lomonaaeren | Chapter Three of 'Forgive Those Who Trespass'- Worse Fates Than Death

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Chapter Three—Worse Fates Than Death

Harry turned at once, putting his face towards the sound of the sniffing, his back to Malfoy. Malfoy might still not be entirely trustworthy, but at least he was human, and he had no weapons.

The sounds drifted into the room, indicating the creature had passed the doorway. Harry closed his eyes and quickly searched his memory. He couldn’t be sure that he was remembering exact sizes and shapes, but he dared not cast another ball of light, which would reveal him at once. He wanted the advantage of surprise, for as long as he could grasp it.

When he thought the creature was in the middle of the room, towards the corpse-chain, he cast the most powerful nonverbal spell he could, bracing himself for the scream that was sure to follow.

But there was no response of pain, no shriek, no scramble. Instead, Harry heard a very faint click which sounded like claws scraping on stone, and then nothing. But he felt the passage of moving air, and knew what must have happened. His attacker had leaped, and was probably coming towards him as fast as it could, tracking the path of the spell.

Harry flung himself to the floor and grabbed Malfoy’s arm, pulling him along. Malfoy whimpered, maybe because he had passed over a sharp place in the stone or Harry had jostled his remaining ribs. Harry winced, sorry, but he didn’t have time to worry about it for right now. He listened intently for the impact when the creature hit the wall.

And, once again, there was nothing. Harry couldn’t even hear the sniffing right now. He had no idea where his enemy was.

His scalp and spine prickled, and he risked conjuring the same ball of light that had guided him through the dark, flame-lit corridor outside.

It revealed a low, dark gray shape crouched in the corner he and Malfoy had just fled from. Harry could hardly make out anything beyond the black, shining nose and the massive gleam of hooked claws and curved fangs that didn’t seem attached to any sense of a body. Where the fur should have been, or the scales, or the four legs, there was only a force of ebbing and flowing shadow.

Harry stared at it, and it stared back at him. It didn’t seem inclined to move at the moment. Harry had no idea what it was waiting for, though. More reinforcements to appear? Another strike that would send it skittering forwards? Did it only attack in response to being attacked?

He felt Malfoy pulling frantically on his arm. Though he didn’t take his eyes or his wand off the creature, Harry bent down low, hoping that Malfoy could make the faintest whisper of sound into his ear.

But Malfoy yanked again, and, reluctantly, Harry had to turn his head and read the prat’s lips. He comforted himself with the notion that Malfoy probably wouldn’t have insisted on it if he thought the risk of being chewed up in seven seconds was that great.

Shadow wolf, Malfoy mouthed, exaggerating the movements to make sure Harry could understand. Immortal.

Harry hissed and took a closer look at the creature. Yes, it did look like a wolf made of shadow, now that Malfoy had mentioned it; the gray, non-solid material that made its body eddied back and forth in a more or less defined space, and sometimes took on the sparkle of guard hairs or the fullness of fur. And now Harry knew why it hadn’t made any noise when it leaped or lunged at them. It must have reformed its body so that nothing existed but the nose, teeth, and claws, which seemed constant.

And it could simply turn to nothingness again when Harry tried to hit it with a spell. How was he to kill the thing?

Malfoy tugged for his attention again. Harry bent down towards him and murmured, “I can’t kill it, can I?”

Malfoy shook his head violently. Then he swallowed and nodded towards the shadow wolf. Harry turned to look carefully at it, noticing the way the nose swung to orient on him the moment he paid attention again.

After a moment, he realized what Malfoy wanted him to see. The shadow-wolf was in the corner of the room that the light had flowed from, the apex of the rough triangle, which was the only one Harry hadn’t thoroughly investigated. They probably had to get beyond the creature and through whatever door was there in order to get out of the room.

Harry took a deep breath. So. He just had to move a sort of immortal magical creature out of the doorway it was apparently intent on protecting, with its intelligent awareness watching his every preparation, and without the ability to use spells that would hurt it in any way. Wonderful. Just the sort of challenge that Auror training had prepared him for.

He choked back the urge to laugh hysterically. He doubted he would stop if he started. He gripped his wand and stared some more at the shadow wolf, which stared back, tireless as a cat at a mouse hole.

Binding spells were out. So were illusions; Harry could create fairly complicated visual ones now, thanks to his training, but nothing that would fool that extraordinary nose. Hexes, curses, jinxes—even if they struck the claws or the teeth or the nose, Harry doubted they would hurt, and he had already received an intimation of how fast the thing could move. Surely it would move even faster if it believed itself in serious danger.

What to do? Even though he knew it was his responsibility, because he was a hero, that didn’t make the task any less overwhelming. Besides, he hadn’t done anything genuinely heroic for three years now. He suspected he was out of practice.

He looked at Malfoy to see if he had any suggestions, but Malfoy just stared back at him miserably. Presumably, he hadn’t seen one of the shadow wolves defeated before, either. After all, why would the Unspeakables want to hurt their own pets?

Harry spent some more time staring at the hidden door before he tried edging towards the one that led back into the corridor. The shadow wolf moved out of the corner, with an easy, slinking grace that warned Harry it would catch him in an instant if he ran. It stopped moving when Harry stopped, but still solidly blocked the door in the far corner of the room, indestructible. And if it destroyed him, what would happen to Malfoy? And to Ron and Hermione, who might even now be enduring torture like Malfoy had?

Harry tamped down the frustration that had become his curse in the last year of the war and which the Auror training had not cured him of completely yet. He couldn’t kill a creature made of shadows—

Shadows.

He had seen how it could operate in darkness and in dim light, but he hadn’t tested its presence in intense light yet. If he created a light bright enough, one that didn’t allow shadows to exist, perhaps they could get past it?

He didn’t wait before he acted. He would just start doubting himself if he waited. He pointed his wand at the ball of light he’d conjured and murmured, “Magna!”

There was no warning for the shadow wolf. The room simply brightened to unbearable levels, like the inside of a lightning bolt, or the inside of the sun. Harry heard a howl like the cry of Voldemort’s severed soul, which cut off halfway through.

He grabbed Malfoy’s arm, checked on the position of his satchel, and hurtled across the floor towards the corner that the wolf had been guarding.

He was running with his eyes closed, and didn’t realize, at first, that his hands had made contact with smooth polished wood. He groped frantically for a handle or a latch or a bar, conscious all the while that the light was dimming—he could only hold it to its brightness by pouring concentrated will into it, and he’d needed some will for running and dragging Malfoy—and the wolf might return at any moment.

And there was the latch.

Harry yanked at it, opening the door, and then he and Malfoy were falling. He felt a tug of distress on his sleeve so keen that he found himself rolling, putting his body between the floor and Malfoy, to cushion him from the blow that must endanger him even more than Harry, with so many of the ribs that guarded his heart and inner organs missing.

Except that they didn’t meet a floor.

There was only empty air, and Harry felt the dizzying rush in his brain increase as he realized he was falling head-down, cradling Malfoy with both arms, his wand clenched tightly in his hand, his satchel swinging beneath him and throwing off his balance, and with no Feather-Light Charm on himself to slow it.

He half-twisted and cast the Cushioning Charm beneath them, hoping that it would hit a surface and affect it positively instead of dissipating because of the depth of the fall. He had no idea deep the drop was, how long. He had no idea what would happen when they hit bottom, or if they had a chance.

He could only clutch at Malfoy, who was crying with hopeless terror now from the shudders in his arms, and hang on.

And then they struck something that bounced beneath them, and Harry had a moment of thanks that the Cushioning Charm had apparently worked. Then Malfoy leaped in his arms, but Harry had no opportunity to find out why, since the darkness rushed in upon him.

*

Harry woke slowly. And he woke, he thought, not of his own free will but mostly because Malfoy was shaking him, shaking him relentlessly, frantically, and slapping his face. Harry groaned and sat up, and blinked. The shadow wolf didn’t appear to have followed them, and this room had a dim silvery radiance flowing through it, like moonlight.

None of that explained the utter revulsion in Malfoy’s eyes. He shifted closer to Harry, and buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, as unselfconscious as if he were a child. Harry shifted to wrap an arm around him, grateful to find that he already had his wand in hand, and looked around for what could have frightened him.

Nothing. There was nothing in the room except the low ceiling above them in most directions, the long shaft they had fallen down, the cushioned surface that supported them, and a doorway far to the east, half-obscured by the slanted ceiling.

The cushioned surface.

Harry had never heard of a Cushioning Charm conjuring a mattress this large, come to think of it. And the texture didn’t feel like mud or feathers, either, which the Cushioning Charm could also sometimes produce in dire need.

He looked down.

Once again, he had to give thanks for his strong stomach, for his focus on Ron and Hermione, and for the need to be strong for Malfoy. Otherwise, he surely would have gone mad when he realized he and Malfoy were kneeling on an enormous pile of kneaded, mindlessly weaving human flesh, with hands sticking above the surface here and there, and legs waving in other places. Bodies, perhaps still alive, perhaps the victims of the mutilation magic the Unspeakables seemed to favor, stacked what must be hundreds deep all across the room.

Harry heaved on his satchel, and checked that it hadn’t torn or unraveled in the fall. He did the tasks with a single-minded focus that he applied a moment later to checking himself and Malfoy for injuries. He would not let himself look, would not let himself think, about the surface they were going to have to cross.

Then he touched Malfoy’s shoulder, whispered wordless sounds of reassurance, and began to crawl along with him. The ceiling wasn’t high enough for him to stand and bear Malfoy in his arms.

That crawl was something Harry remembered for the rest of his life. Crawling on human skin that was still warm, still living, could not compare to crawling on feathers or mud or even ash, though he’d done all of those more than once during his exams for Auror training. Warm knees pressed back against his. Hands clasped at him and groped like a baby’s searching for some new tactile sensation. A foot would brush against his boot, pause, and brush again, as if it couldn’t believe that something other than air had touched it.

Harry tried not to think about whether the pile was made of people buried alive, head-down, or simply moving body parts, detached from any real human but enchanted to live and feel. He was not sure what would be worse.

Malfoy paused to dry heave more than once, and then to clutch his chest and mourn soundlessly. Harry stroked his cheek each time, and waited until the other man managed to pull himself together and go on. He had survived a year in situations as bad as this, likely, though probably not the exact same situations, or he would have reacted with more aplomb.

On the other hand, did one ever become used to something like this?

Either way, Harry thought he might be forced to admire Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t a comfortable emotion, or a comfortable situation, but he wouldn’t have come down here if he couldn’t stand a little discomfort.

Finally, finally, the pile slanted down to the doorway, tapering off into a few folded legs and gently grasping hands opening like the tendrils of seaweed drifting underwater, and then there were ordinary flagstones once more. Harry scrambled down first, willing to brave the danger in case this turned out to be a trap and the pile of bodies would roll over on them or grab them and hold them prisoner.

But nothing happened, and Harry turned and held up his arms. Malfoy half-rolled, half-dropped into them. He clung to Harry with a ferocity that made Harry stroke his hair and murmur reassurances again, before he realized what the scene would probably look like to anyone else.

Swallowing roughly, he set Malfoy back on his feet and gave him a gentle push out the door. Malfoy went, his face set and dazed. Harry conjured another ball of light, since it looked like the silvery light that filled this room ceased at the start of the corridor, and followed.

The room beyond was ordinary, thank God, a small square box of stone floor and walls and ceiling with another door on the far side. Harry still cast spells to search out traps and dangers, adding one for magical creatures this time, but all sang reassuringly in his head. Harry reached into his satchel, drew out the blankets he’d brought along to make a bed, and spread them on the floor.

Malfoy collapsed onto them at once and lay there, his eyes shut, dark hollows of fear and despair creeping around them. Harry watched him in pity for some time. He would have been willing to leave Malfoy to sleep if he’d wanted to rest, but his breathing just sped up, from the motions of his torso.

At last, Harry coughed. Malfoy rolled over and blinked up at him.

“There are some words we’re going to have to use for communication quite a lot,” Harry said. “I think we can create a simple code to refer to them.” He reached into the satchel and searched for a moment. There was a vial of Calming Draught. Malfoy looked like he could use it right now, and Harry had another use for the vial. He held it out silently, and Malfoy accepted and swallowed it without pausing.

It has to be hard for him to trust me, with everything he’s been through. How does he know I’m not just another tormentor or a hallucination?

Harry reckoned he didn’t. Perhaps Malfoy had decided to rely on him just because Harry hadn’t yet turned out to be any of those things.

Harry took back the vial when Malfoy was done draining the clear liquid and murmured a Transfiguration spell that Hermione had either designed or modified—she’d never told them which—last year. At once the glass bent inwards and bulged, and became a crystal sphere with about twenty facets. Harry smiled in spite of himself at the astonished look on Malfoy’s face.

“Yes, on occasion I can do something useful,” he said.

Malfoy made a sharp motion with one hand. Harry wasn’t sure if that response was most like Color me surprised, or I already knew that, idiot.

Well, that was one of the problems the sphere was designed to solve. Hermione had used it for this purpose last year after Harry lost his voice for three weeks straight to a hex cast by another trainee. None of his instructors had wanted to help him reverse it, and writing to his friends had very quickly got old. The sphere had helped restore a bit of his independence—something Harry thought Malfoy must badly want by now.

“Now,” he said, and tapped his wand against the first facet. It rang sweetly, and turned dark blue. “We’ll use this to designate a particular concept. Let’s say immortality, since it seems to come up rather a lot. If you want to talk to me about the experiments the Unspeakables were performing, or inform me that a magical creature is immortal, you’ll touch the facet.” He held the glass out to Malfoy, coaxingly.

Doubtfully, Malfoy rested one of his finger nubs against the dark blue facet. At once the entire glass turned dark blue, and Malfoy jerked his head back with a look of panic. Harry shook his head. “That just means that you can choose from any one of a number of different concepts related to immortality now. When you’re done talking to me about that particular subject, then hit the sphere twice with the flat of your palm. That brings back all the colors, with immortality just one facet among many.” He settled himself on the floor; his legs were starting to cramp, crouching as he was. “Now, let’s start designating.”

He and Malfoy worked slowly through it. The immortality concepts included experiment, magical creature, mutilation, ritual, immortality of body, and immortality of mind. When Harry couldn’t understand Malfoy’s meaning quickly enough, he gestured demandingly at the satchel, forming his hands into the shape of a book. Harry nodded and pulled out his Auror notebook. Malfoy flipped through that, jabbing his nubs at the words he wanted when he found them, and now and then marking a page with the edge of his wrist when he found a word that he wanted to come back to later.

They did the same thing with three other facets, which referred to more general danger, Malfoy’s bodily health, and torture. By that time, Malfoy was yawning so severely that Harry took the notebook away, despite his outraged look.

“You should rest,” he said. “We’ll have enough work tomorrow, enchanting the rest of the sphere so that you can communicate and memorizing the meanings.” He paused and looked at his companion for a moment. “Do you want something to eat first?”

Malfoy’s response was so pathetically eager that Harry winced, thinking he really should have asked that earlier. He drew out several slices of bread and three apples, and had some trouble keeping them away from Malfoy long enough to cut them up. Malfoy sighed longingly as he licked his fingers a few minutes later; he’d eaten two of the apples and two of the pieces of bread, almost whole each time.

Harry watched, half-amused but mostly sorrowful, as Malfoy lay down on the blankets again, while he finished his own dinner—or breakfast, he thought. They really had no idea what time it was outside, after all. He spread his own blankets on the floor when he was done and cast protection spells over the doorways that should warn them when something approached, then lay down himself.

Malfoy rolled over and stared at him. Harry started; he’d assumed the other man was already asleep.

Malfoy clutched at his arms and shivered theatrically. Harry nodded and cast a Warming Charm.

That didn’t seem to do the trick. At least, Malfoy was still staring at him. Harry frowned back. “What do you want?” he asked softly.

With an impatient grunt, Malfoy hooked several of his finger stubs under his blankets and dragged them closer to Harry’s. He was done before Harry could react, and then he lay down again and opened his arms as if he had no expectation of being refused.

Harry stared back, his mouth dry. He couldn’t say that he was looking forwards to touching Malfoy. Besides, what would become of his resolve not to touch another man until he was back to normal and could stop being gay? He wasn’t attracted to Malfoy—who could be, while he was in this pitiful state?—but this might be the first step down a slope he wouldn’t be able to climb up again.

But, seeing Malfoy’s face slowly crumbling, the shadows creeping back that Harry thought the communication spells and the food had dispelled, he didn’t think he could hold out and selfishly turn his back, either.

He sighed and rolled closer. Malfoy’s arms closed around him at once, his hands running over Harry’s back with a greedy possessiveness. Harry suffered another stab of pity, wondering if he could feel much with the most sensitive part of his fingers gone.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Malfoy in return. He could feel the places where the ribs were missing and should have provided hard contact; he could feel the thinness of the skin around the spine. He swallowed and moved a little nearer, thinking only now that Malfoy’s near-starvation wouldn’t keep him very warm, either.

Malfoy released a sigh that Harry only knew about because of the motion of air over his ear and neck. Harry imagined it was a contented sigh. A few moments later, he was asleep, his breathing slow and heavy from the movement of his chest.

Harry lay there and stared at the web of wards he’d cast over the doorway into the room of flesh—it was just visible from this angle—and tried to tell himself that this would change nothing. Everything about the situation was extraordinary. He would never have expected to get along with Malfoy for one minute, any more than he would have expected Malfoy to go further into the Department of Mysteries with him.

Sleeping beside another man for just one night, or a few hours, wouldn’t change anything. Extraordinary situations required extraordinary measures. When he returned to his ordinary life, he would be all right.

Even as he was glad to offer comfort to Malfoy, though, he disliked what he was doing.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. He would probably stay awake for hours, occupied with his own discomfort and shame, which might be silly but which he still had to indulge inside his own head so he wouldn’t indulge them aloud.

He never knew when he fell asleep, as heavily and dreamlessly as he’d ever slept in his own bed.

Chapter 4.

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From:

mugal.livejournal.com

"Besides, what would become of his resolve not to touch another man until he was back to normal and could stop being gay?"

Oh Harry my boy; you are so silly!

Anyway, with Draco's state how could anyone resist petting him.

From:

Chapter Three of 'Forgive Those Who Trespass'- Worse Fates Than Death

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