Beyond This Point Lie Monsters

At the edge of the mariner's
Map is written: 'Beyond
This point lie Monsters.'
(Rita Dove, Primer to the Nuclear Age)

Epilogue

"What's this?" you ask as you enter the library and sink down in one of the armchairs around the quartz coffee table. "The Peace Council?"

The leather of the chair moulds itself to suit your form, so comfortable it feels almost licentious just to sit in it. It must be the magic - it didn't do that for you when you had no powers.

Lucius looks up from the pile of Daily Prophets he's been studying, and places today's issue carefully folded on top of the stack. He leans back, favouring you with an ever-so-slight smirk that makes your toes curl reflexively. You sink deeper into the chair. Suddenly you understand why Tom so enjoys sitting on the couch with his bare feet tucked under. It gives you rather... inappropriate thoughts.

As if on cue, his dark head appears over the cover of A Comprehensive and Cautionary Chronicle of the Chthonic Powers. He closes the tome and puts it down next to him, stretching lazily without taking his eyes off you. Your ears heat up, and they share a smirk across the table.

Bastards!

"As good a term as any," Lucius finally answers.

Though you know he isn't planning to send you away - he couldn't, could he? - something tightens inside your chest.

"Pipe down, Potter." Tom shakes his head as you whip around. "You won't be cast out." You throw him a furious look, which - predictably - he ignores.

"Indeed," Lucius drawls. "That would do the noble Order of the Phoenix altogether too great a favour." He lifts an eyebrow at you. "Headmaster Dumbledore and his associates have expressed their dissatisfaction with your current living arrangements, Harry." The sharp line around his mouth deepens for a moment. "Even Professor Snape's reports about your improving health seem not to satisfy them. I find that quite... satisfactory."

"I don't want them to worry," you object quietly. You don't want them fearing for your safety; you just don't want to go back.

Lucius fixes you with a piercing stare. "I hardly plan to allow them time to talk Magical Law Enforcement into sending another Auror Squad into my home," he snaps. "You're to schedule a meeting with your 'friends' soon - on neutral grounds. Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, somewhere public enough so they won't be tempted to just abduct you."

Hope and dread curl around each other in your chest like worms under a stone. As much as you have missed Ron, Hermione and Hagrid over the past months, you dread having to confess your choices. Tom destroyed Hagrid's life, and together he and Lucius almost killed Ginny. Against all that, the manor has so far provided a sense of claustrophobic safety. Unworthy of a Gryffindor, perhaps, but undeniably real. You nod, tight-lipped.

"In fact, it would be a good preparation for the plans I have for you to show you off in public as much as possible, dear Harry."

Now that sounds downright ominous. You furrow your brows. "What plans?"

He exchanges one of those glances with Tom that you hate with a passion, and leans back in his chair.

"I've seen you snooping around the papers lately. How closely did you read them?"

You grimace and pull a particularly offensive issue from the pile, leaving it hanging askew. 'INSIDE THE RANKS OF YOU-KNOW-WHO: THE SORCERER WHO SCHOOLED THE SAVIOUR' a bulky headline shrieks out above the photograph of a stern, dignified Lucius. It seems to have been taken at some kind of official function, and makes him look as if he'd swallowed his favourite ornamental cane. You're bright enough not to voice that bit, but scowl at the picture which stares haughtily back at you.

You shove the paper back into the pile quickly at the sight of your own face, glowering morosely up from the feature article in the left-hand side corner. 'BOY WHO CONQUERED BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH IN MALFOY MANOR'.

"Not very closely," you admit. "The crap on the front page was enough to traumatise me already. Why?"

"Well..." Lucius reaches for his wine glass on the table. "Because various sides have approached me - unofficially yet of course - about a possible appointment to a seat on the Wizengamot."

You feel your mouth falling open. "What?"

He raises that eloquent eyebrow again and sips his wine. "It seems as if there is an initiative to reward me adequately for my role in the fall of the Dark Lord, and to reconcile the old wizarding families with the Ministry in the process."

"But you're a bloody Death Eater!"

"Former Death Eater," he corrects calmly and takes another sip. "Heroic infiltrator of the Dark Lord's inner circle and ally of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, if you follow the press coverage."

"But that's a lie," you protest weakly.

"That's what we did, in the end," Lucius says.

"And the amusing thing is that it was Dumbledore who took the heat for 'handing you over' to Lucius," Tom throws in. "Neglect of a headmaster's duty to his student and all."

"Now, Tom, we hold no grudge against Albus Dumbledore," Lucius emphasises, ignoring the younger Slytherin's 'yeah, right!' expression. "He has aided us greatly, and he is an old man who is looking forward to a peaceful retirement."

Your head jerks up. "He's leaving Hogwarts?" It's beyond unimaginable - Dumbledore is Hogwarts, in more ways than one.

"According to my source among the School Governors-" Lucius' expression darkens when your lips quirk at the thought of him being booted from that illustrious assembly, "-he has announced his intention to step down in favour of a younger colleague at the end of the next school year."

With sense of foreboding, you probe, "Professor McGonagall?"

He gives you that smile that shows just a hint of canine teeth, and which you've encountered whenever he's about to do something truly outrageous in bed. "A younger candidate, my dear Harry, and one to whom Dumbledore owes very much."

You shake your head in shock. "Snape? That's impossible. He'd favour Slytherin outrageously."

"Just as Dumbledore favoured Gryffindor?" Lucius inquires mildly and puts a finger over your lips as you open them to protest. "Severus will restore Slytherin's rightful place and work towards the same goal - the reintegration of the old wizarding families into the magical community - that I plan to further in the Wizengamot." He looks you squarely in the eye. "And you will help us, Harry."

Slipping forward to the edge of the chair, you glare at him. "You think after Voldemort kicked the cauldron, I'll help you push his anti-Muggle agenda in the Ministry? You're out of your fucking mind."

There is a hot, tight ball in your throat, not so much anger at the fact that he's trying to play you - he's always done that - but that he believes you capable of such betrayal.

"I detest Muggles, and no doubt about it, Potter," he growls, not letting eye contact slip for a second. "I detest their boundless arrogance, their blindness to what's going on around them, their mindless violence. I hate to see our world crouching in the shadow of theirs. Muggles aren't as cute and innocent as Arthur Weasley would make us believe. We pass endless parchment rolls of protective legislation and teach our children Care of Magical Creatures, but when an anatomic plant poisons the world's sole Quintaped preserve, we just shrug it off and claim that nothing can be done."

"Atomic," you correct softly while your fingers clench around the armrests of your chair. Curse the man for coming up with an argument that actually makes sense!

"There is nothing wrong with Muggleborn students and wizards. They're just as good as your inbred purebloods," you plough on, ignoring the way his mouth thins at the jibe. "Better sometimes, if you compare Hermione with morons like Crabbe and Goyle."

"Well," Lucius leans back with a smirk that tells you you've fed him another line, "then I shall have the advantage of having two aides who are both half-bloods and Muggle-raised." He reaches out to Tom, who crouches on the couch next to him, and smoothes a severe frown from his brow.

"That's how it is, little serpent," he murmurs against Tom's temple. "Accept what you are and use it."

"Aides?" you echo, still a little behind mentally.

"I've drawn up two formal apprenticeship contracts for you," Lucius explains blithely. "They will require that you finish your schooling beforehand, however."

You shrug. NEWTs have been at the very back of your mind so far. Surely he can't propose to send you - even less Tom - back to Hogwarts! You sneak a glance at Tom, but he looks unperturbed.

"The Department for Magical Education will allow you to take your NEWTs at the end of the summer holidays. That will give you an extra few months to regain full control over your powers."

Yes, there's that. You've experimented with lighting a candle with Lumos this morning, and ended up splattering molten wax on all four walls of the bedroom.

"And Tom," Lucius nods at the dark head next to him with almost fatherly pride, "is a very advanced student, more than prepared to skip a year. I'm sure you will both profit from preparing together."

You groan inwardly. Oh, working with Tom tends to be productive, but competing against the trademark ambitious Slytherin who is going to try and one-up you at every turn promises to be anything but fun. Tom flashes a pointy canine in your direction and his eyes are sparkling. This time, you groan aloud.

Lucius leans back more comfortably. "Professor Snape has already agreed to help improve your performance."

There is an audible thump as your forehead smacks against the headrest. So Tom alone isn't sufficient to do you in.

The twist of Lucius' mouth betrays his amusement as he continues, "I'll be tutoring you in a few areas myself, of course, as will my wife as soon as she returns. Narcissa is very skilled at Transfiguration - a talent that has long run in the Black family."

At the thought of Narcissa Malfoy, you duck your head in dismay. Lucius' wife. Judging from the way his tongue darts out to moisten a dry lower lip for a moment, even Tom seems to be a little unnerved by the prospect.

Lucius observes the look that passes between you and laughs softly. "There is no need for apprehension over Narcissa - you'll be members of the Malfoy household, and no threat to either her status or our marriage. There even are ancient variants of that Apprenticeship contract which stipulate a more personal form of service."

With a hot surge of embarrassment, you realise that the 'personal service' you could live with. Making love with Lucius is anything but a chore. But getting involved in his politics... that could cost you dearly. Your soul, perhaps.

"Narcissa will be proud to have the heir of Slytherin in her household, and of course she's related to you, Harry." You frown and cast your mind back to the family tapestry of the Blacks, but Lucius shakes his head and runs a thumb over your lower lip. "Your godfather was her cousin, and that is a relation as magically binding as blood."

Thinking about families makes you look up again suddenly. "What about the ferret? Um, Draco?" you amend as Lucius' nail digs into the sensitive skin of your lip in an unspoken warning.

"My son and heir, Harry, will be making his way in a different field," he states with the confidence of a man who has already specified said field and included control over it into his long-term plans. "The Ministry is wary of anything that looks like an attempt at establishing dynastic policies in its ranks," he adds, sarcasm laid on so thick you can almost touch it. He's up to a lot worse than 'dynastic policies'.

"You, Harry, are legally adult as a wizard, and we've added a few months to age Tom up to seventeen when we created his new identity." The smirk deepens at your bug-eyed stare, and Lucius turns to Tom with a flourish. "Harry, meet Thomas Marvolo, last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin, who joined us from Durmstrang to battle against his deranged kinsman Lord Voldemort." The smirk turns decidedly evil. "Igor Karkaroff may be one of the worst cowards ever to walk Merlin's earth, but he's gifted at forging paperwork."

You have to gasp at the implications of it. "You're saying you're about to join the most influential British wizarding body and your aides are to be the Heir of Slytherin, and-" You pause. "Me?"

"The Heir of Slytherin and the Boy Who Lived," he confirms. "I knew you'd figure it out."

"And your friend Snape will control Hogwarts," you add flatly.

"Indeed." You almost think you can detect a glimmer of approval in those steely eyes.

"You realise that I'd be mad to help you with this?" you ask, a nervous feeling churning in your stomach as if you had been invited to step between the jaws of a very hungry monster.

"No, Harry," he replies calmly, "I hope you will realise how important you are for us."

"Oh sure, I can see that!" you scoff.

"Important in a very particular way," he interrupts, hand lingering lightly on Tom's arm. "I'm quite proud of my rather... traditional viewpoints on wizarding politics, and Tom here..." He gives him a look that borders on the affectionate. "Tom is Tom, of course. But if we intend to appeal to the wizarding public as a whole, we'll need a... corrective. You, Harry."

"You want me to look over your ideas and rap you on the knuckles if they get out of hand?" There is an ever-so-slight undertone of hysteria in your voice. That idea sounds dangerously like wagging your finger in front of a Nundu and asking it not to breathe.

"I'd expect it to be an intriguing task for a Gryffindor," Lucius states in a silky tone of voice. "Especially for one who has quite mastered Slytherinesque cunning." You feel your lips quirk, and try very hard not to look at Tom, who has slid further back onto the couch in an indecent sprawl.

"Yes, Harry, I'd love to see you trying to control me," he whispers, mouth twisted.

"I can't and won't force you to accept that contract." Lucius smiles, trailing his finger along Tom's arm in a lingering caress. "Although taking you into the service of the house of Malfoy would mean that nobody - neither the Ministry nor Albus Dumbledore nor your Muggle relatives - could stake a claim on you again. But the choice has to be yours."

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to clear your head. There is something essentially wrong with the idea of playing Percy to Lucius' Crouch. There is something even more wrong with the idea of being set up as a puppet to mollify public opinion while Lucius pulls the strings in the background. Unless you don't let him. Yes, that's the challenge, isn't it? You glare at him because it makes you feel like a fly struggling in a sticky net. But knowing he's manipulating you doesn't make the temptation go away. This could work. If you're strong enough to put your stamp on the whole endeavour.

"If I agree to this," you start slowly, still ensconced in sheltering darkness, "I will not back out of a confrontation because I sleep with you. In fact, I'll make your life utter, merciless hell if you try anything because I sleep with you."

"I know." Lucius nods in quiet satisfaction. "It's what you are. It's what we rely on."

Almost angrily, you stare at Tom. "I won't let you turn into Voldemort - you'd better be aware of that."

"And here I thought we'd already established that when we killed him," he sneers.

"Not even into anything remotely like him," you clarify.

Tom slips his hand into his robe pocket and you suppress the instinctive reflex to go for your wand. He produces a small object, wrapped in a scrap of silk, and throws it at you. You catch it with a twinge of apprehension and unfold the cloth. On it, gleaming white with smeared green venom still clinging to the tip, is the Basilisk tooth he broke off to murder you with in the Chamber of Secrets.

You bite your lip, wrap up the tooth again and put it into your pocket, unable to find any appropriate words.

At last, you slip out of the armchair and sit next to Tom on the couch, one foot tucked under. You put your hands on his arms and lean against him as if to kiss him, and then grab his arms and pull them behind his back - and away from his wand! - just before you push him down on the couch. He yelps in surprise and flails without finding purchase on the slippery leather. You feel the sharp angles of his body under the thin black house robe, and let your weight rest against him for a moment to enjoy the futile struggles. Yes, there is something to be said for having the upper hand indeed.

He glares bloody murder out of eyes narrowed to dark slits. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?" he hisses.

You give him a self-satisfied smile and lean in to tug at his lower lip with your teeth, one hand tangled in his hair to prevent him from biting. "Oh, just what you asked for, Tom," you murmur cheerfully. "Controlling you."

You smirk down at his furious face which promises grisly retribution to come, and feel Lucius' amused chuckle against your neck just before his arms come around your shoulders and the comforting warmth of his body envelops your back.

Wordlessly, you nod and close your eyes for a moment.

Oh yes, you'll work with them - on your terms.

They'll never know what hit them!

~ finis ~

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