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
- 52
- 53
- 54
Hey everyone, another chapter for ya. ^^ I’ve been fiddling in my free time at my Live Journal site, and if anyone is interested I made a little place for fan art and random goodies of the story etc. http://voxfuriae.livejournal.com/512.html Check it out if you like, and I would love fan art contributions if any of you have free time and a generous heart! I’m thinking of holding a contest or something equally mediocre XD but I don’t know if anyone would be interested. Anywho, thanks for all the lovely comments (I’ve been feeling so alone recently, every comment helps. ;_; Seriously 500 hits since I last posted, and no one wants to say boo! It doesn’t have to be ego stroking either, just a reminder that you’re alive and reading. *whines a bit more*) Bad week for me, so I’m clingy. Ignore me. XD
Acr: Sorry, hun, no promises there. You know he’s itching too hex Petunia, but they may never even meet. ^^
Kat: Thanks, that was what I was going for. ^___^
Answers: Lol, then you are going to hate little Musa. XD Ah, Harry can’t run from the Dursley’s, beyond safety reasons, he never would have met up with Draco in the very beginning! It’ll turn out all right. *pet*
Lady Lynn: Thanks for the sweetness, hun. ^^ I added you to the mailing list.
DarkAngel30: Is this soon enough? ^^

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.

Awakening To the Dream
CH53

Fight. Why won’t you fight? You lie there each time, waiting. He is weak. You are strong. You were strong. You are dying. Each day, you grow weaker. You must fight. You are dying. Why won’t you fight? He is weak. You must kill him before you lose your strength. Destroy him. He’s going to kill you. Destroy him. You are dying. Fight back. You cannot let yourself die. Kill him. You must fight. Kill him.
“…Ssssshut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up…” Harry grabbed his head with broken, bleeding fingers, trying to stop the voices as he expressed his madness in parseltongue. Trying to stop the insistence to kill. Vernon hit him again but he only curled deeper into a ball. He couldn’t feel the pain, but he knew it was there. The voices were quick to tell him. His rib was cracked again. The tendons in his broken arm were getting too much strain. Damage was getting to the point where he would not be able to heal. His body was falling apart. He was starving. He couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t think properly. He was dying.
Fight back. Get up. Kill him. Kill him. You are running out of time. Kill him.
Stop. Harry gripped tighter, the thin wand clutched uselessly in his hand. Another blow hit his back. They were getting slower. Vernon was probably growing tired by now. Just a little longer now. It was almost over. And then he could escape, hide in the park. He’d have to come back before dawn, it wasn’t safe to be out in the light. The voices said the dark was safe; he didn’t know why, but so far it had been all right. Vernon was always there in the morning, waiting. But he had no choice, not unless he killed Vernon. And he couldn’t do that.
Get up. Fight. Destroy him before your power is lost. You are dying. Why won’t you fight?
He had made a promise to Aunt Petunia. She fed him when Vernon wasn’t looking, and had made him a sling for his broken arm when he couldn’t afford the power to heal it. She helped clean his wounds during the day, and made sure to make enough noise so that he would be awake and on guard once Vernon returned home. And after dinner, it was Aunt Petunia that unlocked his cupboard so he could get away, away from the cold, and the nightmares, and the midnight beatings Vernon thought Petunia didn’t notice.
You’re dying. You must kill him.
No. He couldn’t kill a victim. Vernon was a victim. There was something wrong with the man. He didn’t know what it was, but this wasn’t the same man as before. Somehow he had become a monster, feeding off pain and terror. But Harry wasn’t afraid. And he didn’t feel pain. Vernon would go away, like all monsters went away when there was nothing there for them.
It doesn’t matter. Kill him. He will leave only when you’re dead. There isn’t much time left. Your life is worth more than his. Kill him.
Shut up. He was nothing. He had no family, no loved ones, no friends. They had left him; they had died. They had all gone away and left him to suffer alone. Vernon had a family. He had Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and Marge, and he had people that cared about him at work, and in the community. People were worried about him.
No one worried about Harry, no one but the voices. And even they didn’t seem to care that Harry didn’t want to hurt others. He just… he just wanted to be left alone. No one could hurt you when you’re alone. No one could betray you, or forget about you. He just wanted to fade away and forget the faces that had abandoned him. He wanted to forget that they were depending on him still. He wanted to stop caring. He wanted the world to stop, all the noises to go away, all the people to go away, so he could be alone. Forever.
*******
Musa Slytherin had been staring up at the clouds for a while now. The clouds weren’t particularly interesting as clouds went, but like the first time, he’d had the revelation that these clouds had been over the heads of millions—billions of others. Even His head… even his Heir’s. Excitement shot up his spine, and he swallowed thickly to keep from laughing aloud. He was out there waiting, and soon he would come for him. So he felt no guilt for dallying a short while in his studies, if only to reflect on that incredible fact.
His life had finally gained meaning. Vindication. He had lived his short sixteen years only to train, and study, and improve himself, all in the name of something that may or may not ever come to fruition. But now his goal had been found. The great Fae Couatlicue had shown him the truth.
All doubts had left him. He would fight, and he would die, but it would be for his Heir, and his Heir alone. He no longer had to wonder why he kept pushing himself. It was for him.
Why train until his body broke and refused to move? For his Heir.
Why did he torment himself with years of forced isolation and seclusion, so he could perfect his magic and studies? For Harry.
Why will he fight, his blood spilt, his magic spent, his soul weary till the bitter end? Because that small, broken boy, hardly younger than himself couldn’t handle any more, and if the human broke, the god would be useless and all would be lost.
As Soul Vigil, it was his job to make sure the Heir completed his duty to bring balance to the world, and if it meant protecting the Heir from horrendous gods and brute muggles alike, than that was what he was going to do. That was what his duty called for, and his duty was all he had ever known.
He had no mother or father; he did not know their faces or even what their names had been. He had been lost as a baby, considered a demon by most even as a child, but the Elders had found and taken him in, raising him as was proper for his status. He had not know what that had truly meant, not until two weeks ago, but now he could honestly say he was relieved to have gotten the proper training he needed. The others did not know the secrets the Elders had taught him, secrets that would undoubtedly gain him favor with his Heir. Wizards today did not know the ways of the past, not the way the Fae knew. But Musa knew them. He knew the rituals of battle, the intricacies of balance, the lost arts of diplomacy and manipulation. And what he didn’t know, he knew how to find; being a ward of the Elders gave him access to the Gates and the Unvoiced, and all that that entailed.
He was going to win. He was powerful, he was intelligent, and he was resourceful. There was no better choice. He would willingly give his life for the Heir; was there any greater sacrifice?
Musa sat up, staring down with wide, blue-eyed wonder at his narrow dark arms. His power was sparking across his skin, racing in excitement he hadn’t felt since he had anticipated his exritus. He wanted to laugh, fly, holler to the world that he had realized the meaning to his life, and he needed to attain it like the parched earth worshiped the water.
It was almost time. He had been waiting all his life for this moment, and soon it would be here. He would fight, kill the unworthy Candidates, and take his rightful place as Soul Vigil.
And then he would finally meet the boy who truly understood snakes.
*******
“It’s not as if I haven’t heard news.”
“We’ve all heard news, Juro. I’m more interested in some facts, for a change.” Elder Kenelm rolled up the parchment he had been going over, sealing it and spelling it before handing it over to the waiting falcon. “Beau has been useless; I swear your brother takes delight in the impossible, but we really don’t have much time left.”
“So you think it’s true?” Elder Juro kept his eyes glued on the window where Musa and the large snakes that lay beside him were bathing in the sun, sleek sinew scales coiled in the wicked heat. Although the boy could take care of himself, as a Candidate he had more enemies than what was imaginable. Predictably, that made Musa blissful. As the boy’s self appointed guardian, it left Elder Juro very uneasy.
“…Yes. I think it explains a lot, actually.” Kenelm tapped the quill on the spacious desk, carelessly splattering ink on the ancient wood. “The change of magical flows, the intensification of violence… His coming… it’s all winding down.
Juro shook his head, the wind brushing his soft white hair against his full mouth and trailing long strands over the floor in airy waves. “No… the world has followed this cycle before. There is no way to say this is the time. We have no confirmation besides the word of a two-bit seer. I’m not acting unless it came from the Filix herself.”
“As if you’d act anyways, Juro. You’ve grown soft, dallying your days here with these dwindling Clans and the boy, as if you could save either, given the chance.”
Juro ignored the sneer sent his way, smiling in his normally calm manner. “Only ten years and you know me so well, Kenelm? You should watch your assumptions… such things end in death.” He turned back to the window, eyes following the currents of magic stirred by Musa’s thoughts as the boy chatted with his snakes. “He doesn’t need saving; he never did. Musa is going to save us.”
“To what end?” Kenelm straightened, walking over to the window where he could see Musa resting. “This could be considered your fault in the end. You should have been training him to kill the Heir, not this ridiculous Soul Vigil nonsense. Cassandra’s blood has never been wrong.”
“Nor has it ever been clear.” Juro turned warning eyes on the other Elder, his smile gone chill. “He is a son to me.”
Kenelm scoffed at the affection. “No one told you to grow feelings for the boy. You knew this day would come.”
“Yes… and Beau knew I would never back down. I have no qualms in killing you, Kenelm. You may see my time here as a weakness, but to me it has only added to my strength. What do you have to protect, besides your own selfish life?”
“Selfish? You would have the world fall, just to lengthen the life of a boy that should never have been born? He’s a monstrosity, even among his own kind—”
“Just what do you know about monsters, child?” Eyes caught in deadly white, Kenelm took an unwilling step away, then another as he was pushed back by unseen power. “You, who are not even three thousand years yet, what experience do you bring to tell me that that boy out there is nothing but the last of a miraculous race of beauty and power? What do you know of monsters, living with your followers of death and lust? Is that the worst you’ve found in this world, that you blindly look at that child and think monster?”
Kenelm raised his head defiantly. “I know my eyes. I know the legends—!”
“Yet you don’t know when to shut your mouth!” Juro snapped his hand out, grabbed the man by his lower face, and leaned down inches away to whisper. “You come into my home, disrespecting the name of me and my brother, and call my son a monster? Do not forget who and what I am, Kenelm, for I will never forget your actions today.” He squeezed Kenelm’s face painfully before pushing the man away. “As for this insistence on informalities… You will address my brother and myself as Elder. You are no longer among your peers, child, and you would do well to remember it.”
“F-Forgive me. I meant no disrespect…” Kenelm cracked his jaw back into place, averting his eyes and trying uselessly to suppress the sudden terror shooting through his veins that could only be originating from the power of the man across from him.
Juro stared blankly at his pale hand, pulling it back and running it through his long locks and pushing his hair from his face, his power shimmering over his skin and his eyes calming back to their normal light green. He smiled sweetly, his anger wiped from his face as if it had never been there. He was not known as the ‘silent void’ because of his pale coloring. “You’ve been living too long with weak-blooded death bringers too feeble to handle the light. The true immortals disregard them for a reason. If you expect to stay among our ranks, I recommend you find more meaningful company, Kenelm.”
“Yes, Elder.” His eyes flickered wildly around the study, taking in the seemingly innocent instruments that had suddenly flared with dangerous auras in response to Juro’s energy. “I… I should be on my way…”
“Oh?” Juro raised a brow, taking in the scent of fear rolling off the man. Kenelm was supposed to set up a level of communication between him and the Elders, since Juro had been quite insistent on his privacy. Apparently the Elders had over estimated Kenelm’s nerve. Well, it seemed he and Musa would have a short reprieve. An apprehensive Elder would only get in the way anyways with the dangerous rituals that were to take place there that week. “Such a shame, Kenelm, you’ve only just arrived.” Juro patted him lightly on the back, inwardly smirking when the man flinched. “But yes, perhaps you are better suited where you are actually welcome.” He led him down the hall and to the door, the causal arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders tight in warning. “Please, say hello to Masou for me.”
The shorter man’s face drained of color. “…M-Master Masou?”
“Yes, he was one of my children too, Kenelm. Do you understand now? Perhaps you should study those around you before you play with such dangerous elements, child.” Smile gone again, Juro’s expression twisted back to one of death as he whispered coldly, “I do not care whose orders you’re taking. Touch my boy and I will destroy your family, your loved ones, drive you to madness, and leave you there, forced to serve my whims while their bodies hang above you for all eternity… Think about that before coming here again, little one.” He pushed the man out the door, leaving him kneeling on the ground in terror.
Kenelm cursed as the door was shut behind him and he struggled to his feet. Those bastards… they could have warned him instead of sending him into the den without preparation…
No one had ever given the indication that Juro was dangerous. Whenever the brothers were mentioned they were called weak, human hearted fools, albeit respected for their intelligence and knowledge. But there was nothing weak about Juro’s pretty face, not with that ancient power he had felt. He had called Master Masou his child, informally at that, Masou who was most notorious among the immortals for his dark power. How old would he have to be…?
“…Elder? Is everything well?” Musa blinked when Kenelm jumped away, cursing in surprise as Diane, Musa’s friend snake, slithered over his boot-clad foot.
“Damn it, boy! Don’t hiss at me like that, you damn freak!”
Musa pursed his lips at the offensive tone, studying the doorway vacantly. His didn’t have the vocal chords to speak in the normal human tongue, like his distant cousins. He tried to compensate by speaking with telepathy at the same time, but not all appreciated the way his voice called power. He was not around humans often, having been out in the wilds to train for the last six years. An Elder should understand, though. Elder Juro had always said his voice was as sweet as the Fae, and Elder Beau had once compared him to an ancient venerated god of the Tumounei, whose voice could grant pleasure and pain given his mood. He did not expect such placating from Elder Kenelm, but certainly such rudeness was uncalled for.
“Diane, come along. The Elder’s boots are far too dirty for your pretty scales.” Ignoring the Elder, Musa slipped away, hoping to get into the cool house so he could finish his daily meditation. He did not need to waste his time with a weak immortal that was scoffed even among his own peers.
“Wait!” Kenelm grabbed Musa’s arm, wrenching it back painfully when the boy tried to break away. Hell, if not for the long, serpentine tail thrashing at him, the boy would almost look human… almost. Fighting the tail that replaced the boy’s legs, he held tight and ended up with four deep gashes down his face as Musa whirled furiously and clawed at his face. “You dare—I’ll kill you!” Musa snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowed and head held high arrogantly, daring the man to attack.
Kenelm growled and held fast. “Listen here, you little monster. If you leave to take the Trial we’re going to come and kill you. I don’t care how old Juro is, he won’t be able to protect you from all of us, even if Beau does stand beside him! Stay away from the Heir if you want to live, because no one will allow a monstrosity like you to become Soul Vigil!”
He let the boy break away and covered his bloodied face, willing the wounds to heal. Damn fucking brat— “Argg!” He fell back from Musa’s punch, the damn horror of a pet snake binding his legs and keeping him from escaping the young naga’s wrath.
Once Elder Kenelm was of an acceptable level of bloody, bruised pain, Musa pulled back, wiping his face with his arm to clean off the stray spots of blood. “Thanks for the warning, Elder. I’ll be sure to remember that when I’m Soul Vigil.” Perhaps he hadn’t been completely proper in the whole thing, but he refused to tolerate rudeness towards Elder Juro, and to be honest, he was getting a little pissed with everyone suggesting that he was not suitable for being Soul Vigil. “Come along, Diane.” He opened the door, letting the large snake in first and following after.
He headed for his room in the back, shivering from the significantly cooler air of the inner house brushing against his skin. The house was more a compound really; two floors above ground was the original temple, but below the surface, out of sight was the main miles of building few knew about. The Fae had originally occupied the temple, humans coming by and rebuilding parts at times until Elder Beau had found and taken a liking to it, remodeling it accordingly. Fiery San Temple went hundreds of feet down and was filled with a labyrinth of rooms ranging from beautiful to twisted depending on how close to the dungeons, a place Musa had explored when younger, when the Tribes in the area hadn’t welcomed him to play… He didn’t like to think back to those days though. That was before Elder Juro and Beau had returned from their travels, and taken over guardianship of him.
It was a lavish home, with beautiful grounds protected from the wicked climate because of the high levels of wild magic in the area, and the powerful wards. It had a perfect grouping of smooth flat rocks just ideal for lying out on to absorb the sun, not that many people noticed them. Musa was not surprised by the fact that many an Elder had taken up residency when Juro and Beau were out for thousands of years on end. The brothers would even leave the wards low at such times, so the home would not go to waste… but not this time. When he was seven, two years after Musa had been found and brought to the temple, both brothers had showed up unexpected—which really wasn’t that surprising given the two were not ones for announcing their presence to the Elder community anyways—and took back their home with the warning that it was no longer open to the others indefinitely.
There had been a struggle; some young immortals only a handful of millennium old had thought to keep Fiery San Temple for themselves. Musa had been locked away in the room the young Elders had caged him in at the moment of battle so had missed the most of it, but he had caught the heavy scent of blood wafting through the ventilation and the muffled screams enough to understand what likely had occurred. Fifteen new graves were fresh in the ground when he was finally released. He had not known what to do. Running had never been much of an option given his opponents’ speed and the barren terrain where he would be easily spotted, but Musa did have the unique physique perfect for hiding in unimaginable places. He had hidden in the temple for over a week before hunger and exhaustion had finally driven him to move. Elder Juro had been anticipating this, and had swiftly caught him in blankets, feeding him fully and sending him off to a comfortable bed to recover.
The immortals were not a nurturing race for the most part, but Elder Beau and Juro had proven to be the exception. Musa’s opinion of the other Elders ranged wildly; he used his instincts mostly for how to judge the ones that visited from time to time. The only other one he had found acceptable was Elder Masou, the others ranging from tenuously trustworthy to pure scum. Kenelm had just dropped to scum that could be a potential threat.
What a stupid man, invading his Elder’s home without warning, and dumping work and trouble on poor Juro’s shoulders. Juro had far more important things to worry about than some silly rumors. They were having guests over. Fiery San Temple was well renowned to have the ideal positioning and warding for blood rites, and it seemed a rare life or death situation had come up, rare enough that Juro was kindly opening his house to the Tribe to help them raise the success rate. If he was lucky, he might even be able to watch…
“Musa? …What have you done?” Coming around a corner, Juro paused and eyed the boy’s mussed hair and bloodied arms.
Eyes widening, Musa instinctively hid his hands behind his back, pasting an innocent expression on his face. “I was just going to go meditate, Elder. I’m afraid I let the time slip away today.”
Juro narrowed his eyes, his nose flaring as he caught the scent of blood. He stepped up, trying to scent where the blood was coming from, only to have Musa turn around to hide his hands. “I’m running late, Elder… oh!” Musa gasped as Juro pulled one of the boy’s long plaits with a triumphant noise, pointing out the clear drops of red on the black strands.
“…Meditating, hmm?”
Musa bit his lip and blushed, finding the marble floor suddenly very interesting.
“Hands.” At the request, Musa pulled them forward, revealing his battered knuckles hidden beneath Kenelm’s blood. He continued to stare at the floor as Juro scolded and ran his long fingers over the broken flesh, healing him with magic. “Go clean up. Lunch will be served in an hour and I’m sure you don’t want to look unkempt for our guests.”
“Forgive me, Elder, I shouldn’t have—”
Juro smiled, clasping Musa’s hands together between his. “I would have expected no less from you, my dear. If we’re truly lucky, something nasty will eat Kenelm while he’s limping his way home.”
Musa beamed, his laugher warm and light in his relief not to be in trouble. “Diane helped. She says he smelled like a rat.”
“Yes, well not all of us know how to bathe properly, unfortunately.” Juro said mildly. “Run along; you don’t want to fall into that category. Oh, and make sure to wash your hair of the blood, otherwise the guest may try to eat it.”
Musa looked at the man skeptically, but shrugged it off and nodded. “Of course, Elder. I’ll be thorough…” He went to go, confused when his arms refused to move. “Elder… my uhh…” Giggling, he nodded towards their locked hands.
“…Oh… how careless of me…” Juro released his hands with a small shake of his head. “Well, off you go then. I must see to some papers in my study. I’m afraid things will become very hectic around here for a few weeks.”
Musa watched the Elder go, a thoughtful look on his face. “…Well then. Ready for a bath, Diane?” Musa asked, licking the blood from his hands as he slid across the floor towards his rooms. Juro seemed so pleased he wished he’d broken more than one of Kenelm’s legs. Well, there was always next time.
*******
Watching a particularly nasty memory, where poor Harry was babbling too madly at the voices in his head to notice Vernon was looming and preparing to attack, like the coward the man was, it took Musa a moment to realize he had company. Pulling himself from the memory, he focused on a slightly familiar golden aura.
…Ealdian, right?
Yeah… Ealdian held back, glancing casually up at the movie-screen like memory of Harry shining in the darkness. Have you spoken with the others yet?
Musa frowned, jutting his chin out. I got the feeling He really didn’t want us talking.
Well, he said no killing… talking doesn’t really seem the same. Ealdian pointed out, although he sounded a little uncertain about it. I just… well, it’s weird, right? Do you think He’s all right?
Oh. Musa thought about it for a moment, then nodded. I think he’s fine.
…Yeah, I guess you’re right. Ealdian flinched when the memory Harry was kicked in the stomach, the crumpled boy hardly glancing over to see the pain being inflicted on his body. You don’t have to watch this, you know. I’ve sensed you looking around his head. He’s got more pleasant memories.
Musa shrugged, turning from the scene and heading towards Ealdian. I like this one.
Ealdian looked at him, scrunching his nose at the sound of breaking bone. Why?
Musa just shrugged again. She’s here. Maybe she knows what’s going on with him.
Maybe…
Not speaking, together they left the level they were on, heading towards the section Darel was in.
*******
Now what do we have here…? Darel, Ealdian and Musa broke away from their huddle and turned towards the unfamiliar voice, eyes widening in surprise. Do you really think it’s a wise idea to be chatting with the people you’re eventually going to have to kill?
Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here of all places? Darel asked, looking for all the world like she was going to attack.
Ealdian wasn’t so hasty, and raised a hand in greeting. So it was you. I thought I saw you before I passed out, cousin.
Draco nodded in greeting to Ealdian. I’m afraid I arrived to that party a little too late. But that’s beside the point. You’re walking a fine line, talking like this. Candidates are not supposed to interact before the Trial.
Ealdian smiled. It’s not like He doesn’t know. If he had a problem with it I imagine he’d kick us out of his head, right?
You’d assume so, wouldn’t you… Draco turned, eyeing the other two Candidates who were staring at him quite intently. My, I wonder which is Slytherin’s and which is Gryffindor’s? He sneered sarcastically, noticing Darel’s obvious flow of rage and Musa’s subdued, cautious senses trying to figure him out.
So you’re Malfoy? I thought you were a joke. Darel sneered right back, looking down her nose haughtily.
Draco ignored her, turning his gaze on Musa. There’s no point hiding it, you know. He already knows, and anyone with a bit of sight can see it clear as day.
Hey, I’m talking to you!
Musa raised a brow. Apparently you’re the only one with bit of sight around here. I’m Musa. What’s your name?
Draco. He glanced at Darel, whose anger was growing. Last names have no place with Candidates; apparently not all of us know that.
You must think you’ve already won, Draco. Ealdian stepped closer, a mild smile on his face. It took me a while to figure out why you would be foolish enough to announce your Candidacy. But then I figured out who the Heir was, and it all clicked. Very tricky business you’ve got yourself into with Voldemort on your heals. Have you proven yourself to him?
Musa and Darel started, eyes intent on the two.
It took you this long? No wonder Ezella chose a second. Draco watched with cold eyes as the boy froze, uncertainty flickering over Ealdian’s face. Anyone attending one of the Champions’ schools would have figured it out immediately, when all He does is have detailed nightmares of Diggory’s death. At least those two have an excuse, never having seen the Triwizard Tournament. He has the winning cup in his trunk… or didn’t you notice?
I noticed. Ealdian said, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. I figured it out when he mentioned Sirius Black as his godfather. It’s sort of common knowledge in the family.
It took Darel a moment to click it together. Everyone had heard of the Diggory tragedy at the Triwizard Tournament. That boy from his memory who had died in the cemetery must have been Cedric Diggory… meaning Harry was… You’ve got to be kidding. He’s the Harry Potter? That… that’s insane…
And we have a winner. Draco drawled. I was afraid I was going to have to spell it out.
…Who’s Harry Potter?
All three turned stunned eyes on Musa. You’re kidding, right? Harry Potter? Savior of the Wizarding World?
He defeated Voldemort when he was a baby. He’s the only known recorded human to survive the killing curse… Ealdian just stared when Musa showed no sign of recognition. Have you been living under a rock?! Harry Potter!
Musa shook his head. …Voldemort? I’ve been learning history concerning before the dawn of man, why would I know these names?
Draco circled the petite black boy, meeting his blue eyes thoughtfully. Four years ago, a boy from Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was discovered to be a Parselmouth. The very same year he uncovered the Chamber of Secrets belonging to Salazar Slytherin, and defeated a maddened basilisk that dwelled there. That boy was named Harry Potter.
He…He’s the same?
Yes.
Musa looked away, absorbing this new bit of information. A small tremor shook him, and moments later he was smiling uncontrollably. Amazing. This is more than I ever hoped for. I knew he could talk to snakes but to be the one that defeated my ancestor’s curse… amazing.
Draco smirked. Yeah, well wait till you actually meet him. Potter’s got spaz down to a science.
You shouldn’t talk about Him like that. Darel warned.
Draco just shrugged, his face voiding of emotion. What do you care?
Darel narrowed her eyes. At least we were there. Where the hell were you when he was being attacked? You come in here all high and mighty, like you’ve already won, but everyone knows Harry Potter despises all Malfoys, especially since your Aunt was the one that killed his godfather. You don’t have a chance. She spat viciously.
I was busy, not that it’s any of your business. Draco said evenly, in no hurry to explain the circumstances. And don’t tell me how Potter feels about anything. He cocked his head to the side towards the area where Harry’s memories were being played out in surround sound. You’ve seen what’s happened to him. What are you going to do about it?
Darel pursed her lips, glancing back in the direction they had come. What do you mean?
Ealdian. What are you going to do? Draco asked, still looking at Darel.
Ealdian smirked. I’m going to win.
Well Darel? That’s the Heir you’ve been seeing. Are you going to fight for him?
Of course I am! I’m sure as hell not going to let you win, Draco. You’d probably kill him in his sleep and hand him over to Voldemort.
Ealdian chuckled softly. How naïve. Do you really think anyone would side with some weak mortal when the Heir stands in power?
Is that your only reason? Draco persisted. You want to keep the baddies from hurting him? Potter can take care of himself.
Shut up. I would stand against the world for him. I would die for him if I had to. I’ll certainly have no problems with killing for him; he is my Heir. She gave Draco a meaningful look.
No, I think Ealdian’s the only one squeamish there. Draco said bluntly. What about you, Musa? You seem a little more observant than the majority here. What are you going to do?
Musa studied the group quietly, his eyes drawn to Draco’s challenging grey. I serve the Heir, and as such, I will live and die by his word. I am not blind to the fact that his human half is flawed… damaged… but I can only do as my Heir asks. I will fight to the death for him.
You too, Ealdian? Are you all willing to die for the Heir? Draco watched them nod. He smiled bitterly, pushing away from where he was leaning.
Good. I suggest you do it during the Trial then. Potter doesn’t need a dead Soul Vigil.
You little—you’re going to be the first I kill! Darel shouted, lunging at Draco, only to pass right through him.
Gryffindors. Ealdian muttered, rolling his eyes at the display. Darel would need to reign in her emotions if she ever expected to have a meaningful conversation with Malfoy, never mind actually defeat him.
Tell me what you meant by that. Musa demanded, staring up in the blonde’s face. You won’t sacrifice yourself for your Heir? What sort of Candidate are you?
Draco smiled grimly. Potter has enough dead people filled with good intentions. Those two over there want to win, so that they won’t have to die. You… you’re looking for some sort of meaning to it all. You’ll die for him because of some romantic notion that that’s the sort of thing a Soul Vigil does. Out of the three of you, I’d say you have the best intentions, and likely the only one worthy of it. But you won’t beat me. I won’t die for him; without someone beside him, that idiot wouldn’t know what to do with himself. The weak, broken side of him would win, and no one would be saved. That would be very bad, now wouldn’t it?
Musa nodded, understanding what Draco was saying. Still… I cannot go against my Heir’s will.
That’s why I won’t let you win. Breaking eye contact, Draco looked away for a moment, then turned back to the boy and held out his hand. Musa warily raised his, gripping their hands together solidly. I think it’ll be a grand battle. Try to stay alive until then.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. I won’t just let some worthless Candidate win either, and you’ve yet to proven yourself to me. Musa grinned fiercely and gripped tighter. Digging his claws in, he dared the other to let go. Draco laughed in response, struck out, and bit the other viciously on the shoulder. They let go at the same time, laughing lowly.
I look forward to killing you, Draco.
You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself either, Musa.
Freaks, Darel growled, disturbed by the strange display. You’re both going to regret underestimating me. And you’ve got nerve bringing your Death Eater ties into this, Draco. Someone will stop you.
Draco sent her another sneer. Waste all the time you want waiting for divine intervention, Darel. No skin off my back. He stepped back and address the group. Anyways, I figured I’d let you all know this will be your last visit into Potter’s mind, since you’ve decided to use it for questionable motives.
What do you mean?
I’m locking the three of you out. Potter doesn’t want you squabbling, and it’s only a matter of time, since you’re actually talking… which we all know is greatly frowned down upon as it is.
Oi, you have no right! If the Heir had a problem, he’d tell—!
He’s in a coma, you nitwit. Draco snapped. Believe me, Potter isn’t the type to share his angsty memories with just anyone. That you’re taking advantage of his injured situation is the final straw. I suggest you all learn some mental defenses while you’re at it; as you can see, it was nothing for me to read your minds while we’re connected like this. It would take nothing for me to send assassins to each of your homes while you sleep, either. You better start taking this seriously, because I have no intention of letting any of you defeat me. I’ve gained what I needed from you. Now…Get Out! Draco raised his arms, a bolt of light pushing the Candidates away, each awaking in shock in their respective beds.
Once they were gone, Draco was able to complete the mental shields on Harry’s mind, keeping Harry safe until the boy was strong enough to do it himself. Imbeciles. How could they not know Potter was injured from the whole Council thing? They’d never win. He’d never let them.
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Awakening To the Dream