Fran's story archive - Leaving Part 2
Thank you all for your very kind comments about Leaving, I'm so pleased people liked it. I did write a sequel at the time, but only posted it for a short while at the Guns and Handcuff forum on FictionAlley Park. It has similarities to some elements of Resolution which I may or may not use, so I took it down.
However, I've decided to post it here as a little thank you to everyone who commented on the first part. Please note that this part isn't to be archived anywhere else.
Title: Leaving Part 2
Rating: PG
-----------------
LEAVING part 2
Part 2 of Leaving. Although this story is based on the premise that Harry and Draco never became friends while at Hogwarts, some elements of Part 2 are taken from Resolution
-*-*-
“I think it’s Professor Snape with the rope in the Great Hall.” Triumphantly Neville picked up the small envelope containing the answer and took out the cards. The board game he was playing with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Harry was based loosely on a Muggle game called Cluedo, and it was one of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ best selling items. He stared at the cards for several seconds, as if by doing so they might actually change, before pushing them back inside the envelope. “Bugger.”
A chorus of ‘ahs’ sounded from around the table, replaced by gentle laughter as Neville’s head dropped to the table in mock despair.
“So much for Auror training, Neville,” Seamus picked up the die and threw it down onto the table. “Oh, look, another six.”
“You know wands aren’t allowed.” Harry reached out and grabbed the Irishman’s arm, pulling it from under the table. He frowned as it came out wand-free.
“Oh, yea of little faith, Harry Potter.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed briefly. He knew Seamus was cheating but wasn’t sure how. Then, as realisation hit home, he reached under the table where the other boy had magically fixed his wand. He waggled it at Seamus.
“Now, how did that get there?” Innocent eyes met Harry’s green ones. “Anyway, I’m sure the makers of the game would approve of my methods.”
Harry shook his head and pushed his chair back from the table. “I think it’s time I got some refills.” He got to his feet and headed for the kitchen, leaving the other four boys arguing happily around the table.
-*-*-
The get-together in another part of the Wizarding community was not quite so happy. There were no games or crisps or Butterbeer. There wasn’t even that much laughter. Instead people made small talk while eating canapés from silver servers and drinking Champagne from crystal flutes. The guest list read like a Who’s Who of the Death Eaters’ community in Britain and it was a shame that no one from the Institute of Aurors had been invited. They would have had a field day, especially as the guest list included several prominent members of the Ministry of Magic -- people who the general population assumed were fighting the ever-growing army of Voldemort’s followers.
Draco Malfoy was currently standing with a group of those followers. He nursed an empty glass as he tried to look interested in the conversation going on around him, but his attention kept wandering as boredom crept closer. An elderly witch was currently bemoaning the ever-growing tide of Mudbloods into positions of power, while her husband was intent on not only giving his opinion of how these Mudbloods should be ‘removed’, but also on groping the young waitress while his wife wasn’t looking.
Nodding in all the right places, Draco’s mind drifted idly, digging deeper into his mind and ferreting out little long-forgotten memories. They drifted about him in a muddled mass that made no sense at all, until he realised each memory involved Hogwarts and Harry Potter.
He missed school. Missed the fact he would never be going back to a place he had been happy (though he would never have admitted that to anyone). Missed the people, the lessons and the relaxed atmosphere. Missed Potter, whom he’d fought with on an almost daily basis. Even missed people like Weasley and Granger if the truth were told.
What did he now have to look forward to in his life? Yet more studying, this time a three-year programme at Durmstrang. His father had been quite explicit about sending his son, overriding any complaints from Narcissa. Draco’s views on the subject had counted for very little and he would go whether he liked it or not.
And that was what this party was for. To congratulate him on being accepted at Durmstrang and to send him on his way with a cheery pat on the back.
The witch had now turned her vitriol onto Muggles, and Draco carefully extracted himself from the group and headed for a man with a tray of full Champagne flutes. He took a glass and crossed to one of the large open doors leading out on to the balcony. A barmy summer breeze rippled the gossamer thin silk drapes and he brushed past them out into the night
The scent of flowers wafted up from the formal gardens below, and Draco stood for a moment, lost in the blackness of the night. There were steps at the end of the balcony leading down to the gardens and he could just walk down them and leave. Would anyone really miss him? Would his family? They were, after all, sending him away again. Over the last seven years he’d spent probably no more then three months a year here at the manor. He would be lucky to get home at all once he got to Durmstrang.
“Draco.”
He turned as the voice interrupted his thoughts, knowing immediately that it was his father. The elder man stood framed in the doorway like a dark shadow, his blond hair a halo from the lights in the room. Draco picked up his glass from the balustrade and crossed the half a dozen paces back to the door. “Father.”
“It’s time.” Lucius gestured the boy back in.
Draco groaned inwardly. He was not looking forward to this in the slightest. His father’s speeches were legendary ... legendary for embarrassing him. Handing the glass to a waiter, he followed Lucius towards the raised dais at the end of the room, standing in the place his father indicated.
No one asked for silence, but Lucius’ mere presence on the dais seemed to still the noise. Soon, the room was quiet, all eyes on the two Malfoys. Narcissa did not stand with them; she was with the other guests. She was not, Lucius had told her earlier, part of this occasion. It was for him and his son, and she knew better than to argue.
“My friends,” Lucius spread his arms as if he was some great benefactor encompassing the world. “Welcome to my home on this very special day.” There was a small splattering of applause acknowledging his words. “We are here to send my son off on the next stage of his life. But I have a surprise for him and for you all. Draco will not be attending Durmstrang after all.”
Draco’s placid features suddenly sprang to life with a mixture of emotions; relief, worry, concern. What was his father taking about?
“Instead he will be travelling abroad to join an even more prestigious organisation. My friends, Draco has been accepted as an acolyte into the Order of Angulgena.” The gasps from the gathering were audible and it was a few moments before the whole company broke into spontaneous applause.
The sound from Draco was neither a gasp nor a word. He wanted to say ‘no’, but it came out as a choked sob. Angulgena? The Order was.... Was.... He knew about dark magic, had studied it with his father over the last five or six years, but this Order was.... Draco could hardly bring himself to think of what they did, what magic they conjured, what rites they performed.
And his father wanted him to be part of this ... this ... group?
Draco felt sick with fear and as he tried to breath it caught in his throat. He swayed unsteadily, sure that any moment now he would black out. His father’s arms suddenly closed about him in a parody of a paternal hug. The grip kept him on his feet and stopped his legs from giving way.
“Don’t you dare show me up.” Lucius voice was a quiet hiss in Draco’s ear. “You will stand here with me, do you understand?”
A small voice answered, words almost inaudible “You can’t.... I can’t.... Don’t do this to me. Please, please don’t let them take me.”
“This is a great honour for you and for your family. Do not defy me.” The grip around Draco’s body tightened, hard enough to elicit a hiss of pain. “I am going to let go of you now and you will stand here at my side and do as you are told. Do you understand?” Draco whimpered. “Do. You. Understand.” Lucius enunciated each word carefully and quietly.
Finally Draco nodded against his father’s chest and waited for him to move. Somehow, he managed to remain on his feet, his head still reeling.
Lucius turned back to the crowd, silencing them with a wave of his hand. “My son will leave tomorrow....”
Tomorrow? Draco swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, swallowing hard.
“... But before he goes, it is time for him to take his place within our company. Time for him to pledge his allegiance to our Master and our cause. Behold.”
There was a sudden shift of air in the room, the sign of someone Apparating.
And Voldemort was stood beside him.
Draco couldn’t bring himself to look. Couldn’t bring himself to meet the red eyes of the Dark Lord, who towered above him. He tried to move, tried to get away, but his legs were frozen with fear. His body and mind numb with terror.
Later he was able to remember what happened. Later it became clear to him. But at that moment he was lost in blackness and pain. The words he spoke were not his own, or at least he didn’t remember thinking them. The touch of Voldemort’s hand on his arm was like a hot brand burning into his flesh, but the brand went deeper.
Deeper.
Into his muscle, his blood, his nerves, the very fibre of his being.
It touched his very essence and screamed into his soul.
-*-*-
Harry rummaged in the cupboard for more crisps, pilling the packets in his arms. With a little difficulty he picked up the six-pack of Butterbeers and struggled out of the kitchen.
The pain cut through his scar as the door closed behind him. It was so intense and so sudden that the bottles and crisps fell from his grip. As they smashed on the floor, his hands flew to his forehand and he staggered back, a cry of pain echoing from deep inside.
Chairs tipped over as Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville all responded to the cry. Hands reached down for Harry, carrying him to a chair.
“Harry.” “What is it?” “What’s happening” “Harry!”
They all spoke at once. All trying to help.
The scar on Harry’s temple continued to burn. He could feel every part of it. Sensed its shape across his skin. Felt it pushing deeper and deeper into his very being. Until it burned into his soul.
Finally he managed to find a voice. It was a whisper, almost lost in the noise around him.
“It’s happened again. Voldemort’s Marked someone.”
----fin
21st February 2002
Angulgena means “One born of Serpents”
However, I've decided to post it here as a little thank you to everyone who commented on the first part. Please note that this part isn't to be archived anywhere else.
Title: Leaving Part 2
Rating: PG
-----------------
LEAVING part 2
Part 2 of Leaving. Although this story is based on the premise that Harry and Draco never became friends while at Hogwarts, some elements of Part 2 are taken from Resolution
-*-*-
“I think it’s Professor Snape with the rope in the Great Hall.” Triumphantly Neville picked up the small envelope containing the answer and took out the cards. The board game he was playing with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Harry was based loosely on a Muggle game called Cluedo, and it was one of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ best selling items. He stared at the cards for several seconds, as if by doing so they might actually change, before pushing them back inside the envelope. “Bugger.”
A chorus of ‘ahs’ sounded from around the table, replaced by gentle laughter as Neville’s head dropped to the table in mock despair.
“So much for Auror training, Neville,” Seamus picked up the die and threw it down onto the table. “Oh, look, another six.”
“You know wands aren’t allowed.” Harry reached out and grabbed the Irishman’s arm, pulling it from under the table. He frowned as it came out wand-free.
“Oh, yea of little faith, Harry Potter.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed briefly. He knew Seamus was cheating but wasn’t sure how. Then, as realisation hit home, he reached under the table where the other boy had magically fixed his wand. He waggled it at Seamus.
“Now, how did that get there?” Innocent eyes met Harry’s green ones. “Anyway, I’m sure the makers of the game would approve of my methods.”
Harry shook his head and pushed his chair back from the table. “I think it’s time I got some refills.” He got to his feet and headed for the kitchen, leaving the other four boys arguing happily around the table.
-*-*-
The get-together in another part of the Wizarding community was not quite so happy. There were no games or crisps or Butterbeer. There wasn’t even that much laughter. Instead people made small talk while eating canapés from silver servers and drinking Champagne from crystal flutes. The guest list read like a Who’s Who of the Death Eaters’ community in Britain and it was a shame that no one from the Institute of Aurors had been invited. They would have had a field day, especially as the guest list included several prominent members of the Ministry of Magic -- people who the general population assumed were fighting the ever-growing army of Voldemort’s followers.
Draco Malfoy was currently standing with a group of those followers. He nursed an empty glass as he tried to look interested in the conversation going on around him, but his attention kept wandering as boredom crept closer. An elderly witch was currently bemoaning the ever-growing tide of Mudbloods into positions of power, while her husband was intent on not only giving his opinion of how these Mudbloods should be ‘removed’, but also on groping the young waitress while his wife wasn’t looking.
Nodding in all the right places, Draco’s mind drifted idly, digging deeper into his mind and ferreting out little long-forgotten memories. They drifted about him in a muddled mass that made no sense at all, until he realised each memory involved Hogwarts and Harry Potter.
He missed school. Missed the fact he would never be going back to a place he had been happy (though he would never have admitted that to anyone). Missed the people, the lessons and the relaxed atmosphere. Missed Potter, whom he’d fought with on an almost daily basis. Even missed people like Weasley and Granger if the truth were told.
What did he now have to look forward to in his life? Yet more studying, this time a three-year programme at Durmstrang. His father had been quite explicit about sending his son, overriding any complaints from Narcissa. Draco’s views on the subject had counted for very little and he would go whether he liked it or not.
And that was what this party was for. To congratulate him on being accepted at Durmstrang and to send him on his way with a cheery pat on the back.
The witch had now turned her vitriol onto Muggles, and Draco carefully extracted himself from the group and headed for a man with a tray of full Champagne flutes. He took a glass and crossed to one of the large open doors leading out on to the balcony. A barmy summer breeze rippled the gossamer thin silk drapes and he brushed past them out into the night
The scent of flowers wafted up from the formal gardens below, and Draco stood for a moment, lost in the blackness of the night. There were steps at the end of the balcony leading down to the gardens and he could just walk down them and leave. Would anyone really miss him? Would his family? They were, after all, sending him away again. Over the last seven years he’d spent probably no more then three months a year here at the manor. He would be lucky to get home at all once he got to Durmstrang.
“Draco.”
He turned as the voice interrupted his thoughts, knowing immediately that it was his father. The elder man stood framed in the doorway like a dark shadow, his blond hair a halo from the lights in the room. Draco picked up his glass from the balustrade and crossed the half a dozen paces back to the door. “Father.”
“It’s time.” Lucius gestured the boy back in.
Draco groaned inwardly. He was not looking forward to this in the slightest. His father’s speeches were legendary ... legendary for embarrassing him. Handing the glass to a waiter, he followed Lucius towards the raised dais at the end of the room, standing in the place his father indicated.
No one asked for silence, but Lucius’ mere presence on the dais seemed to still the noise. Soon, the room was quiet, all eyes on the two Malfoys. Narcissa did not stand with them; she was with the other guests. She was not, Lucius had told her earlier, part of this occasion. It was for him and his son, and she knew better than to argue.
“My friends,” Lucius spread his arms as if he was some great benefactor encompassing the world. “Welcome to my home on this very special day.” There was a small splattering of applause acknowledging his words. “We are here to send my son off on the next stage of his life. But I have a surprise for him and for you all. Draco will not be attending Durmstrang after all.”
Draco’s placid features suddenly sprang to life with a mixture of emotions; relief, worry, concern. What was his father taking about?
“Instead he will be travelling abroad to join an even more prestigious organisation. My friends, Draco has been accepted as an acolyte into the Order of Angulgena.” The gasps from the gathering were audible and it was a few moments before the whole company broke into spontaneous applause.
The sound from Draco was neither a gasp nor a word. He wanted to say ‘no’, but it came out as a choked sob. Angulgena? The Order was.... Was.... He knew about dark magic, had studied it with his father over the last five or six years, but this Order was.... Draco could hardly bring himself to think of what they did, what magic they conjured, what rites they performed.
And his father wanted him to be part of this ... this ... group?
Draco felt sick with fear and as he tried to breath it caught in his throat. He swayed unsteadily, sure that any moment now he would black out. His father’s arms suddenly closed about him in a parody of a paternal hug. The grip kept him on his feet and stopped his legs from giving way.
“Don’t you dare show me up.” Lucius voice was a quiet hiss in Draco’s ear. “You will stand here with me, do you understand?”
A small voice answered, words almost inaudible “You can’t.... I can’t.... Don’t do this to me. Please, please don’t let them take me.”
“This is a great honour for you and for your family. Do not defy me.” The grip around Draco’s body tightened, hard enough to elicit a hiss of pain. “I am going to let go of you now and you will stand here at my side and do as you are told. Do you understand?” Draco whimpered. “Do. You. Understand.” Lucius enunciated each word carefully and quietly.
Finally Draco nodded against his father’s chest and waited for him to move. Somehow, he managed to remain on his feet, his head still reeling.
Lucius turned back to the crowd, silencing them with a wave of his hand. “My son will leave tomorrow....”
Tomorrow? Draco swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, swallowing hard.
“... But before he goes, it is time for him to take his place within our company. Time for him to pledge his allegiance to our Master and our cause. Behold.”
There was a sudden shift of air in the room, the sign of someone Apparating.
And Voldemort was stood beside him.
Draco couldn’t bring himself to look. Couldn’t bring himself to meet the red eyes of the Dark Lord, who towered above him. He tried to move, tried to get away, but his legs were frozen with fear. His body and mind numb with terror.
Later he was able to remember what happened. Later it became clear to him. But at that moment he was lost in blackness and pain. The words he spoke were not his own, or at least he didn’t remember thinking them. The touch of Voldemort’s hand on his arm was like a hot brand burning into his flesh, but the brand went deeper.
Deeper.
Into his muscle, his blood, his nerves, the very fibre of his being.
It touched his very essence and screamed into his soul.
-*-*-
Harry rummaged in the cupboard for more crisps, pilling the packets in his arms. With a little difficulty he picked up the six-pack of Butterbeers and struggled out of the kitchen.
The pain cut through his scar as the door closed behind him. It was so intense and so sudden that the bottles and crisps fell from his grip. As they smashed on the floor, his hands flew to his forehand and he staggered back, a cry of pain echoing from deep inside.
Chairs tipped over as Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville all responded to the cry. Hands reached down for Harry, carrying him to a chair.
“Harry.” “What is it?” “What’s happening” “Harry!”
They all spoke at once. All trying to help.
The scar on Harry’s temple continued to burn. He could feel every part of it. Sensed its shape across his skin. Felt it pushing deeper and deeper into his very being. Until it burned into his soul.
Finally he managed to find a voice. It was a whisper, almost lost in the noise around him.
“It’s happened again. Voldemort’s Marked someone.”
----fin
21st February 2002
Angulgena means “One born of Serpents”