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Warrior Spirit	By : Sunflowerluf Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2104 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I'm just playing in J.K. Rowling's world. I do not profit from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Warrior Spirit
- 1
[[Summary:]] Four years after the defeat of Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is slowly rising through the ranks of the Death Eaters. When Draco is suddenly summoned to the Dark Lord's castle, he is confronted by a prisoner with a familiar face that he thought long dead. HPDM slash.
[[Warnings:]] Violence, Slash (in later chapters, probably explicit). So if this offends your sensibilities, don't read!
[[Disclaimer:]] I do not own Harry Potter, I'm just playing in J.K. Rowling's world. I do not profit from this work of fiction.
[[Author's Notes:]] This story is an AU, where Voldemort wins the battle of Hogwarts, but the war is not yet won. The Order is still alive and fighting, but after Harry Potter's defeat, Voldemort is slowly beating back the forces of the Light. Canon compliant, but basically the whole Hogwarts battle went much differently. Enjoy!
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-----o-O-o-O-o-----
The Dark Lord's lair stank of death.
Draco fought the urge to hold his breath as he swept through the long hallway, flanked by his honor guards on either side. He knew it would not help. This kind of stench was not something you could breathe. It was a feeling, permeating the air, suffering and pain seeming to hang like a fog so thick Draco could almost choke on it. It was in the feeling of Dark magic seeping from the pores of the menacing stone walls, leeching out to infect those that dared walk beneath them. It was a feeling Draco had been intimately familiar with for the past four years, but never at this strength.
The castle was impressive, Draco could admit. The hallways were wide, the vaulted ceilings hung with tapestries proudly displaying the Dark Mark. The rug was a deep umber, a subtle but ornate design swirling almost unseen beneath their marching feet. A powerful magic thrummed through the black stone walls, layers upon layers of wards strengthening this castle at the center of the Dark Lord's expanding kingdom.
Draco's black boots made only a whisper of sound as he followed the two guards to the end of the hall, to the Dark Lord's council room. Four sets of boots fell in line behind him, keeping in step with their master. Draco knew that if he looked back, he would only see four identical faces, masks glinting silver in the torchlight, and the black silver-trimmed robes of the Death Eaters. He didn't need to look to know that their wands would be tucked away in their sleeves, safe in the knowledge that they would not be using them. There was no possible threat, not here. This was taken territory, and any unfriendly presence would have been taken care of long before they got this far.
Deep beneath Draco's cold exterior, there was a sliver of apprehension that he could not quite suppress. This would be the first time in many years that he would have an audience with Voldemort. The summons came unexpectedly three days ago, ordering Draco to turn over the rule of the northern realm immediately to his second, and to present himself at the court of the Dark Lord. There were no precipitating events; as far as Draco knew, he had been ruling wonderfully, as he had for the past two years. This summons therefore could only mean something good, not a prelude to punishment. That thought, however, didn't stop the bead of sweat from forming on his brow, and the flush of his skin against the black leather of his gloves.
It must be the damn aura of this place, Draco thought stubbornly, making sure his expression was locked in the aloof indifference of the Malfoy mask. His trepidation had nothing at all to do with the fact that his master was notoriously unstable, and prone to sudden violence.
As Draco neared the end of the hall, the wide double doors swung open slowly to admit the party. The guards leading the way fell to the side, allowing the guests to pass through the doors. Draco could hear the footsteps behind him clacking suddenly, as carpet gave way to stone.
The throne room's ceilings were even higher than the ones in the hallway, but had no decoration save one-- a massive, swirling vortex of dark energy, whirling lazily high above their heads. Draco could tell it was for decorative effect, much like the ceiling that used to be in Hogwarts' Great Hall, but he couldn't help but feel intimidated by the reminder that this room really was the center of the Dark Lord's power. The far side of the room ended in a raised platform, on which stood a throne and nothing else. The throne was made of an unusual black wood, worked into a clever design reminiscent of thorns and snakes.
Voldemort was waiting for him. He sat upright in the throne, eyeing him with interest and expectation. Draco wasted no time in approaching the throne, stopping slightly before the steps to the raised platform, waving his guards away to stand at the door. He fell to one knee immediately, his left forearm raised in supplication, his head bowed.
"You may rise," the Dark Lord's voice hissed above him, and Draco's body broke out into a cold sweat. He rose then, standing stiffly at attention, hiding his distress. The learned reaction to Voldemort's nearness was something he had never truly rid himself of, ever since the days long ago that he had been living in Malfoy Manor. He slowly tilted his face up to meet the eyes of his master, determined not to show his fear.
Voldemort was even more terrifying than he remembered. His eyes were the color of blood, crimson with savagery. His face was an unearthly shade of white, thin and skeletal. His unnaturally long fingers gripped the throne's arms, his catlike pupils focused on Draco intently. His lipless smile was doubtless intended to be welcoming, but all Draco could think of was the hint of a forked tongue lying behind his sharp teeth.
"My Lord," Draco dipped his head, his tone the proper mixture of respect and reverence. He was pleased to hear that his voice did not tremble at all.
"Draco, it is good to see you. I am glad you were able to come on such short notice," the Dark Lord said with a hissing rumble.
Draco's eyes widened imperceptibly, but managed to conceal his surprise at the warm words of welcome. "Of course, my Lord," he said smoothly, dipping his head again. "It is good to be here."
"How are my northern lands? I hear nothing but good things from your father."
My father, Draco thought with sudden realization. Lucius must be behind this unexpectedly warm welcome from the Dark Lord. His father was a master of politics, subtle with both flattery and intimidation, wielding his words as weapons to get what he wanted. Draco had only gained the rule of the northern lands at his father's behest, assuring the Dark Lord that his son was more than capable of ruling this area in his stead. Lucius stayed close to Voldemort at all times, his loyal right-hand man, and must have been feeding praise of Draco to the Dark Lord this whole time. The Malfoys are flourishing in this new regime, Draco thought with a bitter twist of his lips. All thanks to his father.
"The northern lands are stable, my Lord. Very few insurrections, and violations are dealt with swiftly. As always."
"I hear you have been.... quite inventive with your punishments." The Dark Lord leaned forward, hungrily.
Draco knew that he wanted details, but he couldn't bring himself to voice them out loud. He might be the mastermind behind the punishments, but it didn't stop his stomach from unsettling every time he thought of them. In fact, if he didn't mete out the occasional brutal punishment, the Dark Lord would become suspicious of Draco's loyalties...and that road led to an 'inventive' demise. "Yes, my Lord," he said, keeping his eyes respectfully low, "Your decree is clear. All those who do not surrender to you must die painfully and without mercy."
Voldemort leaned back, his mouth twisted in a pleased, shark-like grin. "Your father raised you well, Draco. He tells me he is pleased by your loyalty to our cause, and your success with the northern lands. He tells me that, given the chance, you would do well with our....other plans. I can't help but agree with him."
"My Lord?" Draco questioned, his eyebrows raising slightly. Other plans?
Voldemort gave a small laugh and stood, towering over Draco at the increased height the raised dais afforded. "Perhaps a conversation best left for later, after you have rested from your journey. My guards will escort you to your quarters, and you shall dine with me tonight. We have much to discuss."
"Yes, my Lord," Draco said, bowing once more.
Voldemort waved a hand, and four more guards stepped out from the shadows behind the dais, leading Draco to a door to his right. As he left the throne room behind, Draco couldn't help but wonder what these other plans were, and what they had to do with him.

-----o-O-o-O-o-----

The dining hall was reminiscent of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, which was fitting, since this castle was built upon the rubble of the school. The wide space was lavishly decorated, built to impress, not to intimidate like the throne room was. Torches flickered in evenly spaced sconces on the walls, the magical fire lighting the room but maintaining a comfortable heat. The walls here were red, brown and black, with architectural additions designed to make the place look tastefully expensive.
Three tables in the middle of the room formed a wide 'U' shape, with a large red oval rug dominating the empty space between. The rug area was sunken deeper than the floor by a small amount, so that someone standing in the center would be eye-level with the head table. Draco figured this space was used for dinner entertainment, but it looked like nothing was planned for this evening.
Each table was lined with chairs facing inward, and each seat was occupied by those loyal to the Dark Lord's cause. Draco saw many faces he recognized-- his aunt Bella, MacNair, and Greyback all sat together-- and many new ones he didn't. There must have been nearly seventy people in total, all invited to share the feast being held in Draco's honor, but for what, he still did not know.
He studied the spread in front of him, the aroma of exotic foods heavy in the air. The china plates were ringed with platinum, the silver goblets and utensils set with various precious stones in white, red, and dark purple. Servants lined the walls, each one of them dressed in simple, modestly-cut red robes. Their blank looks and slack jaws made Draco suspect that these were Imperiused Muggles, forced to serve the Death Eaters' will.
Draco started to eat from the sparse plate in front of him, savoring the rich flavors of the meal. Voldemort himself did not eat, and Draco caught himself wondering if the man ever did at all.
Draco sat at the head of the middle table to the left of Voldemort, with his father seated at the right, and no one to either side of them for a few spaces, giving them the benefit of private conversation. Draco had not seen his father for a few months. Their relationship had always been somewhat estranged, especially since Narcissa died. Nowadays, the extent of their interactions were purely business related ones, with Lucius checking up on the status of the northern holdings every few months, to report back to the Dark Lord.
The feast was raucous, even more so as the night went on, as the wine poured more freely. Draco drank sparingly, so as to not seem impolite, and listened as Lucius and the Dark Lord talked politics-- who was important where, and which key enemy points to attack next. Draco's input was asked for from time to time, and he answered confidently each time, secure in his knowledge of such things. His father had indeed raised him well in these matters, and having his own holding to rule only solidified his political instinct. The Dark Lord nodded at each of his suggestions, and his father even offered the smallest of proud smiles to him. Every so often, he would catch them nodding to each other, seeming to take part in a silent conversation.
It was at one such point in the conversation that Voldemort turned to him contemplatively. "It is time to discuss why you were summoned here," The Dark Lord said, his distinctive hissing voice sending a chill down Draco's spine.
Draco nodded, placing his finished plate to one side, where it promptly vanished.
Voldemort sat back in his high-backed chair, his hands clasped loosely together in his lap. "We are planning another campaign, as you no doubt are aware."
Draco nodded, staying silent. Voldemort had informed him months ago to increase his shipments, to send battle supplies ahead to be cached at his castle here at the center of his power. Draco had surmised that Voldemort intended to push again on the battle front, to take more lands and extend his holdings.
The Dark Lord continued at his knowing nod, "My spies think they've ferreted out that damn Order at last. They've gone to ground somewhere in the east, and we intend to flush them out. It is a battle I have long looked forward to, and as such, it is important that I take part."
"Of course, my Lord," Draco nodded again, sipping at the wine in his glass. "Your strength will squash them like the vermin they are." The Dark Lord was immensely powerful, and his presence alone has turned the tide of many battles. Of course he would plan to be there, if it was as important as it sounded.
The corners of Voldemort's lips curled upwards, his crimson eyes holding Draco in their gaze, unblinking. "This campaign may take many months, and I need someone I trust to take over here while I am away. Your father assures me that you are the man for the job, Draco."
Draco gasped involuntarily, and choked on his wine. He coughed a few times before he got himself under control. "Me?" he said, quickly covering his reaction. "Of course, I would be honored, my lord, but perhaps there is someone more suited to the job? Someone who is more familiar with the duties required here?" His heart started to race. He was basically being asked to take care of the Dark Lord's affairs while he was gone. Any mistake, any slip-up, and he would be rubbing elbows with Satan faster than you could say Avada Kedavra.
His father frowned imperceptibly, as Voldemort said lightly, "I can think of no other wizard more suited. I will need your father beside me in battle, and none of my other Death Eaters have the talent for rule that you do. Your father tells me that you can do this. Do you disagree?" There was a warning lilt to his voice, his pupils glinting with an unreadable emotion.
Draco shook his head immediately, feeling his face drain of color. "Of course not, my Lord. As you wish. You will not regret your faith in me." His heart beat a rapid rhythm against his ribs, so loud he could hear it pounding in his ear drums. It was easy to forget, this close to the Dark Lord, how dangerous he really could be. His moods shifted capriciously; he was impulsive and often deadly with his punishments. Igniting his ire with such a careless comment was suicidal at best, and refusing his wishes was not an option.
The Dark Lord's smile did not reach his eyes. "Excellent. You do, of course, need some instruction in how to handle my affairs while I am away. A month's time, and you shall be fit to hold the castle in my stead."
"Yes my Lord." Draco dared not take up his wine glass again until his fingers stopped trembling. He saw his father lean back in his chair in relief out of the corner of his eye.
"I need more time for preparation for battle, in any case. I am sure you will be a quick study, if your efforts in the north are any indication. If you do well, there may be further opportunities for you in the future."
Draco nodded, forcing himself to relax and give a grateful smile to his half-human master. This was Voldemort's way-- he thought that the promise of power was enough to overshadow any threat he made.
Often, this was true. Many of those who flocked to Lord Voldemort's side were power-hungry, willing to do heinous things in order to get it. However, Draco was not one of them. He tended to believe that preserving his own skin was far more important than power, thank-you-very-much. He still could not stomach violence, and he avoided it at all costs.
Being a Malfoy, though, set him upon a path long ago that he was unable to deviate from. He was raised from birth with the expectation that he would follow in Lucius' footsteps and become a Death Eater. By the time he fully realized all that it meant to become one of Voldemort's followers, he was in too deep, his family too invested in the Dark Lord's fate to even think about switching sides. At this point, it was either follow the Dark Lord or die, and to Draco, there was only one clear choice. He would keep his head down, his mouth shut, and continue to please his master until he could find a way out from his service. If that day never came, well, he would deal with that too.
Voldemort then stood, stretching his wand up to point at the ceiling. There was an instant hush as the dinner guests quieted, turning their attention to the head of the table. "Death Eaters!" Voldemort's voice called out, echoing in the large space before him, "We are feasting today in celebration to honor the return of Draco Malfoy. May the second generation of Malfoys be as loyal and successful as the first!"
Voices rang out in agreement, and glasses were clinked together in toasts. Draco nodded coolly, sweeping his gaze around the hall, noting any subtle scowls or envious glares. He'd already picked out those who resented his swift rise through the ranks of the Death Eaters, and he was ready for any attempts to sabotage his position. If he was to hold the Dark Lord's counsel, he intended to be good at it. That included picking off those who threatened to take his place.
Voldemort continued, "I hope we all reap the benefits of young Malfoy's talents for many years to come. Now, if we are all finished eating, what's a feast without some entertainment?" Voldemort's eyes glinted, and his grin was vicious. "Let's see a show, shall we?"
He waved his wand, and suddenly a wave of Dark energy blasted over Draco, centering on the red rug. Waves of powerful magic swept over Draco, radiating through his core, making him gasp in a choked breath. Draco watched the fearsome display of power as the Dark Lord wove a ward so strong he could hear the energy crackling as the magic settled into place, creating a barrier between the onlookers and the entertainment space. It was a different kind of ward that Draco had never seen before, and it glowed with a faint purple light.
Draco sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming a nervous beat on his chair arm. So there is going to be entertainment, he thought, but he was uneasy about what this entertainment entailed. Knowing the Dark Lord as he did, it was probably going to be something horrendously bloody. He hoped he could keep his dinner down. And despite not recognizing the spell, Draco could tell it was the strongest ward he had ever seen cast, and he felt uncertainty slice through him. What would they need protection from so badly?
One of the guards standing at the entrance to the hall called out into the room behind him, waving a hand.Moments later, a guard came through , levitating something behind him that was large, feathered, and obviously not human. The guard levitated the bulk forward, and the translucent purple ward parted to admit it. Draco leaned forward enough to make out four legs and a beak before he realized what it was. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, his gaze flickering towards the snakelike man beside him.
"Yes," Voldemort whispered, his eyes focused on Draco, "A griffin. My handler in Greece sends me the most unusual pets. This one is fitting for tonight's entertainment, as you will see shortly."
Draco's attention turned to the form laying on the rug in front of him, captivated by the sight. He had only ever seen pictures of griffins in books, and they were as kingly as he had imagined. It was laying on its stomach, its head flush with the carpet, its expansive wings to either side. It was a deep golden brown in color, with white wing tips, its tail ending in a dark brown tuft. Its taloned front feet curved wickedly, mirrored by the rough claws of its hind legs. From here, Draco could see the feathers give way flawlessly to the like-colored fur on its hind end, blending the two separate parts of the animal together into one. They were said to be fierce creatures, quick to defend their treasures, and easy to anger; his encounter with the hippogriff in his third year gave him an idea of the deadliness of this cousin of theirs. This one had obviously been Stunned senseless, but he could see the steady rise and fall of its chest as it breathed.
Before he could even wonder what the griffin was supposed to be doing, Draco heard Voldemort begin another chant, hissing under his breath and flicking his wand in a practiced motion. The ground in the very center of the room bubbled up, and an orb of purple light emerged from the ground. There was a low level rumble from the other Death Eaters as they whispered to each other expectantly. His aunt Bellatrix cackled wickedly, leaning forward in her seat, focused on the orb with gleeful recognition. Draco squinted, peering into the orb as it settled on the ground. He thought he could see something inside.
The orb melted away from the top, disappearing to reveal a person. The man stood with his back to where Draco sat, staring at the Stunned griffin. He was shirtless, and Draco could see clearly defined muscles in his lean frame. His trousers cut off at the knee, and he was barefoot. His hair was jet-black, falling just past his ears in a wild jumble. The only thing he had was his wand, and Draco could see he had a tight grip on it.
The man glanced around the room to the jeering faces of the crowd, and turned to face the head table. As he stared into familiar green eyes, Draco felt all at once like he couldn't breathe. His mind raced, his hands clutched the arms of his chair, his heart started pulsing in a staccato rhythm, as he tried to wrap his head around what his eyes were seeing.
"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort hissed calmly, a triumphant smile playing about his lipless mouth. "You are to be our entertainment tonight. We are celebrating the return of one of my most loyal servants. I trust you will perform well for him?"
Potter glanced over at Draco, focusing his jade eyes on his. Draco felt pinned to the spot, and he knew he probably had a bewildered look on his face, but he just couldn't help it. Potter was alive!
Potter's lip curled up in a subtle sneer as he recognized Draco, but focused his attention quickly back to Voldemort. "It would be my pleasure," he said, dipping in a bow that was surprisingly formal, considering his clothing. His deep voice carried a hint of sarcasm with a hard edge, and Draco couldn't help but shiver. He had been certain that Potter was dead, and seeing him here, now, was surreal. He'd heard rumors of course, but Draco thought that Voldemort had surely killed him after the battle of Hogwarts. Why on earth would he keep his supposedly-deadliest enemy alive?
All these thoughts raced through Draco's head, but he managed to compose himself, releasing his white-knuckled grip on his chair. Potter was already rising from his bow, and he could feel the anticipation in the air as the man turned away from them again, towards the unconscious beast. Draco wondered idly what had happened to those ridiculous glasses of his, and if he could see without them.
Voldemort sat back in his throne. "You have never seen Potter perform before, have you Draco? It has been a trying feat, training him, but he has come far," he said, with an air of someone proud of a pet's new trick. "Just watch. I am sure you will appreciate his work."
Draco just watched as Potter padded up to the griffin, pausing a healthy distance away. The audience paused, waiting for something, and Potter lifted a steady hand to point his wand. His feet shifted into a neutral fighter's stance, and Draco was immediately reminded of a predator-- wary, but confident. And then--
"Rennervate!" Potter called, his voice echoing clearly to the rest of the room, and a flash of light shot from his wand.
The griffin's head popped up, fixed a wide eye on the man in front of him, and screeched, rearing its head back. Draco had a moment to appreciate the mystical creature's beauty as it shook itself awake, its wild eyes focusing on Potter. It bounded to its feet, towering over Potter, and struck out with lightning quickness to the man, the threat in front of him, faster than Draco's eye could catch. But Potter was already gone. He had jumped back, putting some distance between himself and the confused animal, crouched in a ready position.
Draco watched this first exchange with increasing awe, incredulous about the scene that was unfolding before him. Voldemort actually meant for Potter to fight the griffin? It was suicide! But maybe that was his intent. Yes, welcome back Draco, here's your old school rival, back from the dead. Oh, and let's feed him to this bloodthirsty beast in your honor! Isn't it ironic that he will die to his own House symbol?
But Potter clearly did not plan to be eaten. In fact, he stood watching the griffin with a coolness that Draco could only envy, waiting for the beast to make the first move. His mouth was set in a hard line, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked every movement with cautious patience, watching as the beast screeched and flared its wings in challenge.
Then--one moment, the griffin was on the far side of the room, and the next it was pouncing upon Potter, its powerful hind legs propelling it forward with breathtaking speed. Potter somersaulted to one side, wielding his wand like a whip, and a powerful crack of energy lashed out from it, striking the beast's flank. It screeched in pain, and the audience gasped, calling out encouragement and laughing. Potter grinned cruelly, and Draco wondered why that expression looked so much at ease on his old school rival's face.
The griffin's talons sank into the carpet at it pivoted, and shot straight at Potter again, its wicked beak poised for tearing. Potter didn't even blink, this time bringing his wand up directly in front of him. His former rival gave a yell, simultaneously throwing a wordless pulse of energy toward the charging beast. The spell caught the griffin in the chest, throwing it back, and dazing it for a moment.
Potter then did something foolish and stupid and utterly death-defying. He actually ran toward the griffin, running under the wing and vaulting himself onto its back! He only stayed there for a moment, allowing the griffin to buck him off, and tumbled from its back back onto the carpet. Potter landed on his feet with a careless sort of grace, easily jumping out of the way of the beast's thrashing wing.
Draco closed his mouth then, which he hadn't realized he opened. That was a taunt! Potter was taunting the thing! Draco now realized what the Dark Lord meant by performance-- he clearly was fighting this griffin for their entertainment. Draco had no doubt whatsoever that if he'd wanted the thing dead, it would already be bleeding on the ground. Instead, he was feeding Voldemort what he wanted. A show. A deadly show, but something the emerald-eyed man was clearly good at.
The griffin was enraged by this point, shrieking in cold-blooded anger. The two were on the far side of the room, as close to the door as they could get while still being inside the crackling purple ward. They traded a few more blows, the green-eyed man easily dodging the beast with an unearthly swiftness.
Potter shifted his gaze toward the head table, linking eyes with Draco infinitesimally. The moment Potter's eyes were off his target, the griffin charged again, sensing its chance. It shot forward, but its jaws snapped shut on empty air. Potter had pointed his wand at the ground beneath his feet, and shot upwards into the air, sailing over the griffin, and hit the ground running. Straight toward Draco.
Draco watched almost as if in slow motion as Potter rapidly approached, his wand pointing directly at Draco. He could vaguely see Potter's lips moving in a chant, but Draco was riveted on the green eyes, their depths filled with a strange and frightening fury. Potter's wand erupted in red light, and Draco had a split second to wonder if he was going to die.
But no, whatever curse Potter had cast at him bounded off the strange purple ward, ricocheting off to hit the griffin following fiercely behind Potter. As the griffin screeched in pain, Draco realized, dazed, that Potter had planned on casting the spell to rebound off the ward. The purple energy shielding the onlookers was impenetrable. Potter's amused smirk caused Draco to scowl, and Voldemort to chuckle appreciatively beside him.
Potter faced off to the beast again, which was crouching, its tail twitching and head tucked close to the floor. It was bleeding, Draco realized suddenly, dark red rivulets of blood glistening wetly on its flank. The blood dripped onto the floor, blending in with the shade of the carpet. Draco had a sudden vision of a white carpet, stained such a virulent shade of red after so many battles like this one.
Draco didn't even get the chance to draw a breath before the griffin pounced again, and this time, Potter was unprepared. It tackled Potter to the ground, pushing him into the carpet with a sickening thud. Potter cried out in pain as the griffin slashed at him with a triumphant screech, his talons raking deep into Potter's defending arms.
Draco leaned forward, his arms gripping the table as the shouts and jeers of the audience encouraged the beast to set into him. Draco could feel his breath come in short gasps, as he contemplated the impending attack. He hadn't liked the idiot in school, but that didn't mean Draco wanted to watch him ripped apart before his eyes! Draco glanced toward the Dark Lord sitting next to him, wondering if he was going to stop this massacre from happening. But the Dark Lord was sitting back, watching the fight with hungry eyes and an expectant air. Draco's jaw clenched silently. No mercy there.
But as suddenly as Potter had been pinned, he was free, blasting the griffin above him with a localized spell, causing it to shriek and fall back. Both parties were bleeding heavily now-- Potter with deep gouges in both arms and down his bare chest, the griffin gushing blood from its neck now as well. The griffin was stumbling back, its wings thrashing wildly, as if drunk or confused. Potter just breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and watched.
The griffin was losing too much blood, Draco realized. Whatever spell Potter had just hit it with, it had struck deep. It wobbled for a second, then sat heavily on its haunches, its chest heaving and its eyes glaring at its opponent.
Potter's blood dripped down his arm as he raised his wand hand slowly. He cast a spell that wound ropes around the griffin's legs and neck, dragging it into the ground to lay helpless. He walked over to the beast with steady feet, the griffin struggling uselessly against its bonds, its beak snapping open and shut. Potter stood right next to its head, and turned to face Voldemort.
The room had grown silent with expectation, and Draco could feel his own breath catching. Potter's gaze was like ice, cold as death as they focused on the snakelike man sitting nonchalantly on the throne above him. Draco was glad that he wasn't the subject of those cutting eyes; he could feel Potter's hatred from here.
Potter raised his wand deliberately, staring at Voldemort defiantly, and brought it down in a sharp chopping motion. At the same moment, the griffin jerked as its head was separated from its shoulders, its eyes going glassy with death. Draco struggled to keep his eyes on Potter, but he could see the spray of blood emptying itself out from the corpse. He was appalled that Potter had killed the thing so violently and matter-of-factly. Was this really the same boy he once knew in school?
Potter stood still for a moment, then forcibly removed his gaze from Voldemort, bending over to grasp the creature's feathered head. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he threw the head to roll at a stop in front of the Dark Lord, landing directly beneath his feet. Voldemort's eyes glittered with a cruel amusement.
Then Potter bowed, standing like this while the audience erupted around him in approving applause. Voldemort flicked his wand, and the purple orb of energy consumed the man once more, shielding him from view. The orb sank into the carpet, disappearing the way it came, leaving behind only the corpse of the once-kingly griffin behind.
Draco didn't dare look down. He'd never been able to stomach blood, and he was in serious danger of losing his dinner. Instead, he thought of his former rival, his mind reeling. Had that just happened? He had just witnessed Harry Potter, bane of the Dark Lord, performing like some bloody gladiator in a fight to the death, killing a griffin in less than ten minutes before their eyes. It was all so surreal.
"How did you like my pet, Draco?" the Dark Lord's hissing voice startling him from his contemplations.
"Very...impressive," Draco said faintly, glancing toward his master. He could see his father studying the scene before him, probably fascinated by the spectacle.
The Dark Lord smiled again, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, he is, isn't he?"
"What is more impressive, is how you are able to keep him contained like that, my Lord," Draco said swiftly. "Your power is unrivaled." Draco would have to remember not to compliment his Lord's enemies, even if it was one of his prisoners.
Voldemort's grin widened, as if he could read Draco's thoughts. Perhaps he could, Draco thought suddenly, breaking eye contact with the ruse of dipping his head.
"Thank you my Lord," he said, keeping his eyes down respectfully. "The feast was fantastic, and this opportunity was more than I could have dreamed for. I will prove my loyalty to you."
"See that you do," Voldemort said, standing in one motion, taking his leave. "I hope to teach you many things."
"I am excited to learn them," Draco replied, and watched as the Dark Lord exited the dining hall. And, he thought, his eyes turning back to the middle of the carpet where the orb had disappeared, the first thing I will learn is the mystery surrounding this new, changed Harry Potter, and how he ended up as dinnertime entertainment for the Dark Lord.
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(A/N) I really like stories of a darker nature, so that's what I'm going to be trying to accomplish here. I especially like a darker Harry!
But what did you think? Did you like it, did you hate it?? Let me know, I'm just dying to see if anyone has even read this!! I'm only so-so with canon details, so feel free to point it out if I missed something! :)
(*Insert standard shameless plea for reviews here!*)
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Warrior Spirit