Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Another Life ❯ If Wishes Were Horses ( Chapter 20 )

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


Disclaimer: Ain't mine.

Thanks to Ebony Rayne for beta-ing!

Chapter 20


If Wishes Were Horses

Ron felt a little lost. It had been such a relatively laid back, quiet place since he got to Malfoy Manor and now it was set into action. He, Ginny, and Hermione were confined to a wing of the place and unable to leave.

For not the first time, Ron realized just how much of a chasm had formed between his life and Harry's. Harry was included in whatever was going on because he was Harry and Ron, of course, was not because he was Ron. The only heads up he'd gotten was a short message from the boy delivered by a house elf.

“Made an alliance with Voldemort. Stay put.”

Of course, Ron had wanted to march right to him, punch him once, and then demand details, but the magical barrier at the end of the hall refused to admit him. When he and the girls had tried using their wands to get rid of it, they found that the wands had been spelled dormant. They were powerless.

Ginny had not taken that well.

Ron was now alone, sitting down cross-legged in front of the barrier and glaring at it. Hermione was with Ginny in the wreck the girl had made of her room before she calmed down. Ron didn't care to know what was happening beyond that. He just glared at the barrier.

If there was ever a side character in a story, he knew he was it. At least, he'd become so recently. This just proved it. Ron didn't know what he'd done or not done to deserve that. Actually, he was pretty sure it wasn't anything he'd done. It was all Harry and it really pissed him off. Ron didn't like being a cast off. It wasn't fair, not when he'd followed Harry through so much.

He'd thought they could do anything together. A flash of memory, Harry curled up small and thin and miserable in the loft of the Burrow- Ron closed his eyes and tried desperately not to think about that. Harry was okay. Marginally. Maybe. Hopefully.

Ron wondered if the lying to himself was why Harry had left him behind this time.

----

“He will be working with us for mutual benefit.”

Wormtail didn't know what to make of the boy staring back at him. Big but maturing green eyes, messy, too long hair, lanky limbs, small shoulders…. Harry Potter had grown in the last year or so. Or something. Wormtail wasn't actually sure how long it had been since he saw the boy. He was frankly shocked at why he was seeing him now.

There was hate in those emerald eyes. Hate Wormtail remembered and understood and felt in return. Mature the boy may be, but Harry Potter was still young. The voices reminded him of that at the beginning, when his hands had begun to shake. His hands always shook uncontrollably when Wormtail was nervous.

Harry Potter, with so much power in that little body, intimidated him almost as much as his Lord. Wormtail would never admit that to anyone but the voices, of course. No, instead, he sat across from the Boy Who Should Be Dead and why was he not dead?! Anything but sitting at Lord Voldemort's side.

The boy must have drugged him or spelled him or- No. No, it was insulting to his Lord to think that. Voldemort had a reason for everything he did and keeping the boy alive and on his side must be part of a big plan. The voices cautioned him to be careful, however. There was still something amiss, that was for sure. Watery eyes lifted from the boy to rest on Voldemort's face, only a moment before they dropped.

“Of course, my Lord,” he murmured shakily as he tried not to think of how long it had taken him to get over his shock and answer. There would have usually been pain for that, but the Dark Lord was still.

“I want you to spread the word,” Lord Voldemort said with cold eyes. “Harry Potter is not to be touched.”

“Yes, my Lord…”

Wormtail would indeed give this message to the rest. Perhaps they would be happy to have the all-consuming task finally set to rest so that others could be taken up, but he doubted it. There would be whisperings of weakness after this… but he would still do what his Master asked of him.

He was dismissed soon after and was glad for it. Wormtail couldn't stand the hot flash of shame that flew through his body every time he looked into those green eyes, no matter how much the voices tried to soothe him.

Voldemort glanced at Harry when he felt the boy give a shiver beside him. Harry's face was strong, as he'd never show weakness in front of the Dark Lord, but there were visible signs of faint stress. Voldemort wondered why he'd never noticed just how much the boy hated Peter Pettigrew. It was clear now but he'd never taken heed before.

“Harry?”

The boy glanced up at him but then just got up from his chair. “I'm gonna go let Ron and the others out.”

Voldemort almost stopped him. He watched Harry's back until he closed the door behind him. Voldemort was not used to worrying. It was disconcerting and yet…. Somehow, he was almost happy to feel it. So strange, the odd new feelings and his own reactions to them…

“Tom Riddle may yet still live,” he murmured to himself quietly.

Then he went to find Narcissa. There was work to be done. She was easy enough to find and smiled a little when he asked for some of her time. Strange how well they got on when only a few years ago, she had shivered in his presence. Had he not changed so much lately, this would have made him quite cross. Instead, he found it somewhat soothing.

“How can I help you, my Lord?” she murmured once he'd finished a silencing spell and other precautions against being found out.

“I need you to search out a list of items for me,” he replied as he took quill to parchment and began to write. “It is of supreme importance that you work quickly and in absolute secrecy. This cannot be shared beyond the two of us. Understood?”

“Of course. I swear to it.”

He finished writing and handed it over to her. “Be swift.”

He should have said `please' but the word felt very strange on his tongue in that instance. Narcissa didn't seem to care either way. She glanced at the parchment once, then folded it and stashed it into one of her pockets.

“I will leave at once.”

He nodded and she left the study to get her affairs in order. Somehow, he felt very strange about having trusted this great task to her but then he realized that above all others, even his ever faithful Wormtail, he trusted Narcissa Malfoy the most.

Voldemort sighed a bit and went on to make plans.

----

The first attack resulting in the deaths of the three Dursleys had been unexpected, but it put the Wizarding World in an uproar. Newspapers ranted about mental instabilities of the Boy Who Lived who was currently the Boy Who Could Not Be Found. They alleged at his involvement in the Dark Arts (which was completely false), his joining with the Dark Lord (which was actually true), his involvement in the deaths of his three muggle relatives (which was not really true either, but almost could be), and warned the general populous against consorting with the boy, were he to arrive on their doorstep. Thus armed, they waited for reports of Potter sightings that never turned up anything.

Molly Weasley was absolutely enraged. She ripped the paper to pieces and gave a horrible yelled snarl, cursing the reporters, the editors, the publishers, the entire company, and then the Ministry for letting such dribble be printed in the first place. She started over a few times once she'd finished, raging around her kitchen as she absently cast some odd spells for cleaning and was barely able to keep from ripping out her hair.

She'd already been worried over the boy's safety, as well as her youngest two children and practically adopted daughter Hermione, but now her nerves were shot. She was tired of being scared. Now, all she wanted was to be angry, hateful, and to hurt something.

Luck was likely on the side of whoever might have come into her grips when a small beak began tapping at the window. Molly opened it to let the owl in before realizing just who's animal it was in the first place.

“Pig!” she shrieked, which only startled the tiny owl and sent him flying crazily around the room. Molly caught him soon enough and took the letter before giving him a treat. She could scarcely keep her hands from shaking as she tore open the envelope. That scrawled handwriting…. She almost cried.

Hello Mum,

Sorry it took so long to write. Ginny, Hermione, and me are fine. I can't tell you where we are and Pig can't be traced either, but we're okay. Harry's here too, and Remus. There are other people but I can't tell you who yet. Harry said so.

I know you're probably really mad, but Harry said you needed to hear from us.

Bless that boy for being at least a little thoughtful…. Then Molly remembered how he'd looked in her home only a little while ago and swallowed thickly.

You can send word back with Pig. He'll find the house. Just don't send a howler, okay? Our `host' would probably get mad. We're going to be getting school stuff but Harry says we might not be going back to school. He says it might not be safe. Our host says she'll get tutors if we have to stay here instead.

That struck Molly as very odd. What sort of person would have the money to get tutors for four young people and would do it for children not their own? She frowned with puzzlement. Just who had the children run to?

Well, I think that's all. Oh, Ginny says she loves you. I guess I do to.

Blasted boy and his manly pride.

Hermione says she'll make sure we get to the books. Slave driver. Oh, and Harry says hi and watch out for Dumbledore. He's up to something.

-Ron

And that was it. So much time worrying and fretting, and suddenly her babies were just fine and her son had the audacity to sound as if nothing had happened. She barely even noticed the comment on Dumbledore.

Arthur found her still weeping when he got home.

----

Harry stared at the clouds. They were dark and dangerous, rolling quickly to cover the sun and leave the gardens in a half light. The air felt electrified and wet, thick in his throat. He felt like a wild animal, waiting for the storm he could feel in his very bones and wondering if this would be the one to finally off him.

The storm wasn't just physical. Across the Wizarding World, a similar one was brewing but Harry tried not to think about that. Instead, he just watched the building clouds and the faint bits of lightning within them.

There was a sick feeling in his stomach. Dread or shame, he wasn't sure which. It didn't matter anyway. He knew what he had to do. Now, he just had to figure out how to do it.

He refused to use Death Eaters. Voldemort could keep his lot; Harry didn't want them. He didn't need cruelty backing him. What he needed were people he could trust and ones that would actually listen to him.

Snape was the first name he thought of. The man was a Death Eater, but Harry felt more than anything that Snape would rally behind him instead of the Dark Lord. He had to believe that. Fragile as he knew he still was, he needed Snape's support.

Remus and Sirius were given, but he would have to make them listen. They were adults and adults all had the habit of dismissing whatever he said when they thought they knew better. He would have to convince them of every little action until they got used to his leadership.

Harry was hesitant to use his friends. Not that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny weren't capable, but he wondered if he could stand to see them hurt at all. They were children-

The thought stopped and he blinked as lightning crossed the sky. He was a child, too. Harry sighed a little. If he was going to expect adults to defer to him, he couldn't think so hypocritically. Hermione would be useful in helping him plan. Ginny as well, and for the actual doing. Ron was always a welcome moral support at his side. He would keep them here, behind the lines, to be the support team he needed. Never in danger.

His thoughts strayed to Draco before turning away sharply. No. He couldn't even imagine keeping Draco at his side, to face the dangers. Ever. Harry wasn't sure what the result of Draco's death would be, but he knew he'd never survive it. Draco would stay in the manor and be safe.

`Bullshit,' murmured a horrible little voice in the back of his head and though Harry fought it, he knew trying to keep Draco from doing whatever he wanted would be met with utter failure. If anything, the blonde would go against his wishes just to piss him off.

His stomach tied in knots as he suddenly got the mental image of the boy laying still on the ground, dead eyes staring upward…. He swallowed. He had to minimize Draco's involvement as much as he could.

There were only a few others who flitted through his mind after that. Most, he dismissed immediately. Others, he put into consideration. He found himself almost unable to place any of them into battle positions within the plans. That, too, was futile. Almost every person he knew had a strong enough personality and conviction that trying to stop them was idiotic. Minimize the damage because he couldn't prevent it.

Harry closed his eyes as the first raindrops finally began to fall. Things were building and he had to be patient. It was the only way to keep the people he loved alive and well.

----

Dumbledore interlaced his fingers as he looked sorrowfully at his gathered followers. There were more people who would come to his call if he really tried, as he had real control of the Ministry when he wanted, but for now, this smaller team would be just fine.

He hesitated a moment, however. Molly Weasley's eyes bore into his face. She wasn't looking for reassurance. She wasn't waiting for his divine word. She just stared with an unreadable expression. He decided to worry about her loyalties later.

“I'm afraid I have very disconcerting news,” Dumbledore murmured, sighing softly. “Harry has fallen into Voldemort's hands.”

There were a few gasps, some denials, then he felt more than saw a sudden resolve to save their hero. After all, only Harry could rid them of the Dark Lord. The prophecy spoke so.

“For once, the papers are actually telling truth. We cannot expect that Harry hasn't been turned.”

“That's a lie,” Molly snarled as anger flamed in her eyes. Dumbledore wondered idly just what had set her upon him.

“You can't honestly think Harry would…would…” Tonks couldn't finish the thought.

“We can't ignore the possibility,” Dumbledore said softly, looking at them all directly. “The Dark Lord is very powerful and though Harry is singularly special in regards to his strength of will, he is only a child. He can be hurt, killed, and at the least imprisoned. He may not have willingly turned, but we can't be sure of his loyalties now.”

“That boy can fight impervious,” Moody grumbled, arms folded as his magical eye flit about.

“Be that as it may, there are other ways to put someone under your will,” Dumbledore replied. He suddenly looked very old to them, just the most subtle shifts to his carrying and expression in a way he had perfected. “We all know how fragile Harry is right now.”

There was silence. Even Molly's gaze dropped in remembrance. Dumbledore watched her and began to face the possibility that she would desert him. Hopefully, he had a firm enough grip on her husband to keep him.

When he released them later, he felt positive. Molly was little consequence to him and, to tell the truth, Arthur was the same. In any case, his plans were forming and maturing. He went to bed in peace and with a smile on his face.

----

Slytherin house was in a state of mourning. It wasn't obvious enough who had died and which student was the most pained, but all could feel the strange quiet that had taken them all. Only he knew that the grief belonged to a boy barely sixteen named Tom Riddle.

The murders of Tom Riddle, Sr., and his parents were not advertised to the Wizarding World. Instead, it was through Tom himself that anyone knew of them. The boy was sullen and quiet, forgoing most of his leadership responsibilities over the house in favor of solitude. The boy had just found out about his muggle family when they were swept away from him.

He wondered if, perhaps, he should have let the muggles live. However, he knew it wasn't possible. The murders had to happen for the boy's soul to split. That Tom hadn't realized he was, in fact, the murderer, almost amused him. Almost. There was little true amusement from the abomination he'd just committed.

Still, the gears were turning, the story twisting exactly as he'd needed it to. The boy was scared now. Through his grief, he could sense the stirrings of fear and thought. Tom would not allow himself to die like that.

Planting the book was easy; making sure Tom found and read it had been a bit to chance, but his faith was well rewarded. The seeds planted, he sat back and watched. Careful manipulation brought the boy exactly where he wanted him.

Into the presence of Horace Slughorn and his big mouth.