Rape, part 7: What We Fight for
The Death Eaters Apparated him to a parlour in what he assumed to be a pompous mansion, for the furniture and other interior design were clearly expensive. But no mountain of wizarding money or styling savvy could make that place appealing; the atmosphere was cold, drab, and downright menacing. The matte, earthy colours and ancient, stiff portraits did not help in brightening the room's spirit, either.
Daring surveyed his new surroundings with one long, sweeping look, almost immediately spotting the self-proclaimed Dark Lord standing in wait just inside a wide archway, but he paid him no mind. Knowing well the importance of acquainting yourself with your environment and taking note of exits and anything else that might come in handy if things went south, his first priority was to commit everything useful to memory. The Dark Lord could wait.
Before his surveillance was quite finished, Pywercaseley spoke up behind him. "Ah, just on time, as always."
Satisfied that he now knew the layout of the room, Daring turned around to face the Dark leader squarely, not a single trace of trepidation on his features. Chin held high in challenge, he demanded: "Where's James?"
Was that an expression of indignation that temporarily flickered across the Dark Lord's face?
He could not be sure, because when Pywercaseley answered him it was with apparent indifference. "Straight to the point—I can appreciate that in a man."
"Cut the buggery and tell me where my son is," Daring said in a tone that belied that he was getting bored with the man. What was it with Dark wizards and their incessant, infuriating need to talk before they got to the wand waving? Voldemort had been the worst, but this one was sure going out of his way to follow in the former Lord's footsteps …
Pywercaseley's countenance grew instantly dark, as if someone had just flipped a switch inside his head and it was now lights out. The left corner of his mouth was twitching warningly. "I might have expected such a disgraceful word to come from someone like you," he declared with his nose wrinkled in disgust. But then something seemed to hit him, and a sly, self-satisfied, malicious grin cracked his face in two godawful halves. This new expression made Daring frown, not out of concern but simply because the quick change mystified him.
"You think you have the upper hand because you're 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' and you happened to solve a few puzzles when you were in school," Pywercaseley declared, "but you are a fool. Look around you. There are Death Eaters everywhere and all the exits have been sealed. You are in my domain now."
Daring demonstratively let his gaze sweep over the room once more and scrunched up his nose in disgust. "Not a very homey domain, though, is it?" he remarked before fixing the Dark Lord with his eyes anew. "Honestly, Percy, you should have been able to do so much better; this is just embarrassing."
He had hoped that using the old, hated name he had been given by his parents would make Pywercaseley snap, but unfortunately the madman just started to laugh spitefully. "Oooh, it is going to be such a pleasure to kill you, Harry Potter," he stated, and slowly began to raise the wand he was holding in his right hand.
But before the wand tip was quite pointing at Daring, there was another voice speaking up behind the Lord: Harry's voice. And with a note of fearless challenge that impressed Daring, it proclaimed: "Actually, it's Harry Malfoy."
After having fled through the enormous mansion with the Death Eaters hot on his trail, James ultimately found himself trapped in a drawing room that he had stupidly run into without taking notice of the fact that there was no other way out of it. There was only the one set of high doors, the windows were firmly bolted shut by powerful, advanced magic—and three towering Death Eaters were effectively cutting off his escape by plugging up the doorway.
He was trying to hold his own from a meagre hiding place behind a low-backed, antique sofa, now and then popping up over the back to shoot off an offensive spell in the general direction of the Death Eaters, but it was getting increasingly more difficult. They had all the advantages and could just stand there and wait for him to poke out his head, wands pointing towards the sofa, while he had to stay covered. If he was to have any chance whatsoever to get out of there alive, he needed to keep those goons at bay until his father got there.
Because his father would come for him; James knew he would.
He had to—right?
That was what Lord Pywercaseley had said, that one of his fathers was being brought to him because he wanted his head. No big mystery which one; Harry had always had a target on his forehead. James sure could not understand what was so special about his boring, distant, workaholic father, but for some reason the leaders of the Dark wizards were obsessed with offing him …
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself against the terror that was insistently trying to take control of him, he forced himself to rise over the edge of the sofa again. In quick succession, he yelled, "Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Bombarda!" But since he was currently in possession of the Dark Lord's wand and not his own, the spells were neither as focused nor as powerful as he wished them to be. Accuracy was apparently too much to ask for, as well. The Stunning Spell went straight left, knocking down a vase, the Explosion Spell only caused a small portion of the door casing to disintegrate, sending wood splinters flying through the air, and instead of locking the hit Death Eater in a Full-Body Bind, his left arm and right leg froze.
The Death Eaters were quick to respond, sending a miscellany of forceful curses his way. He only just managed to duck out of sight again before the first one hit.
The smell of something burning tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. Belatedly, he realised that one of the curses had singed his hair, and he shuddered as he understood just how close he had been to being struck down.
He would not be able to hold them off much longer.
Heart beating frantically in his thirteen-year-old chest, he found himself doing something he had never imagined doing in his life: he mentally begged for Harry to come to his aid, hoping that his thought would reach his father somehow.
There was a clatter as the Death Eaters started to move closer to him.
Please, please, please … I don't wanna die! Help me, Harry—please … Help me.
The small girl was sitting back against the pillows in the hospital bed, huddled under the blankets with her legs drawn up, hugging herself and looking so tiny and frail that Father Harry had to restrain himself to not lean forward and pull her into a comforting embrace. In her current condition—and after the horrific experience she had so recently suffered through—that would have been the wrong thing to do. Sending her back into her inner world was not what they wanted.
Father Harry was sitting in a straight-backed visitor's chair on the child's right side, careful to maintain a warm and reassuring air. The girl needed to feel safe, more than anything, and his unmistakable parental concern and protective nature seemed to calm her at least somewhat. It had been the right decision to send him and not any other of the clones.
Helen Abbott had her mother's straight, blond hair and brown eyes, which at the moment were huge and darting this way and that in fear, as if she expected her assailant to suddenly reappear out of thin air any second now.
"He won't be able to get at you," Father Harry soothed, and his voice was filled with confidence in his own promise, "I won't let anything happen to you, okay? There are very powerful protection spells in place in this room; no-one will get through. You're safe."
She stared at him with those big, brown eyes without blinking even once. Then she nodded slowly.
Father Harry was pleased with and honoured at her trust in him. It made it so much harder for him to ask the questions he knew he had to ask. Sighing deeply, resigning himself to the unpleasant task entrusted to him, he said, "I know this will be very difficult for you, and I know that you most likely don't want to talk about what happened to you … but unfortunately, I still have to ask you about them. Do you think you could answer a few questions for me, Helen? I would like to catch the vile man who did this to you, and you would really help me out. Do you think you could be brave and do that for me, Helen?"
He sensed that calling her by her given name instead of 'Miss Abbott' would instil even more trust in her, since it showed her that he knew who she was and that he cared about her. It would also show her that he was not there in the capacity of her teacher, but as a fellow human being. A father whom was concerned for his child.
Fear for James's safety clenched around his heart anew.
Even though he was just a clone—a corporeal representation of but one aspect of Harry—he still had all of Harry's memories and feelings. And there was nothing more important to him than family and the wellbeing of his husband and children.
Yet again, the girl nodded slowly, making relief flood into his tense body.
Giving her a small, apologetic smile, he said, "All right. Let's get to it so we can both forget about it, yeah?" He blotted his damp hands on his trousers and took a nervous breath. "Can you tell me who attacked you, Helen?"
She jerked, even though she must have anticipated the question. Maybe she had not expected him to be so blunt, but he did not know how else to go about it; he felt it would be best to just get straight to the point and have it out in the open, for both their sakes.
Heart pounding painfully in his chest, he could not help but think, Please don't say James, please don't say James …
"It was an owl."
Father Harry blinked sheepishly. Wondered if he had really heard her fragile, whispered voice say that or if he had imagined it. "I'm sorry—an owl?"
She nodded quickly. "It came flying into the common room, just like any other owl would, through the hole underneath the ceiling that they always use," she told him, and she seemed to successively be regaining her voice as she recounted what had transpired that day. "There was a letter attached to its left leg, so I didn't think there was anything weird with it … I just thought it must be there to deliver a message to someone, you know? But then … then it settled down on the floor in front of me … and it began to … it began to—change."
Father Harry started. Suddenly the picture was beginning to become clear to his inner eye. An Animagus. Then excitement made him lean forward on the edge of his chair, because this meant that James would be proven innocent as soon as the Ministry officials heard the girl's account. "Did you see what he looked like?" he asked, only peripherally aware of the brighter note in his voice.
Helen did not take note of it, either; she was completely immersed in the memory now. She looked much older than her thirteen years. "He didn't show me his face, but I still knew what he was. He was wearing one of those masks that the Death Eaters wear, so I knew right away that I was in trouble. I just never thought that he'd … that he'd …"
The rest of her story was unbearably painful to listen to, and it made his blood seethe with wrath, but he forced himself to remain calm through the whole recounting. For Helen's sake. When, all words spent and exhausted from the ordeal, the girl was finally finished, he excused himself and left the room so he could find the nearest unobserved fireplace and report back to the Manor.
The signal of the tracking spell placed on Daring led them to an old manor house in the countryside, far from any neighbour; the perfect place to hide from both Muggles and Ministry. It seemed like security was a bit too lax for comfort; there were no sentries posted on the exterior of the immense building and to all appearances, there were no protective charms in place, either.
"Isn't that a bit stupid of them?" Ron wondered on Harry's right. "I mean, I know that my brother's changed a lot—obviously—but Percy was never stupid."
Harry was scowling at the enemy headquarters from their concealed outpost. "No," he agreed. "This is too good to be true, which means it's highly likely we'll be walking straight into a trap."
On his left, Draco scoffed. "As if that's such a surprise," he said emphatically. "When has anything ever been easy in our life?"
Harry instinctively reached out his hand towards the blonde's and squeezed it encouragingly, a gesture that stunned his husband. Only then did he realise what he was actually doing and that he was still mad at him for getting it on with one of the clones, which must be why Draco was so taken aback by his touch. Regardless of how angry he was with him at that time, though, he still wanted to reassure his partner before they headed into danger; they both needed it. And no matter what happened, Draco would always be the love of his life.
Hell, Draco was his life.
Harry's touch seemed to strengthen the blonde's resolve. His pale face getting a serious, determined expression, he nodded once and said, "Let's do this."
Quietly and stealthily, they hurried up to the building where their son was being held, Ron right there by their side and the clones making up a forward party, functioning as shields in case they were spotted and needed protection against a volley of curses. When they reached one of the back doors without anything happening, Harry's heart started to pound with anxiety in his chest and a really bad feeling threatened to consume him from the inside. He did not like this. He did not like it one bit. It was too easy.
There was no time to lose, though; despite the obvious trap that was set to spring around them any second, they had to go inside and find James before it was too late. If Pywercasely realised that the person in his possession was not the real Harry—or if he had already killed the clone, thinking he had finally rid himself of his biggest eyesore—James would not have much longer to live.
Selfless and Serious took the lead, Serious uttering the most powerful Unlocking Spell Harry knew. When no alarm sounded and no guards met them on the other side of the door, Selfless stole inside, wand at the ready at his side. The rest of them filed in one by one. What met them was a spacious parlour decorated with luxurious antiques and centuries-old artworks. According to the tracker, Daring was currently to the south of them, deeper into the manor.
Serious and Selfless set off at a run, weaving between pieces of furniture and pedestals, but before they had got far Competitive seemed to feel like it was some sort of challenge, rather than a life-and-death situation, and sprinted after them. Soon, he had run past them and disappeared further into the house. Cursing under his breath, Harry told the others to hurry in case his stupid competitive side blew their cover prematurely and put them all in unnecessary danger.
When they had almost caught up with him, they could hear voices up ahead, out of sight. One of them was unmistakably Harry's, and it felt beyond weird to hear his own voice speaking when he himself was not saying anything at all. When the other replied, it became clear that it belonged to the Dark Lord himself. "Oooh, it is going to be such a pleasure to kill you, Harry Potter," he was saying, a malicious glee in his cold voice.
Harry felt certain that the Killing Curse would be uttered any second now, but the incantation never came. As he rounded the corner in the hallway they were running through it became apparent why.
Competitive had just reached the archway to the room where Daring's life was being threatened, and with a very challenging tone, he proclaimed: "Actually, it's Harry Malfoy."
For a few seconds, it was utterly quiet. Time seemed to stretch and bend until it was no longer flowing around them, but bouncing off Competitive's bold statement and sending tiny pieces of it flying all around them. In anticipation of what would happen next, the group stopped some twenty feet from the archway, all of them tense and ready for whatever may come their way.
"Impossible …" Lord Pywercaseley was saying, his voice barely above a whisper yet audible in the complete silence. It would have been funny if the situation had not been so dire.
"Didn't expect two Harries, did you?" Competitive taunted, shifting his grip on his wand slightly in preparation for the battle ahead. "Well, you're welcome. Confringo!"
The Blasting Curse shot off with the sound of roaring flames and caused a minor explosion inside the room. More than one man swore in there—and suddenly the manor house came alive. Spells were flying beyond the archway, cast by at least half a dozen different men, Harry's own clones included, and projectiles of red, green, and white light were flung out into the corridor with regular intervals.
Draco broke his paralysis and hurried off through the hallway. "This is our chance!" he called, not caring to check if anyone was following him; his motherly instinct had taken control over him and shut down the parts of his brain that handled caution and logical thinking. All that was in his mind was the need to get his child back.
Too late, Harry recognised what he was doing and reached out to grab the blonde's robes and stop him. His fingers came away empty, Draco already out of reach and hurtling himself into an unknown danger without even realising that he was putting himself in the line of fire. Horrified, Harry watched as a curse missed his husband by a fraction of an inch as the blonde passed by the archway. His heart practically stopping in his chest, he swirled around towards the four clones still with them. "What the fuck are you waiting for?! Go after him!" he yelled, beside himself with fear for Draco. "He can't be in the lead—he can't bloody get himself killed, you hear me?!"
Without a word, Serious—Harry's innate sense of duty and obligation to his loved ones, and to people in general—Disapparated, probably to reappear somewhere slightly ahead of Draco and effectively cut him off before he could get himself cursed into oblivion. Selfless and Optimistic instantly set off at a run, closely followed by Harry and Ron with Arrogant taking up the rear. As they passed the archway, Harry could see Competitive and Daring in heated combat with two Death Eaters each, but there was no trace of the Dark Lord. He could not afford to think about them right now, however; they would have to be fine.
The only thing he could think about was Draco, cornered by Death Eaters and receiving the short end of a Killing Curse.
When James dared to poke his head up again to fire off another volley of hexes, he noted with fright that the three big Death Eaters had gotten more than halfway across the room. Huddling behind the back of the sofa anew, he realised that they would be upon him soon. Much sooner than he had hoped. Where the fuck was Harry?! He was supposed to come and save him! That's what he did, was not it? He always saved everyone!
Simple fear was swiftly turning into stark terror, and James's breathing started to become so quick and shallow that he was on the verge of hyperventilation.
He had to think. Had to come up with a plan that would get him out of this godforsaken place!
His brain spun frantically, but not a single idea would spring to mind.
Merlin, why can I never get the hiccoughs when I really need it?! It would have been so simple; just let out a couple hiccups and get transported to some other place far, far away from there!
"Go around on the other side," he heard one of the Death Eaters grunt and immediately grasped what it meant: they were flanking him, coming at him from both directions.
For Salazar's sake, James thought exasperatedly at himself, think of something! Think—think!
Wait a minute. Salazar.
Snakes.
With a new determination, he made a swift movement with his wand that his Dad had taught him almost a year ago and shouted, "Serpensortia Tria!" Three snakes were conjured, and he instantly began to give them hasty instructions in Parseltongue, telling them to attack and hold back one Death Eater each. For good measure, he also cast an Engorgement Charm on them that made them grow from cobra size to python size, hoping that his three new friends would keep the Death Eaters' hands full enough for him to escape—or at least to hold out until reinforcements arrived.
Because they would arrive—right?
Daring and Competitive were having a harder and harder time keeping the Death Eaters at bay, and the longer their duelling lasted, the greater was the probability that more enemies would turn up from other parts of the house. Daring knew that they only had a small window of opportunity before all Hell came down upon them. At least that coward Pywercaseley had Disapparated the moment the fighting began, leaving them with slightly better odds than if he too had joined the fray.
They needed to neutralise the situation now.
Exchanging a quick, knowing look, the two clones nodded to each other and launched a cooperative attack on one of the Death Eaters. "Aqua Eructo!" Daring yelled, a jet of clear water instantly shooting out of the tip of his wand, hitting the Death Eater straight in the face.
Simultaneously, Competitive shouted, "Ebublio!" As the second charm hit the Death Eater, he violently exploded into hundreds, if not thousands, of little bubbles that went soaring through the room in all directions.
One down, three to go.
An unknown curse flew past Daring's head and Competitive narrowly ducked a Killing Curse, coming back up with an excited whoop—as if this was all a game, a sport of some kind. Grinning self-assuredly, he pointed his wand at his assailant and exclaimed: "Deprimo!" As the bulky Death Eater in question doubled over from the sudden pressure that was put on him, Competitive laughed and temporarily lost his focus on the rest of the room.
Daring saw that one of the other enemies, who had carefully moved away and slightly behind Competitive, now started to utter the Fiendfyre incantation—something that was sure to kill them all if it was allowed to be finalised—and reacted instinctively. "Expelliarmus!"
Puzzled, Competitive turned around to look at the bloke behind him. "Oh."
That gave the third Death Eater an opening, and without preamble he made Daring collapse under the immense, painful force of the Cruciatus Curse. Pinned down by the excruciating sensation of white-hot knives plunging deep into every part of his body, Daring lost all other senses, his eyes rolling back into their sockets as he tried desperately to remain conscious. Every second stretched out into an unbearable eternity, and to his humiliation his body began to convulse uncontrollably. This was not how he was supposed to go out, damn it …
Then, all of a sudden, the pain just stopped. I must be dead, he thought. I died from the pain. But then the world started to open up to him again as he regained his eyesight, and he could hear his own strained breathing, feel his tortured muscles twitch and spasm as they attempted to relax after the relentless onslaught. Soon, he became aware of Competitive still fighting the last standing Death Eater and realised that the other clone must have incapacitated the one that held the Cruciatus Curse on him.
Coughing violently, he tried to get up on his hands and knees, swiftly scanning the marble floor for his wand. Just as he spotted it only three feet away, he registered a movement in his right periphery and turned towards it. The Death Eater that he had unarmed only moments ago had apparently just reached his own wand and was raising it to Competitive's back. Daring's eyes widened as it dawned on him that the other clone would not see it in time. Throwing himself down over his wand, Daring raised it with his shaking right arm. "Sectum … sempra!"
But he was too late; the Death Eater had already uttered the Killing Curse and its green light hit Competitive square between the shoulders a fraction of a second before Daring's Slashing Curse cut the Death Eater open, bright red artery blood pouring out of him in a dozen places. Spluttering and choking, he vainly pressed his hands to his chest and abdomen, as if he thought he could hold the blood in.
The last Death Eater saw the devastation the Slashing Curse caused to his companion and turned it on Daring. After having been under the Cruciatus Curse, the magical gashes that opened in his flesh were almost a blessing, as if the residual pain of the torture spilled out of him together with the blood. He almost did not feel this new agony and had no problem raising his wand anew, and with the anger over losing Competitive coursing through him, he felt murderous enough to employ the Killing Curse himself, felling the last opponent.
He crumbled, feeling like his last energy was spent. His entire body was weak from blood loss. There was something inside of him that refused to admit defeat, though, and he frantically tried to remember the healing spells that Draco had taught Harry years and years ago. At first, he could only think of Episkey, but that would be far too weak on magical damage of this magnitude.
Black dots began to obscure parts of his field of vision. He did not have much time now.
And finally, it hit him.
Pointing his wand at his own chest with a shaky arm, he whispered: "Vulnera … Sanentur …"
Everything faded from his vision save for a very limited point right in front of him as he hurried through the enormous manor house, stubbornly ignoring the growing discomfort in his lower abdomen. There was only James and the need to get to him before it was too late; everything else was unimportant. He can't be dead, he can't be dead, please tell me he's not dead!
Draco jerked to a sudden stop as Harry popped into existence only a few feet ahead, and his speed almost made him crash into his husband. Affronted at the rude interference, he barked: "Get out of my way!" But when he tried to move around him, Harry caught him in his strong arms and firmly held him back. Draco glared at him incredulously. "What do you think you're doing?! Let me go—I need to go to James!"
Harry just shook his head gravely and fixed the blonde's eyes with his own, sombre green. "I can't let you do that," he said in a low voice thick with emotion. "It is my duty to protect you."
Ah. So this was not his Harry, after all; it was the Serious clone.
Well, fuck if he was going to let that stop him!
"I don't care about your duty—I have to get to my son, and if you try to stop me I will turn you into a stink bug," he declared, making another attempt to get past the clone.
Serious was unrelenting. "I'm not here to stop you from going to James," he said, though, catching Draco off guard, "I'm here to escort you and shield you." As if to prove his statement, he turned his back to Draco and cast a Shield Charm in front of them, then began to walk further inwards at a brisk pace.
Draco hesitated only for a second before heading off after him.
They were moving far too slowly and Harry just wanted to scream at them to hurry—hurry, for fuck's sake! The blonde already had a head start, and even though Serious seemed very capable he still did not trust him to be able to hold Draco back for long.
I have to get to him, he thought, terror making his heart beat painfully hard and pinching his lungs, preventing him from breathing properly. He was dead scared of losing Draco—and not only Draco, but their unborn daughter, as well.
"Faster, faster!" he called to the leading clones.
Selfless immediately pushed more speed out of his legs, but Optimistic simply turned his head around and said, "Don't worry—we'll get there sooner or later," with a disgustingly chipper grin.
Harry felt ire bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, and he forcefully pushed past the sheepish bastard. He did not care that it might put him in the line of fire if they stumbled across more Death Eaters; he would not be affected by the worst they could throw at him, anyway. Thankfully, though, Optimistic got the hint and skipped back up to the front, covering the hole that had temporarily been left open.
As they came around another bend in the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors, the unmistakable sound of shouted incantations and curses smashing into furniture reached them. A tendril of green light shot into the wall at the next intersection. Then Harry could hear Draco swearing and somehow found a previously untapped pocket of energy that allowed him to increase his speed beyond what he had thought possible.
He rounded the corner just as a curse came flying from inside a bright and open sunroom. The hallway abruptly stopped five yards ahead of him, and apparently Draco and Serious had run into a Death Eater welcoming party in the sunroom. Harry motioned for the others to employ caution as they joined the fighting. While simultaneously glancing around the room and assessing the situation—seven or eight enemies all in all, spread out and evading—he lifted his wand at the closest Death Eater, a short and stocky man that fell heavily as he was paralysed.
Draco swirled around in astonishment. "Harry!" he exclaimed, visibly relieved to see him there.
He quelled the impulse to pull his husband into his arms. There were more pressing matters to deal with before he could satisfy his own, selfish needs—but he was indescribably happy to see his lover alive and well.
As the assembled Death Eaters became aware of three more Harry Potters joining the battle, they began calling out to one another, and Harry picked up the phrases 'Polyjuice Potion' and 'Gemino Curse.' Confused as to who might be the real one, they hesitated momentarily, not sure how to proceed lest they kill the wrong one and risk their master's wrath.
Harry and the others immediately took advantage of their enemies' indecision and fired off hexes and curses—well, everyone but Optimistic, whose sole contribution was spouting cheery, cheesy encouragements. Most of the Death Eaters reacted quickly to the sudden spell barrage, but one went down and another was temporarily distracted by huge boils sprouting from his face.
Harry spun on Draco. "Furnunculus—really?" he said, unable to hide his incredulity.
The blonde simply shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"
That was all the conversation they had time for; the sunroom erupted in flames as several Incendios and Confringos were flung in every direction. Narrowly avoiding getting his head blown off, Harry threw himself down to the right, bumping into Ron and forcing him to step aside. Behind him, Optimistic's robes caught on fire, but the clone just laughed it off, rolled around on the floor until the flames had all been smothered and declared that he was fine. To his left, Draco was angrily using the Gouging Spell to pluck large chunks of flesh off one of the Death Eaters' body and then using them as projectiles that hit every enemy stupid enough to leave himself open.
Harry was not sure if he should be proud or scared of his husband.
A cry of pain made him whirl around to the right again. Some yards further down, Ron was holding his left side, blood seeping through his clenched fingers. Furious at the sight of his best mate hurt, Harry gazed out over the room and tried to spot whoever had done it—when he noticed that a Death Eater that had managed to slip out of the line of sight had his wand pointed straight at Ron and mouthing what alarmingly seemed to be the Killing Curse. Feeling as if his chest was imploding with fear at the prospect of losing Ron, Harry shrieked wordlessly and set off toward the redhead. But he was too far away—the bloody Death Eater had already finished his incantation and the green light was leaving his wand tip, moving as though in slow motion.
No, no, no, no, no!
On Ron's right, Selfless had also caught sight of the Death Eater. Without thinking twice about it, he yelled "No!" and threw himself in front of Ron just as the curse hit. For a split second, Harry could see the realisation that he was going to die in the clone's eyes before the glint of life left them and he crumpled to the floor, unmoving. Harry felt as if a knife was stabbed into his chest at the sight of himself dying, and for a moment he could not grasp that it was the clone that had died and that he himself was still alive.
Ron stared down at Selfless in shock. "He … he saved me," he huffed, turning around to face Harry with wide, astonished eyes. "I would have been dead now if he hadn't jumped in front of it. He … saved my life."
Harry looked at him wide-eyed, disbelieving, breathless. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice thick and almost unrecognisable.
"If you sissies are done drooling over each other, could we please end this so I can go to my son already?!" Draco growled between gritted teeth off on their far left, where he was struggling to remain in control as two Death Eaters tried to force the Imperius Curse on him.
Harry was instantly at his side, waving off the first spell that came to mind, which happened to be Orbis. The enemies screamed as the floor sucked them in, as if they were standing in quicksand. Draco exhaled violently and leant forward with his hands on his thighs when the magical tug-of-war was finally over. Harry put his arm around his back to support him. "Dracums, are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
The blonde nodded and smiled faintly at him. "Yeah, a bit tired, 's all." He did not look okay, though; his skin was wan and cold sweat was breaking out on his forehead. Harry worried that he would not be able to take any more fighting and that both his and the baby's health would be jeopardised if he pushed himself any further.
As if reading Harry's mind, Serious called out to him: "Take him and go—we'll handle this!"
Bowing his head in gratitude, Harry began to lead his husband out of the sunroom and deeper into the enormous house, trying to follow the signal from the tracking spell in as direct a line as was possible through the winding corridors and seemingly endless rooms. After what seemed like an eternity—with his heart beating a frantic we'll be too late, we'll be too late, we'll be too late—screaming finally reached them. They immediately set off in the direction of the voices.
Coming to a stop at a set of high doors that led to a lavishly furnished drawing room, the sight that met them effectively froze them in the doorway. James was standing behind a low-backed sofa, a harried, borderline insane expression on his youthful face, but that was not what shocked them. No, it was the fact that the boy was hissing at three huge snakes that each held a terrified Death Eater at bay. He did not notice their arrival at first, and Harry could hear him ordering the snakes to Attack at first sign of movement, and don't let them come even one step closer.
Drop-jawed, he just stared at his son, wondering just who the Hell this boy had grown into.
Behind him, Draco spoke in wonder. "Is he doing what I think he is doing?"
James's head snapped around at the sound of his father's voice. An expression of utter, unabashed relief smoothed out his features. "Dad! Harry! You came!" he exclaimed, and his happiness at this was unmistakable.
One of the Death Eaters thought the distraction would enable him to attack, but the boy at once hissed at the snake in front of him to bite and force him down. The serpent obliged and sunk its venomous teeth into the big man's neck, and Harry winced as the man went down screaming in pain and fear.
"Bloody Hell," Ron said emphatically behind him.
He had not even noticed that Ron came with them when they left the sunroom, but he felt himself relaxing slightly at the knowledge that his best friend was not still fighting for his life back there.
He took a shaky step towards his son. "You're a Parselmouth?!" he blurted, and he did not regret the snappy, accusatory tone of his exclamation in the least. The boy had been hiding more from him than he had even begun to suspect, and it hurt. For some reason, it hurt even more when the secret kept from him involved something rare that they shared—an ability that he had passed on to the boy.
James started, but then his eyes grew hard and fiery with indignation. "Look who's talking," he drawled acidly. "You didn't even tell me we were descendants of Salazar Slytherin, let alone that you had inherited his great ability!" His eyes flicked to Draco, who was calmly standing at Harry's right side with an indifferent look on his face. "I see that you knew, though," he stated, and seemed hurt by the fact that his dear Daddy had not seen it fit to let him in on the family secret.
Harry pointedly stepped in front of the blonde, which earned him a murderous glare. He did not care; as long as he was still breathing, he would use his own body to shield his husband and his unborn daughter. When he was satisfied that Draco was safe, he addressed his son again. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think there would be a reason to," he tried to explain. "In modern times, there has only been two known Parselmouths—me and Voldemort. I never even imagined that I might pass it on to one of my children, so I saw no reason to open up that can of worms. Especially not since you were already so obsessed with the Dark Arts," he added, lowering his eyes in defeat. He just could not do right as a father, could he?
James verbally lashed out at him. "And who are you to decide what I have the right to know?!" he demanded. "It is my heritage! I have a right to know where I come from, for Salazar's sake! If Uncle Voldemort hadn't taught me Parseltongue, I never would've known!"
Harry jerked as if he had just been slapped across the face and he heard Draco gasp behind him. "Uncle … You're still visiting him?! Despite everything I have told you?!"
The boy merely snorted. "I doubt any of it is true. Uncle Voldemort would never do the things you've accused him of."
Harry thought he was going to explode at that point, but before he could say or do something he would live to regret, Draco put a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. "We will deal with this when we're back home," he said, making it clear that he would not tolerate any arguing. "We found him; now let's take him home. All right?"
Harry reluctantly nodded. But he sure as Hell would not let this go: he would have a serious talk with their son at first opportunity. And if the boy would not listen to reason, then he would bloody well ground him for life.
Giving Ron and Draco a pleading look, he muttered, "Let's take care of these pillocks and go home."