Surpassing Danger
Chapter 47: Through Summer Months (Year 7)
By Anne B. Walsh
Scary images in middle of chapter. It is a war, after all. Bad things happen.
As soon as his head stopped spinning, Ron pulled Hermione aside, into one of the backstage corridors. "Harry didn't…" he began, and ran out of words, settling for a vague hand-waggle in the air. "Did he?"
Hermione's face flushed up in anger, but her features didn't shift, so Ron knew she was working hard to control it. "Would he?" she countered, lifting her chin to look Ron straight in the eye. "When this much is riding on it, when it's this important?"
"So we didn't risk getting someone else like Scrimgeour, someone who was so worried about looking good that he forgot about doing good? He might." Ron glanced back at the chaotic scene in the arena, over which his mother and brothers had imposed a certain level of order but which was still charged with excitement as witches and wizards chattered to one another about how well they knew Arthur Weasley, how shocked they were that this thing had happened, how they might have expected it to be almost anyone else. "You know someone's going to think of it, Neenie, if only because we're so close with the Pack—"
"And that's exactly why Harry wouldn't, and didn't, do anything to influence this." Hermione's tone developed a bit of a snap, letting through some of the anger Ron could still see on her face, though he doubted anyone else would have. "Everyone who doesn't like us, who doesn't like your dad, who thinks it should have been them the Sword chose instead, is going to run every kind of diagnostic and forensic spell they can think of, to make sure Harry didn't influence the outcome, or anybody else, either. And do you know what they're going to find? Nothing. Because there's nothing to find."
"Okay, good. Great. I was just…" Ron grumbled in his throat as words abandoned him once more. "How do you do it all the time?" he asked, looking down at the slim figure before him. "How do you always know just the right things to say, in just the right ways?"
"I don't think I do. But I suppose that's outsides and insides again, what you see balanced against what I know." Hermione smiled, the heat of her anger beginning to dissipate. "You really want this for him, don't you? For other people to see what he's worth, what he can do, and what he's never had the chance to show before. But you were just that least little bit afraid that it hadn't happened fairly, that it wasn't real."
Ron nodded, squeezing Hermione's hand gratefully. "I know Dad's not perfect," he said. "He doesn't do everything one hundred percent by the book, and sometimes he covers things over and takes thank-you presents for it that maybe he shouldn't, but he never ignores stuff that could be dangerous, just the stupid little bits and pieces the law goes after too hard, and he's not exactly for sale or we wouldn't be living where we are, would we? And it's him Percy gets the political side from, only Dad goes about it differently. He listens and nods and acts all absent-minded, and yammers on about his Muggle toys until you'd think he didn't have a brain in his head, and then…"
"And then, when someone says just that one word too many, he's right there with everything lined up in neat little rows and columns to prove what they've been up to." Hermione laughed once. "I remember how careful we had to be, talking about what we'd done today when we were little—because if the Pack-parents didn't catch us, one of your parents would!"
A smile came to Ron's face as he remembered this, and when Hermione slid casually along the curve of his arm and laid her head against his shoulder, he didn't object. After all, being the son of the Minister should have a few perks attached. Stealing a moment or two for a snog with one's girlfriend seemed just about right.
Not like Dad needs me right now anyway, with Mum and Percy working crowd control.
It was to be his last coherent thought for some time.
Remus tapped on the open door of the suite Arthur and Molly had claimed for themselves, coming in at Arthur's distracted wave. "How are you holding up?" he asked his friend, sitting down on the comfortable wooden chair, which looked suspiciously like those he was used to seeing all over Hogwarts.
"Still a trifle dazed, to tell you the truth." Arthur shook his head, then pressed his fingers to his temples. "I've been sitting here, thinking over all the men who would have been better for it, yes, and the women too, but no, somehow it's me who's wanted, and that's quite a lot to take in." He frowned, looking up. "I'm just curious, if you know—why weren't you chosen? You'd fit that description Harry gave, in almost every detail…"
"Children, for one thing." Remus smiled a little at Arthur's look of incomprehension. "I'll take it as a compliment that you're forgetting, but as far as we're aware, the spell refers solely to one's born children, and it might or might not take notice of the bond I have with Harry. But there's another, and a larger, reason why. The leader chosen by the Sword must be acceptable to the people he's being chosen for, and I wouldn't be."
"Why not—ah." Arthur nodded slowly. "I do tend to forget that part of it as well, since we know what kind of safeguards you have in place. But you're rather thoroughly outed, aren't you, after that messy business with Hermione a few years ago. And no one cares to think about the actual facts of the matter, that you're different from other men only one night out of twenty-eight, that this was nothing you ever chose or wanted for yourself, that it makes no difference to your actions and behavior the other twenty-seven days of the month—"
"Because none of that would make any difference to the average wizard or witch on the street." Remus sighed. "For that matter, it's not universally true of werewolves. Many of them never had the advantages I did, of family and friendships to bolster them up, so they're walking wounded when it comes to their emotions, and that tends to show through in the way they handle themselves. Or don't."
"Which is a terrible shame, and something that'll need to be dealt with. But first we need to survive this war." Arthur looked down at his hands, cupping the right one in a way that made Remus suspect he was feeling again the weight of the Sword as it settled into his grasp, then got slowly to his feet, straightening his shoulders, lifting his head, drawing breath as his namesake might have done before going into battle or presiding over a session at the Round Table.
"Tell me," said the Minister of Magic, "what the Order of the Phoenix has planned."
Outside, among the chattering wizards and Muggles now thronging the lawns of Sanctuary, examining the pillars of bare rock and the cunningly painted walls between them, exclaiming over the stained glass above and the lush grass below, one man moved quietly, purposefully towards the harbor cave exit. He'd seen enough.
My lord will give me such a reward for this. The center of the resistance against him, all the troublemakers at one blow, right down to Harry Potter himself—I'll be rich beyond my dreams, have women throwing themselves at me, everything I've ever wanted will be mine, just as soon as I kneel before my Master and tell him—
He passed through the archway into the corridor beyond.
Everything went black.
Bellatrix Lestrange was not amused to be called away from her dinner by a delegation of goblins, bearing the body of one of the longest-standing Death Eater spies within the ranks of their enemies.
"He suffered a mischief within caves we had under observation," said the head goblin, eyeing her as she examined the body. "We thought he should be returned to you for proper disposal."
"Suffered a mischief?" Bellatrix repeated, wiping her fingers on her handkerchief. "His head is bashed in!"
The goblin shrugged. "He ran into a stalactite."
Bellatrix glowered. "I see more than one marking on him."
"He ran into a stalactite several times."
The black walnut wand was already in Bella's hand when an owl's hunting scream made her jump in surprise. Before she could recover her equanimity, Lucius was beside her, smiling urbanely at the goblins even as his fingers closed crushingly around her wand arm, holding it still. "Thank you very much for your thoughtfulness," he said rapidly. "Rest assured, it will be repaid as is proper. What do you think you are doing," he hissed at her in an undertone as the goblins bowed brusquely and filed from the room.
"I could ask you the same question." Furious, Bella twisted herself away, holding her wand not quite pointed at Lucius but in readiness, as Starwing landed beside him and unfolded herself into her human shape once again, straightening her black cloak with its ever-more-elaborate ribbon decoration. "They were lying to me, you fool! I intended to get the truth!"
"And is the truth about one measly spy worth risking our access to our family fortunes?" Lucius scowled. "Those of us who still have them. Not to mention important objects, both our own and those given to us to safeguard." His eyes met Bella's and held them for several seconds. "If we anger the goblins too far, they are perfectly capable of finding reasons why the vaults at Gringotts are not currently safe to enter. Many reasons, and difficult ones for wizards to disprove. Our Master would not be pleased."
Bella growled under her breath, but nodded reluctantly. A disruption in the service of Gringotts would indeed be a disaster at this early a date, before the goblins had been properly brought to heel. Best to let this one fall by the wayside, and make their point about who was in charge in the wizarding world later, once their power in the human sphere had been better consolidated.
After all, it's not as if where and how this one man died would change the course of the war.
She giggled a little at the very thought.
Lucius smiled faintly.
Starwing rocked back and forth on her feet, humming tunelessly to herself.
Ginny—
The bargain is kept.
Tell your father to mind his borders.
—Kunora
"No," Molly said firmly. "Not even an hour. Half an hour, if that."
"But dear—"
"No buts, Arthur. Not when everyone is looking to you." For a moment, Molly softened. "It's what I've always wanted for you," she said, straightening the hang of her husband's robes. "What I've always known you were capable of, and now everyone else will know it as well."
"You flatter me." Arthur slid his arm around Molly's waist and drew her close. "I'm terrified, Molly. This isn't anything I ever thought would come my way. I'm used to my little back office and my memos being ignored for days and weeks until people were good and ready to answer me, and now I'll be the one who doesn't have to answer until he's good and ready—"
"Except that you won't." Molly kissed Arthur's cheek. "Not unless they deserve it, at any rate. Hangers-on and toad-eaters and all that sort of thing. The people who're just doing their jobs, you'll repay in kind. And the same goes for the ones who do well."
"I certainly hope so." Arthur pressed Molly's hand. "But there's more to think about here than there would be if I'd become Minister in any ordinary way, Molly dearest. We're in Sanctuary, and at least half the people here are Muggles. Possibly more than half. So if you're going to limit me to only thirty minutes a day when I can talk with them, it may be a bit difficult."
"Of course I didn't mean that." Molly sighed. "Honestly, Arthur, you're worse than the boys. Thirty minutes to talk about things like batteries and plugs is what I meant, and you know it, too." She leaned against his shoulder. "How I wish it could be different for them," she said softly. "I never wanted them to know war, and here we are in the middle of it all over again, one of our boys dead, others of them losing the ones they love, and our little girl rushing headlong into everything I wanted her to be able to have in her own time…"
"Perhaps this is her own time, love." Arthur let the side of his face rest against the top of her head. "And whatever we've wanted for her, for all of them, this is what's been given to them, and to us. Let's make the best of it, shall we, and not waste too much time fretting over the might-have-beens?"
Molly laughed a little, forlornly. "What would I do without you?" she asked, just before she pressed her face to Arthur's robes and began to cry.
Theodore Nott battled the rising panic in his chest and considered his chances. They didn't look good, and hadn't from the moment he'd lost control of his broom about fifteen minutes before.
Of all the times to get a bug in my eye, it had to be right then, when I was in the middle of trying to outfly a pair of Death Eaters. One split-second of being distracted, two and a half seconds of pure terror, and then I woke up with a broken nose, a splintered broomstick, and a wand tip in my face…
Now he was sitting in a corner of an abandoned building, his hands tied behind his back. One of his captors had his head in the fire, while the other had gone to use the loo. A few hunks of bread and cheese were visible on the rough table nearby, but somehow Theo didn't think he was about to be offered any.
He wondered if this was how Draco Black had felt when he confronted Lucius Malfoy for the final time in the corridor under Hogwarts. A bit of a martyrdom cult was already springing up around Draco among the younger members of the DA, though his siblings and friends, to their credit, were doing their best to discourage it. Still, the story was a compelling one, from whatever angle you happened to view it.
Unless that angle's mine. We've been mirror images all my life. Warped mirrors, but still. And now he's dead, and I wish I were, it'd be preferable to what is going to happen—I don't think Lucius would have held back whatever spells he used to mess with Draco's head, and once my father gets hold of me—
Deliberately, he shook his head hard, jarring his nose and tasting fresh blood at the back of his throat. It hurt, but better a bit of pain than the unthinking terror he'd been about to drop into.
I may not have a choice about what's already happened, but I'm damn well not going to just sit here and panic and throw away whatever chances I might still have! If I can get my hands free, especially while they're separated and the one here with me is busy firecalling, there's just the least possibility—
As if he'd heard Theo's thoughts, the Death Eater pulled his head free of the ashes and brushed them out of his hair, coughing. "Just you stay put," he wheezed, grinning and showing off his yellowing, misaligned teeth. "We'll be having a special visitor any minute now!"
Damn it. Too late. Theo braced himself as the fire turned emerald green once more. "Why, hello, Father, how distinctly un-lovely to see you…"
The figure which materialized in the flames was far too thick to be Patroclus Nott, and most peculiarly shaped. Theo squinted at it, trying to make it resolve into a human form, and realized what it actually was only as the 'special visitor' stepped clear of the Floo fire.
It's not one person. It's two.
And the only ones I want less to see than my own father, just now.
"Well, well," said Lucius Malfoy, tossing his silver hair over his shoulder as Luna Lovegood released her tight grasp around his chest, drew her wand, and siphoned the ashes from his robes and her own with a careless twirl. "What a pleasant surprise."
Theo said nothing, concentrating instead on keeping his face straight.
"A very good catch indeed," Lucius told the Death Eater hovering at his elbow. "However did you do it?"
"Oh, we outsmarted him, we did." The Death Eater displayed his teeth once more. "Pincered him right out of the sky. He never had a chance against us!"
Silver-gray eyes flicked to Theo, the question as clear as though Lucius had spoken it aloud.
"Bug flew into my face," Theo said shortly. "I lost control and crashed, they just had to land and pick me out of it."
"Here now!" the Death Eater protested. "Don't you be telling the gentleman lies!"
"He's not." Luna beamed at Theo, then turned an accusatory glare on the Death Eater. "But you are. Lying is bad." One slender, pale finger shook itself under the Death Eater's bulbous nose. "Bad man. Bad, bad man."
The Death Eater's face turned a blotchy reddish-purple as Theo struggled against a laugh.
"As the lady says, lying is bad." Lucius tapped one immaculately shod foot against the dusty floor. "Especially when you are out on the Dark Lord's errands, for then you are meant to be his emissaries, both feared and revered in all that you do. We cannot have the Dark Lord's messengers rumored to be liars, can we? Whatever would people say?" His smile made Theo flinch, even knowing it wasn't meant for him. "We shall just have to take steps to ensure that particular story goes no further. Shan't we, my dear?"
Luna giggled, and swung her wand swiftly into line with the Death Eater's chest. "Obliviate," she enunciated clearly, then spun and repeated the spell on the other Death Eater, who'd just stepped back into the room, before the wizard had time to do anything more than assimilate the presence of more people than he'd anticipated.
What the bloody—Theo cut off his thoughts swiftly as Lucius murmured something to Luna, who made flicking motions towards the door with her wand. Both Death Eaters meandered that way placidly under the influence of the Memory Charm, the one who'd been making the firecall stopping to pluck the bread and cheese from the table as he went.
"Excellent." Lucius strode over to the corner and took hold of Theo's upper arm, hoisting him to his feet. Luna shut the door behind the Death Eaters, then swiped her wand once in Theo's direction, and the ropes on his wrists fell away, cut clean through. "Have a seat, Theodore. We have much to discuss."
Percy had never known being safe could be so terrifying.
But then, I had never before been safe when others were not, others for whom I am responsible and about whom I care…
He lay on the roof of a house, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, his wand in his hand. Below him, Crystal huddled against the house's wall, glaring furiously at the four Death Eaters who were snickering and elbowing each other. In her arms she held a groggy-looking red fox, its paw and one ear dripping blood.
We knew they would start baiting us soon enough. Start setting up traps, luring us in. This time we fell for it—next time we'll check it more thoroughly. Assuming there is a next time.
"Mad Muggle of Hogsmeade," one of the Death Eaters chortled. "Not looking so mad now, is she? Can't get to her pretty little toy without us dropping her first!"
"And she can't sneak it out on us, either," another one chimed in. "Not with that great flea-ridden beast in her arms. You take him to bed that way, girly? Or do you make him turn human again first?"
"Human as he ever is." A third Death Eater sniffed derisively. "Not much more than what we left inside there."
For which you'll pay. Percy fought to keep his anger under control, his servant and not his master, as was the only reason he'd been alert enough to Apparate upwards as the Death Eaters surrounded the house, but it was hard, so hard, when this time they'd arrived too late to do anything but bear appalled witness to the games the Death Eaters liked to play.
Placing the family members under Imperius, one by one. Forcing them to fight, to attack and kill one another. And all the while, telling the child who happens to be a Muggleborn wizard that this was all his fault, that if he'd never been born, never been so unnatural as to have magic, his family would have been left alone, that they would all still be alive, until he finally begged for them to kill him too…
Wiping out the Death Eaters without mercy, and extending the same treatment to anyone who sympathized with them, seemed more appealing to Percy the longer he witnessed what his enemies enjoyed.
But we have to live to tell the story first. And at the moment, that means getting away from here. He began to calculate angles, to think about how he could best use surprise in his favor. If I conjure a large enough rock above them, that could take out two of them, and then while they're still startled I can shield Crystal and Fred, which will give them a chance to defend themselves…
"Please," Crystal said in a quivering, tearful voice most unlike her own. "Please, won't you just let me do one thing before you kill me?"
"What sort of thing?" said the Death Eater who had not yet spoken, his accent more cultured than the others and his tone decidedly suspicious.
"It's a little thing." Crystal sniffled. "A ritual. My people do it in their time of greatest need. It's called…" She bent over Fred, her words becoming muffled and indistinct.
"It's what?" The Death Eater moved a step or two closer, one of his compatriots doing the same. "What is it called?"
Crystal straightened and hurled Fred at their faces in one fluid motion, taking down both yelling wizards with her armful of snarling, clawing fox.
Percy channeled his surge of glee into an invisible Stunner to one of the Death Eaters still standing, and Crystal shot the second one in the face with her potion piece before he could finish pronouncing his spell. On the ground, Fred drew his wand and tapped the nose of each of the Death Eaters on whom he was now sitting.
"The Flinging of the Fox," he informed their stiffened figures cheerfully. "It's a classic for a reason."
Removing his Disillusionment, Percy swung himself down from the edge of the house, looking over towards Crystal, who was bent double again, making an odd noise. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized she was laughing.
"They bought it," she wheezed when she had enough breath to speak. "Oh, ye gods and little fishes, they bought it! A ritual my people do in their time of greatest need—that is the stupidest story I have ever come up with, and they bought it! It's worse than claiming the garden gnomes stole my best gloves when I was ten!" She sucked in a deep breath and straightened up once more. "Though I still don't know what did happen to those gloves," she said more thoughtfully, though little giggles kept breaking through her words as she looked at their flattened enemies. "I left them outside one night, and the next morning they were gone."
"Huh." Fred inspected his bleeding hand and conjured a bandage around it, as Percy did the same for the side of his head. "I always did wonder where our gnomes got those tiny little leather jackets that one winter."
Crystal stared at them for an instant, then burst out laughing once again. Percy thought he could hear a note of hysteria in her tone, and wondered if he should rein her in.
Though at this point, if she doesn't laugh, very likely she'll cry.
If Ron hadn't told me in confidence that he and the Pride are coming closer every day to being able to stop things like this, once and for all, I'd be doing a fair bit of crying myself…
"And there goes lucky number thirteen." Harry scratched a line through the entry on his list. "Just as much luck here as at every other spot we've checked so far."
"Which is to say, none." Ron glanced around at the busy village street where the Pride had spent the last hour, carefully combing the area for any sign that a Horcrux was or ever had been hidden here. "Do you really think we're ever going to find it?" he asked quietly.
"I think we have to find it. So we will." Harry slid his notebook and pen (a Muggle area called for Muggle tools) back into his bag and waved Hermione and Ginny back from their examination of a display up the street. Neville and Meghan had disappeared into a nearby café, from which Harry had no doubt they would shortly be emerging with refreshments. Feeding the Pride was the sort of thing Neville kept tabs on automatically.
"But it's not going to be easy," Ron finished for him. "Because what has been, when it comes to us?"
"Being friends. At least, some of the time." Harry glanced at his own reflection and Ron's in the nearest window. "I think it's pretty well a habit by now, don't you?"
"I think Ginny'd kill me if I suggested anything else. Not that I want to." Ron settled back on his heels. "Are we really going through with the Den thing? Assuming we can get a house that would work for it, whether or not it's the one we've been playing around with?"
"I'd like to. As long as we have enough space to spread out in, and spots to be private when we need it, I think we'd do well sticking together." Harry bent down to retie a loose shoelace. "Why?"
"Just wondering." Ron seemed fascinated by his fingernails. "It started because of dreams, didn't it?" he asked a little obscurely. "The whole idea of the Pack, and denning. It was to stop people from having bad dreams. Right?"
"Right." About to ask why, Harry glanced up and caught the intensely uncomfortable look on Ron's face, and several aspects of the past few weeks suddenly made more sense to him.
Like why he's been putting up a Privacy Spell around his bed every night.
"I'll ask the girls if they want to have den tonight, maybe," he said, double-knotting his shoelace and standing up. "No special occasion. Just to be together."
"I wouldn't mind that." Ron flicked a bit of dirt out from under one fingernail and glanced towards the café door, which Meghan, a brown bag in one hand, had just held open for Neville, carrying two holders' worth of drinks. "Hope they remembered the sugar this time."
"After the tantrum you threw the one time we forgot?" said Ginny, coming up behind her brother with Hermione. "I'd hope so."
"That was not a tantrum." Ron turned to Hermione for support. "Was that a tantrum?"
"You pouted, Ronald," Hermione pointed out, her lips twitching. "I think that counts."
"I did not pout." Ron glared at his girlfriend. "I…I sort of…all right, I pouted," he admitted with a sigh. "But it was double strong and not double sweet, and I took a great big drink of it expecting that it would be double sweet—"
"And spit it out all over everything." Meghan stopped beside Harry and opened her bag, from which rose a delectable aroma of baking and sweet spice. "Including the pie Danger just finished baking." She grinned. "Good thing my Dadfoot has fast reflexes when it comes to saving pies!"
"It's never fun to get the wrong drink, or one that's meant for someone else." Neville angled the holder in his left hand so that Ginny could pluck out the cup marked with a G. "I remember the time I found out what Gran liked to put in her tea, from the bottle on top of the refrigerator that I wasn't supposed to touch."
"What'd you spit it out all over?" Ron asked, accepting his own cup from Hermione.
"An African Violent Gran was cosseting in the kitchen." Neville grinned ruefully. "It punched me in the eye."
The Pride laughed as Meghan began to hand around pastries, and Harry took a moment to catch Ginny's eye and hold up his hand, batting his thumb, ring finger, middle finger in her direction. She smiled and returned the gesture, unaltered Marauder sign for 'I love you', and Harry felt his pendants turn briefly, pleasantly warm against his chest.
We'll find that brooch Horcrux, because we have to, he repeated to himself, taking a bite of his apple turnover. There's only five more places it could be, and we've got times lined up to check three of them already. Once we've got it, all we have to do is hunker down and wait for the younger Heir of Slytherin—hearing my strangest gift with friendly ear has got to mean them, and that they're going to come find us, whoever they are. When they get here, we can go ahead and kill the brooch, and then lure Voldemort out somewhere, while we get either Snape or that new spy the Order's got inside the Death Eaters to kill the Nagini-Inferius. But wherever we bring him, it's got to be our ground, not his…
"Mmph," he said indistinctly through a mouthful of apples and puff pastry, holding up his free hand to get the Pride's attention.
"Mmph?" Hermione repeated with a chuckle. "Why, Harry, how articulate of you."
Ginny stuck out her tongue at her friend. "He said," she informed Hermione haughtily, "'Den'."
Harry paused in the middle of chewing and stared at his wife.
"Practice," said Ginny briefly, pointing at Ron. "Lots and lots of practice."
Ron reached over to smack his little sister lightly on the side of the head, leaving behind a few flakes of sugar from his glazed doughnut. Ginny snapped her teeth in the direction of the encroaching fingers, then submitted to Meghan's fussy brushing to get the sugar out of her hair. Harry forced himself to swallow, rather than laugh, as he didn't want to spend the next five minutes picking apple fragments out of his sinuses.
"I did say 'Den'," he admitted when his mouth was clear. "I think we should have one tonight, and talk about some of our final plans. For ending this, once and for all, when we've found what we're looking for."
"That's a wonderful idea!" Hermione bounced a little on her toes, and held Harry's eyes for a fraction of a second. Thank you, she mouthed, glancing towards Ron.
Harry held his turnover in his mouth for a moment to reply via Pride-sign. He's my friend too.
Hermione nodded, her expression strangely mixed between happiness and wistfulness, before she returned to the lively conversation, being conducted in carefully veiled language so as not to let any of the nearby Muggles know that the six teenagers enjoying an afternoon together here on this street were actually combatants in a deadly magical war.
And that's all the wistful has to be for, really. Harry retrieved his turnover and took another bite. Or she could be thinking about how there ought to be eight of us, not six…
But that was a dead trail, and would be until the Pride got to within striking distance of Lucius Malfoy.
I wonder what he's doing right now?
"Discuss?" Theo repeated, mechanically sitting down on one of the rough wooden chairs at the table, his brain reeling almost as much as it had in the first few moments after he'd awakened from his crash. "What d'you want to discuss with me?"
"Your future." Lucius pulled the other chair out and tapped his finger against it. Luna swirled her wand at it, covering it in upholstery in bright red and blue checks, at which Lucius shuddered but sat down on it nonetheless. "Clearly obedience and good taste are not the same thing," he murmured, as if to himself, before turning the full force of his unnerving gaze on Theo. "So. Your future. What do you want it to be?"
"Does it matter?" Theo surprised himself with the anger behind his answer, and braced for a corrective spell, but Luna did not move from the place she had taken up behind her master's chair, leaning on its back.
"To you, clearly it does." Lucius settled into his seat, reaching up with one hand to toy with a lock of Luna's hair. "Do you want to rejoin your father? Or would you prefer to carve your own path?"
About to snap back that he thought it ought to be pretty bloody obvious, Theo caught hold of himself at the last second. This isn't right. He's up to something. Almost like he wants to deal—
He swallowed once against his sudden surge of excitement. I've got to keep calm. If I blow up, he'll decide I don't know what I'm doing, that I'm not worth considering a dealing partner, and there go my chances. Facts and figures, Theo, facts and figures…
"I'd rather go my own way," he said, placing one hand atop the other in his lap to keep them from trembling too visibly. "Father and I…we may have a lot of the same ideals, but we don't agree on how they should be carried out. Not any longer."
Lucius nodded. "As I assumed from your actions. But one must have things properly stated in such matters." He wound the lock of Luna's hair around his finger, then released it. "And I imagine you have no wish to join the shining warriors of the Light, or you would already have done so."
Theo shook his head. "We…wouldn't suit," he said after a moment to consider his phrasing. "I've been allied to them, but that was when I had something unique to offer. Now I only have my wand and my wits." He snorted a little laugh. "And I don't have my wand, so that takes me down even further."
"Ah. Yes." Lucius nodded to Luna, who trotted over to the door and disappeared through it. "So you have no desire to be affiliated with either side of this war. Would you, if you had the chance, leave the country, go into hiding, take the chance of resettling permanently should your father be awarded the position and power he will deserve for his service?"
"Yes," Theo said shortly, fighting down both terror and disbelieving hope. I know it could be a trick, he reminded his frightened side, but what have I got left to lose by being honest? And you shut up, he shot towards the premature celebration. This could all be nothing more than a big cat-and-mouse game, I have to stay alert—
Luna stepped back into the room, twiddling a familiar wand between her fingers.
"As you say, you have little to offer either side of this war but your wand and your wits," said Lucius, drawing Theo's attention back to him. "And if you will forgive my bluntness, we could as well do without them. Whereas should you rejoin us…" He shuddered slightly. "I have just finished grooming Patroclus to the point where he makes a bearable companion. Should he have the opportunity to place you under his domination, he will talk of nothing else for weeks. Possibly months. I doubt I would be able to stand it."
With two fingers, he beckoned Luna to his side. "Still, you are his son," he said contemplatively. "His by right. What do you think, my lady?" His eyes searched Luna's as she laid Theo's wand on the palm of his hand. "What should I do with him?"
"Hmm." Luna looked Theo over, top to bottom. "Throw rug?" she suggested.
"Not this time, my dear. And don't pout. It's most unattractive." Lucius rolled the wand back and forth along his palm. "Run away, Theo," he said softly, his eyes on the wand. "Run away and never come back." He smiled thinly. "Oh, and don't forget to take the little Greengrass with you. She'll only follow you otherwise."
Theo caught his wand as it was tossed to him, and sat in dumb astonishment as Lucius and Luna disappeared once more into the Floo fire. Then he got to his feet and hurried out of the tumbledown building, heading for the nearest sheltered spot from which he could Disapparate to the vicinity of a house called The Plains.
Good advice was good advice, no matter what the source.
Having fun yet?
I apologize for the very long wait on this chapter. I had intended to write one much closer to Christmas, but (in case anyone hasn't yet heard this story)…
Very early Christmas morning, I wrecked the car I was driving on the highway. I was not hurt, other than a broken nose and some bruises which healed quite quickly, but my cats Poppy and Sesame, who were traveling with me, are currently missing. There is evidence they survived the crash and ran away, but I have heard nothing else, and that was five weeks ago. If you live in northwestern Pennsylvania near the town of Meadville, or know someone who does, and want more information about them, please contact me.
Thanks, as always, for reading. Facebook, Twitter (@AnneBWalsh), website, etc, and possibly pop over to the blog, Anne's Randomness, tomorrow, since I hope to be posting some happy news about originals!