Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Another Life ❯ Birds of a Feather ( Chapter 18 )

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


Disclaimer: Ain't mine.

Chapter 18


Birds of a Feather

Hermione almost didn't want to believe what she was seeing. It would break apart some of the very core elements of her beliefs. Yet, she was never one to deny what her very own eyes saw. She didn't want to believe it, but she couldn't stand not doing so. Hermione swallowed thickly and murmured, "Hello, Sirius."

"Morning, Hermione," he answered, smiling as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn't been dead for a few months. "You slept in. Breakfast was an hour ago."

"Oh." Her voice sounded a little weak. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I don't think Narcissa minded much."

"Then this is Malfoy Manor?"

"Yup. I'm afraid you're a prisoner now like the rest of us."

"Oh."

Hermione was afraid to look down at her hands in case Sirius disappeared from in front of her. It sounded so weird that he was on friendly enough terms with their 'captors' to call the eldest Malfoy by her first name. Then again, they were cousins. Maybe that was why. Hermione wondered vaguely why she was thinking about such stupid things.

"You okay, Hermione?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

The look on his face showed he didn't believe her.

"Really, I'm fine. I just...it...You."

"Me?"

"Yes. You were dead."

He blinked and then snapped his fingers. "Ah, I forgot about that. Sorry. Yes, I bet it's quite a shock. Sorry."

"No, it's fine."

They were quiet for a bit, just watching each other. Hermione still didn't have anything to explain why Sirius was alive and talking to her. He looked very spry for someone who'd been dead. Much more clean cut than when she'd seen him in Grimmauld place. His face was freshly shaved and his hair, while still long, wasn't nearly as wild. There was a new sense of life in his eyes that he'd lost before, locked up as he was. His clothes were richer, but she attributed that solely to the Malfoys and their preferences. No doubt, Narcissa Malfoy had thrown a fit of some kind to keep her cousin cleaned up, if only to make her house look better. The thought of it was rather funny, actually.

"Are you really okay?"

She realized her gaze had drifted downward when she had to lift it back to his face. This time, she didn't answer right away and when she did, it felt as if it were exploding from her body.

"Magic can't bring back the dead!" she cried, jumping to her feet. "Nothing can! You were dead, Sirius!"

"Um." He blinked a little. "Technically, I was half dead."

Hermione stared at him with no comprehension.

"See, I was still here and my body was still here, we just weren't...er...Together...Or something..." He trailed off sheepishly. "Narcissa explains it better. She's the one who did it."

Somehow, that didn't make the girl feel any better. If her friend that she had mourned was now a zombie controlled by the Malfoy Head...

"See, the Veil doesn't kill people and I was cursed, but it didn't kill me, but living things can't survive wholly behind the Veil and..." He stopped again and sighed. "I really don't get it."

"Does she have power over you?"

Sirius stared at her as if the possibility had never crossed his mind. "No."

Hermione let out a soft, shuddering breath. His eyes sparked with sudden knowledge.

"Oh Merlin, you thought...Hermione, I'm not a zombie. I'm not dark at all."

She nodded a bit, sitting down again. "You have to admit, the way it sounded..."

"Yeah...yeah, I see it now..." He shook his head, running a hand back through his thick hair. "Bloody hell. I never thought about that."

Hermione smiled weakly.

"I've learned to from being around H-" her eyes went wide. "Harry. Harry is here."

"Yep," Sirius replied and his gaze went a bit sad. "He's here. So's Remus. He's with Ron."

"What about Snape?"

"Yeah, the bugger's here too."

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the skin between her eyes. She felt very tired, as if she'd run the gambit along with her emotions.

"Would you like something to eat?"

For the first time, she realized there was a table set on the other side of the room with food spelled to keep temperate. Hermione got up and went over. It wasn't until she saw the food that she became desperately hungry. Hermione started into the meal with fervor and Sirius picked a bit for himself, though he'd already eaten. It was nice, soft, and Hermione slowly decided that whatever had happened to Sirius, he was still his normal self and coming back from the dead wouldn't ever change that.

Her beliefs would never be so concrete now, but in a way, she liked that.

----

Wormtail was afraid of the dark. No, that wasn't quite right. He was afraid of what lived in the dark, what fed in the dark. The more horrifying thing was that he knew what those things were and was forced to deal with them on a daily basis. It absolutely terrified him, but he did it anyway. He did it for his Lord.

Even when he was on his knees in front of a murderous werewolf with gleaming teeth in human form, Wormtail would fulfill his master's wishes. This man was a valuable ally, after all. There was a need to...indulge him.

Wormtail didn't look at the little girl. He couldn't bring himself to, knowing it would make him wretch and offend the wolf. He tried very hard not to listen to her panicked and pained screaming nor the sounds of her limbs being torn away from her torso. He ignored the stench of blood and entrails. He ignored the feel of warm blood hitting his cheek and dripping down.

It was all for his master. This man was an ally and couldn't be offended.

Wormtail stayed until he was finished killing the child. He said nothing of the chunks of flesh mysteriously absent from the ripped corpse. A lot of the time, the wolf would leave kids alive, finding some savage pleasure in their continued suffering, but sometimes he just wanted the kill right there.

"Nice find, there," growled the wolf, lips curling back into the parody of a smile, fanged teeth shining with fresh blood. Wormtail tried not to tremble.

"M-my master wishes you to be comfortable," he warbled and the wolf's savage yellow eyes peered at him with amusement.

"Wishes more than that, I'd gather," the wolf retorted, smirking still. "You can tell him the gift's appreciated. I've got a lot of friends who'd be more than happy to get in on this now that he's back for real."

Wormtail nodded and bowed deeply as he started to back away. The horrible smell of the fresh kill was getting to be too much for him.

"I-I hope you have a g-good evening," he murmured as he backed into the doorway. The wolf turned, ignoring him as he looked back at the corpse. Wormtail quickly took his leave.

There was little in the dark as terrifying as Fenrir Greyback.

----

It wasn't until lunchtime that every human occupant of Malfoy Manor met in the same room. There had been a ruckus when Ron found out exactly where he was now from Remus, but that had been smoothed over after a bit.

As before, Voldemort took his place at the head of the table with Narcissa and Snape at either side. The rest of the table was quite a bit more chaotic. Harry had tried for the seat next to Snape, but found Hermione and Ron looking at him expectantly to fill the seat between them. For a long few seconds, he simply stood there, staring at the chair as if to accuse it of ruining the balance, but finally he sat there anyway. Ginny smiled from Hermione's other side. Draco's expression was rather displeased at his mother's side. Remus and Sirius took it upon themselves to create something of a buffer between the two groups.

There was very little talk. The newcomers were caught between glancing at Harry and staring covertly at Voldemort. The latter didn't seem to care, nor found it to his level to pay attention to them further. The other adults did, however, watch the teens very carefully. They were, after all, distracting interlopers.

Narcissa couldn't help the stab of resentment for keeping the three in her home. She couldn't let them leave, not when they'd somehow figured out how to locate an unplottable home, but she most certainly didn't want them there. The tense line Harry's mouth had become didn't make her any happier. She'd been so sure that things were getting better, that we was stabilizing, that he was putting himself back together, and now it was all shot to hell. It was all she could do to be coolly polite to the guests.

Harry wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He sat stiffly between Ron and Hermione, listening to them not talking and not questioning, and felt trapped. He wanted to get up and run away. He wanted out. He wanted to sit by Snape. Merlin, he was messed up... Trying to distract himself, Harry stared down at his plate as he pushed food around. He wasn't hungry. It was like eating dinner alone with Voldemort; his stomach was tied up in knots and he felt like throwing up. The tension within everyone was eating him alive.

"Eat, Harry."

They were the first words anyone had spoken and Harry looked up. Snape stared back at him, his expression unworried. His voice had been firm, rather stern. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stared at the man and then were even more shocked with Harry simply did as he was told. Hermione didn't want to think about what that might mean. There was an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

After Snape had taken it upon himself to break the silence, it was more uncomfortable than ever to go back to it.

"Your home is lovely," Hermione said suddenly, giving Narcissa a glance. The Malfoy gave a slight nod of her head.

"Thank you," she said politely, even if it was still rather cool. Hermione had known the moment they met in the Manor that Narcissa Malfoy hated her on sight. It would have bothered her, but Hermione liked Narcissa even less. The only redeeming quality she could see was that Narcissa hadn't thrown them out when they arrived.

"I can't help but notice the decorating."

"Lucius' mother was fond of redecorating. This was her last stint before she died."

"Well, it's very nice."

"Yes, I think so as well."

Ginny understood exactly what was going on. Narcissa and Hermione continued to talk about things that didn't matter, sizing one another up with their eyes more than their words. Ginny stayed out and simply watched, curious herself who would last longest. The men, predictably, had little idea at all what was happening, except for Voldemort and Snape from their various exercises in manipulation through lifetimes. Neither man paid much attention, however. The feud didn't include them and they certainly did not want to get between women and their quarrels.

"The china is extraordinary."

"My husband was quite proud of our collection. Fourteen sets in all."

"Lovely."

Harry was getting very, very annoyed. He hated it when people talked about stupid things, especially when it was obvious neither really cared in the first place. The longer he listened, the madder he got and he didn't even know why it grated him so much.

"The cups-"

Narcissa's voice cut out as the vary things she'd been about to talk about began to shake, along with the rest of the dishes. It took a full second for every eye to land on Harry. The boy's gaze were locked on his plate. The room was absolutely silent baring the rattle of china. After half a minute or so, the rattling settled, but no one moved or said anything.

Then Harry lifted his head and looked at Snape. "Can I be excused?"

"Yes," Snape replied without hesitation. Harry got up and left the table. The tenseness didn't ease at all. One by one, the teens finished up and left. Draco was the last, but only because he was absolutely sure that only he could find Harry. The three intruders didn't know this Harry well enough to. They couldn't, for they hadn't been here for the break.

Draco tailed them for a bit until he was sure they were just going to get themselves hopelessly lost. He then sought Harry out.

The still disturbed boy had gone to the den and sat down at the chess board. The pieces were set, but he hadn't made a move. Harry always played black. Draco sat down across from him without hesitation. He ignored the subtle way the pieces were shivering, not quite enough to rattle audibly. Making the first move, Draco started the game. The pieces stopped their shivering as Harry was given something to concentrate. Both ignored everything outside the game, never noticing the door being shut at some time and a ward placed on it so that no one could disturb them. The silencing charm that followed made sure they wouldn't hear the argument that broke out between Narcissa, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny over it all.

No, Harry and Draco simply played the game. Draco eventually won but Harry was already setting up another game. His eyes had a desperate intensity in them that bothered the blonde.

"Harry," he said, grabbing one hand wrapped around the black Queen. "Harry, stop it. You need to talk."

Harry stared at him and Draco didn't like the hint of betrayal in his gaze. Draco was breaking their unspoken contract and did it knowingly.

"It won't go away by playing chess," Draco said.

"It's nothing."

"If it were nothing, the pieces would be still."

Harry looked and sure enough, the pieces were rattling once more. They weren't very happy about it, either.

"I can sent them away," Draco offered as he had before. Harry didn't lift his gaze.

"They would just come back."

"I'll send them away every time."

"THEY'LL ALWAYS COME BACK!"

Draco stopped and really looked at him. Harry's slim shoulders were shaking, his eyes wild and panicked. His hands tightly gripped the edges of the chessboard with enough force that his knuckles were solid white. His bottom lip trembled, jaws clenched.

"What is wrong with me?" Harry whispered out and his voice was frustrated and angry and horrified. "Why can't I be happy that they're here? Why don't I want them here?"

"Harry-"

"SHUT UP, MALFOY!"

Draco's lip curled back as pain struck through his chest and then he stood, slamming his hands down upon the table. “Don't take out your frustrations on me, Harry Potter! Yeah, you're a little wrong in the head, but that's no excuse for abusing me!”

Harry stared at him as if he didn't even recognize the boy in front of him. A stab of worry got past Draco's rage but before he could take back what he'd said, Harry stood.

“Wrong in the head,” he said in a very quiet, deadened voice.

“Harry, I didn't mean-“

“Yes, you did, or you wouldn't have said it.”

Draco almost groaned and hit himself for screwing things up. “I didn't. I just mean that your mind's…It's…”

“Wrong. Yes. I get it.”

“Shut up and let me say something!”

Harry gave him a dead stare. Draco sighed and raked a hand back through his hair.

“You're broken, Harry. We all know that. You know that. But you were getting better, and then they showed up,” he said, trying to make the other understand. “They're wrecking things before we could even fix them.”

“Fix me, you mean.”

“Yes.” No point in denying it now. Harry's eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything. “Yes, Harry, fix you. Because right now, you're broken and you have been since Snape took you from those damned muggles. I'm not even sure you were right before that.”

Harry's gaze fell to the chessboard he was still holding onto tightly. Abruptly, he let go and backed away, knocking over his chair. Draco watched but didn't move to follow him.

“Harry, none of us really expect you to be normal-“

“Of course not.” His voice was far too calm and not at all in line with how he was shaking. “I'm Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Why would I ever be normal?”

Draco sighed softly and slowly approached him, like one would a cornered animal. Harry didn't look at him.

“Doesn't matter if I asked for it. I've bloody got it, now don't I? I might as well have asked to have my parents murdered, to be put in a house with muggles who hated and beat me, to put everyone I've come to care for in danger just by living, to-“

Harry's voice choked off as Draco pulled him into his arms. He was shaking badly, face pressed hard into Draco's shoulder as if trying to suffocate himself. Draco gently pet his hair and tried very hard to ignore the lump in his throat and Harry's ragged breathing as the other wizard fought to get himself back under control.

“You can't do this, Harry,” Draco said very softly. “You can't break even more. You can't revert. It's time for you to pick up the pieces and be strong again.”

“I don't want to be strong,” Harry choked out bitterly.

“Yes you do,” the blonde replied. “Otherwise, this wouldn't bother you so much.”

Harry snorted and Draco felt a bit of fondness towards the sound. Yes, Harry was broken, but he was fixable. That was the important part.

----

He would never know how the threads of control had started breaking. The fine bits of careful mastery he had crafted so lovingly long ago were growing brittle and weak, breaking off completely one by one. He wasn't sure what to do now. The work lay unfinished. It wasn't time to move on Pettigrew just yet. Not yet.

He had always been a very patient man, carefully keeping himself until it was just the right time when all came to fruition. This had been his way since childhood and continued his entire adult life, long as it had been. And only now did he even imagine moving his pieces to checkmate sooner than anticipated.

Thinking long and hard, he tried to find another solution, a small bandage upon the gash in his plan that would sooth it for now and allow things to happen in their good time, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that would be impossible. Things had changed too rapidly. Losing the boy had been bad enough, but there were replacements, he knew. He always had backup plans if, in the very unlikely event, the first failed. Such was the nature of his masterful mind.

However, losing Tom, for he knew that it was happening, made irreparable changes in the way the world was progressing and it was no longer going how he wanted it to go. That irritated him more than anything he'd encountered. He was nothing if not obsessed with control. This he knew and worked to make sure it didn't interfere with his plans.

He knew that without Tom, he would have to start from scratch. It galled him, but was necessary. Therefore, it was for that reason that he arrived at Azkaban for a private and off the record meeting with one Lucius Malfoy. The younger man managed to give him a cocky grin, but Lucius had not been made to survive Azkaban for long. He was running thin.

“I thought you might come,” Lucius murmured, resting his head on one hand. “You always did come to me when things went sour.”

“Then I suppose you also know what I'm going to ask of you?”

Gray eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the barb. “How would I ever guess to the greatness within your thoughts?”

“Ah, flattery…” He ignored the way Lucius' words had actually made him feel, that hint of savage happiness that at least one person in this world knew the full extent of his genius. Oh, many feared and loved him equally, but only Lucius knew of anything beyond that and only Lucius could truly respect the power within him.

“What would you have me do?”

“There will be another time and place for me to divulge that,” he replied, smiling at the frustration that crossed Lucius' gaze. He waited a moment before realization replaced it and then smiled wider.

“Then I will wait,” Lucius murmured, lips quirking in an answering smirk.

“Wonderful. Good day, Lucius.”

He got up. Lucius stayed seated, as per the rules of Azkaban.

“Good day.”

----

He liked it when things went his way without him having to lift a finger. He watched, amused at how the boy was dealing with the grand world of magic. As it was obvious that Tom had not grown up in a magical family, the child didn't bother hiding it, even when his own housemates beat and humiliated him. Funny, how very cruel children could be…

He knew it was only a matter of time before Tom's resentment and Slytherin mind would think up a solution to rid himself of such annoyances. Sometimes, he would sense the boy after hours in the library, reading by dim wand light to learn more. Tom already knew one of life's greatest lessons: knowledge was power and power made every bit of difference. Tom spent his entire first year learning how to gain that power.

He couldn't have been more pleased with the boy if he'd coached him himself.

This need to prove himself, show the damned magic-borns that he was just as good, no, better, was perfect. Absolutely perfect. In no time at all, Tom would rise to the top and begin his long journey towards something great.

That was what he told himself, anyway, when he heard of visits the boy made to the hospital wing. He tried very hard to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that wondered if he was doing the right thing.

And then he remembered that the ends justified the means and felt better.