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The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Nine—Bringing Him Down

            Draco stepped back and paced slowly around the pile of flaked stones. No matter how much he concentrated, he couldn’t feel any power in them.

            Draco snorted. Potter would doubtless say that was because Draco was a wand magic user and distant from the human-centered magic of old artifacts like this.

            But he didn’t care. The flaked stones were—apparently—old Muggle knives and axes taken from Muggle “digs.” Goyle had tried to explain it all to Draco, enthusiastic about grinding stone and the kind of magical power you released when you did so, but all Draco had to do was give him a bored look. Then he shut up and got to work meekly offering the artifacts.

            He’d also given Draco a spell that would essentially light a beacon near them for any user of earth magic. It should pull on Potter even more than it would someone who knew normal things about elemental magic, from what Draco understood, because Potter had abandoned all other kinds of power to use earth magic exclusively.

            Because he had to. Because he doesn’t have a soul-mark.

            But Draco shook his head a second later. That still didn’t make sense. It was much more likely that someone had forgotten to fill out the records properly, and that the Minister was afraid of the knowledge becoming public.

            That led Draco to a second problem, though. So some of the Ministry’s servants were incompetent. Well, everyone had always known that. It still didn’t explain why de Berenzan was so fervent about keeping this particular slip-up a secret.

            Maybe people would be harder on him because it’s the Boy-Who-Lived, not some random child born to a random couple.

            But no matter how Draco let his mind loose on it, there was still a riddle in the center that refused to crack, like a nut with a thick shell. Draco hoped that this particular store of artifacts, his bait, would provide the hammer he needed to crack that shell.

            He wrapped himself in spells deeper even the Disillusionment Charm, and hid near the pile of artifacts, and waited.

*

            Draco lost track of time as he crouched. He only shifted his weight when he had to, moving carefully even to relieve himself or take a few bites from the sandwiches he had brought along with him. They were roasted beef sandwiches made by house-elves, practically indestructible. Now and then Draco started as he heard a sharp clink off to the side, but it was always some tourist who had come to Carn Gluze to actually admire the cairn.

            By the time Potter arrived, Draco was almost half-asleep. But he jerked himself awake again when he heard footsteps skittering towards the pile of artifacts. The Muggles who had walked around them hadn’t recognized them as anything important as all, only thinking of them as another little stack of rocks.

            From the way this person walked, they knew their value.

            The person stopped and crouched next to the pile of artifacts. Draco narrowed his eyes and made his breathing as soft and gentle as he could. Even the enhanced Disillusionment Charm might not fool Potter if he made too much sound.

            Potter crouched with his head hanging over the artifacts for so long that Draco entertained the ridiculous thought that he’d gone to sleep. And then he stood up and began to move casually in the direction of the outer cairn, without touching the pile.

            He knows it’s a trap.

            Draco struck, knowing Potter would disappear in another minute and not relishing the thought of chasing him all over Britain again. He aimed his wand and hissed an incantation that made the ground in front of Potter’s feet seem to vanish. It hadn’t, really, but it certainly looked like that to someone who wasn’t in on the secret of the illusion.

            Potter jumped and whirled around, his eyes wide. Draco took some pleasure in the way those eyes darted around madly, trying to see into corners and shadows. Apparently he hadn’t thought that someone might conceal himself right next to the pile of artifacts, even though he had decided they were the bait in a trap.

            Draco tried a Stunner next. It was a simple spell, but there was a reason that it was still one of the spells that Aurors used most often.

            Potter leaped over it, and then dodged the next one Draco aimed. He was moving in swift leaps towards the nearest clear patch of dirt. Maybe his way of traveling under the ground would work best there, Draco thought.

            Draco Apparated behind him, and Potter had to turn hard so as not to run into him. He looked at Draco from so close, his eyes so wide, with the white standing out around the pupil, that Draco really thought he might give up.

            Instead, Potter thrust out a hand, and there was a clinking and rattling as pebbles materialized from the center of his palm, flying towards Draco so that he had no chance but to duck.

            Potter had one foot on the clear earth by the time Draco could see again. And Draco knew he would probably never lure him back after this.

            In desperation, he spoke the words he hadn’t intended to speak. “I looked at your birth records, Potter. I know you don’t have a soul-mark.”

            Potter stilled. That was all Draco needed. Everything was fine as long as Potter didn’t flee. The best thing was to keep him here and talking.

            “I don’t know why the Minister would be so afraid of you because of that,” Draco admitted, and swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t like admitting anything, instead of announcing it. “But I want to know.” He paused, eyes locked on Potter’s face. “You know.”

            It was an instinctive guess, since he had seen the way Potter’s face changed, rather than a certainty. But Potter’s expression turned smooth and bitter, and he shook his head. “It’s nothing you can help me with, Malfoy.”

            Draco stretched out a hand, although Potter hadn’t actually moved to leap into the ground. Then again, he might do something with earth magic that Draco wouldn’t recognize when it began to happen. “I didn’t think I could help you with it. But you might consider this. I use Dark Arts, too, which is even worse for an Auror than for a private citizen. And I dislike the Minister as much as you do.”

            “Why? Probably his blood,” Potter muttered a second later.

            Draco snorted. “No. Because he treats me like a weapon he wants to use but which he’s always afraid will turn and cut him. He doesn’t have the courage to either trust me or discard me.”

            Potter blinked several times. Then he said, “That’s the way he looks at me.”

            Yes. I’m so glad that I had the wit to say that. Draco moved a slow step forwards, making sure his wand was down at his side. He suspected Potter would abandon him in a hot minute if he thought Draco was going to take him in. “Yes, I know. And that makes me think it’s more than coincidence that he put me on your case. More even than my reputation.” He swallowed more sourness. “So. Want to tell me what it is?”

            Potter considered him in silence. Draco tamped down the impatience that he knew was going to get him in trouble if he didn’t. He waited, instead, in silence, while Potter looked behind him at the piled artifacts, and up and down Draco’s body, and around the tourist site as if he expected Muggles to show up, although it was night and the attraction was closed.

            Then Potter nodded. “If we can go somewhere private and talk, I’ll tell you.”

            Draco closed his mouth on a shout of triumph and held out his hand. “Will you trust me to Apparate you? I promise I won’t take you to a holding cell.”

            Potter gave him a sad smile and put a hand on Draco’s. “The sad thing is that I’m reduced to trusting the word of a Ministry employee,” he said.

            Draco thought it odd that he chose that term instead of “Malfoy,” but it was more than Potter’s right. He twisted into the Apparition, hearing Potter draw harsh, shallow breaths next to him.

*

            Potter looked more out of place in Draco’s drawing room than Draco had supposed he would. Even his black hair was like a wound, cutting across the bookshelves as he paced in circles, trailing his fingers over the spines.

            “Sit down. I’ll have my house-elf bring us some tea.”

            Potter studied him with steady eyes, and then nodded and sat. Draco waited until the house-elf had come and gone. Unlike some wizards, he didn’t discount them anymore, not after seeing the way that the one called Dobby had died rescuing Potter during the war. And what they observed, they might report back.

            “Tell me what it means not to have a soul-mark,” Draco said, holding the teacup in front of his lips and pretending to sip. His throat felt closed with excitement; he couldn’t have swallowed a drop. Potter, on the other hand, was avidly eating the small cakes the elf had brought with the tea.

            Potter stopped in mid-swallow, and stared at the center of the table. His lips moved. Draco tensed until he realized Potter was counting under his breath.

            For courage?

            Potter looked up, and said softly, “It means I have no soul.”

            Draco set down his cup hard. Then he said, “That’s not possible.”

            “But it is.” Potter sighed. “Wands react with your soul. I told you that before. I had a piece of a soul in me for a long time, which is probably why I could use a wand. But not long after the Horcrux died, I could only use the Elder Wand. And I told you about its corruption.”

            “You must still have a soul,” Draco said, his mind rushing along various pathways. He discarded some of the arguments that came to him, though. Potter had probably thought of them already and wouldn’t listen, and it was abruptly important to Draco that Potter listen. “Otherwise, how could the Elder Wand interact with you at all?”

            “Either because it has a soul of its own—after all, it was made by Death—or because its magic is strong enough to maintain the connection after the Horcrux died.” Potter sighed and swallowed the last bite of another cake. “I don’t know exactly, Malfoy. What I can tell you is that I’ve done enough research during the last few years to be sure I’m telling you the truth. I don’t have a soul. I don’t have a soulmate. I’m not going to be able to come back as a ghost or go on to whatever else there is after death. The soul-mark shows that you have a soul. It’s just so common that other people don’t question it.”

            Draco sat there with his head reeling. Potter ate three more small cakes, eyes on him.

            Draco finally said, “I need to know what kind of research you read that suggests you don’t have a soul. After all, otherwise you should have been born dead, or something. Or if you’d survived, you would just lie there breathing and blinking and nothing else. That’s what people who have their souls sucked out by the Dementors do.”

            Potter nodded slowly. “And when they get their souls sucked out, their soul-marks disappear.”

            Draco made an impatient gesture. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”

            “Have you heard of the rain unicorns?”

            Draco stared in incomprehension, which he didn’t like, but at least this time Potter answered the damn question right away. “I thought not.” Draco took some cheer from being able to still find that smug voice aggravating. “They’re very, very distant kin to true unicorns. They’re Dark creatures. Shadowy grey. They’re born from the kind of storms that cause hundreds or thousands of deaths. They feed on souls, like Dementors, but they have to touch people with their horns to do it.”

            “Did you get touched by one?”

            “No. Of course not. I’m only telling you what I learned. The soul-marks disappear from the skins of people touched by a rain unicorn, too.” Potter’s breath was coming a little faster, and he leaned forwards and stared at the last two remaining cakes as if they would answer for him. Draco took one on purpose, to force Potter to look up, and he did, but swallowed with his gaze lingering on Draco’s face.

            “There are people,” Potter whispered, “who’ve lived with the rain unicorns for a long time, and they make treaties with them. Feed them some of their own criminals and outcasts and outsiders for the gifts of hide and horn.” He shifted balance, as if he was in a forest himself, watching a rain-colored creature pace towards him. “That’s where a lot of the unicorn horn for sale in apothecaries comes from.”

            Draco checked an exclamation. He had wondered, for a long time, why selling unicorn horns for use in potions didn’t seem to curse the people who supplied them. There couldn’t be that many unicorns who willingly gave their horns up, or people who found old ones.

            Of course, it was illegal. But there were still a lot of them around.

            “What about these people?” Draco finally asked, realizing that Potter had stopped speaking and was just looking at him with tired, ancient eyes.

            “They’re born without souls,” Potter said. “Without soul-marks, even though they’re wizards and that’s supposed to be universal. They live and die like anyone else, but they can’t use wands. And they can spend time around Dementors comfortably without having their souls sucked out, either. The Dementors just ignore them. They don’t have anything they can eat.”

            “You were affected by Dementors.” Draco thought this was crazy, and he was going to let Potter know that.

            Potter dipped his head, and his smile was ugly enough that Draco wanted to tell him to stop giving it. “I was. When I had that bit of soul in me that was still large enough to make them respond. But I’ve been near them since I started losing my connection with my wand.” He shrugged. “They ignore me.”

            That was the first piece of proof Potter had offered that Draco thought he could accept. He settled a little further back from Potter and studied him. Potter ate the last cake, or rather half of it. He held the other half out to Draco.

            Draco accepted it even though, most of the time, nothing would have persuaded him to put his lips on something another person had already touched like that. “Why is the Minister so desperate to stop word of this spreading? Why ban people from having access to your birth records?”

            “Partially because I’m a freak,” said Potter, with a sharp twist of his lips as though the word was more unpleasant to him than a half-eaten cake. “The public either wouldn’t know what to do with me or would think I was dangerous. And the clamor would be worse because I’m famous. It has the potential to create a scandal.” He shrugged. “Public opinion can turn in a minute, though. de Berenzan is already thinking about his legacy. If he imprisons or kills me and someone decides years later that it was the wrong thing to do, he doesn’t want to be remembered as the Minister who did it.”

            “You said partially.”

            Potter meant his eyes for a second. Then he said, “You told me it was impossible for me not to have a soul because everyone is born with a soul-mark.”

            “I did not,” Draco corrected him sharply. “I said that it was impossible for you not to have a soul because I know what people without a soul are like, and you’re not one of them.”

            “Been close to the people that the Dementors devoured, Malfoy?”

            “A few of them.”

            Potter paused, then tilted his head in respect. “Then answer another question for me. If you hadn’t seen my birth records, would it ever have occurred to you that I didn’t have a soul-mark, instead of a changed or unusual one?”

            Draco had to pause to consider that. Finally, reluctantly, he shook his head. “Only as a last resort, and then I wouldn’t have thought it implied a lack of a soul. Everyone has a soul-mark.”

            “Right,” Potter whispered. “Only I went through the Ministry archives before de Berenzan had any idea of what I was doing or how to make me stop.” He paused and stared at the far wall for a second, then paid attention to Draco again. “I found other birth records of people without soul-marks.”

            Draco frowned. “And? Then it can’t be that awful, and de Berenzan doesn’t have as much of a political motive to squash you as you think.”

            Potter laughed hollowly. “All of those babies had a death date within twelve months of their birthdates.”

            Draco sat back slowly, a small shiver cramping up his hands and making the last crumbs of the cake fall to the floor. “That’s—it’s a natural condition for the soulless, then? And you only lasted this long because you had a bit of the Dark Lord’s soul in you? So you think you’re going to crumple over any second, and you don’t plan to be on the run from the Ministry for that long?”

            It made sense of Potter’s insane behavior, anyway. He didn’t have to plan for the long term. He only had to plan for a few more days, or months, until his body noticed it wasn’t supposed to be alive and fell over.

            “They died within twelve months,” Potter said quietly. “I was older than that when Voldemort came for me.”

            He paused again. Draco felt sweat making its way down the insides of his elbows.

            “No,” Potter whispered. “I think the Ministry arranged for their deaths.” At Draco’s sharp explanation, he sat up straight. “All of the records had the official Ministry seal. None had any sign that an investigation had been launched into their deaths. Most of them showed the cause of death as heart failure. Heart failure, in that many infants, almost all of whom also didn’t have any illnesses listed on their records?”

            Potter shook his head. “No. I think the Ministry’s been conducting infanticide of the soulless for a damn long time, and I only escaped because I was in hiding under the Fidelius when I was born and neither of my parents would have believed in such a stupid thing. And my birth records were filed later, and someone either made sure that I wouldn’t get killed because I was the Boy-Who-Lived or overlooked it in the chaos after the first war.” He looked at Draco with a faint, sarcastic smile. “Imagine being the Minister on whose watch that came out. Now I think you can see why de Berenzan is afraid of me.”

*

            moon: Thank you!

            anon23: Thank you!

            AnonymousTigress: No. Draco knows who his soulmate is, and has decided not to approach her, because he thinks she would weigh him down.

            Kibou32: No. He was born as in canon, but he is one of the soulless.

            SP777: I got it from a book.

            No, the records are right as far as that goes.

            Jester: Now you know why.
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The Rising of the Stones