Renaissance

A/N: The wonderful Mamacita-san and refuz2luz for beta-read this chapter and I thank them both. Warning the religious mentions continue in this segment and again, no offense is meant, hopefully none will be taken. And the pet name mania was inspired by Candy Apple so you can blame her for the cavities *g*
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14.
In the end they decided to go forward with the raid. There was a chance, albeit slim, that Iscariot hadn’t read the Evening Prophet and was unaware of how close the Aurors were to closing in on him. And for once Harry had no compunctions about reining in Ron’s temper; it was nice to have the man’s ire directed at someone else for a change. After the screaming row the hot-headed Auror got into with Bravura, Harry assigned Ron to escort the disgraced Auror to Kingsley. He’d let his superior deal with questioning her motives and unlikely but possible involvement with the suspect; either she was incredibly arrogant and actually believed she was helping matters by letting things slip to the Prophet or she was incredibly stupid. Whichever way it went, Harry had neither the time nor inclination to deal with it and the veritable mountain of paperwork that would accompany disciplinary action (or the beating he was likely to give her if left alone with the woman for more than a minute).

And...if Bravura wound up with a bruise or two courtesy of the ginger firestorm pissed at having his recon work made nearly worthless, well...so be it.

The subdued group of Aurors made their way to Hogsmeade and executed the entry plan as they’d discussed, but to no one’s surprise New Horizons and the small flat above the shop were abandoned. Tonks slammed down the copy of the Evening Prophet they found on the kitchen table as they secured the scene. “Damn it! Hetty nailed it. He must’ve seen the article and assumed the boys told about him. He’s scarpered off, no doubt about it!” Her hair turned a riotous red as she fumed, stomping through the small space in frustration as team members gathered evidence of Iscariot’s business. Tonks had turned toward the stairwell to return to the ground floor’s press room when she tripped on a loose board and slammed her shoulder into the wall.

“Ow! Damn, I—” Tonks gaped, rubbing her sore shoulder as a secret panel was revealed. “Well, lookit there. Cor.” Carefully she pulled the panel away, handing it off to a waiting team member. Harry and Hetty, the only original task force members working the upstairs, crowded in behind Tonks as a small room was revealed. “Merlin,” Tonks swore as she cast an illumination spell and the room’s contents were exposed to the Aurors.

One wall of the enclosed space was covered with defaced and mutilated pictures of Draco Malfoy. It was incredibly disturbing to watch Draco’s image try to peer around the vicious slashes that cut through hir face and body in most of the photographs. Some others were frowning and futilely trying to wipe the smears of ink and other marks off of their pictures’ faces; and most unnerving of all, there were several “picture Dracos” waving their arms about trying to locate their cut-out heads. “Well, we know for sure that Malfoy is a target and that Iscariot has been following hir for months,” Hetty said quietly. “Look, even the protection detail didn’t discourage him.” She pointed to several shots taken with Harry, Nick Thomas, or another Anderson agent in the frame. “This bloke’s truly obsessed.”

“Yeah, and look here.” Tonks pointed to the centre wall. It too was covered in pictures, but these were mostly religious images, prayer cards and reliefs of the Madonna. A small altar was set at the base of the wall, its centrepiece a replica of the Pieta. White votive candles were placed around the statuette. Directly above, a large Muggle-style portrait of a stern-faced woman in what looked to be a nineteenth-century nun’s habit frowned at the visitors, her hard, squinting eyes nearly glowing with malevolence. Harry wasn’t sure the painting was truly Muggle-style at all. The woman’s presence was certainly imposing and seemed very tangible at that moment.

A pale flash in the corner of his eye took his attention from the painting. A low candle sputtered to life beside a picture of Harry, Draco, and Anna on the Hogwarts grounds during a weekend visit. Draco was unrecognizable, but Anna waved at him from the frame. Even as a cold fist clenched around Harry’s heart, his blood was boiling. This madman was going after Draco, after Anna. Harry would not let him succeed. He sneered at the disapproving woman, whose screwed-up face reminded him too much of his Aunt Petunia, and ordered the entire room catalogued and transported to the Ministry for examination.

He stepped away from the closet and its horrors to take a deep breath. Just a little longer, Harry consoled himself, then he could go home and reassure himself that Draco was safe and whole. The task force would have to convene in the morning to review tonight’s seizures and discuss the plan to trap Iscariot using Draco as bait. But that was long hours away. At this moment Harry needed the triarii’s solid weight in his arms, and to know that for a little while he could protect hir from the monsters in the night.

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The insistent chirping in his ear didn’t quite manage to rouse Harry from the catnap he was taking at his desk. He hadn’t actually planned to fall asleep, but that he had was evidenced by the puddle of drool spreading over the latest evidence report and the skewed earpiece that was now angled out from his temple like a strange antennae. Mumbling incoherently, he continued to fuss at the annoying sound by his ear, only partly conscious. “Shud’t,” he growled, finally succeeding in silencing the bothersome chime. Of course that also meant he’d accepted the call coming in over his AFR.

“I am most displeased, Harry Potter,” a soft tenor drawled.

Harry frowned; that wasn’t how Draco usually sounded in his dreams. The triarii’s cultured tones were never shaded with annoyance or irritation then. Actually, they’d usually devolved into lusty sighs and guttural moans by this point in his dreaming. Harry was obviously not doing his job well enough if the blond was still capable of coherent sentences, let alone that petulant tone. He’d have to fix that. Maybe if he sucked on Draco’s toes? He was drifting deeper into sleep to do just that when once again he was sharply interrupted.

“Harry James Potter, don’t you dare ignore me when I’m speaking to you!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open—no toes in sight. Damn. He swiped his hand over his face, grimacing at the wetness that was now smeared across his cheek. “ ‘M not ignoring you.” He yawned and made an attempt at setting himself to rights, or at least adjusting his glasses. “Sorry.” He yawned again and stretched, vertebrae popping as he pulled himself up. “Sorry, love. I must’ve fallen asleep.” He flicked his wand at the tea service set on the small credenza beside his desk.

Draco huffed a discontented sigh. “You should’ve been home hours ago; barring that you could’ve at least called to tell me you were all right. I’ve been worried si—worried, you know?”

Harry smiled at hir near slip and poured himself a steaming cup. “I know, and I meant to; things went a bit mad around here.” He gratefully drew the aroma of brisk tea into his lungs. “The raid failed,” he said, scrubbing a hand through the inky, tangled mess atop his head. “The suspect was tipped off and long gone by the time we went in.”

“I thought as much,” Draco said after a considered pause. “I saw the Prophet. Your Auror Bravura sounds nearly as competent as the bumbling simpletons first assigned to investigate the murders.”

Harry grimaced; Bravura was in good company with Wainright and Ricks.

“I take it the raid wasn’t a complete loss, though, or you would’ve been home,” Draco continued. That the mage considered hir cottage as Harry’s home warmed him, just as hir confidence in the assumption that Harry would want to be with hir, given the choice, soothed.

“I would have,” Harry answered, lowering his voice. “I missed you.” He grinned at the small smile he knew was now sitting in the silence between them. “I very much wanted to be home,” he added, briefly recalling his imagined flirtation with the triarii’s toes. When this is all over....

“Mmm, as it should be. Now, tell me what you’ve uncovered that was so momentous it couldn’t wait for you to get some decent sleep.

“And I assume you haven’t written Anna yet, so please do so before it gets much later. You know how she gets.”

Harry nodded and pulled a clean sheet from his top drawer. He’d gotten in the habit of adding a few lines to Draco’s nightly letters, or sending his own when he’d been apart from hir. The young girl had come to depend on hearing from him every day, and worried horribly about him just as she did her vamar. The first (and last) time Harry had forgotten, a frantic Madame Pomfrey had Floo-called from the Infirmary where Anna had worked herself into an hysterical fit, convinced the Auror had been gravely injured. She was refusing a Calming Draught and not even her vamar had been able to quiet her. Irate, Draco had met Harry at the school’s gates to escort him to the distraught girl’s bedside so she could see for herself that Harry was in one piece. Despite being subjected to a tirade on inconsiderate, forgetful sods, Harry counted that day as a pretty good one; he’d had an Anna-hug, after all.

For now, though, Harry scrawled a greeting at the top of the page and laid the parchment aside. He’d take a few minutes and devote them solely to Anna a little later. Iscariot would taint her life no further than he already had if Harry had his say, not even in this slight way. The man occupied too many of his thoughts as it was; Anna deserved more than the dregs of his attention.

“We did find quite a lot there,” Harry answered tiredly, finally getting to Draco’s initial question. “This man...he’s insane, Draco. Completely gone.” Harry paused, not wanting to share the rest despite knowing he had to; Draco needed to know it all if sie was to keep hirself safe. “And what’s worse, he’s absolutely fixated on you, moreso than we initially thought.” Harry tapped his fingers against the blotter. “You go nowhere with fewer than three guards. Understand?” The command was strained.

Draco snorted. “So says the irrepressible Auror Potter, or my overprotective lover Harry?”

“This is no joke,” Harry growled. “Need I remind you that he’s already slain nine people, Draco? The man is mental and dangerous. This is no time to be flippant about taking unnecessary risks!”

Harry knew by the long silence that Draco had backed down. The triarii wouldn’t apologise, he knew that too, but at least sie’d be taking things seriously.

Hir near-imperceptible sigh was acquiescence enough. “Fine, then. I’ll inform Paul and have Mark adjust my schedule. We’ll relocate to my office at Heritage House under the premise of Yule preparations as you and I discussed. Security has already been tightened there.

“I take it you’ll want Paul in attendance for the planning session on how to best flush this Iscariot out?”

Harry gritted his teeth. He was regretting, just a little, pushing Draco toward being more serious; he really didn’t want to use his lover as bait, and if he were honest, he didn’t want Paul hanging about either. “I know you don’t like it, Harry.” Draco’s understanding and concern caressed his ear, soothing his lingering fears and unknowingly dealing a sharp blow to the last hints of his irrational jealousy. “But you’ve said it yourself—he’s fixated on me. We might as well use his obsession to our advantage and prime the hunting grounds. Better that than for me to continue on as I have done, just waiting for him to make his move. And as long as he’s concerning himself with my movements he’s not out stalking and killing anyone else.”

Harry sighed. “You’re right, I don’t like it. I hate it.”

“We’ll be there at nine,” Draco said, ignoring Harry’s pout. “That gives you a bit of time to cast a cleaning charm or two and get yourself presentable.”

“It’ll just be the task force, Anderson’s people, and you, Draco.” Harry rolled his eyes. He’d yet to hear a reason for primping, but the smirk was audible in Draco’s reply.

“Yes, me...all the more reason for you to look your best, Potter.”

Harry laughed then, delighted. “True enough. All right, sweetheart, it’s short notice but I’ll see what I can do. Bye.”

“Au revoir, Potter—wait, did you just call me sweetheart?”

Harry was still laughing when he ended the call.

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The task force had already reviewed the reports of everything seized during the raid and Hermione was sharing the findings of her assessment of Mary Martha Lazarus’ writings and a journal found in the flat when Draco and four Anderson agents, including Paul and Nick Thomas, entered the staging room. Draco and Paul took their seats silently as the other agents literally faded into the background.

Hermione paused, but smoothly took up again after a quick peek at her notes. “From this we can conclude that Mary Martha Lazarus and Judas Iscariot are assumed names. Mary Martha named herself after three of Jesus Christ’s followers, siblings, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus of Bethany. Their faith was so great that Jesus is said to have raised Lazarus from the dead. It’s actually a very interesting account, and there’s some speculation amongst Wizarding historians that this might be evidence that Jesus Christ was actually a wizard—”

Tonks cleared her throat loudly over the rest of Hermione’s tangent, causing the younger woman to blush. “Yes, well, it’s fitting she adopted a new name reflecting resurrection, as her writings show that she considered her conversion to Christianity the death of her former self and devoted her life to her interpretation of Christian tenets.

“Her writings are fanatical and she was obsessively strict in following her espoused doctrines. She also advocates deprivation and corporeal punishment as key tools in maintaining spiritual purity, which may explain the Spartan condition of the flat as well as some of the more...questionable implements recovered.” Hermione pointed to the array of crude floggers and bondage equipment laid out on an evidence table.

“Some writings make reference to two children: ‘Judas, the betrayer’ and an ‘Anne,’ both named for biblical figures. There may have been a third child, Magdalene, or Mary Martha may have changed the way she referred to Anne. It’s unclear, but the passage ‘she who was God’s favoured grace has fallen to the depravity of whoredom’ makes the latter more likely since Anne means grace, or favour. I think Anne did something that Mary Martha found so unforgivable it warranted changing her name to that of the Bible’s best-known courtesan.”

“Are we looking for three people now, Hermione?” Tonks interrupted, her brow furrowing with concern.

The bushy-haired witch shook her head. “Mary Martha stops mentioning Anne Magdalene after a while; she probably died. And Mary Martha is dead too; at least there’s an entry in Judas Iscariot’s journal that reads, ‘I buried my sainted mother today. May God grant her peace and may her lessons keep me on the path of the Righteous—if only I’ve the strength. I pray God will give me strength to do as I must.’” She shuddered as she finished Iscariot’s eerie plea.

“Judas Iscariot is clearly unhinged. Maybe Anne Magdalene’s death was the catalyst for his killing spree, or Mary Martha’s was, but I’d say Hetty was right in thinking he was homeschooled and is using a handmade wand. Mary Martha wouldn’t have wanted her children exposed to the supposed corruption of the outside world.”

“Where did the children come from? Do we know whether they were really Mary Martha’s?” Hetty asked.

“We don’t know.” Hermione scrunched her nose; she hated not having all the answers. “I doubt they were hers, considering the negative view she had of sex. Even within marriage and solely for the purpose of procreation she thought sex a base and sinful act. But I’ve gone through sixty years of records and there are no matching child adoptions or abductions.”

“Do we know why Iscariot targets triarii?” Harry certainly wouldn’t want this Mary Martha around any child of his; and if Iscariot had been kidnapped, the extremism he’d been raised with might explain his twisted psyche. But right now what they needed to know was how his background might help catch him.

“Not really.” Hermione grimaced. “Mary Martha was preoccupied with eliminating anything she considered sinful, unnatural, or perverse from her life. It stands to reason she would’ve considered triarii abominations and taught Judas to share that view.” She shrugged. “Maybe the growing public presence of triarii prompted him to act on his hatred.”

Draco shook hir head. “No,” sie interrupted, gaining everyone’s attention. “This is about Anne Magdalene. He’s redeeming hir, or acting in hir memory, more like. I’d stake everything I own on this.” Sie slapped hir hand down on the table. “Anne Magdalene was triarii. That’s why he’s targeting us. It makes sense. I’m quite familiar with the rhetoric by now. There are those who believe we who manifest Triarius are unnatural, abominations, insatiable sex demons that inspire perverted lusts in both men and women. Anne Magdalene manifested and either Mary Martha or Iscariot felt sie had to die. From the sound of it, Mary Martha probably ordered Iscariot to kill hir. And after such an act of faith and sacrifice—”

“—like Abraham,” Harry added lowly as he made the connection to the poison-pen.

Draco nodded firmly. “Exactly like in his mind, only his hand was not stayed by his god. He had to go through with murdering someone he loved, and after that little could be worse than watching someone like me flaunt the same ‘unnaturalness’ and encouraging others to take pride in the ‘sin’ of our difference.

“My work to restore the Wizarding world’s acceptance of triarii and other traditions must seem a direct affront. To him my every utterance is blasphemous, and that so much of what I do involves children—”

“Corrupter of innocents, destroyer of families,” Harry quoted. “He sees you as tearing at the foundations of society.”

“Kill me, kill the message.” Draco nodded grimly.

“But why go after anyone else, then? He’s killed nine people; why would he do that if he only wants you?” Seamus asked bitterly, and Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the undertone; it was too like placing the blame for the deaths on Draco.

“Because it’s not enough to stop the spread of the disease, Finnegan,” Hetty answered. “You have to treat the victims as well. That’s what he thinks he’s doing. The body is only a vessel, meaningless as compared to the soul. If Iscariot believes Anne Magdalene’s soul was saved through the death of hir body, then in slaying triarii he’s actually doing his mother’s work and his god’s will.”

“And using the Interanea curse to literally cut out the perversion,” Ron concluded, his face tinged green, but his blue eyes were fixed on the still photograph of Leslie Redbank’s mutilated body, the pulpy mass of hir intestines spilling out onto the ground beneath hir.

“So we think we know why,” Harry said quietly as his sombre teammates took in all they’d pieced together. “Now, how do we stop him?”

“You stick to the plan and use Draco to lure him out,” Paul cut in. “If you’re right about what motivates him, then Draco spending more time around kids will infuriate him and that’s how you want him—angry, off-kilter. I’ve handled a lot of stalker cases, and basically that’s what this is; you make this nut-job mad enough and he’ll make a mistake big enough to get himself caught.”

“Well, maybe that’s how you do things in the States—” Hermione turned up her nose at the American agent— “but we’re not in the habit of exposing children to greater danger just to lure a criminal.”

“Oh no?” Draco scoffed “And what, pray tell, was the purpose of keeping Hogwarts open during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco but to lure the Heir of Slytherin into revealing himself by providing plenty of possible victims?” The mage snorted and tossed the weave of hir long braid over hir velvet-clad shoulder. “Collateral damage was an acceptable risk in the service of the greater good throughout Dumbledore’s entire tenure.” That sie did not raise hir voice at all made the words that much more scathing.

Harry closed his eyes. This was the viper; the Draco of his youth who always aimed the strike at the soft underbelly of hir opponents. Sie had matured, yes, but sie still struck fast, hard, and true. Each of them cherished their memories of Dumbledore, the Gryffindors most of all. And the sneering Slytherin had no compunction about shattering their dearly-held illusions and exposing the beloved idyll for coercive opportunism. Harry risked opening his eyes and braved the diamond-hard glare. Not like this, please, Draco. Not now....

Imploring green met stormy grey...and was granted a reprieve. As easily as sie wielded sarcasm and keen observation as weapons, so could Draco use affectation as part of hir arsenal. Harry sighed as his lover eased back into hir seat and twirled a dismissive hand as though banishing hir last words, though not their sting. “Since I am the bait for this trap,” the standoffish aristocrat drawled, “it’s important that Iscariot see me around the children. However, the visibility of the security personnel at such times will serve as enough of a deterrent. He might be angry—we will in fact count on his rising ire—but he won’t make an attempt until he thinks I’m alone. He won’t risk interference from witnesses, which is likely the reason Redbank was killed so far from Hogwarts, despite there being a sizeable triarii presence to lure him to the school that day.

“I will provide ample opportunity for him to strike—walks on the grounds during class and mealtimes, for example. I’ll establish a regular schedule over the next few days and convince him I’m often alone and unprotected. He’ll likely believe I’ve lowered my guard because of the wards surrounding the orphanage and school.”

“But we can’t just have you walking around devil-may-care, Malfoy. We want him to think he can take you, not actually do it.” Seamus added the last grudgingly. Draco had successfully redirected the Gryffindors’ suspicion and anger to hirself, rather than their memories. Seamus was only articulating the backlash of resentment.

“That, Finnegan, is why my guards and you Aurors concerned with protecting my lovely self will be Disillusioned.”

“We can set periphery alarm wards as well. We’ve identified Iscariot’s magical signature and I doubt he’s familiar with Signatus technology,” Hetty added.

Draco slowly nodded hir approval. “Very good, Auror Pendleton. Between us we have the resources to keep the children, and myself of course, perfectly safe.”

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“Sie’s damn good at that,” Hetty said later, as Harry scratched out the protection rota in his office.

“Good at what?” he asked, casting a look at the door, which Hetty promptly shut.

“Good at redirecting people’s attention. The room was about to explode when sie criticised Dumbledore, but sie managed to flip it so it became the expected snide commentary from the pure-blood snob. They could dismiss it that way if they wanted to, but the barb was in so the options were either to yank it and hurt, be left with a scar you could blame on something you had reason to distrust and dislike, or ease it out, examine it, figure it out for yourself—and though it stung, you’d heal cleaner.”

Harry steepled his fingers and folded them over. “Well spotted, Auror Pendleton,” he smirked.

“I haven’t come this far in the Auror Corps on my looks Potter.” She snickered and plopped herself into the chair beside his desk. “Honestly, sie impressed me, Harry; sie would make a fine Auror if sie didn’t spend all hir time reorganising the Wizarding world and spending Seamus’ pay. You could certainly do worse for yourself.”

Harry ducked his head. “Thanks. You’re one of the few who thinks that.”

“Eh, anyone sharp enough to catch on to that little bait-and-switch sie pulled in the staging room should see sie’s a good match for you. Clever, quick on hir feet, thoughtful—don’t think I didn’t notice you were the one to ask for the diversion. Sie’s a fine mage, Harry. Now let’s you and me talk about how we’re going to keep hir alive through this whole mess.”

A week later when Draco disappeared from the grounds of Heritage House, Harry had never been so glad for Hetty’s foresight.

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Triarii-specific Terminology:
Vamar: Parent, usually shortened to vama, or vam
Veru: Triarii spouse


Chapter 13 Review Responses
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