Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness

Ah, yes, here's 12.

Watch out for Feral/Possessive! Harry.
And I promise, that bit at the end isn't gonna be cheesy or as chiche as so many plot lines like that have turned.

yeah, so. . .enjoy,. review, etc etc. . .

^_^

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Honeymoon? We were supposed to have a honeymoon?

Well, I guess we did have one, months later, though it could be said of that trip, "it was no honeymoon". In the meantime, we did get to relax a bit, play some Quidditch, sing, make love and do homework, that sort of thing. Not what most people would consider to celebrate their nuptials, but looking back, I'm not sureouldould have handled anything more exotic at the time. I mean, the mere presence of such love at every moment of the day was a bit overwhelming as it was. Wonderful, joyous, amazing . . . and completely, totally mind-blowing. In every sense of the word. . .

-- From Lion at New Moon

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Dumbledore's office was filled to capacity with the seventeen guilty Slytherin students, Harry, Draco, Snape, Lupin, Dumbledore, and the requisite Ministry representative-- a low-level paper pusher by the name of Smith. The students awaiting punishment stood opposite Harry and Draco, the Professors and the bureaucrat to the side, observing the events.

Draco pursed lips still tingling from a tender assault in the corridor outside the room.

"Professor, what did your inquiry find out about the incident?" he asked.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The plan was devised and led by Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle. All the others followed along, and Miss Bulstrode brewed the sleeping potion used on most of the rest of the House."

Draco nodded, eyes narrowing. He had known this already, but the official was taking notes, and Draco wanted everything to be clear and above board. Over lunch, he had discussed the punishments to be handed out with Harry and some members of the Coven, and now he felt rather confident about what he was going to say.

"Alright then, Crabbe and Goyle, stand over there." He pointed to the side, watching as they ponderously shuffled to the side.

"The rest of you will continue with the detentions you have been doing, and you will remain suspended from all extra-curricular activities for the rest of the year, including all clubs, teams, and Hogsmeade weekends. In addition, Bulstrode, you will no longer take Potions, and a mark will go on your permanent record barring you from aubliublic potions laboratories." He looked them over one last time. "That's all. And before you complain, realise our kindness in not having you expelled. Now leave and let me speak with Crabbe and Goyle."

The subdued students slowly made their way to door, but were stopped by Harry's frigid voice.

"One last thing before you leave." Draco looked over at Harry, trying to access his thoughts. But all he could sense was a brooding possessiveness, akin to what might be felt when confronted with a mother tiger. Everyone else in the room shivered as frost suddenly formed on the windows, and laced its way across the stone walls. "Draco is mine. If you ever harm anyone of mine again, you will wish you had been expelled."

From his angle, Draco couldn't meet Harry's eyes, but he watched as his classmates did, their faces paling as they recognized something dark and unspeakable lurking in their shadows. Their breath puffed in the air, and with last glances at the assembled Professors, they fled the room, grateful to escape both their parents' wrath and the unexpected threat of Potter's anger.

Crabbe and Goyle both shifted nervously on their feet, awaiting their own sentence as Draco poked Harry's mind, the temperature in the room rising again as the students left.

Feeling a bit possessive, love?

Dark eyes turned to his, hard and feral. Mine, was the reply, accompanied by feelings at once sheltering and possessive.

Right, Draco thought. Yours. But you're also mine, you realise. . .

Harry nodded. Yours. He turned to look at Lupin and Snape. Mine too. And theirs.

Draco nodded. Well, I wouldn't tell Uncle Sev'rus you consider him yours. . . he'd probably give you detention for life if he heard that. . .

Mmph, true. . .

"Right then," Draco turned back to Crabbe and Goyle, who were still standing timidly in front of them. "You two had a good plan, even if it wasn't completely thought through. I suppose this means you aren't as stupid as you've come across all these years?"

Crabbe cleared his throat. "Erm, well, you see, our parents wanted us to get as close to you as we could, and to always make you look good. So, we thought, if we always acted stupid, you'd look that much better in comparison. . ."

Draco nodded, understanding the social politics involved.

"I thought that might be the case. . . here's what I've decided. You'll have the same punishments as the other students, but you'll still take Potions, unlike Bulstrode. However, your schedules have been changed so that, from breakfast through dinner, each of you will be either with Harry or myself. If we are unable to take you, Professor Lupin has kindly agreed to be your chaperon. This will continue, everyday we have classes, until I say otherwise. And you will stop acting less intelligent than you actually are. Oh, and you will not be allowed to return home over the holidays."

The two standing students exchanged glances, nodding their heads. Draco handed them the parchments with their new timetables, and they were relieved to find that only the times had changed, not the classes themselves. What they didn't understand, though, was why they had received this particular punishment.

Goyle took breath to ask, but with another glance at the still glaring Harry, thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.

Draco turned to Smith. "Is this acceptable to the Ministry?" he asked coolly.

Smith nodded, finishing up his notes. "Completely."

"Good." Draco turned back to his two former associates. "That will be all, unless your Professors wish to add anything."

Snape shook his head minutely, not trusting himself to speak, and the two fled as fast as their ponderous steps would take them.

Smith handed his parchments to Draco. "If you could sign these, it'll make everything official."

Draco nodded, swiftly scrawling his distinctive signature at the bottom of the required pages. Smith gathered them up, and left to return to his cubicle at the Ministry.

"That was well done, Draco," Dumbledore said, his pride hidden beneath his sorrow at the necessity. "Do you really think those two can be salvaged?"

Draco shrugged, a sad frown marring his brow. "I don't know. I'd like to think that five years of association would leave some sort of trace. . .but . . ." Harry reached over and took his hand as he continued. "At the very least, I'll have a closer eye on them now, whether I get through to them or not. . ."


* *

Firenze stood in the shadows, contemplating the patterns of light on the forest floor, searching in vain for clarity.

Why do you insist on being like every other centaur, thinking like a human?

The dulcet voice of the unicorn drifted over the breeze, soothing to his ears, but failing to calm his inner storm.

"Why do you insist on speaking like every other magical creature, being cryptic even in pleasantries?"

Because it entertains me over the long centuries I have kept watch. I do not think you can say the same. . .

Fireze irritably stamped a hoof. "How does my thinking resemble a human's, exactly?"

You are being stubborn in your thought . . . you are too concerned with what has not yet come to pass, when you do not know what already is . . .

Firenze rolled his eyes, a gesture he had picked up from the fillies in the school. "And tell me, how should I be thinking?"

Stop this incessant self-doubt. Ignore the stars for once, and decide for yourself what you will do.

"Ignore the. . .but how am I to know the right way, without navigating by their light?"

Follow the compass inside you, not the cryptic map of the sky.

* * *

Hagrid poured overly large cups of tea for his guests. It had been awhile since Harry had last visited, but he knew how busy the first months of the term had been. And now, there were more people added to the groups as well, Draco Malfoy and Todd Silversman were now getting to know Fang. The conversation had been going well, but now it seemed that Harry had something eating at him, and Hagrid figured he might as well prod a bit.

"What's eatin' yeh, Harry?"

The boy fidgeted, biting his lower lip. "You remember when you took me shopping in Diagon Alley before my first year, and how you told me about Voldemort?"

Hagrid flinched at the name, but nodded.

"You said that he had been a Slytherin, but he can't have been, since he's not a pure blood. Why did you say he had been, then?"

Hagrid blinked. "Blimey, Harry, You-Know-Who's part Muggle? I never knew tha' . . . I always though' he was a Slytherin 'cause all his friends in th'school were--he only ever hung aroun' with them, you know, never anyone from any other house . . . and then, when he had me expelled, it seemed to fit the character, if yeh know wha' I mean. . . " he looked up, suddenly remembering the new additions. "No offence to presen' comp'ny meant, o' course. . ."

Draco smiled, rolling his eyes. "So, you just assumed he was a Slytherin?"

"Well, yeah, we all did. He's a few years older than me, an' I s'pose everyone not there at the Sorting never learned any better. . . he's really not a pure-blood?" For some reason, Hagrid just couldn't get his head, as large as it was, around that fact.

"So, Hagrid told you that, and then you decided you didn't want to be in Slytherin, despite the Hat's advice?" Draco grinned wryly at Harry.

"Well, that and you'd been such a great bloody prat in Madam Malkin's, I didn't want anything to do with you. . ." Harry chided gently, secretly relieved that it had been an honest mistake on Hagrid's part. "Maybe, if you'd been a little more, I dunno, humble or welcoming. . ."

Ron sniggered. "Malfoy, humble? Joking, right. . . "

"Whatever, Weasley. . ." said Draco in a mock-sneer.

* * *

Ginny Weasley sat pensively on her bed, invitations spread out on the blankets. There was one from every member of the Coven except Professors Snape, Firenze, and Lupin. Even the Slytherin students had sent her invitations. But she could only accept one, which meant writing her regrets to the others.

Her brothers, Fred, George, and Ron, had invited her, but she had the feeling that it was only because she was family. The twins' circle was going to focus on keeping the relationship between Harry and Draco healthy, and while she'd long since gotten over her crush on Harry, she thought it might still be a bit awkward. Ron's circle would be focusing on strategy and planning, and Ginny figured she was pretty good at both, she really didn't want to be focusing so much of her energy in such a conceivably violent direction.

Her mother's circle was going to be the, well, mothers of the group and Ginny really thought she was a bit too young for that, as for sitting in Professor McGonagall's circle. Hermione was going to focus her circle on research, and it was a definite possibility. So was Todd's for that matter, but his circle was going to be informal, and she really didn't know him that well anyway.

Pansy's circle was going to be all girls, and be focused on balancing the overall masculinity of the Coven. Which was a good idea, but much as Ginny appreciated the occasional sessions of "girl-talk", she found that there were only so many times one could discuss one's breasts and periods before one repeated oneself. To her, they were wonderful, yes, but really, such obsession with them seemed. . . well, a boy's obsession with their own body parts and functions was seen as immature, so why should it be so different with girls? It was all very puzzling to her, and she wasn't sure she'd fit in well with such a group. After all, she wasn't into romance novels or militant feminism herself . . .

Blaise Zabini's circle would be focused on keeping everyone from taking themselves too seriously, which meant pranks of course, and he had even said they'd be working with the twins a lot. This too seemed like a good idea, but Ginny didn't know Zabini at all, all she knew was that Draco seemed to like and trust him.

Finally, Neville had invited her. His circle was going to be focusing on the mental and emotional health of the entire Coven, and the Circles associated with it. She was quite glad someone had thought of this, and secretly pleased that he had thought to send her his first invitation.

This left Hermione, Blaise, and Neville as her final three possibilities. She quickly removed Blaise, simply because she didn't know him that well, and had never been as good at pranking as any of her brothers. And then she realized that there might be a bit of awkwardness between herself and Hermione, considering that Hermione was dating her brother. It really wouldn't do for family spats to start interfering with everything. Which left Neville, whom she'd been secretly aiming for anyway, but had been wanting to reach via a logical path. She thought the two of them might be able to work very well together.


* * *

That night as the students settled into their supper, they were surprised to see a large brown eagle with a white head and tail fly through the Great Hall, landing stiffly in front of Dumbledore. Murmurs swept through the students, everyone wondering where the strange bird had come from.

Hermione frowned, glancing across the room to where Harry sat at the Slytherin table.

It's a North American species, she sent. Very rare to see them over here . . .

Who do you think sent it? Harry replied, stealing a carrot from Draco, who was distracted by the bird.

Um, I seem to remember that only high-level officials from the United States are allowed to use Bald Eagles as messenger birds. Todd interjected. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, members of the Cabinet, people like that. . .

How'd you know that? Draco asked, surprised.

Todd looked sad. I had a cousin who was American. He told me once. . .

Everyone noted the past tense, and both Harry and Draco privately resolved to make sure later that their little brother was ok. Hermione prudently steered the conversation back on course.

So, who do you think Dumbledore is exchanging letters with?

Mental shrugs were felt all around, and even Lupin and Snape were curious and perplexed.

* * *

The rest of the week passed relatively peacefully. Crabbe and Goyle settled into their new routines will little fuss, and on Wednesday, Firenze told Harry and Draco of his decision to accept their invitation. He was added easily, and immediately started his own circle with Hagrid as his first chosen.

The next day, Draco found himself lying on the bed he shared with Harry, desperately trying to absorb his History of Magic homework, bored out his mind and wondering when Harry would get back from Quidditch practice. For the fifth time he sighed, thumping his head on the pages. Fatigued, he marked his place and shoved the book off the bed and onto the floor. Just then, the door opened, and he heard a very familiar voice singing words he'd never heard before.

As I was out a' walking
One chilly autumn eve
I saw the world's most perfect sight
Which made my wits all leave

'Twas there among the sheets so blue
Most lovely thing there's been
And what, I know, is thought by you
To be the thing I've seen?

Well, round and sweet and white as snow
And delicate as glass
The thing I saw, to my delight
Was my beloved's arse!

Draco tried to keep as straight face as he turned over to look at Harry.

"Potter, I can not believe you just made up a song about my bum . . ."

Harry grinned. "Who wouldn't? It's such a perfect bum, all round and grope-able. . . I'm amazed there weren't any songs about it before. . ." He leaned over to steal a kiss.

"Ugh, Potter, you're still all sweaty! Take a shower, or a bath, please!"

Harry snickered, pulling away. "Join me?" He looked over his shoulder with a smoldering come-hither glance.

Draco picked himself up off the bed with his customary grace. "Of course I want to join you. . . "

* * *

That Saturday was the first Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match of the season. Bets abounded as to which Seeker would come out on top, now that Harry and Draco were on more than friendly terms. Both Seekers had been working hard to convince their respective teams that their change in relationship did not mean they'd be going easy on each other, but even so, some members on both teams--those who didn't know either of the young men any better -- were still worried.

They learned quickly enough that they needn't have worried, as Draco and Harry seemed better matched than ever, each seemed to read the other's mind as they flew-- for that was exactly what they were doing. For hours they soared over the stadium, swooping and twisting and hurtling through the air in a strange dance around each other.

Both teams were getting tired, after four hours, even the most energetic players were beginning to lose steam. Gryffindor was leading, 360 to 200, and Draco decided that at the rate things were going, his team wouldn't win anyway, so he might as well bring everything to an end. Gritting his teeth, he completely blocked Harry out of his mind, knocking him out of the way at the same time as he made one last go for the Snitch. Harry was so surprised at his sudden loss of contact with Draco that he was taken completely off guard by the shove, and wasn't able to recover before the Snitch was enclosed by a pale, long-fingered hand.

"Draco Malfoy catches the Snitch! IncredibleQ One hundred and fifty points to Slytherin, and the game ends, Gryffindor 360, Slytherin 350! Gryffindor wins!"

Harry pulled his broom to a stop, panting for breath after the marathon game. His teammates were celebrating the victory as he slowly descended to them, but he was looking over to where Draco was being congratulated by the Slytherins. Seeing them taking their loss so well, Harry turned back to his teammates.

"Ron, excellent goal-keeping! I say you definitely won the game for us!" Ron grinned as Harry said this.

"So, going easy on your boyfriend?" he asked.

Harry sighed dramatically.

"Well, if you must know, he only won because out of the blue he ignored me, completely, and it was so unexpected and unnerving, he almost knocked me off my broom. Imagine, the day I'm unnerved because Draco Malfoy shut me out!"

The team laughed along with Harry, relieved that he wasn't taking his loss of the Snitch too hard. As the laugher died down though, they heard another voice.

"Oh, shut up! It's not going to happen, so just forget about it!"

"Draco?" Harry turned and saw Draco approaching, looking annoyed with his following of Slytherins. "Draco, what's wrong?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "These superstitious morons are worried because of what happened to the only other person who's ever caught the Snitch from you."

Silence fell at this as Harry nodded.

"They don't realise I've already won that particular game. . ." He put his arm around Draco's shoulders, turning him so they both faced the Slytherins. "See, this here," he squeezed Draco's shoulders, "this is a Silver Snitch, in a match played between me and Tom Riddle, known to most of you as Voldemort. And don't flinch like that! You surrender power to him when you fear his name. Learn to say it, and you'll have power over him!" He smirked. "Back to the subject. . . Tom and I played for this Snitch, and I won, holding him tightly. Voldemort can't get him, because he's mine. Voldemort can't kill him, because he's mine. Understand?"

Everyone nodded as Draco turned to Harry. "You're getting possessive again. . ." he said, whispering into the closest ear.

Harry grinned. "Mmhmm, I am. Do you not like that?"

Draco thought a moment. "Well, I suppose I don't mind. . .it's kind of, reassuring in a bizarre, un-Malfoy-ish way. . ."

"Good." Harry brushed his lips over Draco's, momentarily forgetting their audience.

"Ah, get a room you two!" Ron's voice echoed over the Quidditch grounds, as did the merry laughter that followed.

* * *

That night, as the students were finishing their supper, Dumbledore rose to make an announcement.

"I'm sure we are all worn out from today's longer-than-usual match, so I will make this as short as possible.

"I know that many of you have been wondering about the Eagles I've been exchanging in the past week. Let me first tell you that this correspondence has been going on since sometime last summer, all in preparation of what I am about to announce. So, let me get to it. . .

"Wizarding kind across the globe all acknowledge the usefulness of student exchanges, and schools and countries are always trying to find ways to encourage such programmes. However, due to the unfortunate results of the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years ago, not many exchanges have since happened. Therefore, I am pleased to announce that next year, Hogwarts will host students from not just Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but from across the globe, for the entire year. Instead of hosting trial-type events, we will be sharing with each other a type of magic that even Muggles share-- the magic of music, each representative being one of the finest young magical musicians a country has to offer."

The students and staff looked at each other, excited at the prospect of such an event without the threat of serious injury or death. Dumbledore smiled as he saw this.

"In preparation for this, Hogwarts has been asked to not only host the event, but to field musicians of our own. Therefore, in the spring, we will have a contest to see who our representatives will be. The rules for entering the contest are as follow:

"First, groups are allowed, but they must represent a balance of the Houses, which means that for any group of four or less, there can only be one from any House, and for larger groups, they must have numbers as equal as possible. Second, the group or student must be able to perform music from a variety of genres and time periods, to accurately represent our country. Third, at least half the music selected must have been written by Muggles-- because Britain is not a nation of wizards only. Finally, all musicians must be in their sixth or seventh years next year, so unfortunately, this year's seventh years are not eligible."

There were groans of disappointment at this, but Dumbledore raised his hands for silence, not quite finished.

"The winners will not only represent our country starting next school year, but will also represent us over the summer. This is what the Eagles were for-- the winners will also win an all expense paid trip for themselves and their families to the United States for four weeks over July and August, where they will be the privileged guests of the American government as they tour the country.

"All the information will be posted in your common rooms tonight. I wish everyone good luck!"

Noise erupted over the Hall as students and Professors took in the news. Words like "Rock and Roll," "Yankees," and "Bloody Hell!" bounced off the walls.

"Hm!" said Draco. "What ever would one do in America? And for four weeks?"

* * *


That night Todd was pensive as he crawled into his bed. He'd been to America, once, several years before. Frowning, he gathered his green, velvet, plush angel-bear into his arms. Its name was Sal, and it had a red brother, Ric. But Ric was far away now. . . .

Todd snuggled into Sal's softness, fingers clutching green satin wings. Even years later, after all the times his mother had washed him, Sal still smelled of smoke and jet fuel.


Let me tell you what I knew about America and Americans in the autumn of my sixth year. I knew that the United States was a country across the sea, a country that had had the gall to rebel against its proper ruler and the idiocy to want to break away from the mother country. I knew that the people spoke a language akin to English, but only in a rough, primitive way, much like parrots speak English. I knew that the natives of the land wore feathers in their hair and painted their faces. I knew that all Americans were properly called "Yankees" or "Yanks" and that they all wore denim trousers, Nike brand trainers, and cowboy hats. They all spoke like Clint Eastwood or Annie Oakley, carried guns, and liked to eat hamburgers at while watching some strange sport called "baseball", a game like cricket, only without any class or decorum, and with the rules all wrong.

That being said, I think I knew more than any other pure-blood wizard my age in all of Britain . . .

From The Prodigal Dragon