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Grey Maiden V: Sacrifice | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Romance, Tragedy Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Violence Rating: R Reviews: 114 Summary: After 13 years, Lord Voldemort has risen again, and set his sights on conquering the Wizarding world. All that may stand in his way is Harry Potter, who must heal, train, and learn the lessons of life on the fly, while friendship, romance, alliances, and his own life hang in the balance. On top of all of this, Harry must cope with the consequences of his guardian’s inevitable fall into Darkness, and a Ministry determined to bury the truth. Hitcount: Story Total: 92959; Chapter Total: 5039 |
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Chapter 3: Between the Darkness and the Light The five men and one woman assembled in the well-furnished parlor were some of the most influential in the wizarding world. All of were from old, or at least distinguished pureblood families, all with an unquestioned loyalty to the Dark. All of them were familiar with the others in the room, as most of them had served together on the Pureblood Advisory Council for many years. That group, made up of about sixty individuals, was controlled by the Light families by a 2-1 advantage, accurately reflecting the real-life demographic split. The Council was as old as the Ministry itself, and had, with varying degrees of competency, represented the interests of the old wizarding families over the centuries. It had once been much larger, and most certainly, more prominent. These days, to the dismay of most of those gathered in the room, the Light purebloods seemed to make it their mission to ensure that absolutely nothing ever got done during the monthly meetings with the Minister and his closest advisors. When the Dark purebloods had introduced a motion to prevent the passing of Arthur Weasley’s Muggle Protection Act, the Light purebloods had postured, debated, and finally refused to vote on the issue. Without the required majority, the motion failed, and some nasty letters had been exchanged in the following months. The noise level in the room was low, though it was steadily growing as the five guests talked amongst themselves, the host calmly sitting in an armchair, discretely watching and listening to the people he had invited into his home. A young woman entered, carrying a tea tray. She wore a neat smock over simple black robes, her long blonde hair arranged in a single ponytail that ran down to the small of her back, her only adornment a pair of small diamond earrings and a golden bracelet on her right arm. Her stoic expression betrayed no emotion, nor did her cold blue eyes. She moved across the room with long, graceful strides, and gently set the tea tray down on the large table in the corner. She deftly poured six cups, leaving two empty ones in case more company arrived. She moved to the door, but not before glancing disinterestedly at the others in the room, and shooting her father a brief look of displeasure before she silently exited. The host allowed himself a small smile. It might well have been the first, and quite possible the last time that Daphne Persephone Nilax Greengrass was reduced to the role of domestic servant. Unfortunately, the Greengrass family was one of the very few pureblood families to not own any house elves. They had paid servants to clean and maintain the house, but the host of this gathering had decided against allowing them to serve the guests. They had no business knowing anything that was discussed here, and he was not certain he could trust them not to accidentally, or even intentionally, reveal some sensitive and potentially damaging. He had no such concerns when it came to his only daughter. The volume in the room was beginning to increase, and Aiden Heracles Edward Greengrass decided that his guests were now about as comfortable as they’d ever be. He got to his feet, and said loudly, “If you could all join me around the table for tea, I’d be quite grateful.” Halfway through his sentence, all talking had stopped, and he adjusted his volume accordingly. The others quietly took their seats around the carved oak table that had been owned by the Greengrass family for many, many years before Aiden had been born. As they sat, they all took turns looking around the table, measuring each other. Aiden tried not to show his disappointment that only five of the eight patriarchs and matriarchs that he’d invited were actually in attendance. Among the missing were Azalea Parkinson, Aaron Wilkes, and most surprisingly, Arabella Zabini. He knew from Daphne that the Songstress’s son had struck up a friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived the previous year. The absence of the boy’s mother was puzzling. No matter. It was a start, even if it wasn’t as great of one as he had hoped. Aiden casually glanced around the table. Directly across from him, looking dignified and cold as arctic ice, was Grigory Ivanov. To the Russian ex-patriot’s right was the imposing bulk of the only woman at the gathering, Lucretia Bulstrode. To his left, the composed Gavin Burke, a man with glittering eyes so dark they were almost black, a curved scar on his right cheek. His hands were on the table. On the underside of his (intentionally) exposed left forearm, just barely out of sight, was his Dark Mark. Just beyond the former servant of the Dark Lord was Samuel Davies, a handsome dark-haired man who looked about fifteen years younger than he really was. And to Aiden’s left, Karel Radetzky, a soft-spoken but brilliant man of Czech origin, though he was a third-generation Briton, and the wealthiest man at the gathering. “Presumably, you called a gathering of the non-aligned Dark purebloods for a reason, Aiden,” Burke began, finally breaking the silence. He allowed more than a little contempt to slip into his voice, trying to put the host on the defensive. Aiden had more than a little experience dealing with such ploys. “I’d never request the honor of your presence if I did not feel it would be worth your while, Gavin,” the former Gryffindor replied coolly. “That goes for all of you, of course.” “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your rather dramatic announcement that you’ve entered into an alliance with the last of the Potters, would it?” Lucretia asked, although if she didn’t already suspect that was true, Aiden would shove the ceremonial amulet he’d received from the Boy-Who-Lived to cement the alliance down his own throat. Subtlety was not the Bulstrode matriarch’s strong suit. The Bulstrodes were an interesting family, in more than once sense. Old, rich, powerful — all of those things were true, but they were also a family without any clear allegiance, outside of the Dark itself. Pureblood supremacists, to be sure, but that didn’t mean they’d necessarily support Voldemort. The Bulstrodes had a reputation for being ruthless, stubborn, and insanely calculating. They shied away from the spotlight and loathed being in the public view. Daphne reported that their second child, Millicent, was of reasonable intelligence, slightly above-average magical skill, and had a very secretive nature. “As it turns out, it does,” Aiden replied evenly. “Surely you are not going to ask us to join in your terrible mistake?” Grigory rumbled from across the table. Aiden required effort to keep his face emotionless; his old friend’s rather vehement reaction to allying with Potter had come as somewhat of a surprise. The man had told him repeatedly that showing his cards so early was a mistake, and served more to make him a target than to create a banner for future allies of the Boy-Who-Lived to rally around. While somewhat impressed by Potter’s maturity in their lone meeting the previous December, it was quite clear that the old Czarist was skeptical of Potter’s chances of success. On the bright side, his twins seemed quite taken with Potter’s ability and composure. Perhaps they might melt their father’s frozen heart yet. “I, of course, respect your opinion, old friend, but I still believe that you are mistaken. If Potter were not worthy of our attentions, would he have survived his encounter with the Dark Lord? If the stories we have all heard are to be believed.” Eyes shifted to the man at the table with the most experience dealing with the Dark Lord. Gavin gave an exaggerated sigh. “I renounced my loyalty to the Dark Lord some time ago, after I was ordered to commit certain…atrocities against other pureblood wizards. I came to realize that my faith in the Dark Lord as a defender of the rights of the old families to be misguided. I have even heard rumblings that the man is not of unblemished parentage himself.” “Those are more than rumors,” Aiden said. Ah, the value of research. “Voldemort was born Tom Marvolo Riddle. His mother was named Merope Gaunt. The Gaunts are direct descendents of Salazar Slytherin himself, the only remaining line. But his father was no pureblood. He was a Muggle.” Lucretia hissed. “How dare you propagate such lies?” Aiden spread his hands, giving a not-so-innocent smile. “I am merely a conduit for the truth, Lucretia. Others have told me these things, this is true. But like any good student of our ways, I did my own independent research.” “Surely if such a thing were a matter of public record, it would be better known,” Samuel Davies drawled. Aiden hid a smile. The man tended to act like an arrogant fool of no substance, but that could not be further from the truth. He delighted in making others underestimate him. “Ah, my dear Samuel, it is a matter of public record. You see, for all their shortcomings, Muggles are quite capable when it comes to keeping records. It was not difficult to trace the lineage of the Gaunts, and there are not many women named Merope that lived in early 30s in rural England. The truth is there for any that wish to see it.” “I fail to see the importance of this discussion,” Radetzky said. “This is not the first time that the Dark Lord has been shown to be a hypocrite. Only the weak follow any man out of a love of his ideals, his principles. The strong do not rely on such restraining notions. They act according to their own self-interest. And so while others die for what they believe in, and go to their grave believing they have made their lives worth something, the strong survive.” Aiden had known the man for years, and if there was a better latter-day embodiment of wizarding philosopher Nicholas Machiavelli, he’d very much like to meet him. They had reached an impasse. It was the first, but in this meeting, it would most certainly not be the last. Gavin spoke slowly, cautiously. “Perhaps we might allow Aiden to elaborate on his reasons for asking us here tonight? It is always best to hear such things from the horse’s mouth.” Aiden nodded at the ex-Death Eater. “Very well. I asked you here not necessarily because I’d like to see you swear allegiance to Potter as I have chosen to do, but because I want to get a feel for where all of you stand. Like it or not, you will have to take a side sooner or later.” “Ah, this argument again,” Lucretia sneered. “It’s time for the sob story about your poor wife and youngest daughter, isn’t it? We’ve heard your cautionary tale more than once, Aiden. Just because you were unable to escape the attentions of the Dark Lord, and paid the price for it, doesn’t mean we should put our heads on the chopping block and throw in our lot with Potter.” Aiden did his best to keep his expression neutral. “Did you not hear what I said, Bulstrode?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “I don’t have a sign-up sheet for becoming an ally of the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m not urging you to make a decision at the moment. But ignore the story of my family at your own peril.” “Aiden is not merely trying to win sympathy, Lucretia,” Burke interrupted. “The Dark Lord is nothing if not vengeful. If you defy him, he will come for you. And you cannot hide from him. Many have tried. All have failed. Even the Potters, protected by the best that Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix had to offer, were unable to escape him.” “I am not questioning the Dark Lord’s ruthlessness, Gavin,” Lucretia shot back. “I am merely suggesting that Aiden is seriously underestimating my own family and overestimating the reach and capabilities of the Dark Lord and his followers.” “And I am tempted to agree with her, Aiden,” Davies said. “Although I must say I am concerned by how quickly the Dark Lord has begun to rebuild his forces.” “I can attest to this,” Radetzky said, his voice quiet. “The Dark Lord has been aggressively recruiting all throughout Eastern and Central Europe, focusing on the pockets of small Dark families that are found throughout the area. The resentment from the way they lost the First War has not faded with time. Once again, there are many that never fought in the war that believe they could have won if just a few things had gone their way. It has festered. His efforts have been remarkably successful. Even now, plans are being made to set up training camps for the new recruits, far from the prying eyes of the Ministry of Magic. I will not join the Dark Lord. The man is a mad butcher, and has no business running any sort of government. But I am greatly concerned that he may be able to win this war by nothing more than the force of numbers.” “So you would commit yourself to a cause you say is already lost?” Lucretia asked. “The cause is not lost,” Grigory said, finally making his presence felt. “We are not the only ones that Potter will try to bring to his side. The Light purebloods, the Muggleborns and half-blooded students at Hogwarts, as well as the allies of Dumbledore will also be needed.” “So where is the need for us?” Davies demanded. “I will not be reduced to a secondary role, behind Mudbloods and cowardly Light wizards.” “You would join the Dark Lord?” “I didn’t say that, did I, Aiden?” Davies replied sharply. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s be realistic for a moment,” Radetzky implored. “Do you really think Potter stands a chance with an army of half-trained Muggleborn and half-blood students, a handful of parents of half-bloods with little combat experience, Dumbledore’s little band of spies and, with a few exceptions, mediocre-at-best duelists, and some of the Light purebloods, who haven’t cast a spell in anger their entire lives?” “He’ll be crushed,” Aiden said, his voice cold and hard. “He won’t stand a chance without us, without our families. We offer him well-trained, combat-ready, powerful soldiers with which to combat Voldemort’s best Death Eaters. And Karel, my friend, you seem to be forgetting the Aurors.” “Maybe a little less than a two hundred in number, almost no combat experience, far more adept at stunning than killing, and under the control of that idiot Fudge?” Radetzky scoffed. “Hardly a group capable of tipping the balance in Potter’s favor.” “Karel is right,” Gavin said. “Potter needs us. And not just us. He needs significantly more of the currently non-aligned Dark purebloods to take his side than take the Dark Lord’s. Even then, if Karel’s information is right, Voldemort’s army will be massive, and that is only considering witches and wizards. What of the werewolves, the giants, the trolls, and the other bloodthirsty Dark creatures that will doubtless swear allegiance to him?” “What of the Dementors?” Davies asked. “They will leave the Ministry in a heartbeat, if they haven’t already.” “I believe that the escape of Bellatrix Lestrange tells us all we need to know about the alignment of those foul creatures, as well as the integrity and state of readiness of Fudge’s Ministry,” Aiden said quietly. “So, to sum up: unless by some miracle he sways the lot of us, Potter’s doomed, and even if he does, he’ll still be outnumbered,” Lucretia said. “I thought you were on his side, Aiden?” “Believe me, I am,” the Greengrass patriarch bit out. “Oh yes, there is no doubt of that,” Grigory rumbled. “I’m afraid you have failed to convince me, old friend. I will not be the second to rally around Potter’s banner.” Aiden sighed. If he hadn’t convinced Grigory, whom he’d known for many years, then he wasn’t likely to have convinced any of his assembled guests. “In that case, it seems that we’ve reached an impasse. You are welcome to take the tea with you if you so desire. Thank you for coming.” With a collection of grumbling, the meeting broke up. Lucretia was the first to leave, followed by Grigory and Davies. Radetzky paused in the doorway, looking at Aiden with a strange expression on his face, before he too exited the parlor. That left, of all people, Gavin Burke, who had a strangely pensive look on his face. “Do you wish to mock me further, Gavin?” Aiden asked. The man laughed, his thoughtful façade shattering. “Oh, nothing of the sort, Aiden. Were you bluffing when you said you didn’t actually have a sign-up sheet? I do hope not.” Aiden, try as he might, failed miserably at keeping the surprise from his face. “You can’t be serious.” “Oh, I am,” the man with eyes of darkest obsidian said, his lips twisting upward into a cold smile. “Aiden, I am a traitor. I took the Mark as a young man, I served, and then I left. I was on the run when Potter destroyed the Dark Lord. Did you think perhaps that I might run right back to him, and beg his forgiveness? Did you really believe I’d stake my family’s lives on the mercy of the Dark Lord? Come now, Aiden, you know me better than that!” “And Edwin?” Aiden asked, letting a little cautious optimism into his voice. Edwin Burke, like his brother, had attended Durmstrang Institute, and upon graduation, joined his older brother in the ranks of the Death Eaters. “Despite the fact that he has no family, he cares for himself as much as any I have ever known,” Gavin said. “And he’s told me more than once that if he were to die before his time, he was somewhat partial to going out in a blaze of glory. I can think of no better way to arrange that, can you?” Aiden numbly shook his head. Of all the things he’d been expecting, this was not one of them. “Excellent. I will consult with Edwin, and we will contact Potter at once concerning a formal alliance. I’m going to trust you were honest in your description of him as remarkably mature, somewhat ruthless, quite patient and cunning, open-minded about the Dark Arts, and very ambitious.” “I was not dissembling in that letter, Gavin. I told you what I believed to be the truth.” “Good. The irony is priceless, isn’t it? Two former Death Eater jumping at the chance to ally with the Boy-Who-Lived? Alas, war does make strange bedfellows…well then, good evening to you, Aiden! We shall speak again soon, I think.” And with that, he strode out of the parlor, leaving the still somewhat-dumbstruck Aiden Dressler behind. Strange bedfellows? You aren’t giving the fates nearly enough credit for coming up with the most bizarre scenario I could ever have imagined coming from this meeting, Gavin. Shaking his head, Aiden moved out of the parlor, heading for his personal office. He was walking through one of the sitting rooms when he saw her standing in the dark, motionless. Puzzled, he called out to his daughter. “Daphne?” She didn’t respond. More than a little concerned now, he moved quickly around to her front. Her eyes were fixed, rarely blinking, and she was staring intently at…nothing. “Daphne?” he asked. He thought about waving a hand in front of her face…then it hit him. He now knew exactly why Arabella Zabini hadn’t responded to his summons. Anger surged through him. “Release her at once, Stefano,” he growled, drawing his wand with a flourish and aiming it at a seemingly innocent shadow to his right. The Illusionist moved out of the concealing shadows, a look of amusement on his face. Stefano Zabini was a few inches shorter than him, and his tanned skin appeared much darker, as the only source of light in the room was the waning moon. “She is not harmed, Aiden,” Zabini assured him. “I wanted to surprise you, old friend.” “Rest assured, you’ve been successful. But I don’t think you much of a friend for using an Unforgivable on my daughter.” Zabini’s face broke into an amused smile, and he held his palms out, in a gesture of innocence. “Please…you think so little of me? She is not under Imperius, Aiden. As I said, she is completely unharmed.” “Then what have you done to her?” Aiden demanded. “Her mind is empty, Aiden, that is all. She is not capable of conscious thought. It is entirely temporary, and she’ll be back to her cold and sarcastic self before I have left the property.” Aiden decided to take the man at his word. He didn’t trust any Illusionist, much less one as slippery as Stefano Zabini, but the man was reputed to be an honorable gentleman, and he had little to gain by harming Daphne. “I’m going to assume you heard the overheard the entire meeting.” “Of course,” Zabini said. “Would I miss such an important gathering?” “It is tradition for one to be in plain sight during such a meeting, not hiding outside the door like some criminal,” Aiden reminded him, his tone icy. “I’ve never been much for tradition,” Zabini said, shrugging. That wasn’t strictly true, if Daphne’s information about Blaise Zabini’s training with a broadsword was to be believed. The Zabinis had always had a strange fascination with bladed weapons. “If you have nothing of importance to say, Stefano, then you will release my daughter now.” “But I do have something important to say, my dear Aiden,” Zabini said. He paused for a long moment. Just before Aiden was about to reply, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “The Zabini family formally requests an alliance with your family. I have given Blaise authority to work out a similar deal with his friend. We’re going to fight this time, Aiden. No more running. My family has been accused of cowardice in the past. I seek to put any such accusations to rest.” Aiden was pleased to hear the news, so pleased that he almost forgot about his spell-bound daughter…almost. His voice was strained and cold. “As patriarch of the Greengrass family, I accept your offer of alliance. We will exchange gifts at a later date. Now, let my daughter go, and get the hell off of my property, or Merlin help me, I’ll…” “Your message is received, Aiden. It was nice doing business with you.” He snapped his fingers, and Daphne jerked violently, head spinning around, eyes desperately searching for her attacker, before they fell on her father. Aiden glanced at the spot where Stefano Zabini had been, and as he expected, he was no longer there. “Father, what just happened to me?” Daphne demanded. Despite his foul mood, Aiden chuckled. The world never ceased to amaze him. The twenty-something witch tore into her dinner, violently snatching up large portions of piping-hot food and piling them greedily on her plate, wielding her silverware with all the intimidating brutality of a Viking berserker swinging a battle-axe. The others at the long, beaten table were reluctant to even reach for their share of the massive and mouth-wateringly appetizing feast prepared by Molly Weasley, for fear they might be wounded by the stabbing fork and butter knife. After a few wordless glances, Harry decided it was his responsibility to take action. “Tonks, has your mother been starving you or something?” The Metamorphmagus, who tonight sported short purple hair with long bangs and brown eyes, looked at him strangely. “Come again?” “What Harry is trying to say is that you are eating like a starving man…woman,” Hermione amended. Tonks still didn’t seem to get it. Actually, it occurred to Harry that it was quite possible she knew exactly what they were talking about, and was feigning ignorance for her own amusement. Indeed, knowing Tonks, that seemed to be the more plausible scenario. “Haven’t started eating yet,” she protested. She cut off a large piece of meat and stuck it in her mouth. “Half now,” she corrected, chewing vigorously. Ginny gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Tonks, your table manners are barbaric. I’ve seen more dignity and class when Hagrid dumps the leftovers in the pig trough. Tonks looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Food’s getting cold.” She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the food she’d been chewing. She gave a loud snort just as Harry realized that she’d acquired a pig’s snout. After a brief moment of complete silence, Ginny went into a fit of hysterical laughter, Harry gave his own snort, and Hermione managed to look somewhat indignant before she looked down at the table, trying to hide an amused smile. Her requisite juvenile antics done, Tonks began eating like something resembling a human being, though she kept the nose. Ron and the twins, lacking familiarity with the antics of the young Auror, stared at Harry and the three girls in confusion. Ginny’s face was still red as she began shoveling food onto her plate, her table manners indefinitely superior to those that her older friend had just put on display. Harry and Hermione dug in next, finally followed by the Twins and Ron, who was stockpiling enough food on his plate to feed a small African country. The door to the kitchen opened, and several members of the Order filed in. Bill Weasley, Remus Lupin, Hestia Jones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt all joined them at the table. Daphne and Sirius were nowhere to be found. Remus noticed Harry’s glance at the empty doorway. “Sirius is talking a few things over with Dumbledore,” he explained. “As for Daphne, I’m not sure where she is.” Harry nodded, and continued eating. Daphne had been absent quite a bit during their stay at Headquarters, and rarely offered explanations. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Ginny’s mother move to the kitchen sink, directly a ballet of pots, pans, sponges, and brushes with her wand. “Anything interesting happening out there?” he asked Remus. The slight moment of hesitation that came before the werewolf’s answer told Harry he wasn’t being entirely honest. “Things are pretty quiet at the moment, actually. You-Know-Who is moving slowly, trying to escape the attention of the Ministry.” “Like that’s hard to do,” Ginny scoffed. That drew a glare from the redhead’s mother, but Molly didn’t say anything. Harry decided that he’d be as brutally honest with Lupin as the man had been dishonest to him. “Got some rather exciting news recently. Aiden says I ought to expect an owl from Edwin and Gavin Burke in the next few days, containing a formal offer of alliance. Imagine that?” He took a large chunk out of a bread roll as the kitchen fell completely silent. When no one spoke, he glanced up. Remus had a haunted look in his eyes. “Harry…” “I know what I’m doing, Remus,” Harry told him. “I know that they are both former Death Eaters that deserted from his ranks.” “And you still want them on your side?” Ron asked around a large quantity of food.. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ronald,” Hermione scolded. But she was also giving her best friend a wary look. Harry supposed he should have been grateful. She might have exploded at him in years past. Harry was trying to make a point. Daphne and Tonks were the only people that would tell him what was really happening, and because of Tonks’ junior status and Daphe’s frequent absences, Harry knew considerably less about what the Order was doing than he liked. Molly Weasley had emphatically argued against Harry or anyone that was not of age knowing even the most insignificant details of the Order’s meetings. It was stupid, it was infuriating, it was illogical, and, according to Ginny, it was nothing out of the ordinary for the Weasley matriarch. “If Aiden says that I can at least rely on their support for now, that’s good enough for me,” Harry said, shrugging. “They were marked for death by Voldemort and escaped. I suppose it’s possible they could be spies, but that might damage his reputation, one that he cares a great deal about. Besides, seeing as they’ve killed innocents before, I’m hardly planning to trust them with my life. I’ll put them in a position where they can do the most damage to the enemy and the least damage to me.” “You’d trust a couple of Death Eaters even that far?” Bill asked, sounding skeptical. “If the bastards have killed innocents before, with little or no coercion involved, they can’t exactly be the most decent fellows to begin with.” Molly Weasley, who looked like she might faint, did the only thing she could do. “William! Language!” Bill mumbled an apology, while Shacklebolt picked up the argument. A tall, muscled African wizard, with a reputation for fearlessness and wisdom, Kingsley had somehow managed to get both himself and Tonks (presumably with Scrimgeour’s cooperation) onto Fudge’s personal guard, although they were used far less frequently than Aurors Dawlish and McGlinchy, Fudge’s most loyal bodyguards. Tonks didn’t think all that much of either of them, making some particularly foul comments about McGlinchy’s lack of intelligence and common sense. Shacklebolt was a veteran of the first war, in which he’d acquitted himself quite well, and a stalwart ally of Dumbledore. His voice, a deep bass reminiscent of Grigory Ivanov, only added to his commanding presence. At the moment, he wore dark purple robes and a golden hoop earring. “Weasley’s right, Potter,” he said. “I’m not sure how qualified you are to judge the reliability of a pair of cold-blooded killers. I know people that lost friends to their wands.” “With all due respect, Kingsley,” Harry said, using the man’s first name without hesistation, “I don’t think you really understand just how much I know about the First War, or the resources that I have access to.” Harry hadn’t just set Aiden’s letter aside when he received it and then sat on his thumbs. He’d immediately begun researching the two men in question, learning about their backgrounds, their crimes, their multiple escapes from Voldemort’s forces. Literally dozens of books had been written about the First War, though only a few had achieved mass publication, such as The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, in Harry’s opinion, one of the most poorly written books he’d ever read, full of blatant inaccuracies and Ministry propaganda. It hadn’t been a pretty picture, but he was willing to consider an alliance. There could be no doubt that they knew there would have to be certain unsaid conditions to this agreement, and that Harry was probably willing to risk a lot less on their behalf than they were on his. Shacklebolt looked taken aback by the hard edge in Harry’s voice. He’d been more than a little stunned by the way that most of the Order failed to understand that he was, in fact, not a child, that he knew more about the Dark Arts and those who wielded them than quite a few of the people in the Order, and that rather than pouting about his exclusion, Harry was quite content to find ways around the roadblocks. He hadn’t really intended to fire a warning shot across the Order’s bow, but wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? Wasn’t he telling them that they had better start treating him as an equal in experience rather than an inferior in years? Surprisingly, it was the normally reserved Hestia Jones that defused the situation. “I think, Kingsley, that we might want to consider that Harry is a bit more educated in the ways of this war and the last one that we might have assumed. And that it might be in his best interests to know some of the things that we’re discussing.” Harry stared at her, barely even trying to conceal his surprise. A dark-haired, pink-cheeked witch of average height, Jones worked in some mid-level capacity at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She didn’t see nearly as much action as the Aurors, but she had still acquitted herself well, and the former Ravenclaw had a shrewd sense of strategy. Her problem, Harry thought, was that she tended to try to forget the dire circumstances they were all in, approaching the real-life problems of the Order as if they were purely theoretical, and real lives weren’t on the line whenever they made a decision. “Absolutely not,” came Molly Weasley’s heated reply. “He’s just a child!” she hissed. Something inside Harry snapped. In one fluid motion, he rose, kicked the chair back with his right foot, and spun on the spot, blazing green eyes finding those of Ginny’s mother. “I am many things, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry began, his voice deadly quiet. “I am a student at Hogwarts. I am a best friend of Tonks and Hermione. I am the ward of Daphne Dressler. I am the son of Lily and James Potter. I am your daughter’s boyfriend. I am the Boy-Who-Lived, the infant that defeated the Dark Lord and saved the wizarding world before he was old enough to walk. I am a Slytherin. I am the most powerful student to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Tom Riddle himself. Despite my potential, I am relatively raw and untrained. I am a survivor. I am a compassionate individual when I want to be. I am cold and vicious when I don’t. And I am a fifteen-year old male. But one thing that I am not…indeed, one thing that I have not been for some time, is a child. Or, as Fleur Delacour put it last year before she learned just how wrong she was, a boy. I have seen too much, done too much, and suffered far too much for that word to be applicable any longer.” The air around them hummed with his magic as it strained against his barriers. Jars and pans began vibrating. Harry felt the power coursing through his veins, and he loved it. Harry spun on the heel of his trainers, just as he’d seen Daphne do unconsciously for as long as he could remember, eyes flashing between Shacklebolt, Bill, Hestia, and Remus. “I’m tired of being left out, being excluded, when my inclusion is in the best interests of the Order. The more I know, the more likely I’ll be to stay alive. The fact that all the pain I’ve felt in my life has been compacted into a mere fifteen years is entirely, indisputably irrelevant. And if you refuse to hear reason, then I can and will find others that will.” Others had now entered the room; as highly attuned to magic as he was at the moment, he could sense the familiar auras of Sirius Black, Arthur Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, Emmeline Vance, and Severus Snape. The latter broke the stunned silence as he quietly applauded Harry’s outburst, and he was joined by Ginny, Tonks, and after the shortest of pauses, Hermione. Even the twins joined in before the noise again died down. . Molly Weasley’s husband had now reached her, and was trying to prevent her from continuing the argument. Ginny’s hand was on Harry’s arm, squeezing gently. He took the hint and left the kitchen, followed by his friends, the twins, Hestia, and even more surprisingly, Ron. He felt Snape moving rapidly to join them, and gently pulled away from Ginny. “Just give us a minute,” he told her. “Go to the library.” Ginny nodded and the others followed. Hestia, looking uncomfortable, chose to head upstairs. Harry turned to face his Head of House. “I suppose this is the part where you lecture me about the swelling dimensions of my skull.” The slightest flicker of amusement showed on the man’s pasty white face. “No, Potter. Actually, I felt that you handled yourself quite well. A bit petulant, I suppose, but it’s difficult for a fifteen-year old to say the things you just did without it sounding like whining.” “I’m sorry for having a difficult time accepting that the whole Order could have been told what’s happened to me the last few years and not accepted Daphe’s request on my behalf for full membership. I can keep secrets from my friends if that is what is required. I also sense that they are stonewalling Tonks to prevent my learning the information second-hand.” “Your intuition does not betray you. Indeed, I would say that the way the Order has handled this has been even more childish. They would rather dissolve the Order than bend the rules to allow the Boy-Who-Lived full membership two year before he comes of age. They are jealous of you, Potter. Jealous of the attention that Dumbledore pays you. There are quite a few of them that feel you are just an abnormally lucky spoiled brat with an inflated sense of self-importance.” “Then they are fools.” “They are fools,” Snape agreed. “I’ve told you more than once, Potter, that when I have torn you down in the past…after I stopped living in it myself, of course, that I was merely attempting to ensure that you understand the full ramifications of having a destiny such as yours. And I am satisfied that you do understand that you may be asked to sacrifice everything your hold dear, that you will have remain logical and rational in the face of great strife…to the extent that any wizard can in such trying circumstances. I am confident, Potter, that you are aware of your own weaknesses, and that you are working to address them. I am confident, also, that you are aware that your life is as fragile as anyone else’s and that every additional second that you live is a blessing.” “That really does mean a lot, coming from you.” “I am not an easy man to please, Potter,” Snape said. “Nor am I a fair man, or even a decent one. I am who I am. So, yes, that kind of compliment does not often fall from my lips.” He paused. “You should know that the Headmaster is not to blame for this. He would not object to your joining the Order. He feels you are ready. Actually, Potter, I believe he seeks to train you as his replacement as leader. But he cannot show his true feelings, or it may break the Order apart. And that cannot be allowed to happen, or so Albus feels.” “Who’s opposing me, then?” “Alastor is probably the most vocal of them all, though that is to be expected. Molly Weasley, who deserved what you gave her, in case you were wondering, is a close second. Vance resists, as does Podmore. Dodge would follow the Headmaster off a cliff, so he is no obstacle. Black is one of your more vocal supporters, surprisingly. Dressler has already stated her case for your inclusion, not that anyone listened. The other Weasleys probably wouldn’t fight it. The werewolf has said little, but he is clearly on your side.” Snape smirked. “Although you probably didn’t do yourself that much good by revealing your alliance with Aiden Greengrass and potential relationship with the Burke brothers. For most, it will only emphasize that you are an impulsive, ignorant brat that hasn’t the slightest clue what he’s doing.” “The Zabinis have also reached an agreement with me, although I’ll have to wait until I see Blaise again before I can make that official,” Harry revealed. Snape looked conflicted. Harry knew he didn’t like Blaise; really, no one he knew really like Blaise, although Ginny was warming to him. He’d made a bad first impression, and was being dogged by it even now, years after he’d made his initial mistakes. It was an important lesson to learn. First impressions aren’t easily overcome. At the same time, the friendship between the sole heir to the Zabini family and the Boy-Who-Lived was genuine, as was the decision to fight on his side in the coming war. Snape probably knew that, too. “Be careful, Potter. Such an alliance is not necessarily unwise, but it is not something to be taken lightly. Arabella Zabini is dangerous, and her husband even more so, because he is so adept at escaping the eyes of others. How those two managed to create a boy so naïve and innocent as Mr. Zabini I will never understand.” “I think you underestimate him.” “I think you underestimate his capacity to appear more mature than he really is,” Snape countered. “Zabini is Slytherin, after all, Potter. A model of my House he is not. But he is as capable of deception and manipulation. He is especially capable of self-deception.” “I believe that Blaise has moved past that somewhat, trying to focus more on being what he claims to be instead of trying to look the part. That’s why I was willing to let him in.” “We’ll see,” Snape said curtly. “You are playing a dangerous game, Potter. One misstep could cost you dearly.” “And yet it is a game that I cannot afford not to play,” Harry said, his voice soft, but firm. “I need the Dark purebloods, Professor. At the very least, I have to deny them to Voldemort. We’re already outnumbered. I need the best fighters the wizarding world has to offer, and that is where to find them.” “Do not make the mistake of assuming they will ever view you as an equal, much less that they do now,” Snape warned. “You are from an old Light family, Potter. You are, in terms of years, a child. The fact that you believe your age to be entirely irrelevant, as you so bluntly put it, does not matter to them.” “What if I were to declare for the Dark?” Harry asked. The question seemed to have caught his Head of House off-guard, although he recovered quickly enough. “That would be an error of monumental proportions, Potter. First, it is not customary for any witch or wizard to chose his or her orientation before they come of age. Second, you would lose the respect of the entire Light community, before you had a chance to speak to them on an even footing. And Third, you are not yet ready to make such a choice.” Harry studied the Potions Master for a long moment. “It was a purely hypothetical question, although you certainly made your views known. In case you are concerned, I should tell you that I’m well aware that making such a decision at the present time would be both rash and unwise.” “I am glad to hear it.” They stood in that darkened corridor of Black Manor for several moments, neither of them speaking. Finally, Harry decided to risk it. “I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me the things that the Order has decided my innocent ears are not fit to hear.” “I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Snape replied. “The reality, Potter, is that the Order has done very little over this summer. Our primary accomplishment has been actually reforming it, as well as adding a few new members. A few of us have been sent on scouting missions, using the path that your guardian established during her absence after the Yule Ball. She wasn’t just gathering information; she was also re-establishing contact with old friends and sympathizers. There are not many to be found. The Dark Lord has been recruiting heavily, and meeting with alarming success. Camps have been established, training the newest generation of Death Eaters. We have heard rumors they intend to seize Durmstrang, with the blessing of a number of powerful families, although we don’t expect so bold a move in the near future. Most disheartening has been the utter failure of our efforts to rally Light wizards on the continent. They are convinced that it is none of their concern, and lack the ideological and historical motivation of their Dark counterparts. We may well be on our own, Potter.” “Any possibility of getting help from our friends across the pond?” Harry ventured. “The Americans?” Snape asked, sounding baffled by the question. “Unless things have greatly changed, help will not come until it is far too late. You know, of course, of the differences between their system and ours? Their wizarding society co-exists within their Muggle society and government. It is an ugly arrangement, but somehow is has worked. But the problem is that they can do little to intervene on the behalf of others beyond their own borders. They lack any matter of centralization of wizarding authority. There are laws, there are local leaders, and the wizards and witches that are members of the United States government are the de-facto heads of the magical community, but they can offer little assistance.” “That’s about what I expected you to say,” Harry said grimly. “Things really aren’t looking good right now, are they?” “No, Potter. This is about as bad as I’ve ever seen it. At least during the Dark Lord’s Reign of Terror, there was resistance, and opposition. There is no urgency, and our Minister is a cowardly traitor. Not in the literal sense, of course.” “Of course.” No, Fudge was no agent of Voldemort. But he was a traitor nonetheless, in that he was acting against the best interests of the people that had voted him into office. Something suddenly occurred to him. “Professor, has Dumbledore found a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet?” Snape’s face remained impassive, although something flashed behind his dark eyes. “He has. You’ve met before.” Oh, if Harry was right, that was the greatest understatement in human history. “It’s Daphne, isn’t it? Dumbledore’s asked her the last two years, and she said no.” “You should discuss this with your guardian,” Snape advised, in a tone that meant he wasn’t letting this conversation go any further. “I’m afraid that as lovely as this little chat has been, I am a very busy man. Be careful, Potter. Things are not always as they seem.” “Sir, if I haven’t learned that lesson yet, you might as well just give up on me.” Snape gave him a very rare smile, spun, and strode off down the hallway. Harry stared down at the letter in his hands, a part of him still not entirely confident that the words were genuinely those of Gavin and Edwin Burke. The more rational part of him knew what they were, and was currently running through dozens of scenarios regarding their potential usefulness, as well as the risk they might pose to his own life and the lives of those he cared for if they turned out to be traitors. In front of him, lying innocently on the table, just to compound his confusion, was what appeared to be a wand, made of a polished dark wood. It wasn’t. In fact, what appeared to be a potential weapon was in reality something far more deadly. If one we to pull on the ends of the shaft, it would come apart, revealing a long, slender blade laced with poison, poison that was imbued in the steel itself. It was a tool of an assassin, perhaps even a warning. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. If the Burkes were concerned that he might turn down their offer because he felt he couldn’t trust them, why in Merlin’s name would they seek to make him less comfortable about their intentions? Did they seek to see how far Harry’s trust went? Was this their idea of a joke? Was the alliance dependent on how far Harry was willing to trust them? Harry carefully set down the letter and picked up the fake wand. Gently, he pulled on the ends, and the sheath slid off the lethal weapon. The blade was so thin that it looked like it might break with any kind of force, but Harry knew that it was made with Goblin steel, and Goblin steel did not break. What are you trying to tell me, boys? What is the point of this? It was a dagger, in a sense, he supposed, although they’d clearly taken liberties in observing that pureblood tradition. The daggers that were often exchanged were bedecked with jewels and rare metals, meant more for ceremonial display than actual use. Aiden’s dagger was a bit more durable than that, and the charm that would protect his own flesh from harm seemed to serve as evidence that Harry might be able to use it as a legitimate secondary weapon. But this? There is nothing to display. It is a practical tool. It also brought up the question of what Harry might send them in return. Daphne had helped him compile a list of certain heirlooms in the Potter and Dressler vaults that could be considered valuable enough to be respected yet expendable enough that they would be missed. Of course, that had been in the context of finding a gift for Aiden. He didn’t know how she’d react to this latest development. Harry gently re-sheathed the assassin’s blade, and set it down on the table in front of him. He picked up the letter. The words that the two brothers had chosen to use did little to calm his worries about their trustworthiness. To the esteemed and magnificent Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, We are writing to you, Mr. Potter, because of a number of arguments made by one of your allies, concerning the reasons that it might be to our advantage to join your crusade against the Dark Lord. We are no friends of his; though we once swore loyalty and took his Mark with pride and contentment, in his service we were thoroughly disillusioned. It was not the things we did to those of less noble blood, certainly not the horrors committed against those of no magical blood that would break our loyalties to him. No, it was the actions that we took against our own brothers, for the sole reason that they did not see eye-to-eye with us. If a Dark family of the most noble bloodlines to be found in Britain refused the Dark Lord, we were sent as the angels of his vengeance. This sort of work disgusted us. We believed that any man so intent on controlling others that the price of wanting to remain neutral was death was no man fit to rule the wizarding world, no matter what advances to our kind that he promised. We suppose it might be wise to introduce ourselves. We hail from the Great and Noble Family Burke, and trace our Dark lineage back to the time that magical nobles forced the Magna Carta on that foolish Muggle King. Our birth names are Edwin and Gavin, each of us named for a separate paternal relative of the distant past. We have composed this letter together, although for practical reasons, only one of us is actually putting quill to parchment. His identity need not concern you. On this matter, we speak as one. We are both graduates of Durmstrang Institute. We were both able to escape Ministry attention after the war, and settled into a peaceful existence in Northern Britain. Events have now transpired that have put our lives and those of our family in mortal peril. The Dark Lord that we walked away from so many years ago has returned, and we do not like our chances of survival if we continue to walk the solitary path. One of us has a wife and two children to protect, while the other has only himself. Rest assured, it will make little difference in our degree of loyalty to your cause. We understand that you may not trust us. After all, we were once willing servants of the man we now want to help you destroy. We have a reputation, of sorts, of being cold-blooded killers with no allegiance but to themselves. Our family’s name has traditionally been one associated with conspiracies and political intrigue. Indeed, it might be wise for you not to trust us completely, and we tell you this only out of concern for your well-being. Certain traits tend to run in bloodlines. It is unfortunate, but we cannot deny that deceit and betrayal have been a part of our family’s history for as long as it has been recorded. But let us not leave you with the impression that we are little more than a danger to you, Mr. Potter. We are both capable fighters, and the rest of our family has received combat training. We have been lauded as dueling champions during our schooldays, and the latest generation of Burkes has upheld the family mantle. If you ask us to kill someone, rest assured that they will not be long for this earth. We are not cold-blooded murderers, Mr. Potter. We hold ourselves to certain standards. We propose an alliance between our clan and that historical bastion of Light, the Esteemed and Most Virtuous Family Potter. If you call our names, we will be there, and we will fight; we cannot afford to do anything else. You can trust, Mr. Potter, that we will keep our promises. We merely warn you that we seldom put ourselves in a situation that does not allow us to improvise if the need arises. We will give you whatever time you need to decide on a course of action. As a token of our honesty, we have enclosed a gift, a rare and remarkable magical artifact that has been in our family for centuries. It is yours now. Use it wisely. Keep in mind who gave it to you. We await your owl. Edwin Mordred Burke Gavin Lucifer Burke Harry couldn’t help but crack a strained smile as he read the names of the two former Death Eaters. The choice of middle names was as curious as it was disturbing. Harry knew enough about Muggle legends and literature to recognize both references. Mordred, the man who betrayed King Arthur, and Lucifer, an Angel that betrayed God himself. Both traitors from Muggle legends. Is their father’s middle name Judas? Gavin probably saved that one for his son. And if his daughter’s middle name isn’t Delilah…and they expect me to trust them? That was just it. They did expect Harry to trust them, and against all of his better judgment, it was happening. Somehow, their brutal honestly, which ought to have made him feel revolted and disgusted, made the possibility of an alliance with them all the more appealing. There was no denying that they were dangerous weapons. The question, of course, is to whom? He needed guidance. He needed the opinion of a person he trusted, a person that understood the realities of his situation, and would not immediately distrust the men because they were Death Eaters. He needed someone with experience dealing with the Darker sides of pureblood culture, someone with enough experience to gauge the brothers’ intentions. He needed the only person in the world that really understood his position, as a nexus between the Darkness and the Light. He needed Daphne. |
| Reviews 114 |
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