Originally posted by Trickster
I'm liking your story, H.S.Nothing to improve really... Maybe ask Rex if you can have a new thread where you repost the story altogether - and use this one instead as a 'fan' page. The quantity of posts that have little relevance get extremely frustrating to read through.
Thanks!
It would be a good idea. Sorry about the excess of posts. 😬
That's why I've started quoting the last bit on every update. Trying to help the situation, but probably not working. 😛
Aye. 'Tis an extremely short one today, folks. M'Sorry. 🏴☠️
Originally posted by H. S. 6[...]
Harry nodded. “I Apparated us both to Hogsmeade. We landed right up the way from… from Madame Rosmerta’s. She came out, told us about the Dark Mark over the school. That’s when we noticed it.”
“She lent us brooms. We flew up to the castle. We landed on the roof of the tower that was right under the Mark. Dumbledore told me to go on through the door and see what was going on…” Harry trailed off, casting his gaze downwards to the table.
“This is where we need the details, Mr. Potter. They are extremely important,” prodded Professor McGonagall.
“Just as I went to open the door, it swung open itself. Malfoy came out and cast a disarming spell on Dumbledore—he couldn’t see me because I had my invisibility cloak on—and at the same time Dumbledore cast a paralyzing spell on me, just before his wand flew over the ramparts.”
Moody shifted in his seat.
“So, when you opened the door to see what was happening, Malfoy came out, but he couldn’t see you because of the invisibility cloak. He cast a disarming spell and Albus cast a paralyzing spell on you?” said Mrs. Weasley, sucking in a breath of air when she was finished.
Harry nodded. “I was propped up against the rampart wall, under the cloak, and totally unable to move. If he didn’t cast that spell, I would have been able to do something…” He trailed off.
Moody answered quickly, saying, “There was nothing else you could have done, boy. Albus didn’t want you hurt, that’s all.” He grinned, “You’ve been known for your heroic acts in the past; can’t blame him for what he did.”
“Guess not,” replied Harry. There was an awkward moment of silence after.
McGonagall sat up, clearing her throat. “Continue, please.”
“Right. Well, we were up there for a while: me, Malfoy, and Dumbledore. Malfoy was stalling; he said he was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but he wasn’t doing anything. He had him at wand-point; Dumbledore didn’t have anything to defend himself with. Not to mention the fact that he seemed so tired…” Harry closed his eyes for a moment. “He seemed so weak.”
“The potion he drank,” commented Tonks. “It must have been the potion.”
Harry nodded. “Probably. And he was scared—Malfoy, I mean—he seemed scared to death. Dumbledore kept talking to him; he told him that it wasn’t too late to turn around—that it wasn’t too late to hide from Voldemort.”
“Malfoy didn’t want to hear it; he was saying Voldemort would kill him if he failed—kill his family. But Dumbledore kept telling him it wasn’t to late; that Snape…” He spat the word out as if a vile taste had just soured his mouth. “was still working for the Order, and that Voldemort had no idea.”
“But Malfoy knew—he knew Snape had been deceiving us all along. He knew Snape was a double-agent—an actual double agent. He told Dumbledore that he’d been tricked, but still Dumbledore refused to listen. And then… we heard shouts downstairs—bangs—and the door burst open. The Death Eaters were there.”
“Who was it that had come up?” inquired McGonagall.
“Fenrir and Dumbledore talked for a moment—Dumbledore stayed calm still. And then Amycus, Dumbledore noted, and Alecto?”
McGonagall nodded. “Friends.”
“And then, after a minute or two, Snape came up…” This time the pause was long. Moments passed without a word, without a breath.
“Dumbledore…” The word caught in Harry’s throat. Hot tears formed in his eyes, forcing him to close them. He was already imagining the moment when Snape had raised his wand, and…
“And that was when… that was when it happened?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was soft and quiet. Harry took a deep breath, forcing his tears away. He opened his eyes to see that Mrs. Weasley’s own were moist. He nodded slightly in response.
“He… he begged,” Harry confessed. “He pleaded for his life—pleaded!—to the man he had trusted for so many years!” His voice had risen to a shout. The sadness evaporated, leaving only the familiar resentful bitterness that he had come to know for the days and weeks following that night.
Another silence. The world was muted for minutes, hours, years. Finally, shattering the silence like a hammer to glass, McGonagall pushed her chair away from the table to stand up. “That’s enough for today, Harry, thank you. This is painful for all of his, but I’m sure you can understand the importance of getting the details straight.” She smiled weakly.
Mrs. Weasley stood, dabbing her eyes with a folded piece of cloth she had conjured. She forced a smile, saying, “I’m sure Ron and Hermione are dying to talk to you.”
With heavy legs, Harry made his way out of the kitchen, into the family room, and up the stairs to the next floor. The others had said they were going to continue to talk, but nothing that Harry was needed to discuss. Just as he was making his way up the next set of stairs, a pair of voices called him from the hall below. He turned around to see the twins approaching.
“We wanted to talk to you…” said Fred.
“Yeah. Just to say that there’s more to that night than the others of the Order are letting on,” finished George.
* * * * *
The streets were black, such as the billowing cloak that followed the shadowy figure whisking down the seemingly abandoned side road. The cobble-stoned road veered right, and the figure followed diligently, hunching forward in the pouring rain and screaming wind. A bolt of lightning lanced across the sky, illuminating the scene for just a moment.
After turning right, the road wandered up the far side of a steep hill. Near the top sat a house, two-stories and Victorian styled, with an appropriate wrap-around porch. It seemed to be bending against the elements, fighting to stay together.
The stranger made its way up the path, almost losing its footing twice. Finally, with much effort and a cloak sopping with water, it reached the porch and the shelter it provided. With a pale, crooked finger that looked to have been broken on one occasion or more, it jammed a small doorbell positioned next to the front door. No sound greeted the figure, who swore silently under his breath. Angrily, it raised a fist, beating the door.
Nothing.
With a growl, the figure whipped out a wand, long, slender, and black. He muttered something; there was a flash of white light, and he was sent spiraling backwards through the air like a rag doll, landing in a heap on the muddy ground. The hood of the figure’s cloak had flown off in the air, revealing a man’s face. He had long, silver-blonde hair, cold gray eyes, and an aggravated sneer plastered onto his features. His bloodshot eyes looked haggard and tired. There were blue-purple bags under them.
The man’s name was Lucius Malfoy. A string of loud curses erupted from him, yelling seemingly at the house itself. His speech was slurred, his eyes drooping, and for the first time that night, he could feel the past year of his life catching up to him.
Azkaban had left its mark.
The man pulled his hood up again, and staggered back to the door. “Let… me… IN!” he shouted between rasps, pounding the door with his hand.
After a moment of relative silence (the storm continued to rage around the lone house), the door opened just slightly. A wand emerged from the gap, pointing at the mad man outside.
There was another moment of no noise. Lucius continued to breathe heavily, staring at the man in the gap of the door, face contorted in a mix of anger and madness.
Finally, the door opened, revealing another robed man and a room devoid of any sort of comfortable furniture. The man looked at the other before him, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could, however, Lucius leaped at him. He tackled the man in the house.
The two landed in a struggling mass on the floor. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, but then there was another flash of brilliant light. Lucius was, once again, thrown backwards. He crashed into the far wall of the room.
“What are you—you idiot! Fool! What are you doing here? How—” started the man. He brushed strands of greasy black hair irritably from his eyes, which flashed dangerously. Raising his wand, he spoke again, slowly this time. “You’ve escaped. The Dementors…” His voice was an eerie draw. Quietly, he approached Lucius, who was sitting up against the wall, muttering under his breath. His hair was everywhere, in his face and his eyes. He was staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, rocking slightly back and forth.
There was a pause, and Lucius finally moved his eyes from the ceiling, settling them on the pale-skinned man before him as if seeing him for the first time. He blinked once, and uttered a single word.
“Severus…”
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So it wasn't Draco, but it was close enough. 😉
This story needs to get moving anyhow. Time to make it flourish like a flower in spring. 😊
Bring on the subplots! w00t! 😱
(Barker, you can shave now. 😛)