Hero Against Own Will

Chapter Six. Decisions, decisions...

When I'm looking down on you I see

A wasted land - and the reason is humanity...

I must gain control!

I protect the law - now and evermore;

Justice I'll defend - Guardian of the land!

Crime has to end!

- Iron Savior, "Protect the Law".

Captain Draco Malfoy, of His Majesty the Fine Lord's Secret Service, was not enjoying this morning. Rather, he was feeling frustrated, with the heavy cast on his left leg impeding his movement, his hand constantly slipping off the walking stick the Muggle doctor that fixed it gave him, and the splitting headache caused by lack of sleep preventing his thoughts from reaching even half of their usual speed and efficiency. Even worse - back at his work there was more trouble waiting.

"Sir, we've got a new problem. The rebels - they have attacked a Demonhunter temple and--" one of his colleagues began as he saw Draco entering, but then paused at the sight of his cast. "What happened to you?"

"Some idiot decided it was a nice idea to exceed the speed limit. So much for a walk to buy fresh milk. The damn thing kept hurting all night - I almost didn't sleep, and now have a horrid headache. Other than that, I'm perfectly fine. Now what was that thing about the temple?" Malfoy replied as he carefully deposited himself into his chair at his desk and browsed through the heap of mail in his inbox.

"The rebels, sir, they have attacked the Demonhunter temple. Reports indicate heavy losses on our side. And... well... all we our guys did to them was wound one..." the man replied feebly, "in the leg..." he added cautiously, as he eyed Draco's cast, but the Captain's sneer made him snap out of this brief stint of paranoia.

"When did this happen?"

"Last evening, sir."

"Then you have no reason to suspect me, although your vigilance is worthy of notice. You can check - last evening I was in a Muggle hospital, getting this cast, and before that I was reporting the situation to my local police station - the man that hit me with his car sped away before I could get his licence plate number, sadly. I hope the police puts and end to those insane drivers that keep racing down the night streets, one of my neighbours got killed that way last month... Anything else?"

"No sir, just this. And, of course, the High Command is throwing a tantrum because of that... One of the few survivors said they saw a magical sword in the hands of one of the rebels -- and that all of the perpetrators were wearing the same uniforms as the guards themselves..."

"A magical sword, you say? This very well might be the sword Mr. Potter withheld from us... I suppose I'll have to talk to the officer on this case... Who, did you say, was on it?"

"I didn't. Lambert, sir, but I think he's gone off to the scene of the crime."

"Very well. Dismissed, sergeant."

"Yes, sir," the man replied as he retreated back to his own desk, leaving Malfoy to his own dark thoughts.

"So, Potter has resurfaced, and brought his sword out along with him... I wonder how long will it take for him to slip, make a mistake... so that we could find out where he's hiding... and then... he will be in custody, and the sword safely locked up in the Department of Mysteries..." he thought grimly as he forced himself off his chair and towards the cafeteria. Perhaps coffee could solve at least one of his problems - the damned headache...

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you get it fixed by a wizard doctor? Why bother with the cast?"

"Let's put it this way. Next time I'll be sure to watch the road - because the experience of having a cast will teach me of the consequences."

"That's very... wise of you, sir." the sergeant replied after a short pause.

"And also because Muggle doctors never ask questions, you fool. Not knowing such details is what will keep you a sergeant until retirement..." Draco thought angrily, surprised by such vigilance towards his own person.

~~~~~~~~~~

Max's apartment wasn't large, and it certainly wasn't often-used. As far as the government was concerned, he was a failed student of economics, trying to get by in life by working night shifts as a janitor in a hospital. The most amusing thing was that he actually did his cover-up job - and did it well. His skill with brooms, however, did not seem to extend to his own place, as it looked like he last appeared here more than a couple of weeks ago. Harry decided not to trouble himself over the matter of where the hell did Max sleep all this time ("He might've, after all, stayed with the Resistance, right?" Harry said to himself), but made sure to wipe off all the dust he could from under himself before setting down onto a couch in the living room.

"So, what comes next?" Neville asked grimly, dropping the bag with his gun onto the floor and stretching. Despite his being up-to-date with his exercise, he still was neither very thin nor small, and Seamus' VW didn't give him much freedom in these terms.

"I don't know about you, my friend, but we intend to spend the next few days - or maybe even weeks - deciphering the runes to find out where Demonslayer is stored. I'm afraid you'll have to survive the lack of action for a while," Max replied honestly. Neville shrugged and departed to seek the bathroom.

"How exactly are we supposed to do that?" Harry thought aloud.

"Well, in theory, we have to write them all down in plain English first," Max started to explain, "Then we compare the texts. The identical parts we remove, and arrange the different ones in order we have to figure out on our own... these differences are supposed to hint us at the location of the Hidden Temple, the one that is supposed to open only to the true bearer of the Demonhunter heritage, and, naturally, procure Demonslayer."

"Sounds like cakewalk to me..." said Neville upon returning to the room. "Just one question. Do you have anything in your fridge, or I'm supposed to go and fetch something edible while you two do your scholarly activities?"

"I'm afraid you will have to do just that, Nev," Max replied with a weak grin, "Because that's exactly the situation."

"We can be sure of one thing about this place though..." Harry said thoughtfully, "I'm sure it doesn't have any rodent or other pest problems - if there were any around here to begin with, they should've starved to death by now."

~~~~~~~~~~

Coffee didn't help, but a fellow lieutenant turned out to have a pack of aspirin on-hand, and that seemed to help. It didn't kill all of the pain, but it at least managed to ease it, which was a major accomplishment in itself. It was time to find Lambert...

"Communications Centre, how can I be of service?" the telephone - one of the few things the wizarding community adopted from Muggles - said in a female voice that must've been gentle before it was distorted by the bad reception. The rebel terrorists made a fine point of disrupting enemy communications at least once a month by blowing up yet another telephone station the SS used. In the end, it was decided to save on rebuilding them since they were going to get destroyed anyway. This particular one was a local record - it had already survived two bombings.

"This is Captain Malfoy speaking; can you tell me Captain Lambert's current number? I have to get in touch with him about his current case..." Draco replied. He didn't like this system - every officer's number changed on a weekly basis in order to prevent some... accidents that have happened before, when the rebels even managed to listen in on secret communications for several hours - before an attack team tore down their door and dragged them off to Blackheart.

"Of course, Captain," the operator replied. Draco nodded along subconsciously as he wrote down the string of numbers.

"Thank you!" he squeezed out of himself before hanging up. Unfortunately, someone upstairs did include being polite to telephone operators into the "obligatory" section of the regulations - it didn't hurt (much) to be impolite, but they could cut down your pay if you were downright rude - and it was up to the operators to decide on that, since without them, everyone would have to bother with Floo powder and fireplaces (which really took up too much space in the old SS HQ), without which most of the agents already got used to getting by.

He dialed Lambert's number just to hear his secretary reply that he's off on some top secret mission ("As if she was talking to someone calling from outside this very building!" Draco thought angrily), and she cannot disclose any information regarding it. In other words, she didn't know herself.

"Blackwell - I'm off. Going to go find Lambert. If he's not at his desk, I suppose he's at the scene of the crime... And I have to talk to him. If anyone calls--"

"--you're off on a top secret mission, got it," sergeant Blackwell replied with a grin.

"Hey, everyone in this building can play that stupid game," Draco retorted, although his grin didn't seem real. He once again willed himself off the chair, feeling the cast as if there was a heavy ball of lead chained to his leg.

"Why, oh why didn't I visit a wizarding doctor?" he asked of himself angrily, "Oh yes, to teach myself to watch the damn road next time," he thought, answering his own question in the same manner as he did with everyone else's as he grabbed his overcoat from the hanger and carefully made his way out through the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neville came back in looking like all Hell warmed up.

"What happened to you? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Max said, accepting his bags which seemed to be chock full of food.

"Not a ghost, but close. Remember school? Divination and all?" Neville asked, turning to Harry.

"Yes, but what that has to do with anyth--" Harry started before being interrupted.

"I think I just saw a Grim!" Neville replied, dropping himself onto the couch. Harry thanked himself for wiping it clean of the dust while Neville was away, because otherwise they wouldn't've been able to see a thing after that drop.

"So?" Max asked, as he started depositing the contents of the bags into the refrigerator after checking its power just to find out that Neville thoughtfully plugged it in before leaving. "Are you sure didn't have any of this stuff?" he asked, holding up a small bottle of vodka that somehow made its way into one of the bags. "Oops, sorry, it hasn't been opened... and it's the only one in the check..."

"Neville - where did it happen?" Harry asked, trying to shake some sense into his friend. Neville now reminded him more of the weak and scared boy that he always thought him to be back in school. Actually, this was the first time that he was entirely sure that he was facing the real Neville Longbottom.

"The alleyway next to this building. To the right from the exit," Neville answered, looking like he has finally managed to regain his composure.

"Alright, I will go there and check. Alright?" Harry asked, and, after getting a nod back, went on. "If you're feeling so superstitious, I might as well denounce that myth. It's usually a hallucination when a person sees the Grim - you know, self-induced or whatever it's called," he explained to Max, "But I do know an Animagus whose animal form might look like it - hell, he used to do that on purpose to scare people back in his youth," he added with a grin.

"Okay. Just hurry back, alright? It's almost the curfew time, and I'm not feeling like freeing you from the firm grasp of the Law," Max replied, meaning the time limit imposed on the presence of Muggles, Muggle-borns and especially Squibs on the streets after 9 PM.

"Deal. It isn't a large walk, remember?" Harry replied, stopping only to grab the two concealable daggers he took at Hermione's after their escape from prison and a Beretta. Being ready never hurt anyone, so he added a flashlight he found in Max's empty wardrobe - he just replaced the batteries - to his gear and made his way out without saying his goodbyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The forensics experts have almost finished their job in scraping the brains of one of the last dead soldiers off a statue of some warrior of ancient times as Draco hobbled into the "scene of the crime". He was supposed to refer to it like a police officer in order to maintain security, but something about it fell odd - because one would rather call this a "scene of the battle", or a "scene of massacre".

"Is Captain Lambert here?" he asked of the nearest SS man. As a reply he got a nod and a wave in the central room's general direction. Nodding back as a form of acknowledgement for the man's assistance, Malfoy proceeded in the suggested direction.

Lambert was a tall man in his late fifties, divorced, father of two daughters, both deceased, one died in a car accident, the other - an accidental victim of a rebel bombing -- Draco knew pretty much everything his file had on the man. It was like a hobby of sorts - although it was a necessary hobby for anyone in his line of work - studying all you could about the man you were about to talk to, just to know how to behave, what to expect... and how to react to it.

"Captain Lambert?"

"Yes. I don't seem to recall your name, Captain..." Lambert replied, offering a hand to shake and throwing a glance at the stars on Draco's uniform.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I was working on the case of that archaeologist, Potter," Draco explained, "Remember that one? It was all over the newspapers."

"Oh yeah, the guy that you arrested for withholding a magical weapon who later escaped... So, what brings you here then?"

"Him, actually," Malfoy replied, looking around, "Or, rather, his crime. You see, the weapon in question was a magical sword. Black steel, rune-carved blade... Enchanted against supernatural beasts, so the damage it does to human flesh is supposed to be immense..." he added matter-of-factly, eyeing the blood on the walls. "Do the survivor descriptions match?"

"Yes, that's pretty much the way they said it," Lambert confirmed. "Look for yourself - to get to this room he cut down several reinforced security doors. One of them was even laced with adamantium," he added, waving at the two halves of a destroyed door lying in the hallway.

Draco walked up to one of them, running his hand along the cut - it felt strangely smooth, as if cut by no less than a military-grade laser beam... or a real Demonhunter sword.

"Looks nasty. Not the type of person you'd want to meet in a dark alley, eh?" he asked of Lambert.

"Definitely," was the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway was dark - actually, he was unsure if he was seeing or just imagining his hands that he was probing the walls with for support as he tried to cross a large puddle of dirty water that gathered on this end of it, as this was the only way of entering this alley - at least, the only one he found.

Harry looked around, noticing the absence of streetlights and dogs in this alley. The first wouldn't worry him too much, but the second... was rather upsetting, considering this was what he came here for. On second inspection, however, he saw a pair of brown dog eyes looking at him from behind a garbage can.

"Sirius?"

A low growl was the answer as its source walked out into the light. It was a classical stray - not very large, not very small, hunched back, lowly held head, eyes full of that bitter intelligence and a face whose ability to convey emotions via facial expressions could rival those of a human. And right now it didn't look too friendly.

"Look, pal, I know you might not like this, but if you know Sirius Black - I'm a friend of his, understand?" Harry whispered as he got down to his knees, feeling completely stupid and hoping nobody would poke their head into this alley right now to see a madman talking to a dog. The dog looked like he got the message, as he backed off and motioned over with his head, as if inviting Harry to follow him.

Harry caught himself on the thought that he refers to the dog as him inside of his head, because with strays it was just... strange to call such a smart creature - one that managed to survive in the concrete jungle by the way - it, like with normal, common dogs.

He got off his knees, looked behind his back just to see a lone truck go past the entrance to the alleyway, and followed the dog. The latter looked assured that Harry was following him, and scurried along to the other end of the alley - the end that, as far as Harry was concerned, was a dead one.

He saw the dog stop at the wall that it ended it -- and walk right past through it! Such things suddenly made him remember his childhood and his first ever visit to Diagon Alley - somehow, he got used to living without magic so much that even the simplest thing as a fake wall could shock him!

He laughed at himself - although internally, just in his thoughts - and took a bold step through it. Despite having half-expected nothing serious to happen, he was somewhat disappointed just to find himself standing on the next street. It was a bluntly masked magical shortcut! He quickly found the stray - the dog has already made its way to a corner - and followed it again. Harry wasn't quite sure where he was leading him, but hoped that Sirius (if it really was him that Neville saw... but the dog recognized the name, didn't he?) was wherever that would be...

**********

A/N I'm back from the dead, thank you very much. Want the full account of where I was gone, go read my LJ. For now, I'm just saying that I'm scrapping HDR2 and probably scrapping AitD. I will still support this fic and Cyberpunk Nightmare, however, so hold your hopes up :D Not so sure about GGP though.

The wild and scattered answers to the more-often asked questions: now you have a fat-arsed hint at who Snake is (honestly... Snape? he's over fifty by now!), you will see Sirius in the next chapter, Hermione's research is important to the plot (but not as important as Harry's sword), and Harry's battle-induced bloodthirst will be answered when you bother to read any of Moorcock's "Elric of Melnibone" story arc books (I'd recommend starting with "Fortress of the Pearl" - or, even better, with "Daughter of the Dreamthief"). It's the sword and its unholy energy that's causing this... Well, explained later on as well. Nope, no more spoilers from me now.