Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Another Life ❯ Itsy Bitsy Spider ( Chapter 16 )

Warnings: Yaoi/Slash, Angst, DARK themes, Backstabbing, Incest, Yuri/Fem-slash, and other various nastiness. Hard R rating.

Disclaimer: Ain't mine.

Chapter 16

Itsy Bitsy Spider

There was something to be said about the ingenuity of one Peter Pettigrew, better known as Wormtail. Without Lucius Malfoy to load over him, he had been given more duties as Lord Voldemort's right hand man. All that Lucius once was, Wormtail had been forced to become. It was he who managed the financial assets of the Death Eaters, he who fine tuned plans for raids and chose the teams, he who managed the distribution of the spoils.

So, was it really any wonder that he was soon recognized throughout to be the real leader of the Death Eaters?

Of course, no one said this aloud, not even Wormtail himself. The words would have brought wrath down upon them all. Instead, the Death Eaters themselves shifted their attentions little by little from pleasing the Dark Lord to pleasing his general, Wormtail. The Master had little to do with the daily goings on anymore and seemed to be growing more and more distant as the days went on. The Death Eaters were too terrified by his power to accuse him of losing interest, but the evidence slowly mounted.

Wormtail sat in his study, surrounded by various books, reports, half finished plans, and many other pieces of paper work ready for his say. Instead of messing with any of it, he stared at the wall, wringing his hands in his lap.

“Right…right…absolutely right,” he muttered to himself, eyes hazy and faraway. He rocked gently back and forth, chewing his bottom lip. “Yes, yes, me, that's right, that's right…”

It was a common thing, this strange babbling and rocking, but no one had ever seen it. Wormtail had made certain of that. He only listened when no one was around and they only spoke when he was alone. It made things so much easier.

“Of course,” he whispered out, “You're brilliant.”

Grabbing his quill, he jabbed it into the inkpot and went to writing furiously. The plans that had seemed so horrible, so impossible before were now clear in his mind and ready for the last little details. In the morning, he would give them off to one of his aides to inform the others of what was to be done. There was no need to inform the Master, for it was only a trivial thing and the Master had other issues on his mind.

`Yes, let me do this,' thought Wormtail, `let me show you my worth, let me-'

The thoughts paused with his quill as he cocked his head, glancing into nothing. Then, he slowly smiled.

“Thank you,” he murmured almost lovingly and then went back to writing.

----

Breakfast the morning after Snape was brought to Malfoy Manor proved rather…odd. Narcissa watched those around her with wry amusement. Men were such funny creatures.

There, sandwiched between Snape and Sirius, was Harry, who hadn't lifted his eyes from his plate. Instead of eating, he simply shifted food around the plate. The rest of the table watched him, each badly concealing it, but the boy never noticed.

Voldemort sat at her side, sipping a mug of coffee. His delicate hands were tight, eyes weary. Narcissa fought to keep a smile off her face. Ah, the wonders of actually understanding other people's emotions… At her others side was her son. Draco glanced at Harry every few seconds, usually after a bite he probably didn't even taste. The poor boy had already gone through two plates full, likely without even knowing it.

The wolf was the only one with any ability to hide his distress. She almost applauded him, but he, too, gave himself away with a few too many glances. It was actually rather funny. He waited exactly four minutes between each glance.

“Harry, eat your eggs,” Snape said sternly, breaking up the silence and the others' rituals. Harry glanced up at him, and then ate the eggs without complaint. Sirius and Remus were floored. They looked between Harry and Snape, then at each other, and Narcissa could almost hear twin frustrated screams. She'd seen how hard they had worked to get Harry to eat anything at all, and now, just a few words from Snape and there it was done.

Voldemort lifted a brow as he glanced at Narcissa after a nearly silent snicker. He'd awakened that morning to find he was now the owner of a new set of slim eyebrows. The others of the house were used to his ever-changing face, so they'd said nothing about the new development. Eyebrows were the last thing he'd thought about but now that he had them, he'd found his range of expression had been multiplied by quite a bit.

“May I be excused?”

Voldemort looked back at Harry, but the boy wasn't looking at him. Harry had directed the question to Snape, who didn't answer. Instead, the ex-spy gave Voldemort a glance, something that pleased the Dark Lord more than he'd admit.

“You may,” Voldemort said. Harry's eyes snapped to him and he sat very still for a second or so. Then he got up and left the table. Exactly thirty seconds later, Draco was finished with his meal. Narcissa couldn't hide her amused smile at that.

Sirius tried his best to kill Snape with his gaze alone, but the man refused to up and die. “How did you-”

“I ordered,” the Potions Master replied absently before biting into a biscuit.

Remus blinked. Blinked again. And then he threw back his head and laughed as he realized that had been the only thing they hadn't dared try while trying to get Harry to take care of himself and eat. Asked, begged, pleaded, but they had always left it up to him. Snape would do none of that.

Narcissa barely contained her own laughter at the whole thing.

----

It was all very simple when she really thought about it. The notion made her skin crawl and carved a huge pit of fear in her belly, but she could think of nothing else. It was absolutely terrifying. But if she was right…if she was right….

Ginny and Ron hovered worriedly close by as Hermione wrote furiously. They didn't know what she was doing so they simply played gopher for her, grabbing what she needed when she asked them. They figured it had something to do with Harry, because why else would she be so singularly focused? Hermione threw herself into a great many things, but not wholly. She usually left herself open for other things, but not this time. This time, it took all of her concentration.

“I need a map.”

Ron didn't even ask what the map should be of. He got up and raced to get the house atlas. Most of the maps within it were scribbled on in some fashion, but hopefully it would work. He set it down in frot of her and Hermione flipped quickly to a cap of their own country. Ron was a little surprised, but didn't question. Not when she was like that. Hermione dug out her wand and a sickle from her pocket as Ron backed off to sit with his sister again, each glancing at the other with concern.

Hermione mumbled a few spells onto the sickle, her wand emitted soft little glows. Ron and Ginny thought they might have recognized a few but mostly didn't. After all, Hermione was the genius.

Said genius grabbed a length of cord she'd asked for earlier and attached the sickle to it. She held it like a pendulum over the map and cast another spell or two. With a start, Ginny recognized what she was doing. Scying! Hermione really was a genius! But what if…

The sickle started to revolve. Ginny and Ron leaned in, watching as for the first time that day, Hermione's face held triumph. She grabbed her quill and quickly circled the area. It was still a pretty large place to search, but she'd narrowed it down to three square miles and that was better than the whole country.

“He's there.”

Ron took the map and looked at it, frowning. “How do we find him there?”

“Don't worry about that.” Hermione got up and went to her trunk as she started to pack it. “I'm going there.”

“Not without me!” Ginny replied as she got up. Ron watched both for a few seconds, then sighed and went to pack his own bag.

Maybe soon, they would be reunited with their wayward friend.

----

The garden seemed very different now that he was really awake. It was just a garden now, not the collection of touches and smells that had entertained him before. As he stood within the green leaves and bright flowers, he could not summon that childlike curiosity he'd held for it all. That saddened him.

He knelt down in front of one of the familiar plants, reaching out to touch the velvety leaves, and though it did feel nice, there was still nothing. He'd awakened back to his numb state. Even his insides felt numb.

He wasn't dead. He wished he were because then he didn't have to think about anything. Now, thoughts and memories and pain surged through his mind with such ferocity that he didn't know how long he could stand it. He very much wanted to die, that hadn't changed at all, but he couldn't kill himself and Voldemort didn't seem very excited about doing the honor for him anymore.

Merlin, why was he even there? Now that he was awake to think about it, why was he at Malfoy Manor? Why were Sirius and Remus there, sharing breakfast with the fucking Dark Lord? They didn't seem too perturbed about it. And why wasn't Voldemort maiming him at every chance?

He didn't even realize he'd moved after hearing the sound of grass underfoot until he had his hand curled around a slim throat and his eyes locked with startled gray. Draco gawked at him from where he was, pinned against one of the trees that framed the garden. Harry blinked and let go, stepping back. Draco rubbed his neck and glared.

“What's the bloody idea, Potter?”

Harry looked away without answering. He didn't know why he'd reacted that way. It hadn't ever happened before. He looked down at his hand, seeing the vivid image of it wrapped around that slender throat...

Hands on his shoulder. He looked up and green eyes locked with silver. Draco frowned a bit. “It's fine, Potter. Let it go.”

Harry felt lost and small and insignificant. He hated that feeling and it filled his entire being. He wanted to break down, shaking and crying, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” With those few words, Harry opened the floodgate. His voice came out high and hurried as his eyes started to go wild with insecurity. “Why have you been kind to me at all this last while? Why are you here? Why do you play chess with me? Why haven't you tried to anger me, hit me, beat me, anything! Why is everyone acting so strange? Why aren't I dead? Why is everything so strange-”

His voice was muffled as he was smashed against a soft clothed shoulder. Harry clung to him, though he didn't know why. Why he wanted it. Needed it. And Draco held him so damn tight and it was exactly right and that made Harry just want to cry. He didn't, barely. He wouldn't, except with Snape. Only Snape could see his weakness. But he still held onto Draco just as tightly as he'd ever held Snape. Just as needily.

Merlin, he hated himself.

Draco never said a word. He held Harry, stroking his back as he tried to calm the other boy, listening to his quick breath with worry, wondering not for the first time why he was doing this. He couldn't actually say he liked Harry particularly. He didn't hate him anymore, that was for sure, but there was no fondness. Not yet. Draco thought that maybe, probably, there could be, or could have been, or something like that, but there definitely wasn't anything right then. Nothing. He could hold Harry and comfort him and do things like that, but he didn't feel anything from it.

He kept telling himself that he didn't care when Harry calmed but didn't pull away. That he didn't care when the other boy's warm breath hit his neck, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. That he didn't care when, instead of loosening, Harry held on tighter.

“I don't know,” Draco said suddenly. Harry gave no reaction. “I don't know why everything is strange now. I don't know why people are being kind to you more than before. I don't know what changed.”

He could feel eyelashes flutter against his skin as Harry closed his eyes. A pale hand slid into black hair and was surprised at how soft it was.

“I act how I want to act. That's all I know.”

Harry made a sound and Draco didn't know if it was a laugh or a sob. He didn't care either way. It felt good, holding him, protecting him, and Draco didn't want to lose that. Couldn't lose that, not willingly.

“Crying's not going to fix anything,” he said quietly.

“I'm not crying.”

Draco almost smiled at the half-petulant tone.

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

“I'm not crying!”

Harry started pulling away but Draco tightened his grip, fingers curling through his thick hair. Harry didn't understand this. He didn't understand any of it.

“Just let me - for just a second - I…”

Harry stopped struggling. Draco didn't know what he had been trying to say. He didn't know what he wanted, only that he couldn't let go of that warmth between them, that …that trust. He craved it more than anything in his entire life and he didn't even know why. He needed to feel… Merlin, he didn't know what he needed. But this was part of it. This was part of it.

“Draco?”

“What?”

There was a lengthy pause. He could feel Harry take a deeper breath and slowly release it, as if to psych himself up. That was strangely endearing and that should have bothered him but didn't.

“I like this,” came the whisper finally, barely audible. “Closeness. I like this.”

Draco didn't answer but he didn't let go.

“I like not fighting with you.”

The words were growing stronger but still so quiet. They made Draco feel strange, an odd hollow feeling he'd never noticed slowly filled, if only for that moment.

“Can we keep not fighting?”

“Okay.”

And that was it.

“Okay.”

----

When he first saw her, that little red haired girl with vicious green eyes, he knew that she was the one he had been waiting for. She was perfect, so smart and bold, and she chose exactly the right friends for his purposes. The messy haired boy liked her immediately, he could tell, and though he annoyed her often, she liked him as well. He had watched through the years as they added others to their little group. Each child was just the pawn he needed in his plans. He had only had to wait and he had always possessed immense patience.

His influence in her life was not felt immediately by her. She didn't know how he carefully manipulated her closer to those he wanted her with, how he nurtured her to be exactly what he needed. She responded perfectly. The perfect tool.

And when he brought in his second perfect tool, yes… Yes, everything went according to his great plan. He could see it, though all others, even the tools themselves, were oblivious. The connection was made. Their minds were so open to him that it was almost pathetic, the way they tried to hide it. She kept her charade with the Potter boy, he kept his with his teaching. Lovely. Simply lovely.

He knew that as soon as the graduation had been finalized, she would follow his second tool to wherever he went. Good. Wonderful. Perfect.

Not for the first time, a little voice wondered how he could be such a manipulative bastard.