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Family Means More Than Blood	By : WingsofaDream Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 59825 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its associated characters are property of J K Rowling, not me. This story is not being written for profit, just for the lols.

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24th June 1995: Early Morning

It was raining, rather heavily too. Large drops of water beat down on the windows while the darkness outside was occasionally broken by a bolt of lightning which was quickly followed by an intense crash of thunder. It occurred to Harry that even if he had not been sitting by a window and watching it all, he probably would not have been able to sleep for all the noise the storm outside was creating.

Nervous energy had made sleep an impossible task for Harry to effectively complete. He had tried but it had been futile. After an hour of tossing and turning and not even being able to keep his eyes shut, he had given up and left his bed. For a while he had paced and then he had tried to induce a vision but that had failed just as terribly as his attempts to sleep. So, he had settled on watching the rain from the window in the common room so not to disturb his dorm mates. It was not a particularly soothing activity what with the storm and all but it was better than tiring himself out by being active.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed two, the first of the loud bong sounds startling Harry into quickly turning to look over his shoulder. All the previous day he had been jumpy as well. Every little sound had him looking around himself frantically, every unexpected touch had him flinching as though he had been scolded and his hands had been constantly trembling, meaning his notes would be harder to read than usual. All because of what was going to happen that night; the final task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry turned back to the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass and closing his eyes at the sensation. For months he had been dreading this day and now that it was here it was no surprise that he was too nervous and scared to sleep or rest. That evening, if he did even one thing wrong, Cedric would die and it would be his fault. He knew he would never be able to forgive himself if that happened and so he was determined to do whatever it took to save the young man.

Opening his eyes again, Harry looked at the rain-battered window once more. Then, a sudden bolt of lightning lit the sky behind and brought into sight something which made the teenager gasp and back up too far, sending him falling off the thin window ledge.

There, on the window pane, formed with runnings of black rain, had been three simple words: Kill the Spare.

As quickly as he could, Harry straightened himself up again and got onto his feet. He looked at the window intently and wished for another bolt of lightning to come. He ended up having to wait a few moments but another light eventually did come. It brought with it no comfort though as it revealed nothing but a clear rain-streaked window. No words, no viscous, black liquid. Just clear, ordinary rain.

And so that begged the question as to whether Harry had actually seen the words in the first place. Not that it really mattered as he was already familiar with the words. They were words he was determined to never hear in reality.

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24th June 1995: Evening

The time had come, the moment of choice. Did he leave the Hufflepuff or did he save him?

Harry stood, breathing hard, staring down at the struggling form of Cedric Diggory who was currently being wrapped up and dragged away by dozens of vines. The young man was calling for Harry's help and almost every single part of the Gryffindor was telling him to go forward, to help the person who so obviously needed him. But then there was the rational part, the part that remembered all the dreams and all the warnings and knew that if he did help Cedric, then the young man would die.

"Please forgive me." Harry whispered, probably not loud enough to even be heard by Cedric, before turning his back on the struggling Hufflepuff and running in the opposite direction, away from the older champion.

The calls and pleas for help coming from Cedric followed him almost the entire way to the cup and when they did stop, they stopped very abruptly which did nothing to help settle Harry's guilty conscience. He forced it to the back of his mind though; it would not do to dwell on something which was ultimately for the Hufflepuff's own good.

The distance between Harry and the Triwizard Cup was gradually growing smaller and behind him he could hear the sound of the walls of the maze crashing together. He could not make himself run any faster, he was already pushing himself to his limit, but it seemed to be enough. When he was about a foot away from the cup, Harry took a leap, right arm stretched out in front of himself to grab the object. His fingers wrapped around the slim handle and in a second, the maze which had once been around him swirled into nothing and was replaced with the now familiar graveyard Harry had seen all too often in his dreams.

Harry landed with a harsh thud, a grunt of discomfort sounding from him as he made contact with the ground covered in dying grass. He looked around himself unsurely, recognising everything around him despite the fact he had never been to the graveyard in person. It was odd, how similar it was to his visions. It felt exactly the same, right down to the temperature of the atmosphere around him. But he made sure to keep at the front of his mind that this would no longer be like his vision. By preventing Cedric from joining him, he had made sure that the vision he saw would not come true. Unfortunately, that meant that something else would happen, something which he had no fore-warning about and so was therefore unprepared for.

Slowly, Harry got up onto his feet and brushed himself off, always looking around himself, never letting his gaze wander aimlessly. Then, he started to walk forward, over to the memorial statue he knew so well. He did not even need to reach it completely before the writing, which in his visions had remained forever elusive, became clear and he was finally able to read it. Upon doing so however, he promptly decided it would have been better to remain ignorant. There was one word which seemed to stick out like a flashing light in Harry's mind, telling him everything he needed to know:

Riddle.

Harry stepped backwards, away from the memorial, quickly, exactly at the time that his scar started to ache and footsteps began to sound somewhere behind him, gradually getting louder indicating that whoever it was was getting closer. He had to get away, he needed to get back to Hogwarts. Turning, he went to dash back over to the Triwizard Cup in order to go back to the safety of his school. However, he had not run very far before something suddenly wrapped around his waist. Looking down, Harry saw several lengths of rope were wrapped around his midriff and gave a startled yelp when the ropes tightened and yanked him back roughly, bruising him painfully. He gave a grunt of discomfort as he was slammed against the base of the memorial statue. The ropes firmly tied themselves, effectively keeping him attached to the block of cold stone. He immediately began to struggle, even before he caught sight of Peter Pettigrew coming forward, carrying a bundle of something in his arms.

For the first time, Harry noticed a not-too-far off, large, black cauldron, filled almost to the brim with some kind of liquid or potion which had a thin layer of misty smoke rising from it. Pettigrew headed straight over to the cauldron and, upon reaching it, lifted the thing that was in his arm and dropped it into the big pot. Harry only caught a glimpse of what it was that fell into the cauldron and so could not be sure what it actually was. To his discomfort though, he had the distinct impression that it had looked like a small person.

Pettigrew held out a wand which Harry recognised as Voldemort's and pointed it over in the Gryffindor's direction. The teenager screwed his eyes shut in preparation of something terrible happening to him. When nothing did happen, he carefully opened his eyes again saw that a bone had appeared from somewhere and was floating towards the tip of the wand Pettigrew held. The man directed the floating bone towards the cauldron as he spoke:

"Bone of the father unwillingly given."

The bone then dropped into the cauldron with a small splash. Then, Pettigrew held up his right arm, a large knife held in his left hand alongside the wand. "Flesh of the servant willingly sacrificed." He whimpered as he brought the knife down and chopped off his own hand and most of his wrist.

Harry cringed at the sight but did not look away, all the while struggling against the ropes which held him tight. When Pettigrew had recovered from the pain of severing his hand, he turned to the teenager and something in the man's expression caused Harry to instantly dread what was coming next. He doubled his struggles to escape but it was futile. Pettigrew came right up to him and then grabbed Harry's left arm to stop it from moving around. Harry gave a cry of protest which quickly turned into a wail of pain as the knife was dug into his arm. Even when the coolness and the sharp pain of the knife had left him, the pain continued to pulse and sting and hurt and Harry dared not to move his left arm for fear of twinging the injury.

With the tip of the knife now covered in Harry's blood, Pettigrew quickly but carefully moved back over to the cauldron and then jerked the knife over it a few times to shake free a few drops of the crimson liquid while saying: "Blood of the desired forcibly taken." The contents of the cauldron immediately reacted, bubbling and pulsing. Harry watched in no small amount of horror as Pettigrew watched with growing delight. "The Dark Lord shall rise again."

Harry was stunned into stillness at the sight ahead of him. The contents of the cauldron continued to bubble and seemingly boil and after several minutes, something began to rise from the liquid. Before long, a fully formed, completely human, very naked, Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron and gracefully headed towards Pettigrew who held a black robe ready and waiting for his master. Voldemort slipped in on easily before holding his hand out to his Death Eater.

"My wand, Pettigrew." He ordered in the cold, hissing voice Harry remembered all too well.

Pettigrew gave a small, submissive simper before bowing and holding out the wand for Voldemort to take.

The newly revived Dark Lord did so before speaking once again: "Hold out your arm."

"Master, oh thank you Master..." Pettigrew simpered as he went to hold out his bleeding right arm.

"The other arm, Pettigrew." Voldemort corrected before the fat man could even properly lift his arm.

The short man whimpered pathetically at that and, although obviously reluctant, did do as he was told and held out his left arm. Voldemort yanked the tatty sleeve of Pettigrew's shirt up to reveal his Dark Mark before pressing the tip of his wand on to the tattoo, digging into the skin rather painfully. Pettigrew gave a small whine of pain moments before the crack of Apparation began to sound in quick succession. All around the immediate area, Death Eaters began to appear. Soon, eight Death Eaters stood in their presence, spread out in a circle around where Harry was tied and where Pettigrew and Voldemort were standing.

"Welcome, my friends." Voldemort greeted them all, turning so that could address them. As he did that, Harry began to struggle against the ropes which held him against the biting cold of the memorial statue with renewed enthusiasm. "Seven years it has been and yet here you all stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I admit to being disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

"I-I returned." Pettigrew meekly said then, unwittingly interrupting Voldemort.

The Dark Lord glared at the fat man then and swept over to him. "Out of fear, not loyalty." He hissed angrily, leaning in close to the Pettigrew and causing the fat man to shrink back. "Still, you have proved yourself useful these past few months."

It was then that Harry moved his left arm too much and the wound inflicted by Pettigrew rubbed roughly against the harsh ropes. He could not stop giving a small cry of pain at the awful sensation and that, unfortunately, attracted the attention of all the Death Eaters and their Master. After recovering from the pain enough to open his eyes and lift his head, Harry's eyes met with Voldemort across the space which separated them.

"Oh Harry..." Voldemort breathed, turning to him completely and starting towards him quickly. "Once again I see you have grown all the more beautiful since the last time we were together." He reached Harry then and looked down at the teenager's injured arm. "That must be painful. I'll have it bandaged as soon as we return to my manor."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Harry yelled, struggling against the ropes with renewed strength.

"Oh, I think you will find, my dear Harry, that you have very little choice in the matter." Voldemort whispered as he brought his right hand up and went to press the pad of his thumb against the scar on Harry's forehead.

Harry closed his eyes tightly in anticipation, expecting the worst to come from Voldemort's touch. And, in a way, the worst did happen. There was no pain but instead there was intense pleasure, the sort of pleasure which spread throughout every part of your body like wild fire, pooling in your groin and filling you with a desperate need for climax. Mercifully, the man did not seem to particularly want to torture Harry at that point and so allowed the teenager relief quickly. Mere seconds after the skin on skin contact began, Harry gave a choked sob as an intense orgasm rippled through him.

"Astounding what a few drops of your blood will do, isn't it, darling?" Voldemort whispered but Harry could only give a sob and bow his head. "Now, let's get you free from those bonds, hmm?" The man said in a manner which was so calm and caring that it was hard to believe this was the same man who had basically just raped him.

Slowly, Harry felt the ropes surrounding him loosen and then slip away, allowing him to fall forward limply, being saved from slumping to the ground awkwardly by the arms of the Dark Lord. It was that sensation which prompted Harry to move. With an angry cry, he pushed Voldemort away from himself, staggering backwards awkwardly and pulling out his wand as he moved. He managed to pull it free from his tournament robes finally and then stopped, pointing he length of wood straight towards Voldemort with a steady grip which betrayed the panic and fear he felt inside.

"Go ahead, Harry." Voldemort invited him with open arms as the Gryffindor continued to aim his wand without further action. "Go ahead and kill me." Harry stared at him warily for several seconds, Voldemort eventually giving a bark of laughter and shaking his head. "I'm unarmed." He declared as though that was not obvious. "There really would be no great effort involved. Just two simple words which I know you know off by heart by now."

Harry stared at the evil man in front of him and felt his whole body tremble. It would be so easy to just say the words, bring forward the horrible green light and wipe the monster off of the face of the planet. But that would be breaking his vow of pacifism in the most awful way possible. Yes, Voldemort was evil, yes, Voldemort deserved to die, but who was Harry to take that life away from him? Who was he to play as the Goddess and decide who was to live and who was not? And, truthfully, could he really bring himself to do it? To take another's life. To watch those eyes become dull with death.

With a sob, Harry shook his head and took a step backwards, dropping his wand as he did and bringing his hands up to cover his mouth. He closed his eyes and bowed his head to block out the sight of Voldemort and the Death Eaters and continued to back further away. "No..." He breathed through his tears."No, I can't do it. All life, even yours, is precious, and I cannot take it from you."

A small smile came from Voldemort at that confession. "Of course you can't."

Harry opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to look at the Dark Lord again. The look on the man's face was indescribable and gave Harry the sinking feeling that something terrible was going to happen, most probably to himself.

"However, just because you passed that one test, doesn't mean you have escaped all punishment."

The word echoed in Harry's mind; punishment?

"Did you really think I was going to let all the years of disobedience go by without comment, Harry?" Voldemort asked with a softness which was actually rather menacing. "Quirrel, the Chamber of Secrets; oh yes my Harry, you have a lot of things to make up for." He paused then and gave Harry a very brief smile before his face became a perfect picture of cruel humour. "Pettigrew?"

"Yes Master?" The fat man said, coming up to stand just behind Voldemort.

"You will be the one to punish Harry by way of the Cruciatus."

"M-master?"

"You are capable of that, aren't you?"

"O-of course Master."

"Then we shall begin. Cast it." Voldemort ordered, offering the shorter man his own wand in which to cast the spell.

Pettigrew hesitated a moment longer before accepting the wand quickly and almost yelling the word: "Crucio."

The pain exploded inside Harry in an instant and an agonised scream ripped itself out of his throat. His knees buckled and sent him crashing to the ground where he curled up on his side and suffered. He had not felt such intense pain since this entire nightmare had begun that Hallowe'en when he had been nine.

After a few moments of the torture, the spell was ended and Harry's muscles immediately relaxed completely, like they were no longer there or had at least melted. He panted harshly, trying to regain the breath that had left him through his screams of pain. His body ached everywhere and he felt unable to move so he just lay there, wishing more than anything to just disappear but knowing that was not going to happen.

However, no sooner as he had started to recover then Voldemort had given the order again and the Cruciatus was put back on him. Then, in a few minutes, it was taken off again. That process went on for several minutes before, finally, just when Harry was sure he would not be able to take anymore, Voldemort spoke the final order, getting Pettigrew to stop once and for all.

Harry breathed in haggardly, his throat raw from his screams which had turned into whines towards the end. His eyes were shut though no longer tightly clenched, so he heard rather than saw someone come to kneel by him. A low moan of pain left Harry as his body was shifted against a firm chest and strong arms wrapped around him protectively. Long fingers began to run through his hair which had loosened from its braid so that several thin tendrils hung around his frame. Harry knew that the arms around him and the hand caressing his hair both belonged to Voldemort but he was powerless to pull away or stop them or even demand to be released. So he just lay there pathetically, prayer upon prayer running through his mind, begging to be saved, begging for an opportunity to save himself.

"You did that so well, my love." Voldemort's whispered to him gently as dry lips brushed against his hair line. "You've made me so proud. You won't have to suffer much longer, you'll have a potion when we get back to my manor." The lips left Harry then and he felt the man he was slumped against straighten up. "Pettigrew."

"Yes Master?" The disgusting man simpered.

"Step forward."

Pettigrew did as he was told, stepping up until there was only about a foot of distance separating him from the Dark Lord.

"My wand." Voldemort ordered and was instantly handed his wand. "Do you think you have been completely loyal to me, Pettigrew?"

"Master?"

"Have you never strayed from me? Have you always obeyed me? Have you ever done something that I would not approve of?" Voldemort asked as he adjusted his hold on Harry so that he could gently ease them both onto their feet, supporting the teenager more than the boy was standing on his own.

"I have always remained loyal and obedient, Master."

"Really? Tell me then, do you remember the time, many years ago, when I specifically told all Death Eaters that Haryon was to be harmed in no way at all?"

"Yes Master, of course."

"Then would you care to explain what the events of last year were about? I believe you made several attempts on Haryon's life, did you not?"

Pettigrew instantly began to cower, obviously aware of what his master was referring to.

"Trapping him in a room with a werewolf, attempting to cast the Killing curse on him, physically attacking him; do you deny you did all this?"

"I thought you were gone forever, My Lord, I was trying to avenge..."

"That is irrelevant! You tried to take Haryon's life and for that, you must be punished."

Harry watched with wide eyes as, just as Pettigrew barely got a sobbed "no" out, Voldemort raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry gasped in horror as the green light hit Pettigrew and the man slumped backwards lifelessly. Seconds later, Pettigrew stood up, or at least a Pettigrew stood up because although the body remained laying lifelessly on the ground, a second Pettigrew had come out from the body, looking completely solid. It ocurred to Harry that it was like the time he had seen Narcissa in his father's living room a few months after she had been killed by Voldemort. And that Christmas at Malfoy Manor, when he had met Voldemort for the first time. Glancing around himself quickly, Harry noticed that no one else seemed to be seeing the moving Pettigrew.

Looking at the standing Pettigrew again, he was more than a little surprised to find the man staring straight at him. For several seconds, they merely stared at each other before Pettigrew's face turned sad and he gave a bow. Harry felt a lump form in his throat as he got the very definite sense of regret and remorse. Pettigrew was sorry. For everything the man had done, he was sorry and he was trying to apologise. Those small, black eyes moved up to look back to Harry and without even thinking about it, Harry gave a small nod. A look of relief crossed the fat man's face before his figure slowly faded away, leaving only the dead body as evidence that the man named Peter Pettigrew had ever existed.

Harry gave a small weep then, finally alerted Voldemort to him once again. "Harry? What is it? What's wrong?" The man asked gently as he brought a hand up to cup the side of the teenager's face.

Harry gave an angry, sobbed cry and yanked himself away from the evil man. His body, still aching terribly from the Cruciatuses he had suffered, protested greatly against the sudden, defined movement and fought to sap the energy from him. Harry kept strong though and glared up hatefully at Voldemort as he staggered backwards. "How could you do that!" Harry demanded as he struggled to keep himself up on his feet. His breathing was heavy from the effort and he was slightly stooped but he was succeeding in keeping somewhat steady.

"He hurt you, Harry, and for that he had to be punished."

"But you ordered him to cast the Cruciatus on me! How is that any different from him trying to hurt me on his own initiative when he thought he was avenging you! How could you have done that? How? And with so little feeling! To take a life like that...How can you...?" Harry trailed off weekly, suddenly feeling rather dizzy. Losing his balance slightly, he stumbled backwards, catching himself on the memorial statue so that he did not fall to his knees again.

"It has been a trying day for you, Harry," Voldemort's voice came, thankfully sounding as though the man had not moved any closer again. "So I will ignore that little out-burst. It will not happen again though." He ordered sternly before a pause. Then, when the Dark Lord spoke again, it was obviously not to Harry but to the Death Eaters. The Gryffindor tuned it out though, not wanting to acknowledge anything.

He had seen someone die...Dear Merlin, he had actually seen a life being stolen and the spirit leave...Pettigrew had been sorry; he had not wanted to do the things he had but he had been scared. And who could blame him? Standing up to the Dark Lord was not the sort of thing many people could do. Of course, some people, such as Harry, were not really given much of a choice on the matter.

But what now? How was he going to get away? Because he was not going to go with Voldemort! He would sooner take his own life than give it to that poisonous snake! That really was a last resort though. There had to be a better way of escaping, especially as Voldemort seemed rather preoccupied with talking to the Death Eaters at that moment. What Harry needed was the Triwizard Cup to take him back to Hogwarts, but it was several metres away from him and there was no way he would be able to run that far without being noticed and then being stopped.

What about his wand though? That was only an arm's length away from him and then he could summon the cup over to himself. Then, he could catch it and go home, taking Pettigrew with him. No matter what the fat man had done, he repented at the very last moment and for that he at least deserved a funeral and it was doubtful he would get one if he left the body behind. The only question which had to be answered now was whether Harry would be able to make it the distance over to the dead man before being stopped. Though that was a question that really had no need to be asked because no matter the answer, it was what Harry was going to have to do; there was nothing else he could do.

Lifting his head, Harry saw that Voldemort was still over by the cluster of Death Eaters and half of them had their backs to him which was handy. Hopefully, the others who were facing his direction and were able to spot him would be too involved in the conversation to notice. Still, just to be on the safe side, he would move slowly and carefully; no sudden movements.

He carefully left the support of the memorial and started towards where his wand was laying on the thin grass. Not once did he allow his eyes to flicker off of the adults dressed in black, even as he stooped down and reached for his wand. His muscles screamed in protest, still suffering from the torture he had endured, but he bit back the stiff pain and kept moving forwards, kept reaching for the wand. Even when he had grabbed his wand, he did not allow himself a second to rest or to allow his aches to fade. In fact, he pushed himself harder. He forced his back to straighten, he lifted his arm and pointed his wand towards the Triwizard Cup. For a moment, he allowed himself to prepare before opening his mouth:

"Accio Triwizard Cup!"

Even as the words left Harry's mouth he was moving forwards, his stiff and aching legs pushing him on, taking him closer to Pettigrew and the Triwizard Cup which had risen and was now flying towards him. He heard the cries of protest from Voldemort, the order for the other Death Eaters to stop him, the castings of several 'Stupefies' and the several shots of red light speeding towards him. His instincts screamed at him to stop, to cower, to bolt in the other direction, but he resisted and carried on forward, never stopping, not daring to stop.

Harry fell to his knees when he reached the body of Pettigrew and he fisted the material of the man's shirt in the hand which still held his wand while he reached out with his left, in preparation of catching the summoned Triwizard Cup. He lifted his eyes, looking up through under his eye-lashes, and saw Voldemort rushing towards him. The man was not moving fast enough though and, in the blink of an eye, Harry felt the cup collide with his hand and then he knew he was gone as the tugging sensation on his navel came. Relief washed through him and he closed his eyes as everything became rather fuzzy.

When he felt himself land, his ears were filled with the sound of people screaming cheers, clapping and generally celebrating, no doubt because of his return. However, for Harry, the sound only lasted a few moments before a ringing began to drown out the actual sounds. Consciousness began to fade away from him and he felt himself falling. He tried to hold onto reality but it seemed intent on leaving him and the last thing he was properly aware of was the impact of the ground as he slumped over on his side.
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Family Means More Than Blood