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Retreat - Act I: Occupation	By : Andreas Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2548 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 7
- 8
8. Dead of the Dawn

part one

Azkaban was a terrifying place, even without Dementors crawling across its ancient stone battlements. If its walls could talk, they wouldn�t speak of secret trysts of passion or broken trusts of power. The walls of Azkaban would never speak at all. They would wail.

Azkaban was not a happy place. Azkaban would never be a happy place. Even torn down and replaced with a gaudy amusement park, the gloom would remain, radiating from the very rock of the island. Besides, no one in their right mind would place an amusement park in the middle of a stormy sea � a patch of ocean that felt uproar and rebellion would never go out of style, and that a gothic colour scheme with frilly breakers lining black cliffs was all the rage.

On night watch duty deep within this prison of doom, Bert Slartislow was not what one would call a happy camper. For one thing, he lacked both tent and sleeping bag. Not to mention beer, and a suitable location. Elsewhere would do. Here, outside the cell of one of the world�s most infamous wizards, was an acceptable camping spot only for complete idiots � that hapless, lemming-like breed of camper commonly found in Muggle horror movies. And Bert, being Muggleborn, knew that genre all too well.

He hated night watch duty. Not that you could tell what time of day it was in the flickering, timeless dusk of the inner prison. It seemed to lie somehow outside time, perched on a razor�s edge between night and day, neither here nor there, designed to drive inmates into a realm of never-ending insanity.

But Bert knew it was night. Bert had a wrist watch. Bert expected masked, robed figures with daggers to turn up at any moment. Which was absurd, of course. They�d never use daggers. But because of his perpetual state of near terror, he just might see them coming. And his superiors, perfectly aware of his phobias, could rest assured that he wouldn�t hesitate to use hysterical force against any unannounced visitors.

But this particular night, feeling the misshapen ghosts of demented souls slither past him, his constant half-crazed vigilance failed him, as he turned to stand suddenly face to face with a wizard whose powers infinitely surpassed his own.

�I�ve come for the prisoner,� said the wizard.

�Hasn�t been authorized,� yawned Bert, oddly relaxed and longing for that tent and sleeping bag more than ever.

�No time,� said the wizard and snapped his fingers.

The world went out like a light.

~~~*~~~

�It�s magical,� said a hoarse, male voice, as the world fluttered back into focus for Julia.

She glanced about, trying to avoid getting heavy, tree-soiled water drops in her eyes. The rain was pouring down, flooding into the clearing, only slightly hindered by the leafy branches above her. In the darkness, she could make out a mass of harried men who, with their black robes and scowling faces, looked even more sinister than the ridiculously scarred old man leaning over her.

She wanted to ask what the hell was magical about this nightmarish gathering, but she could manage only an exhausted and incredulous �What?�

�The eye,� said the man, indicating his oversized electric blue eye. It trembled in its socket, as if trying stay still. But she�d already seen it roll about. She stared.

Rightly reading the expression on her face as apprehension, the man added, �But I�m one of the good wizards, no matter how scary I look.� He attempted a smile. He shouldn�t have.

�Oh, good,� said Julia unenthusiastically, realising what the pointy little sticks were, and wondering whether it was common practice to use them as blunt weaponry. Maybe these were really stupid wizards. Maybe they weren�t wizards at all. Though the magical nature of the eye was unmistakable.

�Angus even got some calming potion down yer dog,� continued the man, obviously eager to set her at ease. It didn�t quite work.

�I�ve a cat,� she said, wondering what that had to do with anything.

The man looked as perplexed as she felt. �Eh?� he said. �Well, then. It�s a very big cat, I must say.� He shook his head slightly and widened the gash across his face into an unfair approximation of a grin. �At least it seems to �ave perked up real well now, the way it�s laughing.�

There was an unmistakable laugh somewhere to her right. Julia sat up so fast she knocked her head against the old man�s. �That�s a hyena!� she exclaimed, eyes wide. �A bloody hyena!�

�Oh, aye?� said the man, vocalising both incomprehension and pain.

�It�s � it�s a predator! It tried to eat me!� She gesticulated wildly.

The man leaned out of her way. �Well, there are predators prowling these grounds that�ll do much worse to ye, and for less sensible reasons.�

Julia blinked. �Well, I obviously jumped through the wrong ring,� she muttered.

�Aye, about that,� said the man. �Where did ye come from just now?�

She frowned. �London, I think. Look, what��

�Where in London, exactly?�

�I don�t know. Underground.� She was cold and wet and just really wanted to get to a house, and a bed. Or at least a phone.

It was his turn to frown. With all those scars and wrinkles, you could have spotted it a mile off. �Near the Ministry?�

�What? I don�t know! I was under ground!� And who the hell cares? Which ministry? Give me some hot chocolate! her exhausted mind whined, bored with this line of questioning.

�Right. And was there a fire, then, under ground?�

�No,� sighed Julia, �there was,� she hesitated, as if saying it would make it real, and shred the illusion that this might all be a bad dream, �a dragon. A bloody dragon. Breathing fire.� She shook her head. Dragons and wizards. Fire-breathing dinosaurs and daft old men who couldn�t tell a hyena from a dog, or even a cat.

This just wasn�t her night, was it?

�Ah, that�s a shame,� said the old man, shaking his head. �I could�ve really used an exit right now. They�re getting closer.� Julia felt no inclination to ask who they were. She�d either find out, or be happier off not knowing. �And were there many,� the man hesitated, �hyenas there as well?�

�What? No! It�s from Africa! Don�t you know anything?� she asked, in the grating tone of voice that used to send her employees running for the hills of paperwork.

�Ah,� murmured the man, �it is a shame Kingsley�s not here.�

Not seeing the connection, Julia ignored him. �But I�d really advice against using that as an exit.� She pointed at the nearby ring. �There was some sort of enormous snake creature, and a whole horde of��

Screams erupted around the ring.

��those,� said Julia as the spider creature tossed aside two Aurors at once.

~~~*~~~

The cell door creaked open. Azkaban dust and orange dusk trickled in. The prisoner looked up, surprise and shock evident on a surprisingly well-groomed face.

�You�re needed, Lucius,� said the visitor.

Malfoy�s question stuck in his throat. Silencing spell.

�Now.�

It wasn�t a command one ignored lightly. Especially not if one were a muted Malfoy, and refusing would involve excessive amounts of undignified sign language.

Stepping into the hallway, Lucius Malfoy quirked a supernaturally neat eyebrow at the sight of a small, snoring tent just outside the door. As he followed his visitor down the hallway, he valiantly fought a parched, plebeian urge to steal one of the many bottles of beer lined up by the glowing canvas.

~~~*~~~

�You�re traitors, ingrates, and inbred mutations of a mistake that has yet to be rectified,� said the black-haired, gaunt man, stepping out of the shadows, dressed in a dusty black suit and flanked on both sides by three armoured warriors of all too obvious Origin.

�But we�re also terribly handsome and well dressed, dust aside,� said Draco, defiant but with a distinct tremble to his voice. �Mustn�t forget that.�

�Indeed,� said the man, in a companionable tone of voice that was a far cry from the growl he�d used to such great effect in his dramatic entrance. (Ron almost fell over, troubled as he already was by Malfoy�s admission of Origin heritage.) �May you then comfort yourself with thoughts of the pretty corpse you�ll make.�

Draco gulped. It seemed as good a reply as any.

Hermione studied the man intently, trying to figure out where she remembered him from. Somehow, he seemed familiar. But unfortunately, she hadn�t seen enough of the green-eyed knight without his helmet on to make the connection.

And she�d never met the secretive Inspector Strange.

So she turned her attention to the other men � if you could call them that. Six bulky figures, their deformed faces half hidden by elaborate helmets. Like something out of a very cheesy fantasy film. Overkill, wasn�t it?

�Seven men, to catch three kids,� she said, trying to keep her voice strong. �Bit of a � an odd strategy, isn�t it?� She needed to know what was happening, what they wanted. Know your enemy.

�Not at all, Miss Granger,� the man murmured, smiling at the surprise on Hermione face. �After all, you�re the closest thing this school�s got to a resident hero, with Potter � out of the picture. Can�t have you running about the place, not with your talent, intelligence and � perseverance.� He quirked an eyebrow. �Using the dragon cell like that, and locating an exit most people have never even heard of. I must say, I�m quite impressed. It would no doubt have proved fascinating to follow your progress further. But,� he shrugged, �my master likes predictable outcomes � and you�re an unsafe variable, which needs to be eliminated.� He flicked his right hand casually. The warriors stood to attention. �Kill them.�

The man turned and disappeared into the shadows, the sloshing of his feet fading abruptly. The warriors raised their arms in unison. Hermione took a quick inventory of her surroundings � a sewer-like tunnel, roughly fifteen feet high and twenty feet wide, the somewhat smaller tunnel they�d come from directly to their left (but also to the warriors� collective and aggressive right), at least eight inches of dirty water covering the floor, faint flickering light from Ron�s wand, and a couple of unhelpful dead rats. Not a single escape route in sight. And a firing squad highly unlikely to miss, if only because of the Origins� usual wide-blast technique.

This just wasn�t her night, was it?

�That�s a pretty piece of armour,� said a familiar, dry voice from out of the shadows, and Hermione�s nervous mind decided that surprise disembodied voices were apparently all the rage. Though rather than disembodied, this one was partially beheaded. �But what�s inside, I wonder?� said Nearly Headless Nick as he stuck his hand through the warrior�s abdomen.

The warrior shrieked. Blue lightning crackled across its armour and shot like glowing roots into the dark water, setting it momentarily alight. The other five warriors hesitated, as if uncertain whether to fire at the students or the ghost. Or rather, ghosts, plural, because behind the row of Origin, the Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron, and the Grey Lady suddenly materialised. And a blob apparently consisting mainly of one huge mouth rushed towards Hermione and the boys, screaming �COOOOOKIEEEES!� quite over the top of its shrill voice.

Propelled and repulsed by shock and Peeves the Poltergeist, Hermione, Draco, and Ron promptly fell over backwards, just as five blasts of Origin light exploded in the air above them. The foul water closed over Hermione as her mind replaced the Three Little Pigs reel with a budget rendition of Ghostbusters. Though, she thought as she spluttered up from the water, it�s all backwards, as usual.

Here, the ghosts were doing the busting. But it was taking its toll. The Grey Lady whimpered as she put her hands through two crackling helmets. The Fat Friar�s stomach appeared somehow less tangible when the warrior he�d stepped halfway through fell face first into the water. And the Bloody Baron trembled all over after having stepped straight through yet another Origin. (The resulting explosion of light had a certain Slytherin flair to it, Hermione supposed.)

But the last remaining warrior learned � quickly � from its fallen comrades� mistakes. It discarded its body. There was, Hermione thought, simply no better word for it than shedding. An orb of motley blue light, a sun in moonshine, exploded through the warrior�s helmet, squeezing up from the steel armour. The warrior, now nothing more than a badly autopsied corpse, splashed into the glowing water.

Tentacles shot out from the orb, slicing through the air. A machete of light chopped off the Grey Lady�s left hand. With a wail of anguish, she collapsed into the waiting arms of the Friar.

�You black-hearted blob!� roared Nick and drew a short sword from thin air, cutting off the offending tentacle amidst a shower of sparks. The severed tentacle swished past Malfoy�s head, just as he bolted back the way they�d come.

�Coward,� muttered Ron, and ducked as a ghostly arrow from the Baron�s newly conjured crossbow shot his way.

Hermione was sure the missed shot had been deliberate. The rest of the Baron�s barrage of arrows pounded at the Origin, smoke-like on approach but sending shockwaves of white light rippling across the orb on impact.

Nearly Headless Nick slashed at the never-ending growth of tentacles with such ferocity that his head kept flopping about. This did nothing for his aim. The Origin stung him repeatedly. Nick fought a losing battle, visibly weakening, staggering this way and that. Behind him, the Friar seemed to share his energy with the Lady as her left arm began to disintegrate.

The Baron cast aside his crossbow. The Origin orb shot towards him. He stepped aside, like a Spanish bull fighter, and held out his translucent cape. The Origin burnt a hole in it, while at the same time burning off its own tentacles, if indeed burn could be said to apply in either case. Hermione just hadn�t the terminology for this sort of thing. If she got out of this alive, she�d have any number of deceitful Wizarding publishers to get perfectly nasty with. Withholding knowledge on such a scale! The very thought!

The blurred shape of the Baron tumbled backwards through a wall. Nick had sunk to his knees in the water, his sword losing coherence. The Origin hovered at the centre of the tunnel, pulsing slowly and growing new tentacles. It was only marginally weakened by the ghosts� efforts. And no one (who wasn�t human and in danger of instantly fatal burns) had any energy left to fight it. Except, possibly�

�Peeves!� Nick croaked. �Do something, you coward!�

And, to everyone�s collective astonishment, Peeves did. He sang Christmas carols.

He sang Christmas carols very rapidly while zooming round, round, round the Origin, passing straight through its tentacles without any visible discomfort. �Deck-the-halls-with-boughs-of-holly falalalalalalaLALAAAA! Tis-the-season-to-be-jolly- SOMEBODY DO SOMETHIN� � FALALALALALALALALAAAAAHH!�

The mad spin had roughly the same effect on everyone present. This was both good, as it kept the Origin confused and occupied, and bad, as it made Hermione�s mind spin in sympathy, panic gripping her as she searched for something � anything � to use against the Origin. It was, once again, up to her. Ron just stared at the Peeves-Origin high-speed planetary system before him, mouth agape, useless. The ghosts flickered worryingly as they sat huddled in the water, useless.

And Peeves couldn�t do anything because he wasn�t properly there. If he were to turn solid enough to get a grip on both himself and, more importantly, the Origin, he�d be instantly sliced into about a hundred pieces by the flailing tentacles. Which might have an inherent amusement value but would, in the end, be entirely unproductive.

Hermione shook the cat from her thoughts. She needed to figure something out, besides running away to a dark corner and live on rats for the rest of her life.

She spun around, peering into the darkness behind her, hoping to see � what? A sword in a stone? The was sloshing and a slight rasping noise to her right. She paid it no heed.

�See-the-blazin�-Yule-before-us falalalalaa lalalalaaaa! Torch-a-tree-and-join-the-chorus falalalalaa lalalalaaaa!�

Think. There had to be something. The water? No. There was that sloshing again. Rats? No.

�Follow-me-in-merry-meh�� Peeves stopped abruptly at the sight of a large, blackened grille heading his way.

�PEEVES! PISS OFF!�

Peeves pissed straight into the water with greatest expediency.

Hermione turned. She saw the grille hit the Origin and pass through it in an explosion of light. She saw the orb fragment into a multitude of smaller spheres. She felt the shockwave and the waves crashing against her shins. She marvelled at the geometrical patterns of blue light that for a brief moment filled the length of the tunnel. She saw Draco Malfoy trying to fend off a swarm of miniature Origin, using the unwieldy grille Hermione had last seen on the floor of the dragon cell, two tunnels away. He�d run fast.

But now there was nowhere to run. Some Origin pieces zoomed away through the walls and ceiling, but many, too many, attacked. They shot into Malfoy, setting him aglow with electric blue light. He was suddenly translucent, like a three-dimensional x-ray, his skeleton outlined through shimmering robes. He howled in pain and fell slowly backwards, the Origin energy making him as light as a feather. The glow faded. He splashed into the water.

As the water closed over Malfoy�s face, silence fell. The Origin were defeated.

There was darkness, save for the soft glow of the ghosts and a few tiny Origin pieces. Ron�s already weak Lumos spell had been blown out by the Origin explosion. She heard him repeat �Lumos� over and over as she rushed forward to haul Malfoy out of the water.

His eyes were open but unseeing, and his usually perfect hair lay plastered to his head in a dirty tangle, tendrils falling into his open mouth.

Malfoy often looked deathly pale, but this time, he just looked dead.

~~~*~~~

�I must say, your Muggle obsession is quite � refreshing,� said Inspector Strange conversationally. �You know enough to fear this,� he raised his gun further and Arthur flinched, �without a � demonstration. Saves bullets, if nothing else.�

�Why?� said Arthur, miserably.

�Why?� said Strange, looking puzzled.

�Why would you betray � your world?�

Strange�s eyebrows shot up. �They pay me very well. And,� he added, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, �I always take care to be on the winning side. A small sacrifice is better than � a complete sacrifice, wouldn�t you say?�

Arthur inched towards his desk, and the candle, and knew only that he�d have to say something. �But � why now?�

�I believe it�s called a golden opportunity.�

�What?�

Strange sighed. �If you think I�m going to waste time outlining my employers� entire plan before you miraculously escape, you�ve seen too many Muggle movies, which wouldn�t surprise me. And you can stop trying to use that ring of yours.�

Arthur failed to hide his surprise. Could Strange read minds?

�I can feel you trying to activate it. But, you see,� he turned his own ring towards Arthur, �they aren�t the same, these rings. This is a control ring. Yours is just a � subordinate ring. It hooked up to mine as soon as you activated it, which means I�m now here, and have total control over it.� He quirked an eyebrow. �And you.�

Arthur was in front of the candle. His arm snaked back, his hand searching. He didn�t know what to do, but the candle was his only contact with the outside world, with Dumbledore. And he couldn�t just give up.

�I could transport you to the bottom of the sea,� continued Strange, �or the centre of a volcano.� He shrugged. �Regrettably, Mount Vesuvius is out of range. Besides,� he added, quirking a smile, �you might come in handy.�

Arthur gripped the candle, and he fell to the ground. There was grass, and lots of it. He rolled over. Above him, outlined against the soft glow of the moon, was a great ring, alight with blue carvings one moment, and dark the next.

He gripped the edge of the ring and pulled himself up. He stuck his hand through the ring. Nothing happened. It was clearly a transport ring, but it was turned off. No escape that way.

He looked around and saw that he was in a large grove. The air was hot and dry, and somewhere in the distance, there was the sound of dogs. Or, he thought they were dogs.

In any case, they seemed to be having more fun than he, the way they were hooting with hoarse laughter.

He sighed. This just wasn�t his night, was it?
- 7
- 8
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Retreat - Act I: Occupation