herumtreiber

Title: Unusual ending - chapter 10
Chapter: ten - part 2
Author:herumtreiber
Genre: Slash, time travel, romance, adventure
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters. Nor do I make any money from the writing of these stories.
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content
Epilogue compliant? No way!
Chapter length: 2493 words
Beta: None.
Summary: Old meets new. Harry walks all over Draco's heart, and when he realizes his mistakes he does the unforgivable so Draco takes him back. Time travel. During HBP, disregards Deathly Hallows - that means everyone's alive, except Sirius, but...

Table of contents

The Chairman - part 1

Voldemort lifted the Crucio, smirking with satisfaction at the prostrate figure of the elf.

He scowled darkly at the fat man – now trying to hide behind Rabastan - who cowered under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord.

"What's the meaning of this, Horace? I asked you to bring Potter, not this scum!"

The Dark Lord threw another Crucio at the elf. The Death Eaters, used to the screams of Voldemort's victims, easily dismissed the wizened elf's screams and followed intently their master's words.

Horace Slughorn bowed and said, "Excuse me, my Lord, but Potter didn't appear. It was just the Malfoy boy and-" he searched for an excuse, any excuse, to appease the Dark Lord.

His agile mind found one, "I heard that you lost an important relic. I think someone found it in Black House, and I recognised this house-elf"- Slughorn bowed and averted his eyes from the Dark Lord, mindful of his irascible temper - "from the time I was teaching one of my best students."

Slughorn continued fibbing; in reality he hadn't paid much attention to Regulus Black because he had much bigger fish to fry fawning over the important Gryffindor students - like Lily Evans.

"He was a pureblood, Regulus Black was." Slughorn pointed to the prostrate figure of Kreacher, "And that was his house-elf. Heard a silly girl, Marietta, talk about a certain relic she saw, and she mentioned that Hermione Granger got it from Black House."

Slughorn bowed and stepped past Rabastan. He contemplated the Dark Lord with a proud gleam in his eyes. He loved influencing successful and powerful students – and what better crowning jewel in his collection than the most powerful sorcerer of all time?

Slughorn had planted his seed very carefully, reaching the prize when the promising, young Tom Riddle casually asked him about Horcruxes. Acting like any good Slytherin, he carefully nurtured Tom's mind, whilst pretending to the world that he was an innocent teacher – something that the old fool Dumbledore believed completely.

Slughorn was ready to act as Voldemort's spy within Hogwarts, but he had been thwarted by that bloody American who mistook him for a real armchair. The woman cast a weird spell on an enraged calico cat that was sitting on Slughorn – Adagissimo or something like that – which lasted much longer because he was a chair. When he came to, the woman had already imported him into New England. Fortunately Slughorn had returned to Britain at last. He managed to pass the impregnable wards of Hogwarts using a loophole – the wards were useless against inanimate objects, as was amply demonstrated when Barty Crouch Jr. smuggled the Portkey that contributed to his Lord's return. Slughorn passed through the wards transformed into an antique chair.

Following his instructions, Marcus Flint – a boy he definitely would not be adding to his collection – had convinced Dobby. The gullible house-elf had smuggled him into the Room of Requirement. Slughorn was ready to snatch Potter and bring him to Voldemort, but unfortunately a concatenation of unforeseen events had disrupted his plans. A combination of the potion contained within the cauldron of the crazed elf and Kreacher's magic had activated the Portkey he carried and transported them into the Dark Lord's redoubt. So he had to persuade Voldemort that was his plan all along.

Voldemort turned to Kreacher, "Where's the relic, scum? Answer me!"

Kreacher turned his rheumy blue eyes to Voldemort, "Kreacher does not know."

After Voldemort threw another Crucio at him, Kreacher had a few minutes of peace. He'd be damned if he told this crazy noseless half-blood that the know-it-all girl had taken the relic. Kreacher sighed brokenly, remembering his beloved master Regulus and the brutal death he suffered when he snatched the heavy locket in that cave, ultimately dying at the hands of the Inferi.

Kreacher wished that his master had survived the ordeal in that cave, but poor master Regulus died a cruel death indeed.

Kreacher recognized the predatory gleam in that man's eyes - Mundungus Fletcher was the name of that scum - so in order to keep the locket safe, he used elf magic and transfigured it into a silver bracelet, which he kept hidden near the Black tapestry. It was all for nought, because the silly girl – the know-it-all Harry Potter associated with – took it from there. Kreacher fought in vain for the bracelet, but the girl would not listen to him - though she spouted words about elf equality.

Kreacher was wrenched from his recollections when Voldemort threw another Crucio at him. The old elf writhed on the floor, wishing that someone would put his dead body in his beloved master Regulus' abode, Black House.

The Dark Lord stood up from his throne and approached Kreacher, "Who has the relic, silly thing?"

"Kreacher does not know," answered the elf, weakening by the minute. He mouthed the words, 'And Kreacher would not tell the noseless half-blood this.'

Voldemort raised his wand and was about to cast another curse, when the sounds of the door opening distracted him. He frowned at the door, his inexistent lips tugging upwards in a weak imitation of a smile when he saw Severus and Draco walking towards him.

They bowed to the Dark Lord and took their place among the circle of Death Eaters. Draco discreetly walked until he was as far from the Dark Lord as he could get without being conspicuous.

Voldemort nodded curtly to Snape, "Severus."

His gaze passed through Draco, and the Slytherin was thankful that he was not the centre of the Dark Lord's attention.

Draco frowned when he saw the prostrate figure of a wizened old elf. Recognising his defender, he started thinking about ways to deflect the ire the Dark Lord apparently directed toward Kreacher.

Draco's nose twitched when he smelled rotten flesh. He looked towards the fire on the opposite wall of the hall, shivering when he recognized the carcass of a small dragon.

Sighing inwardly, he espied the Carrows near Severus, the woman – Amycus or Alecto, he could never be sure of her name - emitted a wheezy giggle and tugged her brother's arm, pointing to the poor house-elf.

Draco nodded to Rabastan Lestrange and frowned when he observed the fat man, meticulously dressed, next to Lestrange and the house-elf.

The Dark Lord turned to Slughorn, "What did you learn at Hogwarts, Horace?"

Voldemort directed a malevolent gaze towards Draco, "Has Malfoy been useful, or is he a complete failure like his father?"

Slughorn looked shiftily towards Draco, avoiding Snape's gaze. He bowed to the Dark Lord.

"My Lord, far be from me to question the effectiveness of your spy, but Malfoy and Potter appear to be very close" - Slughorn looked disdainfully at Draco - "and Malfoy does not seem to work hard enough to bring about Potter's downfall."

Realising this was Horace Slughorn, Draco carefully schooled his features. What he really wanted to do was take out his wand and curse this neatly dressed Death Eater poseur who dared call himself a Slytherin.

Draco was distracted by a rustling sound; when he turned to the door he saw the loathsome snake, Nagini. The huge reptile slithered towards the Dark Lord. When she was near Kreacher, she paused. The snake coiled herself around the old elf and Draco shivered when he heard her hissing sounds.

Voldemort cocked his head, listening intently. When she stopped hissing, he chuckled.

"You will have your meal later, my dear." Voldemort motioned towards Kreacher, and Draco shivered, realising Voldemort intended to feed the house-elf to the loathsome creature.

The Dark Lord looked affectionately at his snake and spoke Parseltongue. Draco mentally groaned when he heard the dreadful, incomprehensible sounds of the language he hated with a passion. Its reptilian, cold sounds – devoid of humanity – assaulted his ears, instead of the warmth and nuance that imbued any human tongue.

After he finished with the snake, Voldemort motioned imperiously to Draco. "Come here, Malfoy!"

Nagini reluctantly uncoiled herself from the trembling Kreacher and slithered closer to the Dark Lord, uncomfortably near Draco.

Draco approached the Dark Lord – outwardly he appeared to be trembling – inwardly he was preparing to weather the storm of Voldemort's onslaught. The Dark Lord's gleaming skull shined in the general gloom of the hall. Draco noticed that Voldemort's light eyes appeared grey in this light. Shaking his head - he could've sworn that the Dark Lord's eyes were red last time he saw him - he returned to the matter at hand. Despite Draco's joking manner when he referred to the Dark Lord, he was afraid of Voldemort, as any sane wizard would be. He knew what the Dark Lord's next move would be.

Draco mentally thanked his crazy aunt Bellatrix for her Occlumency lessons. It wasn't only compartmentalising his emotions and memories, for Voldemort would not be satisfied if he faced a mental brick wall. The trick lay in choosing the memories used to evade the Dark Lord's mental probe; it was about using his own memories, carefully arrayed beforehand in their corresponding mental files. The deception consisted in arranging them carefully, so they gave the correct impression. It was somewhat akin to riding a broom high above the clouds; using the winds – letting them guide the broom, only giving the slightest nudge now and then. It was like preparing a potion, carefully selecting the ingredients. Weighing them carefully, adding them at the appropriate time – creating something completely different from the raw materials, yet reflecting their properties.

And Draco excelled at both flying and potions.

So he skated among his recollections, choosing the appropriate ones – arranging them in the correct order. He vividly recalled his anger at Harry when he didn't let him top and instead used him as his sexual toy. He remembered his ire at Dumbledore when he invariably took Harry's side in everything. Draco used his memories of Weasley and Granger taunting him while Potter stood aside and seemingly cheered them – his humiliation served him well at this point. Draco brought to his mind the bright memories of his childhood – when he still believed in the ideals espoused by his father. The times when he yearned to become the strong pureblood that his father seemed to be were uppermost in his mind at this moment. All other thoughts he shut away in their corresponding mental cabinets.

Draco took all these recollections – the emotions fuelling them - and artfully weaved them into a web of deception. It was so finely wrought that it would require someone with exceptional intelligence and empathy to unravel it – and the Dark Lord definitely lacked the latter quality.

Looking deeply into Draco's grey eyes, Voldemort elegantly swished his wand. This effect was ruined, in Draco's mind, by his unnaturally thin fingers and black nails - which gave his hands the look of a vulture's claws.

"Legilimens!" rasped the Dark Lord.

Draco added the final touch using a supremely Slytherin tactic. He vividly recalled this night – when he was attacked by Dobby and defended by Kreacher. He left the memory exactly as it was, choosing to blur the single word, 'mattress.' Surely the Dark Lord, propelled by his curiosity and hate of any being that did not conform to his racist standards, would choose to follow this particular memory. Finding it true, he would more readily accept the results of his probe.

Facing the Dark Lord's utterly inhuman face, he let Voldemort completely into the memories he had carefully arranged.

With the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Severus' knuckles were white around his wand. He prayed that he would not rush to his aid and reveal his status as Dumbledore's spy. Draco knew that his godfather had a special Portkey, tuned to take him to Prince Manor – which Severus' awful father had renamed Snape Manor.

After half a minute, Voldemort stopped his probe.

His face distorted in a grimace, the Dark Lord rasped. "Well done, Malfoy. Though it pains me to use a pureblood" – Voldemort brushed his black robe disgustedly – "in such a demeaning way, you have proved a bit more useful than your father."

Draco mentally rolled his eyes – at least the dark and the light sides were united in their homophobia.

The Dark Lord turned his dreadful face towards Horace Slughorn. Elegantly waving his wand, he cast Crucio at him.

After a minute watching Slughorn writhing on the floor and hearing his pained screams, Voldemort stopped the curse. The Dark Lord rasped, "You're wrong, Horace!"

Voldemort turned his inhuman eyes on Draco, "Malfoy is doing his part - which is more than I can say for you!"

He motioned to the door, "Go to the dungeons and prepare some potions. Make yourself useful for once!"

Voldemort crossed his thin arms in front of his chest, "I won't do more to you in memory of the information you gave me."

Slughorn hastened to escape the hall of Slytherin Castle. Turning his head one last time, he cast a fearful glance in the direction of the Dark Lord.

Draco sighed with relief – but that feeling proved to be short lived. Dark clouds materialized near the door, swirling with a maniacal movement. Draco's blond locks were ruffled by the wind caused by the appearance of several people.

The Slytherin fought to keep his composure when he recognised the wild black locks of his aunt Bellatrix. Her features, ravaged by her stay in Azkaban, retained a part of their beauty. Her eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as he walked beside a tall Death Eater. The man next to her took off his white mask and Draco recognised his uncle Rodolphus Lestrange - his grey eyes alight with the same sadistic passion as his wife. After he bowed deeply to the Dark Lord, Rodolphus nodded curtly to his nephew.

"Did you succeed, Bella?" said Voldemort, taking two steps towards his favourite.

"Yes, my Lord, I did." Her black curls in disarray, Bellatrix sauntered and motioned to her husband.

Draco shivered, realising that probably they would need Severus' Portkey after all; because he recognised the two tall, battered shapes that stepped into the pool of light cast by the sconces. Their shocks of ginger hair would be recognisable everywhere.

It would seem that the Lestranges had managed to capture the Weasley twins.

Fred, or perhaps George, was grabbing his left ear, there was blood trickling down his face and dripping into the dirty stone floor.

On the far side of the twins walked Fenrir Greyback. His matted hair, partly covering his face, appeared dirtier than usual in the dim light. His smirking lips failed to cover his pointed, brown teeth. He looked at the twins with a covetous gleam in his animalistic eyes.

Draco's stomach sank when he saw the blond hair of the slim figure that next stepped into the pool of light - because it was his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. She was unobtrusively passing a white handkerchief to the bleeding twin.

The Vow - part 1