Chapter Text
Neville's PoV.:
“Welcome to Hogwarts very first Queer Ball!” Announced Cho Chang way too loudly in her way too pink outfit, officially opening the feast. She wasn’t the only person who’d been dressed from head to toe in a mocking arrangement of too bright colors and far too much fun, but there were also those who did wear considerably more normal attire. It seemed that Luna had gone over and beyond to make sure that everyone wore something they would feel comfortable in, be it formal attire or a costume.
Cheering followed Chang‘s welcoming words.
‘This might be our last Christmas’, Neville thought wildly, his stomach dropping at the thought of it.
“And this year, we have something very special for you! Welcome with me our very first Hogwarts’ band, Merry Crisis!”
A nagging feeling gnawed on Neville like a bad kind of premonition. He still hadn’t found Luna. More and more DA members had gone and been forced to leave the rest of them to decide upon the fate of the wizarding world and Harry Potter – the man who was supposed to reassure him that everything would turn out fine – the man seemed more distraught today than ever.
It didn’t help that Professor Snape and Dumbledore had remained hidden all day.
If there was one thing Neville had learned by now, then it was that people missing, especially in Hogwarts, was never a good sign.
The all-compassing cheers, albeit by some more reluctant than by others, were accompanied by the first beats of Hermione’s drums. A beat and snares, and soon Pansy Parkinson chimed in with a bass guitar. A Ravenclaw was playing the piano and a Slytherin whose name Neville could not remember played the regular guitar.
He did not miss the strained expression on Pansy’s face, hyper-focused on her instrument, likely so she didn’t have to think of her dead friend. Her other friend, Blaise, had been absent for days, probably holed in somewhere and Neville could not blame him.
The Great Hall was illuminated by all kinds of colors, rainbows and house specific ornaments, strikingly contrary to how Neville was feeling.
The colors nearly burned his retinas, as the members of the band let out the sound of Queen. Someone must have captured Freddy Mercuries voice and David Bowies flair when Sirius Black dragged Remus Lupin onto the stage, shoving a microphone into his hands.
“You cannot be serious.” Remus’ voice could be heard over the music. “Since when do I sing?
“Oh shut up, we did this all the time when we were students.” Sirius interrupted himself to join in on the music as ‘Good Old-fashioned loverboy’ began to play.
Neville watched them for a second, mildly irritated and unsure whether to be surprised or not. Sirius used his somewhat high but clean voice to cut through the silence.
To put it in a simple word, it was cringe as hell. And it was so Sirius Black to use a song from the 70s to serenade the werewolf teacher that Neville would have been disappointed to hear anything else.
“... I can serenade and gently play,
On your heart strings
Be a Valentino just for you.”
If anyone was truly suffering under the performance, it was likely Remus Lupin himself, who still, despite supposedly knowing better, failed not to smile at Black’s antics. There were moves and gestures that were probably supposed to tempt Lupin into joining him, but it just looked like Sirius was using the excuse to flutter his lashes and make silly expressions so exaggerated, his mother would like to raise from the dead to disown him again.
“That’s because I’m a good old fashioned loverboy ~” Sirius held the tone, long and loud and sillily, moving around the much more ragged looking ex-Professor in almost elegant strides.
There was a pause in which it almost seemed like Remus wanted to join in for some reason, but the embarrassment was written in blushing ink on his cheeks and when he started laughing, it became obvious that this song, at least, was a lost cause.
“OOOOH, can you feel my heartbeat (grow faster, faster)”
In addition, Sirius winks and suave dancing skills did not fail to make students look almost exactly as embarrassed as Lupin must be feeling. It also, for reasons that Neville couldn’t even explain to himself, seemed incredibly charming and sweet to forget the audience around you, just to make your friend laugh.
“I’d like for you and I to go romancing.
Say the word, your wish is my command!”
For but a moment, Sirius grabbed Remus hand, turning so serious that the message would have transcended to people who didn’t even know about Sirius’ coming out.
Perhaps not friends then.
While Sirius sang, Lupin was now clutching his mic reluctantly and nervously looking around the careless mass of students, dragging Neville’s attention away from the pair as well.
Just like Neville himself, many of his classmates were staring at Sirius in open surprise. Not for the fact that he was singing, or even that he appeared to be performing for (ex) Professor Lupin, but that he was any good at it. Or perhaps they were even floored by the array of students, who managed to make the band sound almost perfectly like a perfect Freddie Mercury original. When Neville’s eyes returned to Lupin, the man was finally being entranced by Sirius’ sincerity.
Neville just wished they could have distracted him a little longer.
“Mr. Longbottom.”
Startled, Neville swirled around.
A shadow had appeared behind Neville, cutting through the music and revealing himself to be a rather unwelcome guest. “Professor Snape!” Neville exclaimed, flinching out of habit more than actual fear.
His potions professor was, if Neville could read him at all, pained. “I believe we must talk.” He was a dark shape in Neville’s peripheral, arms and hands hidden between the sleeves of his robes, making him look wider and more authoritarian than he really was.
“Must we?” Neville asked, expression shifting quickly as he downed the rest of his pumpkin juice. If Snape wanted to talk, it could only mean one thing.
“We have-“ Snape paused dramatically, sending an almost disgusted look towards the performance. As Neville knew, more out of a distain for the couple than their happiness. “A problem.”
That was definitely not good. Neville braced himself. “What kind of problem?”
“I believe, we are running out of time.”
Blinking, Neville let the words sink in and failed to grasp their meaning. He could feel it was bad, although he didn’t know how bad. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“This is why I wish to talk to you in private.” Snape drawled out. “Follow me!”
Dreading this conversation, dreading what Neville felt he knew this would be about, he rose from his seat, packed up his things and followed Snape out of the door.
Snape led him away from the barely beginning party into a deep and dark corridor. Whether the corridor had always been this dark, or if the castle had decided to adapt to Snape’s general emotions, who knew. Passing several paintings of partying portraits and stone statues, alcoves and students who were late to the party, they wandered deeper into the castle and into an empty classroom, avoiding Snape’s glance and only rarely greeting Neville in passing.
Inside the classroom, Albus Dumbledore was already waiting, his expression sour and stern.
Neville stood up straight as he halted in front of Dumbledore’s interim desk. “What happened?” His question was phrased as a demand. Neville needed to be sure and confident, if he wanted to kill the snake. Otherwise neither Snape nor Dumbledore would entrust him with his own destiny.
Dumbledore sent him a calming smile, despite his visible exhaustion. “I imagine Professor Snape has informed you that we’re running out of time.”
The silence in this room was deafening compared to the loudness of the Great Hall.
“Yes. He gave me the gist. What happened?!” Neville repeated the question warily, hoping his voice was determined enough to somewhat motivate Dumbledore to speak to him.
“Brutal things are happening, Mr. Longbottom.” Dumbledore said darkly. “This morning, I received note that Voldemort has captured Muggleborn witches and wizards. Children.” He made a pause. “We believe they might already be dead.”
Neville’s expression paled notably. “So, when you say we’re running out of time – you mean - you want us to act … now?” His heartrate notably increased. NOW?!
Dumbledore sighed. “This is not all.”
Speechless and worried, Neville turned around to Snape, to find the man glaring venom at the floor like a student had handed in an even worse potion assignment than Neville ever did.
“What is it?” Neville asked, trying hard not to squeak.
“It appears-,“ Dumbledore said and shot Snape another look, “- that we will have to do without the Polyjuice potion as well.”
“WHAT?!” Neville asked, aghast. “But the potion is supposed to disguise the DA members and the Order –“
“I’m afraid we no longer have this option.” Dumbledore explained quietly without explaining at all. Neville supposed it did not matter. If it wasn’t an option anymore, then any attempt to argue was futile anyway. This shortly before the war, they could not afford to fight each other. Especially not Neville and Snape. “Which is why I must ask you, Mr. Longbottom. Do you feel well rested? Do you think you can go today?” Dumbledore raised his chin authoritatively. “Do you think you can join this fight, now?”
Neville’s heart sank, although it tripled in speed. There was a moment in which he honestly considered to say ‘no’. To turn around and head back into the Great Hall and pretend the future of the entire wizarding world did not somehow rest on his shoulders. But Neville had learned a lot of things about himself in the past two years since Draco Malfoy’s broken future self had traveled through time.
Neville was not weak.
He was not a coward.
Neville was a leader, a fighter, a warrior. He was the one destined to kill the snake, he was the pride of his parents. And he was the hero of this war. For that reason alone, his voice came out strong and steady:
“I am ready.”
Dumbledore nodded, respecting his decision. “Then collect yourself. Your time has come.”
Swallowing heavily, Neville grabbed into his uniform, just to feel the handle of the sword of Gryffindor inside. “Then, what are we waiting for?” Perhaps that ominous feeling hadn’t been so wrong after all.
Snape still looked sour.
“Well then.” Neville said and took a deep breath. “Dobby.” Just like that the houself appeared with a snap, right in front of them. He wore a shimmering little costume in brilliant red with devil horns and brightly mismatched socks.
“Neville Longbottom!” The houself greeted him with glistening eyes and determination in his soul. “Dobby has been waiting for you!”
Somehow, Snape managed to look even more displeased.
“Good.” Dumbledore said and gave them all an optimistic little slap on the shoulder. “Good luck, you all.”
Neville pulled out the invisibility cloak. “Thanks, Professor.” Mere moments later, then a little *snap*, and gone they were, out into the darkness, and right into the lion’s den.
Malfoy manor, no POV.:
It was pure chaos.
The houselves had brought food to the table, half of it was eaten, the other half thrown around and across the room. Shouting matches in high shrilling voices echoed through the hallways and into every room.
“Of course they are here!” Shouted a tall, skinny woman with pale blond locks, wearing dark robes that hung off her shoulders.
Shouting back at her was another woman, looking exactly the same: “And you think they can just get in here? There is a ward around the manor, Yaxley! We’d know. HE’D know!”
“By Salazar, you don’t think the master drank anything from this table, did he?”
Both eyes widened horrifically. “Impossible.”
A third woman, a perfect copy of the two, made her way towards them in angry strides. The strides may have been graceful once before, but this person was clearly not used to their height, their limbs or the way their own body moved. “WHO was this!” She yelled, but the anger was buried under that shrill voice of hers. Kicking the ground, it seemed like this person had a rather nasty tantrum. “Do you think this is funny?!”
“Oh yeah, because we all want to look like blond little bitches!” The first one snarled at the newcomer, pushing their hands into their hips.
It was then that finally someone walked into the room they could actually recognize, and fear settled between them at Bellatrix snarly complexion. “It was the BOY!” She yelled, as if certain of it. “That BOY that you idiots brought here! Go get him!”
“What boy?” The three blonds asked at once, failing to look at all threatening.
“THE boy!” Bellatrix yelled. “The one you let Greyback assault! GET HIM and KILL HIM!”
Shock should have been the response. Fear, perhaps, but the Death Eaters knew Bellatrix better than she would like them to. She may stand in Voldemort’s favor, but so did they. The only thing she was, was responsible for everything that was happening at the manor, so whatever this was, they knew, was her responsibility. But the idea of killing a hopeless, fightless teenager promised joy. Toothy smiles, stretched into ugly amusement was their response.
Bellatrix Lestrange was panicking.
The wards around Malfoy manor had not detected any unwanted visitors. Something was going on and no one had a clue as to what it was, how it got in, or what the hell the purpose of this was.
The only outsider they could think of, as they pulled open the door to the teaching lessons outside, the only person they knew to blame, was currently vomitting onto Bellatrix’ prized flowers while Fenrir Greyback grabbed him by the neck and basically shoved the boys’ nose into the puddle of blood he’d created. Protesting, the boy coughed and cried to be let go.
It had to have been Theodore Nott.
Because if it wasn’t him, then one of them would have to pay the price for letting in whoever had turned them into carbon copies of Rita Skeeter.
Harry’s PoV.:
His hand was sweaty.
Cold and sweaty, in fact. Draco’s hand was wrapped around it and Harry failed to concentrate on anything else.
Wasn’t Harry the sane one? Wasn’t Harry the one supposed to lead Draco through his worries and anxieties? Wasn’t Harry the one who had fought dragons and Death Eaters and a genocidal dictator? Harry was the one who had nursed Draco’s unconscious version in the future, who had lived the life of an auror to go out and hunt Dark Wizards! How was it that he felt like he was walking on glass shells?
Like that, he stumbled his way towards the edge of the crowd, failing to stay with the tact of the music.
This was supposed to be a single dance, and yet, Harry felt completely out of his depth. Draco was the one used to Galas and Winter Balls and public ceremonies. Draco had been through trials, had been tried and judged, and yet -
“When I'm not with you,
Think of me always.
Love you~”
Sirius’ voice echoed cruelly soft in Harry’s ears as Draco noticed his hesitation and decided to take the lead. He even rolled his eyes, as if Harry was being silly.
This song wasn’t even for them, Harry realized when he chanced a glance at his godfather. It was for Remus and Sirius. And that should have surprised him, but it was Draco’s hands in his, Draco’s eyes on him, Draco’s gentle moves making him sway in the music; it was Draco’s soft: “No need to be so stiff, Potter,” in his ears, and his breath against Harry’s skin that made his mind swim.
Harry couldn’t really help it. How was he supposed to listen to a song about lovers, a song about trying to win someone over, without reminiscing on his so called ‘progress’ with his own boyfriend?
And the more he listened, the less Harry concentrated on the people around him, and even more on grey eyes watching him, expectant and vulnerable. Harry’s heart nearly dropped into his stomach in a heap of sudden misery.
This song told him what they were supposed to be. How simple a relationship could be when it was put into a song. Draco and he were nothing like this. Nothing about them was simple. The bridge they wanted to cross had been broken from the day they’d met, and every attempt to rebuild it had ended with them remaining on their own side, afraid to fall through the cracks.
“I’m not stiff.” Harry denied and tried to follow Draco’s directions, while he had no idea where to put his feet.
Harry simply did not dance. He may not be as hopeless as Ron was, but he was terrible. Ginny had tried to dance with him once, realized she had a better chance at dancing with Harry’s aunt Petunia than him, and decided to simply let him be. Ginny had always been good at entertaining herself at parties. She loved the variety of dancing herself across the room as well. And after they’d had their children, the list of parties they had needed to dance at had grown rather small.
Somehow, Harry knew that this would be different with Draco. And he knew that he himself was more likely to put effort into the Galas and Balls and parties that Draco would eventually hold once he dared to be seen in public again.
But was it worth it?
“You are! You look like a newborn deer.” Draco grinned at him. And when had been the last time that Harry had seen Draco grin?
At that moment, the music behind them changed. Harry recognized the soft sounds of “Under Pressure”, while Sirius started to sing some garbled nonsense, shoving and taunting Remus to finally join in.
“I’m not!” Harry began, but he was instantly distracted again by the song.
“It’s the terror of knowing
what this world is about.
Watching some good friends screaming
let me out.”
When Harry turned his head, he was surprised to see Remus singing, his voice a decidedly much darker and raspier voice than David Bowie’s. Sirius was beaming at him.
By all means, Remus looked like he wanted to melt into himself.
Even Harry had not expected that kind of voice to come out of his ex-Professor's mouth. It was somehow stronger and louder and more powerful than Sirius’ was. And Sirius sounded like a man who was constantly screaming from the inside. Remus voice seemed to contain a hidden feeling, a hidden compassion, even, that could only come from a man hunted since his early childhood.
“Keep coming up with love, but it’s so slashed and torn -”
Suddenly, Harry registered the meaning of those words and they kicked him harder than he’d expected them to. His feet instantly stopped moving.
“(Remus) Insanity laughs under pressure, we’re breaking”
“(Sirius) Can’t we give ourselves one more chance?”
They began to sing over each other, and it was like Harry could see them once more, so much younger and unbothered, singing and dancing in the Gryffindor dorms, before their friends had betrayed each other or died a gruesome death.
Missed chances… Harry felt those implications deep inside him, felt it where his hands still connected to Draco’s and he had to pull away, out of fear he would break something between them.
At this point, Harry was in a trance as he saw Sirius losing himself in the carricatures of self-expression, while Remus’ voice seemed to build up and up, letting out deep lingering emotions he had not even suspected him having. The men sang not with, but against each other, growing louder and bolder under the cheering of partiying students, as if daring each other to say they’d had it worse. As if begging each other to proof them wrong.
Harry stood completely still.
They were singing like the end of the world stood once again before them. Like they had nothing left to lose but each other.
“Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word.
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night.
And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.
This is our last dance.”
And they were right.
Harry turned around to face Draco in quiet realization that this was their last chance. This was their last Christmas, their last chance to make their future right. Everything this moment had cost them, suddenly woke back up in Harry’s mind, accompanied by the dreams he’d had last night about it all being for naught.
“Harry?”
Grey eyes were hidden behind layers of worry. That blasted first name.
“Are you okay?”
Harry was swaying on his feet, but no longer to the music. Harry was responsible for it all. He was the one who’d killed Theo. And everyone who would die in this war would die because of him.
Because the hero Harry Potter did not exist.
Harry opened his mouth as the music once again switched into different tunes, but he was no longer listening. “Stop.” Was all he managed to get out.
Draco instantly looked irritated, as he too, stood still at the edge of the crowd. “Stop what?” He looked around. “The music?”
Harry’s heart was a mess. The heat he felt was not pleasant, it burned and lingered in his throat. Harry was on the move before Draco turned back around.
“Hey!” Harry heard him yelling from behind, and it made him quicken his steps.
Before he knew it, Harry was running up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. He heard steps behind him, but he did not turn around. For once in this goddamn year, Harry hoped that Draco was sick enough to be unable to follow.
But in the past few weeks, Draco had made a marvelous recovery. So, when Harry climbed through the portrait of the Fat Lady and ended up throwing the door to the quiet dorm room in Draco’s face, letting himself fall onto his mattress, begging the universe to make Draco disappear, it was his own work that ruined this moment for him.
Draco came in, his face almost red with anger. No wonder, the door had nearly slammed him right into his nose. “Harry James Potter!” He doomed, making Harry feel even smaller than himself. “What the actual hell is wrong with you today?”
Anger flared in Harry’s system, and he buried the feeling in his pillow.
“HARRY!” Draco yelled again, from right next to Harry’s face.
“Don’t HARRY me!” Harry snarled back at him. “I’m FINE!”
“Fuck off. You’re not! Something’s wrong.”
“So what?” Harry asked, virtriol in his voice as he sat up enough to glare at his boyfriend. “I’m in a mood! I’m in the body of a teenager, I HAVE these! This doesn’t mean that the world is ending. So, stop pretending like you care!”
Draco flinched back, struck dumb by Harry’s careless words.
“Pretending like I-” Draco looked so confused that Harry felt insulted. “Where the hell is this coming from?!”
“YOU ARE pretending!” Harry felt irritated. He couldn’t explain why, but those words hit the nail on its head.
Draco scoffed. “Honestly, you will have to explain, because I don’t know -”
“Stop putting me on a pedestal!”
Draco stared at him, eyes widening as his mouth closed. “I beg your fucking pardon?”
Harry jumped back to his feet, almost cornering Draco. Harry’s fuse had been lit and he was about to explode. “You DO! You keep pretending like you owe me! Like I’m some kind of hero who only pitied you all this time! Like you must prove anything to me!”
“I do NOT!” Draco seemed more confused than angry, but Harry did not care.
Harry stepped towards him and pushed his pointer finger into Draco’s chest, forcing him several steps backwards to fall onto Draco’s own bed. “This whole goddamn year, I’ve been trying to keep myself together, so you don’t have to! Because you were so sick that I couldn’t allow myself to be anything than the hero you admire!”
Draco opened his mouth. “I don’t -” Confusion gave way to blatant irritation, and Harry already felt bad for even starting this whole mess.
“I can’t lose anyone again. I can’t lose you, Draco!” Harry finally said and pulled at his own hair in his distress. “And you’ve been trying to get yourself killed since I found you again!”
Draco stilled underneath his gaze. “Harry -”
Harry’s breath caught. Who even was Harry? Draco Malfoy did not know a Harry. He only knew Potter.
“I’ve been getting better.” Draco said calmly. “You know I have.”
“Not for much longer.” Harry let out. And that was it. That was the very reason why Harry had to break today. Because the war was closer than ever. Because it had cost them all, Draco and him more than anyone else. It was desperation speaking out of him, letting lose his fears. And Harry wasn’t good with fear, so he snapped instead: “Because as soon as the war bells ring, you’re going on a rampage, and I’m going to lose you, no matter what I do.”
Draco stared at him. “What do you mean? How close -”
His eyes fell towards the mirror on his night table. It had to be Theo’s present. Harry’s eyes widened as he recognized it.
Harry knew, if Draco had actually sent the other half of that mirror to Theo, then the houself would have granted Draco’s wish. Draco would soon see wherever Theo’s corpse was.
But it was that glance, Harry’s own glance, however short the glance had been, that caught Draco’s attention and suddenly it was no longer a matter of days or hours, it was a matter of steps.
Harry’s hands fell limp to his side as soon as he noticed his mistake. “Draco, don’t-,“ he quickly tried to reach for Draco’s arm, but he wasn’t forceful enough, wasn’ stubborn enough to stop him.
Pushing Harry away, Draco grabbed the mirror. His eyes focused on something, something Harry knew would seal his fate, and his grey eyes widened, while his pupils went small and sharp. “What-” He flinched and jumped back to his feet. “What on earth -”
Harry went pale.
‘No.’
‘No no no!!!!!’
For a moment, it was just their angry breaths between them, as if neither knew what to do. Whoever moved first was going to start a war.
Then, slowly, Draco turned around, his expression completely mortified. “Harry - ... What did you do with Theo.” His voice was small and threatening and terrified.
“I-,” Knowing that he could no longer deny it, could no longer keep this from Draco, Harry closed his eyes, then opened them with desperate determination. “He’s gone.” Harry paused. “He’s dead,” Harry added, cruelly. Perhaps, a part of Harry wanted to be cruel – perhaps needed to be cruel to bear with the outcome of this fight.
For a moment, Draco’s eyes caught his, unreadable und opaque. It was as if he was reading the story off of Harry’s face, as if he could look right through him while Harry’s access to Draco’s mind was finally and irreversibly denied. The moment between them stood still. “I got to go.” Draco doomed him once more, as he shoved himself past Harry. His voice was hollow and cold.
Fear grabbed Harry tight, panic caught hold of his heart.
If Draco left now, then this was more than the end of their relationship, it was Draco’s own suicide note, it was Harry’s damnation. He had forced the entire school to keep Draco out of the war, had given excuse after excuse just to keep him save. After everything, after leaving his wife, after going back in time, Harry could no longer let Draco go and kill himself.
“No, you don’t.” Said Harry, knowing it was futile. He closed his eyes for a breathless moment, his hand wrapping around the handle of his wand.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Draco said, shaking and trembling in his position. “You’re right. You’re not my hero.” He pressed out in deep, venomous hatred. “You never were.”
Harry’s grasp tightened around his wand. “You can’t win this war alone.”
Draco was trembling, his shoulders shaking. Then, suddenly, he calmed, determination settling over the shadows in his eyes. “I have to at least try.”
“No.” Harry said, desperately. It was all he could think, the only word on his mind.
Later, he would realize that this was the moment that proved why Harry could have once been sorted into Slytherin. His desperation, his connection to Draco, brought out the rawest, most desperate emotion in him, not leaving him with any other options. Because Slytherins loved with a passion so fierce and so unbreakable that it sooner ruined themselves than it served anyone else.
Draco’s hand wrapped around the door handle.
Harry’s hand snapped towards Draco and his mouth moved before he even realized what he was doing.
“IMPERIO!”
A surge of power escaped Harry’s fingertips and buried themselves into Draco’s back, slamming his head brutally into the door. The mirror slipped from Draco’s fingers and shattered against the floor in a dozen silver pieces, but no sound escaped Draco’s lips. Grey eyes, usually lively and determined died under the warmth of Harry’s control. All will and determination had long left Draco when he righted himself and pliantly went to calmly sit down on his bed. A trail of blood ran down his forehead as he waited for his next order.
Harry stared at him, his wand still outstretched and his mind reeling. He was horrified. “What have I done?!”
Theo’s PoV.:
*again, TW: Gore, blood, multiple character deaths, graphic depictions of violence J *
Theo could not breathe. He’d been so cold and so shaken from the repeated Cruciatus curse that all he could think of was air. But then Greyback grabbed him by the neck and pushed his face into a puddle of blood.
“You think you can just vomit into Bellatrix flowers? Are you fucking insane?! Do you know what she’ll do to me?!”
Theo couldn’t even remember that. He could only smell and taste the mix of bile and copper on his tongue and wanted to puke again. The tears that escaped his eyes burned and his sobs made him inhale whatever substance he was pushed into.
Before he knew what was happening, Greyback pulled him up and threw him somewhere far away from the plants. Theo did not bother getting up. He’d take death any day over everything else that awaited him here.
“GET HIM!”
Theo tensed. He knew that voice. Bellatrix sounded mad. And suddenly, adrenaline made him instantly aware that he’d vomited onto Bellatrix’ plants! Already overcome with tears, only a few steps away from the still warm body of the child he’d just bitten to death, he waited for the next wave of torture.
“I’m giving a lesson here!” Greyback complained through hissing teeth. Theo was under no illusion that Greyback was worried for him. Greyback just didn’t like when people stole his playthings from him. That’s what this was. All of this. These children he’d turned weren’t here to become soldiers or anything grand, no matter what he promised them. They were his toys, his game. They were there for the next generation after the war of wizards against Muggles. Theo could not care less.
He did care about Bellatrix.
“I do NOT care about your games, Fenrir!” Bellatrix snarled at him and magically pulled Theo up into the sky, where his lungs were once again attacked and slaughtered, making him hear nothing but his own screams. It felt like someone had stabbed through his achilles and hung him up on nails.
“This boy smuggled in some potions.”
“Potions?” Fenrir sounded confused. “And how did he do that? They brought him to me the night of the full moon. He had nothing on him.”
Bellatrix struck out her tongue at him. “Then he let someone in.”
Greyback went quiet, seemingly realizing whom he was talking against. He crossed his arms, almost tamed, so Bellatrix could throw Theo back down and grab him by the collar. She was tall, her black hair making her look pale and crazy. “WORMTAIL!” She snapped and soon enough, the small, sturdy man appeared fearfully at her side. “You’re a traitor. Could he be it?”
Flinching, and intimidated, Wormtail lowered his eyes just a little. “Mam, I would not know.”
“Of course not. Then perhaps, the traitor was you all along.” She said, giving him an even lower snarl than the one she’d given Greyback earlier.
Theo would have laughed where he not completely delirious as to what was happening around him.
Wormtail winced and cowered before her.
“Patch him up!” Bellatrix demanded then. “He’s of no use to us when he can’t even speak.”
Theo didn’t know much about what happened after. He knew that he was being dragged into the much warmer manor. The chair beneath him wasn’t comfortable. He knew that he was in the kitchen too, with Wormtail muttering random healing spells over his wounds. The wand against Theo’s head made him wish, not for the first time, that someone would please end his suffering here soon. But there was a buzzing in his head, he was deaf to the sounds around him and random shakes of intense pain kept him gasping for air and crying out for his mother. His soulless, better off dead mother.
And then…
A snap dragged his attention temporarily towards the source of that loud sound. A small man, his mind dubbed the houself for some random reason, appeared in the room, holding a small mirror with a bow on it.
It was a Christmas present, Theo realized with a mix of horror and terrified amusement.
Everything happened very fast after that. It unfurled in a sudden mix of color and sound. The houself uttered a name – Draco’s name, perhaps he called Theo Draco’s friend even - Theo would only be able to tell in retrospect. Wormtail shouted something, perhaps it was a cry for help, but the houself took one look at Theo, then powerful, terrifying anger took over his features. The mirror still in his hand, the houself suddenly appeared right in Wormtail’s face, his claw like hands grabbing for the small man’s neck.
There was a cry for help that made Theo’s brain swirling with the information, as Wormtails silver hand tried to reach out for the houself. But the houself had already grabbed Wormtail’s wand and rammed it right through his throat. Sputtering and choking, Wormtail fell to his knees and hit his head against the table.
Theo blinked.
A bloodthirst seemed to have overcome the houself right after, when Greyback came rushing in. His own claws grabbed the elf by the throat and twisted it in one swift motion. There was another snap and the houself fell over like a sack of flour. He, just like Wormtail, was dead.
It had all went by so fast that nothing registered in Theo’s eyes but the shocked grey eye staring at him through the mirror that had been thrown onto the ground.
When Theo looked back up, Greyback’s fist already collided with his jaw so hard that Theo lost himself to consciousness before his head had even hit the ground.
Narzissa’s PoV.:
Something was in the air, she could feel it. It lingered in the atmosphere were the dementors could not suck it up anymore. Upstairs, shouts and screamed disrupted her usually peaceful silence.
All morning, Narzissa had grown nervous and suspicious. Something was happening todaay, she could feel it. She just didn’t know what it was.
And then, finally, the door was thrown open and someone kicked the unconscious body of Theodore Nott down the stairs.
Narzissa stood up the moment the door was shut behind them.
The boy might as well have been dead. His breathing was shallow and accompanied only by a wheezing sound. His thin clothes were ripped in pieces and soaked in blood. The same blood that covered his mouth along with dirt and perhaps something else. Narzissa shuffled closer to the metal rods that remained between them.
Bruises were already building on his arms and face and it seemed like a miracle that nothing was visibly broken. The body was twitching, shivering to the cold, as the dementors went and tried to suck out whatever human emotion may have been left. When his mouth opened, Narzissa was unsurprised to find a small gathered ball of white light floating towards them.
Narzissa was done. She pulled off her shoe and threw it at the breathing body. Heated, burning anger opened her eyes wide. “Get the hell away from him!” She yelled, knowing it was futile. The boy was as good as dead. Worse than dead, in fact.
And then, again, an explosion, and the door opened again.
Suddenly, the dementors seemed to be screaming as a bright, damning, yet warm wave of pure light filled even the darkest corners of the room. It took Narzissa a moment to realize that the patronus was not formless, but it was condensed into a mighty spell. A hare, the size of Narzissa’s forearm hopped through the dungeon forcing out the dark creatures of shadow through every nook, cranny or door.
“Nice house,” said a small, almost fragile looking girl. Her blond mane was tamed into something wild, while her colorful dress should have made her stand out in the manor. Narzissa herself couldn’t help but think that she would have kicked the girl out, had she not been stuck in this Merlin forsaken place for weeks.
“Who the hell are you?”
The girl calmly knelt beside Theo, who seemed to be about her own age. “Poor Theo,” she said with the flair of someone who could not even be shaken if she were talking to death itself.
Slowly, very slowly, the soul returned to its body, ending with the boy taking in his new life through a deep inhale. He remained unconscious.
“I’m here to get you out.” Said the girl now, her wand carelessly stuck behind her ear. “My name is Luna Lovegood.”
Hogwarts – No PoV.:
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Fred looked over to his brother with a questioningly raised brow.
“As long as involves these-“ George answered and held up a bundle of Dr Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks.
Fred interlocked their arms. “Dear brother mine. If I ever say ‘no’ to that, please kill me.”
Harry glared at them, although the choice of words made his eyes linger for a moment on Fred. “Guys, I need you to make sure everyone knows the war is starting. I don’t need you to play around and make this a party trick!”
“Dating Draco has taken all the fun out of you.” Fred pouted instantly.
George rolled his eyes. “Harry, we’re using the fireworks to alert everyone.”
“Although it is kinda nice.” Fred fake sniffed. “We never got to have our big escape last year, like we had planned.”
George nodded seriously. “We had a whole thing planned. With turning corridors into swamps.”
“And shooting fire dragons at Umbridge.” Fred finished. “But we never got to it.”
“We would have had to make Dumbledore clean everything up, and that would have been boring. It was in case Umbridge would become headmaster.” George shook his head. “At least we can use them now.”
“I’ve always wanted to shoot fireworks at Malfoy manor.” Fred beamed.
Harry sighed, visibly tense. “Well, fine. Get to it then.”
“May I ask-,“ asked Fred then. “Why now? The Christmas Ball was supposed to be our last night to unwind before the war!”
“Things changed.” Harry clipped.
“Like what?” The twins asked in unison.
Something conflicted passed over Harry’s green eyes. “Where is Neville?” He asked instead.
Fred and George exchanged a glance. Then, George tilted his head. “Snape went to call him earlier. He hasn’t come back since.”
Harry inhaled a deep breath. “Well, maybe I’m not the only one who thinks its time then.” He took a deep breath through gritted teeth, then nodded at them. This, once again, had the twins exchange a glance. This time, a worried one.
Fred was the first to raise his wand and let the firework rise high into the sky.
When the first explosion went off in the Great Hall, all attention turned to them. Golden and green glitter rained down onto their heads, the sound stopping music and partying students alike.
Harry stood straight, hoping that he looked just like the savior he had once been.
“It has begun,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say to watch his classmates turn, one by one, into soldiers.