Renaissance

A/N: Thank you, Mamacita-san and refuz2luz for beta-reading! Remaining errors are all my own.

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16.



Harry strode merrily through the Auror division; a good night’s rest wrapped securely in Draco’s arms had done wonders for the low-level anxiety that had plagued him since Operation Cercis began. All around he felt better, stronger, more settled. Of course that might have had more to do with the intimacy he’d shared with Draco than the actual sleep. He smiled to himself as he entered his office. They’d gone further last night than they ever had before—the trust Draco had shown in abandoning hirself to their passion touched him. Not that the triarii had been a shrinking violet in their earlier liaisons; they’d exchanged handjobs, frotted each other to orgasm, and of course snogged each other senseless numerous times before. But always Draco had remained in control, setting the pace and the boundaries.



Harry was fine with the limitations sie’d set. They were moving more slowly than he had in any other relationship since he’d been with Ginny Weasley at Hogwarts, but what he was building with Draco was also more powerful and more lasting than anything he’d experienced before. He was content to savour the unhurried progression. They had decades to enjoy each other; what were a few weeks compared to that?



Last night, though, had been different and brought them closer to where they’d spend their lives. Draco had bared hirself for the first time and trusted Harry with all that sie was. Sie had made hirself vulnerable in all ways and believed Harry would not press his advantage; trusted him with the care of hir being. It was a precious gift. It was another first in what Harry hoped would be a lifetime of caring and discovery. And despite the newness of this phase of their relationship, the morning had been comfortable and easy between them.



It wasn’t really a surprise. They’d shared Harry’s bed often enough, and even after that first night Draco had risen the next morning and greeted Harry as though they’d been bedmates for years and sie had every right to be there. Sweet kisses had roused Harry this morning and been deepened to something fiercer before Draco had backed away with a wicked smirk and a brief squeeze to Harry’s morning erection. There was no time for more; Draco was breakfasting with the children of Heritage House and Harry was to debrief Kingsley first thing. That knowledge didn’t stop Harry from releasing a miserable groan and flinging himself back into the mattress for a furious wank when Draco sauntered from the room with hir delicious backside on shameless display.



He was actually running behind schedule by the time he was ready to Floo to work and nearly bowled Helene over in his rush to the hearth. She’d evidently seen Draco that morning, though, because she held an uncomfortably knowing look on Harry until the harried Auror blushed and turned away. To make peace, she shoved a warming tin with fresh cinnamon rolls into his hands before he Flooed away, but Harry still landed at the Ministry with her laughter in his ears.



And now he was to meet with Kingsley. The Head Auror had been shocked by the conclusions drawn by the task force and seriously disturbed by the backlash Judas Iscariot’s twisted crusade would have on the Wizarding world. The Minister was watching the situation closely, anxious about the implications for the true Christians of Britain. Also there were still groups of pure-blood separatists (though none as violent or subversive as the Death Eaters) who would likely try to use the killing spree as evidence of a need for greater controls over exposure to Muggle culture and philosophy.



Thankfully there’d been no further leaks to the press—the heavy fines levied against Auror Bravura and the new assignment that basically signalled the end of her Ministry career served as an example to any who might be tempted to give interviews. No one wanted to be posted with Auror Bravura in the Waste Facilities Management and Maintenance division at Azkaban.



Kingsley planned to release a series of vetted statements to mitigate possible crises once Iscariot was arrested. There was no doubt the whole sordid tale would out but he hoped to control the spin by limiting access to the more salacious details. He also wanted to know how any of this had been made possible and assigned Hermione to uncover Iscariot’s true parentage. If he really was Mary Martha Lazarus’ son, how could the Ministry prevent other such abuses from occurring in the future; and if he wasn’t, where was his family, and how had the deranged zealot concealed his abduction?



Harry strolled into Kingsley’s office, cinnamon rolls in hand, and plopped down in one the chairs set before the desk. The dark-skinned man cast shrewdly appraising eyes over his young friend then edged back in his seat, a slow smiled spreading over his face. “Care to share what’s put you in such a good mood?”



“No; we’re exclusive. You can have a cinnamon roll, though, they’re somewhat comparable. Hot, sweet, tend to leave you sticky....”



“Damn, Harry!” Kingsley slapped his desk and laughed hard. “Damn.” He reached out for an offered roll. “Whatever else sie may be, Malfoy is obviously good for you.” At this hour a Muggle-style carafe coffeemaker was on the sideboard and with a few flicks of his wand Kingsley had two mugs of the aromatic brew floating in front of them. “I haven’t seen you so...you’ve never had joie de vivre before now, Harry. It looks good on you.” Kingsley paused and sipped his coffee, looking Harry over once again. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”



“Not right now; maybe over a pint or two when this mess is over. For now it’s enough that I’m happy, Kings—like you said. I have joy in my life now and I like it.”



The older Auror regarded him solemnly. “Hold onto it, Harry, now that you’ve found it. Not everyone is so blessed. That it’s enough to have you smiling and joking in a time like this, powerful enough to grant you a reprieve from all the worry and anxiety and ugliness of all this, means it’s quite special.”



He met the deep brown eyes and returned their regard with a promise of his own. “I will, Kings.”



“Good.” And with a nod the interlude between friends was over. “Now, about these periphery wards at Heritage House. The Minister is concerned about their proximity to the children. Are we absolutely certain they cannot be accidentally triggered?”



Harry debriefed Kingsley on the state of Operation Cercis for nearly an hour, sharing the team’s observations, the number of times Iscariot’s magical signature registered on the wards, and how that led them to believe he was camped somewhere near the Heritage House grounds as that number of daily Apparations would be debilitating. They’d created a search grid for the surrounding area and hoped to locate Iscariot’s base. Things were progressing slowly. Iscariot was cautious now that he was aware the Aurors knew about him. He had not returned to New Horizons at all, but the task force agreed that things were going according to plan. He was so focussed on Draco that attacks on others were highly unlikely.



Kingsley was satisfied with the report, but stressed to Harry that time was short. The public and everyone involved with the investigation needed resolution soon. He suggested that Harry consider patrols of Disillusioned Aurors around the grounds in addition to current measures to try and flush Iscariot out. They worked through the logistics of that idea and Harry prepared to go. He was scheduled to relieve Ron at Heritage House at noon.



“Wait, Potter—there’s one more thing.” Harry paused in gathering his things. “Memos will go out this afternoon, but I thought I’d tell you in person. Starting next week there will changes in the DMLE. Some of these have been a long time coming. Others...well, the Minister and I are not in perfect agreement on everything, but I want you to know I have every faith in you, Harry, and that my door will always be open to you.”



“That sounds pretty ominous, Kingsley.” Harry frowned. “What kinds of changes, exactly?”



“Restructuring mostly. After the war the Minister and his council decided there were just too many administrators, too much bureaucracy and red tape. Many positions were cut and the streamlined responsibilities were parcelled out among various staff.”



Harry nodded remembering how pleased he’d been that so many of Fudge and Scrimgeour’s toadies had been put out when Mr. Weasley came into office.



“In some divisions that streamlining has worked well. In others it’s led to a breakdown in communication and cooperation that’s dangerous. “



“Okay, I can see that,” Harry responded to Kingsley’s silent prompting. “Some of the problems we’ve had with getting the Obliviators or Hit wizards to work with us even though we’re all DMLE.”



“Exactly. The DMLE will be restructured; there will be a Department Head now to oversee all operations and smooth collaborative investigations and responses. Most units in the divisions will be reassigned by squads or units and those will each have their own leaders. We will also be dedicating several members of the Auror Corps to specialised fields. Forensic Research and Analysis, for example—”



Before he could say more the door slammed open and Hermione burst in, wild-eyed and frantic. “Harry! There’s been an attack at Heritage House! Ron and Seamus were hit—they’re at St. Mungo’s!”



From his seat to the door in one swift motion, Harry took Hermione’s shoulders. “What happened?”



“I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know! Tonks and Hetty responded to the distress call from Seamus’ Signatus but they haven’t reported back in.” The words jumbled in her panicked rush. “I have to get to Ron!”



“Wait, Hermione, I need to know everything they said.” When the twitchy woman didn’t answer, Harry shook her once firmly. “Auror Granger-Weasley!” Harry snapped, and Hermione seemed to calm a bit. “Are there other injured? What’s the status of the suspect? Tonks would have given you that much.”



She shook her head, her composure lost as quickly as it had been regained. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! I don’t know anything, Harry!” She raised her voice with every repetition until she was screaming. “Don’t you care that Ron’s hurt? Why are you keeping me here? I have to—I have to go!”



Harry threw a concerned look over his shoulder and caught Kingsley’s nod. A junior Auror came quickly around the corner, obviously summoned when Hermione’s state of distress became evident. Harry passed his now sobbing friend into her arms and Kingsley lowered the wards around his office that suppressed Signatus and AFR transmissions. Harry tapped his ear cuff and called out for Tonks.



“Harry, thank Merlin.”



“What’s the situation?”



“Ambush. Iscariot’s gone and...I’m sorry, Harry—he’s taken Malfoy.”



Harry squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on making his lungs work. In and out, nose, mouth—c’mon, Potter, you’ve been doing this since you were born...in...keep fucking breathing...out....



“Harry? Harry, are you there?”



No, not really. He felt it bubbling up: searing fear and black rage, roiling like tar, choking him. The darkest depths of his magic rose to meet it. Cackling its glee, it manifested: wrapping itself around him, a coiling, hissing Basilisk with glowing yellow eyes and blood-tinged fangs. It would consume him, squeeze everything out, everything but rage and fear and the madness of his darkest emotions.



NO. I will NOT give in to you. Draco needs me. Anna needs me. You are mine to control. I am master here...master of myself.



With an herculean effort, Harry wrestled his wayward magic back under his control, willed himself calm and ruthlessly suppressed his panic, anger, and fear. “Harry?” Tonks’ voice was tinny and distant. “I’m here,” he rasped, actually sweating now, and from the look on Kingsley’s face his struggle had been visible. He shook his head once; he’d deal with that later. “Tonks, is the orphanage secure? Were any civilians or non-Ministry personnel injured?”



“Two casualties from Anderson agents, but no civilians. Paul Anderson was taken to St. Mungo’s and Agent Nick Thomas is dead.”



Harry closed his eyes and swore. Though he hadn’t known him all that well, Nick was a good man.



“I’ll be onsite in five minutes. I want a full report: status on Malfoy, possible bolthole, everything. I want this arsehole now. And make sure Mark Allenby is available when I get there.” Harry tapped off his AFR and turned to Kingsley.



The Head Auror’s face was grim. “Whatever you need, Potter. The teams dispatched for the New Horizons raid will be prepped and onsite in ten minutes. I’ll brief them myself” This was Shacklebolt: hardened Auror, battle-tested and ready, mentor warrior and comrade–in-arms. His steady presence and cool demeanour in crises were more than welcome. Grateful that the other man recognised what Harry had needed and could not articulate at this moment, Harry nodded and stormed out the door.



The task force leader arrived at the orphanage, commandeered the dining hall, and ordered his team to meet him. Marie, the orphanage’s director, was pale, shaken, but collected and said whatever assistance could be provided by her staff would be available. The children were being kept to the day room and gymnasium for the duration.



Tonks, Hetty, Mark, and the remaining Anderson agents made their way quickly into the room. “Report,” Harry barked before they were even seated around the main table.



“Malfoy arrived at half seven this morning, breakfasted with the children, and walked the grounds with Anderson Agents Paul Anderson and Nick Thomas and Disillusioned Aurors Seamus Finnegan and Ronald Weasley. They were approached by someone we assume was Judas Iscariot Polyjuiced as Mark Allenby. Auror Finnegan stated that Malfoy was immediately suspicious and called out a warning. Both hir personal detail and the Aurors began throwing offensive spells to disarm and incapacitate the imposter, but he was holding some kind of spherical device that rebounded the spells on their casters at an amplified level. We believe it was the amplification which caused the casualties. Agent Thomas was hit with a Stunner that had the combined effect of twenty.”



“Oh hell.” Harry swiped his hand over his face. “Where did Iscariot find the resources to come up with something like that?”



“I believe I can answer that.” Mark stepped forward and handed over his Signatus. “Meet your Judas Iscariot.” A sombre-looking man with nondescript greying brown hair and watery blue eyes in his mid-to-late 50s or early 60s appeared on the screen.



Harry projected the image, an imprint of an employee identification badge, for everyone to see. “He works on the janitorial crews shared between Malfoy Manufacturing and Renaissance Foundation headquarters, and is known as Jude Cariot. He called in on sick leave nearly a fortnight ago, but he burgled a secure lab at Malfoy Manufacturing early this morning. The recording spells captured Cariot—Iscariot—breaking into the Research and Development division and making off with the prototype used in Mer. Malfoy’s abduction.”



“Tell me it’s the only one of its kind,” Hetty implored, thinking how it was going to be near impossible to get close to Iscariot if he had an arsenal of those things at his disposal.



“Yes, it is. The ghelshield device was commissioned by the Ministry as an anti-personnel device for law enforcement use in situations where an Auror is severely outnumbered and under fire. However, testing showed the magics of transference are currently unstable and cause the device to amplify the rebounded spells. It was designed to incapacitate, not kill, so R&D has only produced the one model until the magics can be stabilised and the device used safely.”



“Fine, that’s one concern taken care of. Now, what do we know about Malfoy? Was sie injured at all?” Harry forced his voice to carry none of the anxiety he felt over the answer to that question. “And Pendleton have you started tracking the charm you put on the hidden blades in Malfoy’s boots?”



“Finnegan was the last to see Malfoy; he said sie was unconscious but breathing when Iscariot put hir over his shoulder before Portkeying out,” Tonks replied, ignoring Harry’s small sigh of relief.



Hetty then shook her head. “We haven’t been able to lock onto hir magical signature, or Iscariot’s,” she answered. “The usual tracking spells came up with nothing and something is cloaking them from the Signatus grid. Even the boot’s amplified charm has failed. I’m sorry Harry.



“But I’m thinking that if this device is unstable then that’s likely the problem. If it’s leaking and powerful enough that would disrupt the grid, and s’the only thing I reckon would interfere with our contingency tracking plan. Can we trace that residue?” Hetty asked Mark.



“I don’t know, that’s beyond my technical knowledge; but I’ll have someone from R&D contact you about it.”



“Make it happen, have them send someone who was on the project over to consult. We need to know everything we can about that effin’ prototype before we face it again.”



“The rest of you pair off,” Harry ordered the rest of the room’s newly arrived Aurors. “Search the grounds for anything Iscariot may have left behind. He’s been off work; he didn’t go home, and he’s been setting off the periphery wards like mad for the last week. If he’s been camping out near here I want to know where. You will all check in with Auror Pendleton every five minutes.



“Tonks, take two pairs and head over to Renaissance Foundation then Malfoy Manufacturing. Check out every inch of Iscariot’s workspace and interview anyone who remembers seeing him around. He had to know about the device somehow. Be quick but thorough; we’re working against the clock here. But remember that anything could be a possible lead to his whereabouts, and if he pilfered anything else we need to know about it.”



When everyone had been given their tasks the Hall cleared; Harry stepped into the corridor and collapsed on a settee tucked into a nearby alcove. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. His magic was there, swirling, pooling, awaiting an outlet. If he relaxed his guard for a moment it would be ready to surge forth and wreak havoc—wild and reckless, conscienceless and powerful, dark—though he needed no reminder of that last after the appearance of the Basilisk in Kingsley’s office.



It was the part of Harry which fed on petty cruelty and discord, that enjoyed the twins’ more questionable pranks a shade too much; encouraged the barbs Ron, now that he was the Minister’s son and held a position of power on his own, sometimes threw at those who’d once snubbed and scorned him. The part that savoured the agony in the faces of criminals Harry had caught once their sentence in Azkaban was determined, and revelled in their pain. It was his enduring legacy from Voldemort, and he hated it and the war he waged with it. Oh, everyone had those parts to themselves, he knew: their little resentments and pettiness. But in Harry those less savoury aspects of his psyche manifested violently in his magic, thanks to his exposure to the dark magic of the Killing Curse in his infancy.



Throughout the war he’d trained to control it, master it so he was no longer at its mercy, so he could access and use his magical strength without being overcome by it. But now and again in times of intense pain and anger it strained against its fetters, and sometimes it slipped the leash. He could do great things then, but Harry was afraid of what he was capable of at such times. Great things—terrible things.



During the war the Weasley twins had been captured by Death Eaters in an attack on Diagon Alley. Harry had been furious, and in a dark haze of rage he had managed to lock onto their fading magical signatures. He appeared in the critical care war at St. Mungo’s an hour later with Fred limp in his arms and George barely clinging to his shoulders. All three were bloody and bore extensive curse wounds. None of them would talk about what had happened. Two weeks later, when they were deemed well enough, they led Aurors to where the twins had been held, and found the remains of thirty Death Eaters—bodies shredded open, crushed and mangled into a near-indistinguishable mass of maggoty flesh. Yes, Harry knew he was capable of great and terrible things.



And now a deranged madman had taken his lover. Nothing Harry had ever felt before compared to this. He thought he’d hated Voldemort, and Bella, and Fenrir Greyback—they’d killed his parents and Sirius, after all—destroyed his family. But his love for them, while true and encompassing, was nebulous; he hadn’t known his parents; Sirius had been taken from him before their relationship could develop firmly. But Draco was his present reality and future and love, and Harry burned with his loathing of Judas Iscariot. He’d destroyed Voldemort because he loved the Wizarding world and he’d come to pity the being who so feared death and love that he’d twisted and split his soul with darkness beyond imagining. To end it had been a mercy, and hope for the world’s renewal.



There was no compassion for Iscariot in Harry now. He wanted vengeance, bloody and raw. He wanted his Draco back, and Merlin help the murderous zealot if sie’d been harmed in any way. Harry’s eyes glowed a toxic green as his power surged and settled. For now it would wait—coils of the great snake undulated in anticipation. Soon enough, it would be loosed.







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Triarii-specific Terminology:

Vamar: Parent, usually shortened to vama, or vam

Veru: Triarii spouse





Chapter 15 Review Responses

Thank you, really, so very much for the reviews!



poohbear74: Thank you!



Jeanne: Nope, you didn’t miss anything. We just detoured for a bit, but it’s ontrack now. I don’t know if it was Resonance or lust, but true enough, Draco certainly wasn’t complaining about the robe so it must’ve been extraordinary!



ndturnquest: Thank you! And yes, to both.



applesauce_N_soysauce: Trouble has landed! Heheheh!!



thrnbrooke: Here goes! Thank you so very much!!



MewMew2: Thank you and done, hope you’ve enjoyed!