.

“Treat the symptoms. Try to slow his bleeding and keep him from injuring himself. I’m afraid magic will be dangerous but potions and physical remedies will work fine. Ms. Hyte will have to tie her energy to him to ensure he has enough power to keep going. He was tied to me but I’m too weak to continue. I… I’m afraid it doesn’t look hopeful. Survival in this situation, especially when not prepared and with no ritual, is practically nil. There is nothing I can do for him. I’ve exhausted my energy trying…” He trailed off, eyes unfocused. “If he lives past transformation he will need some sort of kin—no, he has no direct kin… Uh, Clan, his blood, he should be around one of them to help ease him into his new awareness. Anyone will do, really, but blood is always best to cling to… If he survives.”

Eyes narrowed in thought, the healer summoned up his bag from thin air and began rooting through it. “What you’re speaking of… it’s some form of overdue exritus?”

“Something like that.” Harry admitted with a sigh. “Clive foolishly called out to me and I was too distracted by the blood to not answer. He made a choice and my power awoke Siren in his blood. It is too soon for him, and I am too weak right now to guide him.”

Jacques gave Harry a nod and began laying out bandages and salves while setting up status wards with his wand hand. “Saskia, prepare yourself. This amount of power will require a trance. Christien, if you could get around to some silencing charms…?” Summoning a short table by Clive’s form, the healer floated his chosen materials onto it and started the charms needed to sterilize his hands and the area. “Lesley, are you there for comfort or help? Either way, I’m not letting an extra set of hands go unused.”

Lesley continued to hold Clive as steady as possible, although his eyes now silently followed Christien and his bare chest gleaming beneath his robe around the room. “At least I can help in some way. I wanted to give him my energy but it’s hard to tell if it wouldn’t kill him. Siren and Solus Ta never saw eye to eye.”

“I won’t have that problem.” Saskia reassured quietly, sitting gracefully at Clive’s feet. Settling, she closed her eyes and began to breath deeply as she prepared herself. Jacques worked around the two of them, methodically stripping Clive and tackling the many wounds from where the body had tensed so greatly that the skin had split in long, deep gashes.

“His temperature suggests he should be dead.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Heat is normal; anything lower than a hundred degrees is a bad sign.”

“And his thrashings?”

Harry looked away. Even without his normal coordination, everyone could clearly see Clive was trying to kill himself. “He wasn’t ready.”

“…Well, he’s going to have to be.” Jacques rolled his sleeves up and got to work.

*******

By the time the sun had reached the zenith of the sparkling blue sky, Clive’s screams had quieted and he began to stabilize. A collective sigh went through the castle but, even as Harry and Jacques sent their helpful assistance back to bed and much needed rest, the two of them remained, knowing Clive’s health still wasn’t assured. Clive had made it through the most difficult part but there was the high possibility he would never recover. Even if his body became strong, his mind may never find the capabilities to use it, he could even fall into a permanent coma.

Stretching out and taking up his lunch, Jacques bounced ideas off Harry, hoping to get a better understanding of the situation now that things had calmed. It was obvious with Clive’s painful, physical transformation that the man had acquired a Soul Form, no matter the late age and questionable power Clive held. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is he alive right now?” For all the hours he had worked to save the man, not once did Jacques feel as if anything he had done had truly helped Clive.

“It’s hard to say. To be honest, I don’t really know how I made it.” Harry thought back to his exritus and the intense pain he had lived through. “It does something to the mind. I think someone who has never experienced pain would not survive… that’s all it is, surviving. It’s not strength or rising above it all, but just pure stubbornness. As long as you know you can live through it, it’s not as difficult as believing through the whole ordeal that death is all that can await after so much pain.”

Thoughtfully rumbling to himself, Jacques tilted his head and examined his sandwich. “Why him? What would it take to be able to go through that and live… or was it you?” He folded his legs beneath him and straightened up, pushing his spectacles further back on his nose. “Clive is not what one would call powerful in the big sway of things. He is fit, yes, and athletic, a head for war but not the heart, his magic is above average but there are those here whose mere existence shames him in that department. What makes him capable of transforming into, well whatever he is now?”

“Blood for one, the gods are strong in him and… well, he asked.”

“And you answered.”

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “I wasn’t paying attention. Grindelwald left the blood curse and the Heir—I, yeah I didn’t know what to quite expect. All of you have been crippled by it. You think you’re strong but before Grindelwald’s curse there was significant loss in power to all the descendants of the gods and before that, when he—I had been on Earth the wizarding community thrived with power. The other mind in here despairs at the sight even as it realizes that all things must pass. It’s a strange thing. Those with the highest natural power were affected the most, to the point that they couldn’t transform and those weaker than them appeared stronger.”

“But a few, the strongest of the blood were able to overcome the curse. Longbottom, Black, Zabini, Riddle…” Draco… but no thinking of that. “I’m waiting for two others from Gryffindor and Slytherin’s blood but no doubt there will be more.” The other two Candidates would be awakening soon, possibly even already awake and searching for him. He scuffed his heel into the hay on the floor, momentarily missing his old sneakers. He had thrown on the boots Draco had loaned him and scuffing just wasn’t available without the consequence of being yelled at later. He gave the boots a particularly hard scrape on the floor, watching the smooth surface of leather dull. He deserved to be yelled at.

“…So, to answer your question, with Grindelwald’s death, Clive and all the gods’ lines were crippled with the wizard’s final curse. I am a natural counter to that curse and if someone entreats me the curse will be removed and nature will take its course.” He waved at Clive’s prone form.

“This is his true form?”

“Yes, the same as if he had lived in a time without the curse… for the most part.” Jacque’s raised a brow, silently asking for an explanation, but Harry was not in the mood to speak of the specifics of his guilt in the situation. Clive hadn’t asked for the curse to be removed, his entreaty had been less specific and far deeper. He should have known, with the man’s loss of family—Hell, they had been talking about him being the last descendent of his noble clan mere moments before and he hadn’t suspected a bloody fucking thing! The stupid fool!

“And if I were to ask…?”

Harry snapped his head up, instinctively scrunching away. “Another time, Jacques, when I am strong and both of us prepared. The proper ritual will ensure your survival compared to this horror of a morning. It will also stop unforeseen problems that I’m quite sure Clive is riddled with.”

“I wasn’t asking, mind, just curious.” Jacques amended quickly at Harry’s worried expression.

Yeah, right, curious if it’s worth trying or not. Harry gave the man an empty smile. He was too tired to deal with all this. And hungry, hell he was hungry. He had forgotten to ask Lesley for food and blood could only take the edge off for so long. “It would give you an increase in power, a transformation obviously, you nearly made it on your own as it is. If you wish for it I will grant it to you a month from today as a thank you for your help with Clive. That gives you time to dwell it over.”

And keeps you from deciding to join the lot that want to kill me as well, Harry grumbled internally, his stomach rumbling something just as disagreeable. He really was in a pisser of a mood going on twenty-four hours now. Grabbing his head to ease some of the ache, he slumped down and watched Clive’s chest rise and fall. Fuck, five more days left and he had already fucked it all up. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
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Awakening To the Dream