lomonaaeren

“I can’t believe how twisted everything’s got.”

Ron nods in silent misery. It seems that the Gryffindors who laughed at them for claiming Harry was Voldemort’s son have turned to openly making fun of them. A fourth-year just darted up to Ginny and asked if she was open to dating Grindelwald’s grandson, then turned around and ran away giggling.

Ginny is siting miserably with her face between her hands. Ron sort of wishes they hadn’t told her about Harry’s true heritage at all, but she deserved to know that the boy she had a crush on was just a mirage.

“What are we going to do?” Ginny whispers.

“I think I have a plan.”

Ron turns towards Hermione in both hope and wariness. On the one hand, he knows Hermione is clever. On the other, he also thinks that there’s precious little that will change the impression other Gryffindors have of them now as deluded.

Hermione sees his look and sighs through her nose. “Honestly, Ron, do you think that there’s much that will make them decide we’re worse liars?”

Ron shakes his head. However, he still wonders if things can get worse for them in Gryffindor. Maybe someone will actually hex them instead of taunt them. Or maybe Harry will set his followers on them for doing things like trying to talk to their actual friend.

Someone who was their friend, maybe. No more.

“What’s your plan?” Ron asks, to distract himself from the sight of Harry holding court by the fire with Neville and Colin Creevey and a few other people laughing around him. Ron wonders darkly which of them he’ll Mark next.

“We show Harry that his father is still a murderous wanker.”

“How can we do that, though?” Ginny looks up from studying her hands. “If he isn’t staging any raids and won’t do anything that makes Harry think that—”

“We make sure he commits one.”

Ron stares at Hermione. Her jaw is set and her eyes are sparkling in a way that makes him want to back off. “What are you thinking, Hermione?”

“We do something he can’t ignore. We set him off. And we make Harry see that just because the bastard is nice to him doesn’t mean that he’ll ever be less than a murderous Dark Lord.”

Her voice is rising, and Ron gestures sharply at her. Hermione frowns at him, but nods and lowers her tone to a whisper level. “Harry will have to see that he made the wrong choice and come back to our side then.”

“I don’t—we can’t justify putting innocent people in danger like that,” Ginny says, voicing what Ron is thinking. “No matter what Harry’s done.”

“We aren’t going to do that.” The light in Hermione’s eyes is like the long, bloody trail of a sunset on the water, Ron thinks uneasily. “We’ll position ourselves as the victims.”

*

“My father will permit me to take you as my courtier.”

Corban feels such a soaring joy in his heart that it catches him by surprise. He realizes then that he didn’t think the Dark Lord would grant the Prince this favor, despite his own attempts to reason himself into it.

And now—

Now it seems that there is nothing that cannot be done.

Corban drops to one knee in front of the Prince, despite the young man’s grimace of discomfort. It is just something that he will have to do for now, until he can explore the boundaries of his relationship with his new Lord and learn what is permitted and what is not. “Thank you, my lord,” he whispers, bowing his head. “When do you think you can Mark me?”

“Not until tomorrow.”

That is actually sooner than Corban thought it would happen, but he decides to push a bit anyway, as he never would have dared to do with the Dark Lord. “Why not today?”

The Prince tilts his head, his eyes such a piercing green that Corban thinks the Dark Lord gave his son the force of his gaze. Surely Lily Potter did not look like that. “I want you to truly think about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the oaths I’m going to make you swear aren’t ones you can go back from. I’m going to make you swear not to torture people or cast Dark Arts. Are you sure you want that? Take the day to reflect on it.”

The breath leaves Corban’s body. He thought the Prince more open to compromise. “I cannot cast Dark Arts even in self-defense?”

“How many times have you needed them in self-defense?”

“Many times, especially when fighting Aurors or Order of the Phoenix members—”

The Prince leans forwards. Corban shuts up. The force of the man’s presence isn’t something he would have expected, given what he has seen from the Dark Lord’s son so far. But here it is.

“No,” the Prince says quietly. “You wanted to curse and maim them, kill them maybe, at least make them regret coming after you. You never just wanted to get away, did you? Or not often, not when using those curses.”

Corban swallows. It’s—true that he most often struck back when someone started the curses with a cruel spell they wouldn’t know how to counter. When he was truly frightened and wanted to get out of a situation, he would Apparate if it were possible, use his most powerful shields and defensive spells if it weren’t. He doesn’t enjoy dueling for its own sake, as some kind of flashy contest. He enjoys causing pain.

The Prince nods, as if he’s got a glimpse into Corban’s thoughts, although Corban didn’t feel the brush of Legilimency. “I suggest you think about it,” he says, in a voice as soft as night, and turns and walks out of the classroom.

Corban blinks at the Prince’s back.

Then he stands up and goes to do as instructed, his thoughts running in circles.

*

The Veil is a deep, dim, shifting greyness, nothing like he thought it would be when he stepped through. Albus keeps walking down a path of black and grey stones that appear momentarily out of the mist and then fade back into it. His pace is steady, his head lifted high. His breathing is calm.

Now and then voices call out to one side of the path or another. Ariana’s, Father’s, Mother’s, Gellert’s. Albus started when he first heard them, but he knows them for the tricks they are, now. Gellert is not even dead. He keeps his eyes aimed forwards.

He comes to a black stone wall and traces the Elder Wand slowly over it. He calls silently in his head, to the power of the wand, to Death, to the powers that linger here.

To Sirius Black.

The stone wall shudders. Albus steps back, guided by instinct, and barely manages to avoid the boulder that falls off a cliff. Albus smiles a little and shakes his head. “You won’t catch me that way,” he whispers, although he’s not sure who he’s speaking to.

Someone.

The boulder rolls and settles on the ground, and then abruptly unfolds itself into a black dog. No, Albus thinks, caught somewhere in the forced calm that he used to make himself walk through the Veil, not a mortal dog, and not Sirius Black’s Animagus form. A Grim.

“I am here for you,” Albus tells the Grim.

It snarls and lunges forwards. Albus stands still. The jaws snap together an inch from his calf.

“You fell through the Veil,” Albus says, keeping his voice soothing. This is utterly important, but he manages to force his own impatience and worry down until he’s speaking in a calm tone, thinking only that what is in front of him now is the most important. “You were in the middle of a battle in the Department of Mysteries, with Harry. Remember? Harry Potter, your godson.”

Part of him aches in his breast, knowing that he will have to distress Sirius by revealing Harry’s real parentage. But it will all be worth it in the end. Harry can become a Potter again, by his own choice.

It is our choices that make us who we truly are.

The Grim pauses and stares. Then it sits down and looks at him with Sirius Black’s own grey eyes.

“Yes, that’s it.” Albus drops to one knee, although he winces as he does so. Old bones, old aches. He extends his hand. “Do you remember? Do you want to come back with me? The power of the wand should make it possible. Your form being a Grim should allow you to walk out of here if you wish.”

He could never coerce Sirius’s consent. That is one reason why all the magic to bring the dead back to life as they were will fail. They are dragging an unwilling spirit back into a body, or only animating the body, as in the creation of Inferi.

All normal magic, at least.

The Grim stares, and stares. Then it shudders, and melts into the form of Sirius Black.

“You don’t know what you have done,” he says, and his voice is ancient and wild. Even though he has a human body now, his eyes are still the Grim’s. “There will be a price to pay for your having come this far into the country of Death.”

“I am prepared to pay it,” Albus says steadily. He does keep a careful eye on Sirius. It’s not impossible, after all, that this isn’t really Sirius, but some being wearing his form. “What will it be?”

“The price won’t be extracted from you.”

Albus takes a sharp breath, prepared to protest, and then lets it die away unsaid. Honestly, he would pay with someone else’s life to defeat Tom for good and all. It isn’t a price he would like paying, but he would do it.

“So be it.”

Sirius continues watching him for a long moment. Then he inclines his head and turns to face the black stone cliff behind them. “Do you know why I was here?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, my dear boy.”

“Because I was a Grim, and I didn’t exactly die, and I wished to return to Harry. I made a bargain.” Sirius’s voice is low and echoing. “I made a promise that I would do everything I could to protect my godson, to make up for the way I abandoned him when he was a baby.”

“You didn’t abandon him, Sirius. You were betrayed.”

“It works out to the same thing.”

Albus shakes his head, but he’s too glad to hear Sirius’s vow to really worry about it. Sirius will protect Harry, and that’s all he needs to know.

“You’ll come back to life with me?” he asks. “Of your own free will?”

Sirius flashes his teeth like he’s still a Grim, but his voice is steady and human. “Yes. For Harry’s sake. To protect him.”

“That is all I wanted to hear,” Albus says, and turns to lead the way back down the stone path.

Sirius is silent on their journey, but it doesn’t matter. Albus is content to know that he’s not tormenting a dead spirit for the sake of the living, and that Sirius will help him make sure that Tom does not succeed.

As for the living one who will have to pay the price for Albus’s intrusion…

Albus puts it out of his mind. It is all he can do for now.

*

“I have something to ask you.”

Harry turns, blinking, at the unfamiliar voice, and blinks some more when he sees who’s standing there. Justin Finch-Fletchley, from Hufflepuff. They interacted just a little in the D.A. last year, but not much. Justin still seems cautious sometimes around Harry, as if he still thinks that Harry is the Heir of Slytherin or set the snake on him at the Dueling Club.

He would be right about the Heir of Slytherin thing now, Harry thinks, and has to control the urge to laugh hysterically.

“All right,” Harry says, leaning against the wall. He feels his bond with Basilisk, who is currently exploring a corridor a few meters away, tremble, and his one with Theo comes to light in a rustle of power. But he doesn’t need either of them right now, so he just gently pushes reassurance down the bonds. “What is it?”

“Not here.”

That makes Theo’s bond dance with even more suspicion, and makes Harry certain they can feel each other’s thoughts. But he just nods. Justin still isn’t a threat, even if he intends to be. Harry knows he’s the better duelist.

Be careful, my lord. Your life is precious to many.

Harry shoves irritation and fondness back down the bond to Theo, thinks, I know that, and I won’t take any risks, and turns around to stare at Justin once they’re in a little alcove hidden by the bend of the corridor. They’re not that far from the Room of Requirement, in fact, which is probably what made Justin come looking for him in the first place.

“Yes?”

Justin fidgets back and forth for a moment. Harry just waits. He was mostly wandering around to clear his head and let Basilisk explore, and he doesn’t have any place he needs to be for a few hours.

“There are people saying that you have—a certain heritage.”

“You heard those rumors in Gryffindor, huh?” Harry shakes his head, keeping his tone light. “Ron and Ginny are apparently really disappointed I won’t be dating her.”

“I believe them.”

Harry takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to hurt or Obliviate Justin, but he would do it in preference to something happening to one of his court.

“Right, because I’m a Parselmouth and the source of all evil—”

“No.”

Harry blinks and falls silent. Justin faces him, and his face is a sickly grey. But his hands are formed into fists. Harry considers drawing his wand.

“Because there were raids and there was war and now it’s stopped,” Justin whispers. “I couldn’t understand why. Why would You-Know-Who just stop like that? I thought there had to be some kind of threat to him, but then they would have announced it, wouldn’t they, to show they were winning? And now I understand. He knows that you wouldn’t like it, so he’s stopped.”

Justin is one hundred percent right, and he also sounds mental. Harry clings to that to stop himself from lashing out. There’s every chance that people will dismiss Justin as crazy the same way they’ve dismissed Ron and Hermione and Ginny.

“You realize what you sound like?”

“Some kind of crazy person? Yeah.” Justin smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “What I know is that if you’re the one who made him stop, then you’re not as corrupt as your former friends are trying to portray you as. And you haven’t just given in in exchange for some kind of favor, either. You’d never do that.”

Harry tries to put this together in his head, and ends up giving up. “I could be corrupt, but I could never be corrupt?” he can’t help asking.

Justin only shakes his head. He seems calm again. “I know that you’re the reason the raids stopped, whether you asked him to or he’s only doing it to indulge you,” he says. “And I want to make sure that you have a reason to keep protecting the rest of us.”

“Okay?”

Harry knows he sounds lost, because he doesn’t have a clue what Justin is talking about. Justin turns to him with dark eyes.

“There are people following you around and paying attention to you who never did it before. It’s obvious if you look. Maybe you could say Malfoy did pay attention to you, but Nott and Parkinson didn’t.” Justin takes another breath. “And maybe they give you good advice, but maybe they need a counterbalance sometimes. So I’m volunteering.”

“You don’t even know what you’re volunteering for!”

“Yes, I do.” Justin steps forwards and stares down at Harry’s left arm for a long moment, then lifts his gaze back to Harry’s face. “Because someone has to make sure that you don’t get an inflated head or only listen to the suggestions of people who might be the children of Death Eaters. I can be that person.”

“So could other people!”

“Sure, but do I see any of them volunteering? I do not.” Justin gives a jerky little shrug. “And I don’t pretend to know what happened between you and Weasley and Granger, but they aren’t in a position to advise you anymore.”

“Justin, this is madness.”

“So is you being You-Know-Who’s son. So is him changing all the methods he uses to commit murder and torture people for you. But he did it. You caused it. So I’m willing to help you keep causing it.”

Harry decides that he will just have to scare Justin off, and he can’t be too particular about how he does it. He takes a step forwards and says in a low voice, “You can’t stand me, and honestly, the feeling is mutual after second year.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What?”

“If it were, you never would have allowed me in the D. A. last year. You would have told me to go fuck myself when I showed up and started talking to you this way.”

“But you loathe me.”

“Is that really what you think? That I would be here volunteering to become—what do they call it, a low-level Death Eater for you if I hated you?”

“Sure. If you thought I needed a chain on my actions—”

“I never apologized for the Heir of Slytherin thing, did I?” Justin rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry. Even though I was right,” he adds. “But you aren’t someone evil trying to take over the school, you’re trying to save it, and I want to be part of that.”

“Justin—”

“Are you going to accept me as part of your—Death Eater thing, or do I have to go and tell everyone I believe Weasley and Granger?”

“You can’t blackmail me into accepting you!”

“Watch me.”

Justin just folds his arms and stands there. Harry reaches out incredulously down his bond to Theo, wondering why his courtier hasn’t appeared and offered to Memory Charm Justin himself.

He’s right, you know, Theo murmurs. You will need a group of people who aren’t just Slytherins, or purebloods. Yaxley coming in wouldn’t change that. I wouldn’t have chosen Finch-Fletchley myself, but he’ll offer us some balance.

Even though he’s trying to blackmail me?

You know very well that you could just leave him to be laughed at by the rest of the school if you wanted. Most people would assume that he was still angry about the Parselmouth thing and just pretending to believe the rumors to get back at you. The fact that you didn’t even consider that option tells me you want to accept him.

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It’s not that he wants his court to grow, exactly. It’s that—

It’s valuable to have someone who really does believe that I’m the Dark Lord’s son and would usually be poised to reject me, but he’s prepared to follow me instead. Even if it’s just to keep an eye on me.

Theo radiates dark satisfaction at him. Now you understand, my lord.

Harry shakes his head and refocuses on Justin. It feels like his conversation with Theo took a long time, but it was probably just a few seconds. “Say that I was willing to accept you. Are you willing to accept everything that comes with it?”

“Such as?”

“A Mark. Having to talk with people who might despise you, or might be acting like they don’t despise you just to please me. Having to meet Voldemort at some point.”

Justin pales at the name, but at least he doesn’t jump and flinch and scream like a child. He waits as though thinking to himself about the proposition Harry has made, and then he nods firmly. “Yes, my—lord. I am.”

Harry sighs. That seems to settle it, then. And he can see the value of having a Muggleborn in the group. Hopefully Justin would tell him if Harry somehow lost his head and decided to approve of murder and torture.

“Welcome to the court, then. I suppose.”

“Look a little more reluctant, why don’t you,” Justin retorts.

Harry only shrugs. He wonders if Justin’s sense of humor and willingness will last past the Marking. He’s starting to think that Corban Yaxley won’t even get there, given that he’s taken far longer than the day Harry gave him to ponder it.

*

“I’ll do it.”

The Prince whips around when Corban comes up behind him at the base of the stairs from Gryffindor Tower, his eyes gratifyingly wide. “What?”

Corban takes a deep breath and glances around. There’s no one nearby, not even portraits—not that he’s even sure the portraits answer to the new Headmistress the way they did to the old Headmaster, but still. Best to be efficient.

He drops to one knee and says softly, “Hurting people has always mattered to me.”

The Prince’s face turns cold, but Corban continues on, admitting things he has not admitted even to his former lord.

“I grew up helpless to prevent people with stronger magic, like my brother and parents, from hurting me. The same thing happened when I came to Slytherin and found myself a first-year with older years who wanted to go after me because of things my family had done. I promised myself when I learned enough curses to make them fear me that no one would ever hurt me again, that I would cause them pain. And I would cause pain to those who might have a desire to hurt me, to prove that they would never be able to.”

“Sorry, am I supposed to sympathize with this?”

“I am offering you, my lord, what mattered most to me. And what I have realized matters more than that.”

“Yes?”

“The chance to have someone who will sympathize with me. Who would not make fun of my motivations if he knew them, nor care that I was once a victim. Who would have the kindness to stand in front of me as a shield, so that I need no longer torture others to feel safe.”

Corban waits with his heart pounding. He has cut himself open and bled his spirit all over the stones. If the Prince rejects him now—

Corban is not sure what he will do.

The Prince stares at him for a long moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then he sighs and reaches down to lift Corban to his feet.

“Of course I accept you,” he says. “You’ll still have to swear the oaths I demanded, but I accept you. I must be losing my mind,” he adds, not far enough under his breath to escape Corban’s notice.

It doesn’t matter. Corban takes a long, careful breath and nods to the Prince. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you.”

The world is changing, he thinks. For so long it was winter and nothing more, and now there is the prospect of a long, careful summer.

A summer that Corban, in turn, shall be careful to guard with his life.