[Broken Glass Series]: Chapter Twenty-Three of 'Glassfall'- Plans That Cange

[lomonaaeren]

“We must lure him here.”

Sirius watches Albus through the eyes of one of the portraits in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, a hidden one that no one else would know was there unless they happened to note the shimmer of a charm up near the ceiling. It’s not an ideal perspective, given that the portrait is tilted and Sirius is seeing everything from an angle. But it allows him to spy on the Order meeting, and that’s all he needs. He’s proud he remembered the trick of it.

“He’s never going to come, Albus.”

Arthur has his head bowed over the table, his hands resting flat on it. Sirius conceals a sigh, even though the portrait doesn’t transmit sound he makes. The poor man really did believe in Albus and the Order’s mission, and that his children were in danger.

“He must.”

“Why is it so urgent?”

That’s Molly, subdued after the farce that was the attempted rescue at Lestrange Hall. She sits next to Arthur and takes one of his hands. Arthur gives her a smile. Sirius feels a little ache. There are times he would have enjoyed having someone to stand beside him like that.

But those moments are past.

“He stole something that belongs to me. And he is still our key to defeating Voldemort. The only way that we can be sure of taking him down.”

“Little bastard. We don’t need him.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at Moody’s comment, an odd feeling when the portrait’s eyes don’t move. Of course Moody feels that way. He’s always bragged and blustered about how he would respect someone who could defeat him, but Sirius knew even then it was all talk.

“We have to have him,” Albus says, so intently that Sirius cocks his head. (Again, the portrait’s face doesn’t move, and it feels odd). “You do not know what he’s taken from me, which could be the key to winning the war…”

“Well, tell us, Albus,” Tonks murmurs. She looks more subdued than the rest of them, her brown hair verging on ashy grey. Sirius wishes he knew what’s going through her head, but he’s not sure she would move to help them even if she does think the Order is a pack of useless fools, the way Sirius does.

“At the moment? I cannot.”

Sirius conceals a sigh of irritation, not that anyone would hear it anyway. It’s just like Albus to insist that the fate of the world is riding on something and then refuse to give anyone clear and accurate information.

“Then how can we—”

“We don’t need the little bastard!”

Albus and Moody start a kind of argument, at least if someone’s making calm statements on one side and the other person is yelling random insults. Sirius shakes his head and pulls back, glancing around the dark rooms of the place he’s hiding. It’s Uncle Alphard’s old cottage, which he left to Sirius when he died. The place is pretty tomb-like, but still better than Grimmauld even with Sirius having to constantly cast spells to clean up the dust.

He thinks he can bring Harry here, and his courtiers. If Harry ever needs a place to flee Voldemort’s influence, this would be it.

Whether Harry will need it is a different question.

But Sirius plans to help him every which way he can now, and that includes going back to the letter he was composing to Voldemort when the Order’s impromptu meeting interrupted him. He has some things to say to the so-called Dark Lord.

*

“My loyal followers.”

Lord Voldemort glances around the arrangement of his Death Eaters in front of him, satisfied. His courtiers are there, of course, the way they will always be when he calls. Isidore stands in the front row, bowing his head when Lord Voldemort’s gaze sweeps across him. Lord Voldemort wonders idly if Isidore’s son stands in the front row of Harry’s courtiers when Harry holds these gatherings.

Unless he doesn’t hold them?

Lord Voldemort discards that idea. Of course Harry holds them. His son is not so different from Lord Voldemort, nor his courtiers so obedient, as to obviate their necessity.

“You should know that I have made a grand decision, one that will affect the future of everyone in this room.”

“What is it, my lord?” Bellatrix creeps a step forwards, her dark eyes shining, although of course she ducks her head when Lord Voldemort looks directly at her.

“You will all kneel before my son.”

There’s silence thick and deep enough that it seems to pool around Lord Voldemort like water. Lord Voldemort stands there and lets it. He can see some of his people exchanging glances, and some muttering, but they shut up when he looks at them.

“No, my lord! No!”

Lord Voldemort turns back to Bellatrix, whom he didn’t think would resist this much. “Why would you not, Bella? It is my wish, and you swore to always obey my wishes when I gave you the Mark.”

“Your son isn’t you. I wish to serve you! Not to have my Mark replaced by his or bound to him!”

“Is that what would happen, my lord?” Isidore asks softly.

As always, Lord Voldemort is grateful for Isidore’s good sense, not that he intends to announce that to anyone. He gives a short nod. “For those who wish to continue serving a member of my family. For those who do not, I will eliminate their Marks and they will be free to go.”

He doesn’t say that he’ll also be weaving wards around the departed ones to ensure that they don’t approach and attack Harry. They should either know that, or, if they refuse to realize it, they were too stupid to be Death Eaters in the first place.

“Did your son demand this?” Bellatrix asks, with a quivering lower lip and tears streaming down her face. She reaches up and brushes some of them away, but more come pouring onto her fingers.

Despite himself, Lord Voldemort is a bit touched by the evidence of her devotion. “No. Harry is unaware of my plans to transfer your Marks, which is why I can release those who do not wish to serve. You will only have a week to make the decision, however.”

“Why can’t we serve you?”

“I will not need servants, Bella.”

She stares at him, genuinely baffled. But Lord Voldemort does not intend to speak of all the secrets of his transformation in front of the mass of Death Eaters. He’ll confirm them in private with his court, and perhaps with some of the others who might approach him asking for a more long-winded explanation.

“But you’ll still need servants to carry out your will, my lord,” Bella says at last. Her fingernails are tapping on the floor, and she looks as if she might get to her feet and come over to shake an answer out of him.

Lord Voldemort would respond with violence if she did that, of course. This is why his son is the best part of himself. Harry would find some way to avoid that confrontation with Bella and hold onto her loyalty.

“I will not, Bella.”

“My lord—”

“I will not.”

Lord Voldemort looks around the room again. People kneel in front of him or at least drop their gazes. It’s possible that some of them feel the same resentment or anger or fear that Bella does, but none of the others have the strength or madness to confront him.

It’s just as well. The ritual that Lord Voldemort intends to perform over the next several days will require the kind of calm and concentration that wouldn’t come to him if he were forced to kill some of his Death Eaters in battle.

He turns and sweeps out of the room, ignoring the way that Bella’s still calling for him. Isidore follows him, of course, and Lord Voldemort slows his strides so that Isidore is walking beside him.

“Have you heard from my son, my lord?”

That’s so unexpected that Lord Voldemort turns to stare at him. Isidore bows his head a little, still holding Lord Voldemort’s gaze. It’s his way.

“No,” Lord Voldemort says at last. “So far as I know, Theodore is still Harry’s courtier and is content in that position. Have you heard something that makes you think otherwise?” If Theodore is considering turning on Harry, he’ll need a lesson, a sharp and quick one, like claws ripping down his spine.

“No, my lord. I merely thought that Theo might report on some of Harry’s movements to you.”

“I wouldn’t require that of any courtier,” Lord Voldemort says, and makes his voice a warning. Isidore is wise enough to heed it and back off, unlike Bella.

This time, though, that doesn’t happen. Isidore bends his neck a little, but maintains his gaze on Lord Voldemort’s face. “May I say something else, my lord? Something that stands a chance of stirring your anger?’

“Are you sure that you wish to, Isidore?”

“I think that it needs to be said, my lord.”

“Then go ahead.” Lord Voldemort turns to face his most trusted courtier, using the motion to keep his hand clear of his wand. He can strike harder and faster with wandless magic than with the yew that chose him so long ago.

Isidore knows that, but the man’s eyes are still admirably clear as he asks, “Did you come up with this plan yourself, or did your son do something to bias you in his favor?”

Lord Voldemort laughs before he can stop himself. That’s obviously not the reaction Isidore expects. It would be worth it to speak of this plan to his Death Eaters simply to see the way that Isidore’s eyes widen. It’s the biggest reaction he’s shown to anything in Lord Voldemort’s presence in years.

“No,” Lord Voldemort says, when he can get his laughter under control. “Harry knows nothing of this plan, except that I told him I planned a surprise. He’s nervous about it and would prefer that I not do it.”

“Then—excuse me, my lord, but why are you doing it?”

“Because of what I told Bella. I’ll soon have no more need of servants.”

“And what of those servants who have need of you?”

Isidore can make admissions like that which Lord Voldemort’s other courtiers would be afraid to. Lord Voldemort simply inclines his head. “You will have the chance to seek freedom and another lord to serve, if you don’t wish to serve my son.”

“Why would I wish to, my lord?”

“He’s the best part of me.”

“That doesn’t mean that he would have your regard for me, my lord.”

Ah. So Isidore fears the loss of personal influence? That, Lord Voldemort can relate to. “You’re the father of the courtier I believe is the closest to him. You’ll have all the influence you can desire.”

“Would he fight for me and keep me safe, the way you do?”

“I can think of no reason that he wouldn’t,” Lord Voldemort says, a little perplexed. It seems to him that Isidore is seeking some specific answer, but he doesn’t know what it would be. Surely none of his Death Eaters can doubt Harry’s compassion or his ability to forgive past sins in order to make new alliances.

Although…

Has Lord Voldemort advertised that? It strikes him that he might not have publicized Corban’s change of heart enough. Or that some of them might think Harry is under Lord Voldemort’s sway and treats his courtiers the way he’s told to.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Isidore. I’ll speak with Harry about your concerns.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.”

Isidore turns and walks away. Lord Voldemort hums under his breath as he moves towards the far end of the corridor.

He needs to find Nagini, and then he needs to get some rest. The ritual he’s planning will require research before he performs it, and clarity of mind, and food, although he generally requires less of it than most mortals.

And he will also need to search his soul and cast out any trace of reluctance that might plague him. The least doubt could cause him to fail the ritual, and bring a backlash not only against him but against Nagini and Isidore.

And Harry, for that matter.

And Lord Voldemort will not allow anything he does to put Harry in danger. Not now. Not ever again.

*

“Thank you for coming to meet me, Mr. Gaunt.”

Harry winces a little from the name, but doesn’t correct Mrs. Malfoy. They’ve had a hard time arranging an hour to meet that would work for both of them, but now they’re here, near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, very close to the place that Harry met Sirius when he first came back from the dead. Theo and Corban are keeping watch, and Draco stands between his mother and Harry, staring hopefully back and forth between them.

Mrs. Malfoy’s eyes are as intense and cold as grey stars. Harry just hopes that he’ll be able to stand up to the potential disappointment if he doesn’t fulfill her wishes.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please call me Narcissa. I’m given to understand that the bond encourages that kind of intimacy in any case.”

“Then you should call me Harry,” Harry says, and shivers a little. He knows that his Warming Charm is perfect, since Corban cast it before they came out here, and also it isn’t as cold as it was even a few weeks ago, although snow still hides beneath the trees. He’s shivering more from the momentousness of what he’s about to do.

He knows what Narcissa wants: revenge for her dead husband. Once Harry Marks her, he really is on a different side than his father, even if it’s not the Order’s side.

“When I am not calling you my lord, I may be happy to.”

Narcissa kneels, her robes falling gracefully around her. Her eyes remain fixed on Harry’s face. He licks his lips, shivers again, and draws his wand.

“Draco explained to you what the Marking’s like? And you’re still willing to go through with it?”

“Yes.” Narcissa’s gaze doesn’t waver. “And lest you fear that I bring nothing else but the desire for revenge to your side, let me assure you that I have knowledge of Dark Arts, healing spells, and potions that can be useful to you. I never let the Dark Lord Mark me in part because I never wanted him to benefit from that knowledge.”

“But you want me to.”

“Yes.” And Narcissa holds out her left arm and arches an eyebrow in silent demand.

Merlin, she’s going to be worse than Pansy, Harry thinks, but he draws a deep breath and begins the ritual of Marking.

Narcissa shakes as Harry impresses the chimera onto her arm, but the bond that springs to life between them only has muted pain in it. There’s triumph there, and shock, and something that spills through her and down onto Harry’s soul like a waterfall that he doesn’t understand. He puts it aside. He doesn’t think he needs to understand it right now.

“Please stand up, Narcissa.”

Narcissa stands up, her head cocking a little as she regards him. “I don’t feel the bond to my son that I thought I would.”

“Yes, that’s because the first seven people—”

“Yes, he explained it to me,” Narcissa says, with a touch of impatience that makes Harry narrow his eyes at her. She pauses and continues more slowly. “I simply did not—that is, I thought he misunderstood. What he was describing is legendary.”

Harry relaxes. He supposes he can understand why she wouldn’t believe that he could possibly be doing what Draco said he was doing with only Draco’s word for it. “Well, people keep telling me that I’m unusual as the son of a Dark Lord, or a Lord myself. I suppose this fits into it.”

“Yes,” Narcissa says, after a long moment. “I suppose it does.”

His bond to her turns blue and clear. Harry exhales a little in relief and inclines his head to her. “Would you like to follow me to meet the rest of my courtiers? There’s a ritual room in the castle that we can make our way to where we can meet in privacy.”

“Lead the way, my lord.”

“You can call me Harry.”

“Perhaps later.”

Harry hides an eyeroll as he turns away. He should have expected that, he supposes. It took Draco weeks to feel comfortable with this, and Draco was expecting to be bound to a lord. Narcissa can’t have expected it.

She could also be feeling weird about being bonded to someone she was teaching the past summer, or someone her son’s age, or grieving for her husband. Harry’s going to give her as much grace as he can.

And he’ll take her goals and her missing her husband into consideration when he starts to push back against his father. He doesn’t intend to let anyone else control him, grief or not.

*

“Thank you for coming, Theo.”

Theo’s quiet as he stands in his father’s study, a place he rarely intrudes into. Father gives Theo the same privacy in the study attached to his bedroom, so Theo’s never seen a reason not to respect his privacy in return.

Now, as Father paces in front of him like a tiger that’s already run headlong into the bars of its cage, Theo somewhat regrets that he’s obeyed his father unquestioningly for so long.

“Has the Dark Lord been in contact with you?”

Theo blinks once, but he’s able to say with complete honesty, “No, Father. I’ve only been speaking to Harry and the other courtiers about matters of politics.” He knows that Father won’t be interested in any conversations Theo has had on the topic of classwork or the petty debates of Slytherin House.

Father turns around at the far corner of the study and prowls over again until he stands in front of Theo. “What I’m about to tell you must remain completely private unless I give you the word to share it. Not even your lord can know of it.”

And that’s not at all alarming. But Theo has already made up his mind to share this with Harry if he needs to. The oaths he swore to Harry take precedence over anything that Father might invoke in the name of family loyalty.

Father probably knows that, or might even have invoked Theo’s word now on purpose, because he wants what he’s talking about to get to Harry. The real test will be if he wants Theo to swear an oath.

Theo meets his father’s eyes and says as calmly as he can, “You have my word.”

Father nods sharply, and doesn’t ask for an oath. “The Dark Lord is talking about transferring all the Dark Marks of his servants to the Dark Prince.”

“Like Corban Yaxley’s?”

“From what I know, that was a one-time move done at Corban’s request. None of us have asked it since.”

“Do you know the Dark Lord’s reasoning?”

“He’s named the Prince as the best part of himself, and said that he won’t have any need of servants where he’s going.”

Theo’s mind reels. The only thing he can think of is that the Dark Lord might be giving up his power and retreating into exile, but that’s not something Theo thought he would ever do. Especially not the man who made a crazed search of Malfoy Manor to find Draco and his mother, to hear Draco tell it.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Of course. I spoke with him, to make sure that he hadn’t been in contact with you and to get clarity on his ideas.”

“Why would he have been in contact with me?”

“I thought you might have suggested it, to protect your own lord.”

Theo leans forwards so that he can catch and hold his father’s eyes. “No, Father. I know that you serve the Dark Lord and want to continue to serve him. I wouldn’t do this to you.”

For long moments, Father stares at Theo as if trying to convince himself that his son is speaking the truth. Then he turns away with a low curse and stares through an enchanted window on the wall that always shows a seascape with the waves leaping and flickering. “Then what could have made the Dark Lord act like this?”

“I suspect it’s his interactions with Harry.”

“Even though the Prince hasn’t tried to influence him to abandon his followers?”

Harry would hate being called the Prince. But Theo used to think of Harry that way, so he really doesn’t have room to speak. “No. I mean that Harry and his father had some sort of conflict, and Harry was deeply disturbed by it.” Harry wouldn’t want Theo to share the details, so Theo won’t. They aren’t his father’s to have, anyway.

For long moments, his father stands still. Then he says, “So he thinks that he might have to give up his followers to keep his son?”

“Perhaps.” Theo isn’t inclined to comment on that, either.

Father hisses under his breath, in a way that makes Theo wonder for a startled moment if he’s been hiding some Parseltongue heritage in the Nott family, and then whips around to face Theo. “Tell your lord that I’ll support and serve the Dark Lord as long as I can.”

“Of course, Father.”

“But if I need to take refuge with him…”

“You’d be welcome, of course. For the sake of the blood tie we share.”

“And not for the experience that I bring with me?”

Theo stands a little taller, because there’s a tone in his father’s voice that he doesn’t like when it comes to Harry. “You killed and tortured Muggles,” he says softly. “Harry knows that. He would find it hard to forgive. He’s forged alliances with people who betrayed him personally, though, or he’s on the verge of doing so. He’d keep you distant for a time out of principle, but then he’d welcome you. If that’s what you want.”

Harry told Theo about Weasley approaching him. Theo doesn’t approve, but he also knows it’s not his place to control the actions of his lord. It sounds like Justin will be mainly working with Weasley, anyway, and Granger if she joins, so Theo won’t have to bother with it.

His place is to offer advice, to stand at Harry’s side, and to defend his lord if someone attacks him. And that will apply to the former Death Eaters if the Dark Lord really does hand the Marks to Harry.

Against even his father, if he has to.

Maybe Father reads some of that in Theo’s silence or stance, because he makes a weary little gesture. “I don’t intend you or your lord any harm, Theo. Of course not. I simply—my future isn’t going to be what I thought. I’ll have to get used to it.”

Theo steps forwards and clasps his father’s wrist, once, before he lets go. This isn’t the moment for one of their rare embraces, he thinks. “Of course, Father. I’ll leave you alone to think about it.”

He’s thinking, himself, that Father’s resignation shows one of the great differences between him and Theo. Theo would argue hotly against any attempt that Harry made to abandon the Marks. He would dare to dispute with him, would call him an idiot if he had to. And Harry would listen to him, even though he might also yell back.

Father, meanwhile, is just prepared to accept the Dark Lord’s decision without any discussion.

Theo hopes that part of Father might find peace and freedom in the bond to Harry, if he takes it up. He can’t believe that Harry will accept the Marks of every Death Eater who might come with Father, especially Bellatrix.

And the Dark Lord might be offering freedom, too, for those who’ll take it.

Theo walks quickly and quietly to the Floo and steps out in Corban’s office. One of the things that’s nice about having a professor as a bondmate is standing permission to use that Floo. It would probably make Granger have conniptions if she knew about it.

Theo smiles a little, but the smile fades as he thinks about the news that he has to carry to his lord. Harry probably won’t be happy at all at the thought of having to absorb so many bonds and people he loathes.

He’ll never take Bellatrix, Theo thinks. And she’ll never come to him.

But some of the others, like Father, can be useful. That’s the case Theo will make to his lord, and he hopes Harry will listen.

As for what the Dark Lord’s doing that means he won’t need servants….

Theo shakes his head. He’ll report that to Harry, too, for all the good that it might do.