[From Samhain to the Solstice]: The Strength of Gold, Harry/Theo, R, 2/3

[lomonaaeren]

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Part Two

“Really Rabastan Lestrange?”

“Really.”

Nott’s eyes were hot with excitement. Harry smiled back, but cautiously. Rabastan Lestrange had been on the run for almost a decade. The reports that claimed he had been in the Ministry, or Diagon Alley, or St. Mungo’s, or Hogsmeade, or Knockturn Alley, were wild and varied, and the only thing they had in common was that they had all turned out to be false.

“Look at this.” Nott turned a file towards him.

Harry bent over and whistled softly. Yes, there was a man who looked a lot like Lestrange, at least in the blurry photograph, ducking into an apothecary on Knockturn Alley that Harry had investigated several times as an Auror. He glanced up at Nott. “When did he come out?”

“He hasn’t, apparently.” Nott was bouncing and twisting his wand in one hand. Harry wondered if he even knew that he did that as a nervous gesture. “There’s some kind of flat back there, or storage space. I tracked someone there once.”

“So you know how the wards work?”

“I used to. The building’s changed hands since then.”

“Who owns it now?”

“David Grant.”

Harry blinked. “That sounds like he’s related to a Muggleborn I know. Do you think he knows that he’s sheltering Lestrange?”

Nott snorted. It was easily the least attractive thing he did, Harry thought idly. His nostrils narrowed as if he was looking down into the mouth of a Potions vial, and he lifted his chin at the same time and spat a little through his teeth. “It’s most likely a fake name, Potter. If Lestrange’s father isn’t behind this, I’ll eat the Sorting Hat.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Nott.”

Nott sent him a dirty look, and they bent over the file again.

*

Theo walked casually past the building that was now Grant’s Apothecary, his eyes aimed straight ahead and his shoulders slumped so that his hands rested in his robe pockets. It was easy enough to get ignored in Knockturn Alley when you looked this casual and sloppy, and Theo enjoyed the knowledge that his father would have been screamed to see it.

Then again, his father would have been screaming to see Theo working for the Ministry instead of blackmailing his way into wealth.

Theo removed thoughts of his father from his mind with an efficient swipe of Occlumency, and then turned and leaned against the dirty wall behind him, reminding himself that robes could be cleaned. He could see Potter ambling towards the front door of the apothecary, and frowned a little. No one had ever told Potter that his strides and bearing made him seem confident and dangerous?

Well, Theo supposed, it didn’t matter that much. They had their plans in mind, and they were going to kill Lestrange.

He couldn’t help smiling at the thought of that as he made his way towards the back window of the shop, the one that was a weak point in the wards. Whoever had built this shop originally never had mastered the trick of getting the window to open without also opening a hole in the wards.

*

“Hullo.”

Harry took care to make his voice sullen and interested at the same time as he peered around the interior of the shop. It had high shelves on every wall, beginning at about the height of Harry’s shoulder, as though the floor was used for brewing and the owner wanted to keep ingredients away from customers who might break them (or Potions fumes, Harry supposed). Gleaming crystals and chains and leaves shone here and there.

Harry blinked and tried not to stare as hard as he wanted to. It was very different from the apothecaries he’d been in in the past. This seemed to have a lot of single ingredients instead of batches the customers could choose from among.

“Who are you?”

David Grant’s voice was a match for Harry’s, minus the interest. Harry turned around and drew the hood of his cloak a little closer around his face. “A customer.”

He kept himself from reacting, kept his voice steady. But the man in front of him was not a Muggleborn, or even an ordinary wizard. He was Thorfinn Rowle, another fugitive Death Eater. He hadn’t been hunted as severely as Lestrange, because he hadn’t done nearly as much, but still.

They would get to kill two of them today.

Harry tamped down on his exultation and pointed an imperious finger at a blue crystal on a nearby shelf. “How much for that one?”

“What ‘choo want it for?” Rowle wasn’t playing his part well. Harry suspected that someone else normally handled the business of the shop. Rowle’s eyes were darting back and forth as if he expected someone to emerge from the walls and tell him off for doing it wrong.

“Two Galleons seems a fair price to me.”

“I meant what you want it for.” Rowle scowled and took a step towards him, then stopped. He ran a nervous hand through his short and badly-cropped shaggy hair. “It’s not for sale.”

“But I want it.”

“Bugger off!”

Definitely not someone who’s into customer service, Harry thought dryly, and drew his wand with a small jerk of his hand, at the same time as he swept the hood back from his face. It disrupted the spell that had been hiding his features, and Rowle stumbled back with a cry.

“Come with me,” Harry said softly, smiling. He was holding to his morals. Rowle wasn’t someone on the Ministry’s death list, though perhaps they’d put him there after they got through the ones like Lestrange. Harry could give him a chance to surrender. “Put your—”

The hot, searing pain that tore into his spine made him drop his wand. Rowle charged forwards with a shout.

Harry managed to roll over, ignoring the way that he was bleeding onto the floor, and grope for his wand. Behind him stood Rabastan Lestrange, his wand aimed at Harry, his mouth lifting into a victorious smirk. Harry had a chance for a single glimpse of him before Rowle’s fist slammed into the side of his head.

Harry sagged forwards, battling unconsciousness, but another punch hit him, and he lost.

*

“What do you think we ought to do with him?”

“We’ll have some fun, of course.”

Theo paused. He had slipped through the window, gliding through the wards as if he wasn’t there, and now he was heading towards the hidden room that was in wizardspace folded around the side of the first floor. But the voices distracted him. One was definitely Lestrange’s, and the other was familiar but not one Theo could immediately place.

And neither was Potter’s.

Something’s gone wrong.

Theo slipped towards the voices, his wand in his hand and curses curling around his tongue. It would be hard to choose between them.

He came to the back of a storage room with several barrels in it, and crouched behind them as he peered around at Lestrange. The man was standing with his back to Theo, and Theo longed to cut him down with a single spell. But that might do something unexpected to either Potter or the wards around the shop.

The man facing Theo, and whom Theo ducked out of sight of right away, was Thorfinn Rowle. Theo grimaced. He didn’t think Rowle could have taken Potter down, but he could have distracted him long enough for Lestrange to do so.

And Potter was lying on the floor between them, trussed with the kind of magical ropes that would slowly crush his limbs. His temple bore a large bruise that was probably courtesy of Rowle. Lestrange would consider it beneath him to punch someone in the face.

“What do you mean, fun?” Rowle sounded uneasy.

“Like this,” Lestrange replied, and twisted his wand. Potter came awake with an arch of his back and silent gape of his mouth that probably should have been filled with sound.

Theo winced. He knew it wasn’t the Cruciatus—he didn’t believe even Lestrange could have cast that silently—but it was probably a pain spell of comparable intensity.

And he couldn’t stand there and watch it, even though he probably would have if it was anyone other than Potter, and he had to make a plan to take down two Death Eaters by himself. He cast a spell that blew the barrels in front of him up, and sent their contents flooding towards Lestrange and Rowle.

Rowle caught the brunt of it, as Theo had intended. The ingredient in the barrels seemed to be pure Bubotuber pus, and he screamed as his face was covered with it, his arms, his hair, his head. He fell to the floor, and Potter rolled out of the way of both the pus and the pain spell as if they had discussed this, as if they had planned it.

Lestrange whirled to face Theo, casting a shield that deflected most of the pus. That meant that some of it splashed Potter, but if it affected him, he didn’t show it. He dashed it away from his face as he leaped back to his feet, his head half-lowered and his hand gripping his wand again.

“Ah, Nott,” said Lestrange, calm and still in voice and bearing, but Theo didn’t think it was his imagination that his eyes had flickered with unease. Even if he thought Potter was weak from his pain curse, he must not like facing two powerful wizards. “Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

Theo didn’t bother responding to that. Instead, he conjured large glass shards in front of him, silently, and sent them flying towards Lestrange.

Lestrange shielded, and even managed to deflect one of the shards towards Potter. Potter spun out of the way. Theo silently noted that he couldn’t shield, apparently, and came around the barrels to angle his body between Potter and Lestrange.

“Never thought I would see the day when you valued someone else’s life more than your own, Nott.”

Theo kept quiet, watching Lestrange. He knew a few things about the man from being around him at Hogwarts during his terrible seventh year, and from having him as a “guest” at home. Lestrange hated silence. He was always the one who would start talking the moment the Dark Lord released the Death Eaters from it.

“It doesn’t matter to you that your father would be ashamed of you?”

Theo smiled a little. Lestrange had already repeated one of the tactics he was using to try and get a rise out of Theo. He was more shaken than Theo had thought.

But he was still a powerful Dark wizard, and Theo wasn’t entirely surprised at the way his wand whipped up in the next moment and he screamed, “Avada Kedavra!”

Potter’s hand grabbed Theo and dragged him out of the way. Theo let himself slump and roll, making sure that his dead weight took both him and Potter to the floor. He didn’t want Potter getting any heroic ideas about jumping in front of the curse for Theo.

He might say that he wasn’t that kind of person anymore, but Theo wasn’t going to take it on trust.

Lestrange screamed the Killing Curse again. Theo Levitated one of the shelves in front of them, and the curse splattered against the wood. Lestrange darted around to the side, and Theo made himself find his feet. He had to do this standing and do more than dodge, or Lestrange would hit him with something crippling and then cast the Killing Curse again.

Or do it to Potter.

Theo would prefer that that not happen.

*

Harry’s world was still dancing dizzily around him, and he was barely aware of the fact that he had stood up after the pain curse, that Thorfinn Rowle was on the floor and covered with Bubotuber pus and might be dying, that his head still ached from those forceful punches. He didn’t even know for sure where Nott had come from or how he had managed to avoid the Killing Curses Lestrange had cast.

But Harry knew art when he saw it.

Lestrange and Nott were dancing around each other, casting spells and shields so fast that Harry could barely trace the path of their spells with his eyes. (Admittedly, some of that was because he probably had a concussion). Lestrange sent wood splinters at Nott, who set them on fire and turned the flames back towards Lestrange. Lestrange tried to set up wards, and Nott broke them. Nott tried a chain of spells that sent everything in sight flying at Lestrange and bent the floor beneath his feet, but Lestrange managed to break the chain before it could reach the end. Nott aimed a steel nail at Lestrange’s right eye, and the bastard deflected it.

Harry could hardly catch his breath. In fact, he could barely stand, and that meant he couldn’t help his partner, and he resented it.

But he could watch out for signs of a trap. He couldn’t believe that Lestrange would have set up house in a place like this shop without having some kind of failsafe in case his enemies tracked him down. Harry limped slowly around the orbit of the battle, looking for it, and finally saw a snatch of shimmering power flashing from Lestrange’s silver buttons.

“Nott! Down!”

Nott didn’t even question him, although it disrupted the long spell he was trying to cast. He rolled on the ground, and the shimmer caught the air in a thunderous clap where he had been. Harry shivered. He recognized the jaws of the Bear Trap Curse.

Nott wouldn’t have had to worry about breathing or walking ever again, had that caught him.

Lestrange spun towards Harry, suddenly and visibly unhinged the way he’d always been, screaming. Harry stared at the black gape of his mouth and raised his wand, aware that he was fumbling, aware that it was too slowly, and suddenly feeling the pressure of the wound in his back, and thinking that he was probably bleeding out.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The spell was flying, and Harry was dodging, but the thought in his head was Too slow, too slow—

*

Theo conjured more shards of glass, the spell he had first tried to use on Lestrange, and flung them as hard and accurately as he could.

Three of them got in between Potter and the spell, which meant they shattered and sprayed him with smaller shards, but not the kind of thing that would do more than make a few specks of blood appear on his skin. The others curved and bent in their flight, as Theo concentrated fiercely, and pierced Lestrange’s robe, sending him flying backwards as they rooted in the floor.

Lestrange screamed again, having apparently lost control, his wand still waving in his hand. Theo Disarmed him and then dropped Lestrange’s wand on the floor and stepped on it. Lestrange shrieked like a dying thing this time.

“You’re a lot more trouble than you’re worth,” Theo told him conversationally, and sent the nail flying again. This time, it drove through Lestrange’s right eye, the place where Theo had originally tried to aim it, and his screams died.

Theo took a deep breath and became aware that his legs were shaking like Flobberworms and his left arm was burning. He took a look at it, cast a spell to bind the bloody wound up, and turned towards Potter. “Are you all right?”

He paused when he saw the way Potter was staring at him, and frowned. It was a very odd expression, and made Theo wonder for a moment if, despite what Potter had said, he didn’t like to think of someone else killing people.

Then Potter’s face broke into a smile. “That was awesome.”

Theo laughed a little. “You think so?”

“I’ve never seen a spell that conjures glass like that! And the way that you managed to bend its flight when it was already flying! And the way that you cast everything silently, while Lestrange was yelling his spells like a first-year!” Potter waved an arm and almost tipped over. “You’re a great wizard.”

Theo hid how warm the words made him feel, and came briskly over to conjure a stretcher for Potter and Levitate him onto it. “Come on, Potter, it’s St. Mungo’s for you.”

“Do you not believe that I think you’re a great wizard?”

Theo paused and stared into Potter’s eyes. They were bright and fixed on him with an unnerving intensity, as if it mattered incredibly to him whether Theo was going to acknowledge the compliment or not.

“I believe it,” Theo said, “I also think that you’re dizzy with a concussion and blood loss right now. Repeat it when you’re in a healthy frame of mind, and I’ll believe it.”

Potter smiled at him, and promptly passed out. Theo cursed slightly as he had to adjust the spell to catch the weight of a falling, unconscious body.

But he was smiling, too. It was something, to be thought a great wizard—both by Harry Potter and by the man Theo had seen kill Elias Flint.

*

“I’m his partner.”

Harry blinked open his eyes and turned his head. It seemed that Hermione, who was standing in the door of his hospital room, had asked Nott why he was here. Nott was sitting on the single chair in the room, a dim blue-grey place, and staring at Hermione as if he would herd her out any second.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, clearing his throat.

“Harry!” Hermione ran towards him, her eyes wide, her arms outstretched. Nott clicked his tongue, and she seemed to realize at the last moment that he was lying on his stomach in a hospital bed. The Healers had had to bandage as well as cast spells on the wound in his back, and they hadn’t been able to close it completely in one round. “I—you’re all right?”

“Wounded, but all right,” Harry said, and smiled at her.

“And what about the others?”

“Dead,” Nott said flatly. “Both of them.”

“Did you kill them, or did Harry?”

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Granger, so let’s keep this short.” Nott didn’t move, but he seemed to loom nonetheless. Harry wondered if that was like the way he had cast silently during the duel with Lestrange but managed to convey his contempt anyway. “If you have a problem with Hit Wizards killing people, take it up with the Ministry, who maintains the Hit Wizards in the first place. It’s not my fault. It’s not Potter’s fault. Stop scolding the person I thought was your friend and go away. He needs rest.”

Harry hadn’t seen anyone try to handle Hermione like that in years, and he knew he should probably feel bad for her. But after a long moment of watching her stand with her mouth open, and then seeing her whirl around and depart, the only thing he could feel was relief.

Nott glanced at him and leaned over to touch a place on his arm that felt tender. Harry hissed. “Some of the Bubotuber pus splashed you there,” Nott murmured. “Be careful about what you put on it for the next day or so.”

“Thanks.” Harry took a deep breath. “And you know they healed my wound, to the extent they could right now, and my concussion?”

“Yes?”

“I still think you’re a great wizard.”

For a moment, Harry was staring into Nott’s bright, startled grey eyes, and then Nott ducked his head and turned away and said, “Thank you.”

His voice was too soft for Harry to hear any emotion. The next second, he had turned back and added, “Do I need to call the Healers to force a Sleeping Draught down your throat, or are you going to sleep by yourself?”

Harry smiled, and closed his eyes, content in the knowledge that Nott was watching over him, that his partner would let nothing end the life he’d fought so hard to protect.