The Curse of Charon

Chapter Sixteen

"This castle is very roomy," Harry remarked, as they made their way down a draughty corridor. "Are we going to share a room?"

Draco found himself smiling despite the huge weight of anxiety that had been playing on his mind ever since they had arrived in Ireland an hour or so ago. Because only Draco knew that this wasn't a rented holiday chateau, but O'Halley's Irish mansion, and only Draco knew that far from keeping Harry safe he was luring him into a trap that would cost him his life.

"Of course we're sharing a room. What did you think we came here to do, admire the scenery? The only scenery I intend to be admiring is the one that appears when you take off your..." The last word was lost after Harry clamped a hand over his boyfriend's mouth.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't be cheeky. Which room is it?"

"I'm not sure," Draco replied, purposely dithering, wasting as much time as he could. He didn't want to find the room, because soon after that everything would change. Harry would realise he had been duped, and nothing could ever be the same between them again after he learnt the truth, how the one that supposedly loved him cared more for an evil wizard who had died centuries ago.

"Um...I think it's this one," he said finally, closing his eyes as he pointed to the correct door, as if he expected a mighty thunderbolt to come down and smite him on the spot. No such thunderbolt appeared, and Harry looked at his fearful expression with mild perplexion. Then put his case on the ground and turned the handle on the door.

The room within was airy, with a large window that, during the day, would have given the room a lot of light. The walls were a pale shade of lilac, the wardrobe was large and looked old, and the bed was big, and there was someone sitting on it, someone Harry had not expected to see.

"Hello, Mr Potter," he drawled silkily.

"Hello Lucius," Harry replied.

*

"We're here!" said Dean excitedly. "We're in Ireland!"

Seamus yawned slightly. It was not that he was not pleased to see his native land, but the journey had made him tired. First of all they had taken the Hogwarts Express from the castle to London, then caught the London to Paignton, then they had gotten off at Plymouth to take a plane to Cork. Seamus felt happier travelling by the muggle methods, especially when he had a very excitable Dean with him. Now they were nearly at his house, they only had to travel another few miles, and his mother had sent their carriage along to wait in the spot it usually waited in for Seamus whenever he came home from school this way. There were probably more practical ways to get from England to Ireland, but he loved the train journey, and Plymouth was a lovely little city to do some shopping in before his flight.

"We're not quite there yet," he replied. "We still have to take the carriage to my house. It's quite a long trip, and the roads are bad in places."

Not even this news could stop Dean's broad smile.

"I'm really looking forward to spending the summer with you," he said.

"I'm looking forward to it too," said Seamus, and kissed Dean on the nose.

*

Dear Sirius,

It's the end of term, and I'm almost glad it's over. Bad things happened this term, Sirius, bad things. A student killed himself. Not just any student. It was Neville, Frank and Alice's son. We still don't know why exactly.

It was horrible, the last week of the term, because all I could think about was how much braver than me he was. He had the guts to kill himself, while I'm too afraid.

Part of me wants to die at my own hands, part is too afraid to do anything, and then there's the final part. It's the part I keep for you. It's the part that still lives in hope that you might not be dead, that we might find you alive some day. I know it's ridiculous, and believe me, I know you're dead, I felt it the second it happened, I felt myself become colder somehow, but there is still a little bit of me that is hanging on for a miracle.

But I don't really believe in miracles. Not any more.

*

"What the hell is he doing here?" Harry asked Draco, more surprised than angry.

Draco merely stared at the floor, pushing the carpet around with the end of his shoe. His face was slightly less pale than usual, and anyone who knew the general extent of his pallor would have called him flushed.

Lucius smiled, a thin, nasty smile.

"Didn't my son tell you I'd be here...or has he forgotten his manners?" When he saw the look of confusion on Harry's face, and the silent plea his deep green eyes made to Draco's downward facing ones, his smile broadened, and stretched the sides of his face. Harry caught a glimpse of a row of small, pointed teeth, which reminded him of a shark.

"I see," he drawled, and laughed a little. "I see what he's done. My boy, my clever boy, has tricked poor little Potter into loving him. And now poor little Potter has been lured here, to Roger O'Halley's castle, to be sacrificed to my cause. Mr Potter, although I can't promise that your death will be pleasant, hopefully you can die in the knowledge that you helped me greatly in your last hours."

The confusion in Harry's eyes did not clear once Lucius had spoken, if anything it thickened, and clouded his eyes more.

"What?" he said, and turned to Draco. "What's he talking about, Draco? Why is he here, why is he saying these strange things?"

Draco looked up, his eyes filled with tears, his face burning and flushed, his hair stuck to his head with perspiration. He opened his mouth to speak but Lucius cut him off.

"There will be time for chitchat later. Come, Mr Potter, your cell awaits you." He took hold of Harry's arm with a grip that could have crushed a less muscular frame, and led him out of the door and down a seemingly endless flight of stone steps, towards what appeared to be a dungeon. It was dark, set underground.

When they arrived, he was thrown into a small room along the corridor at the bottom of the steps, the floor and walls of which were made of the same grey stone as the stairs, with the manacles on chains hanging off the walls, and a small gap at the top of the wall with bars along it, open to the night air. Through the thick iron bars, which Harry presumed were strengthened with powerful and ancient spells, he could see the stars twinkling in the moonlight sky. It was almost surreal; he and the stars were worlds away.

Before he even had time to react, Lucius had flicked his wand, and he found his arms were shackled to the wall and his shirt was missing. He looked to Draco for some kind of explanation, or reassurance. He wanted to know that everything was all right, that he hadn't just pretended to be in love to sell him to Lucius, that he really did love him, but the grey eyes were impassive, apathetic, and Harry could tell nothing from them.

Draco followed his father out of the door, and Harry heard the click of their shoes as they ascended the staircase.

*

Narcissa Malfoy was weak, but she knew she hadn't been hallucinating. She had heard voices outside of her cell, and the sounds of footsteps. The voices had sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn't remember who they belonged to. She looked down at her hands, dirty, bleeding, the nails broken to bits, then yawned and went back to sleep.

*

Dean had met Seamus' mother, met his father, met his dog, and his cat, and his rabbits, and the donkeys that lived in the field behind their house. He had showered in their bathroom and eaten their food off their plates in their kitchen. Now he was sleeping in one of their beds, between their sheets, next to the boy he loved.

Seamus had promised him a trip to the old castle they had seen on the carriage journey tomorrow, and he felt that, overall, life was treating him very well.

*

Only miles away from where Dean slept happily, Harry felt that life was treating him very badly. He was alone and shirtless, locked up in a small dungeon beneath the castle of someone called Roger O'Halley, somewhere in Ireland. Luckily the night was not cold, so the shirt was not missed much. More than anything, he was bored. He was sitting against the wall of the cell opposite the wall with the door in, the side that he was chained to. Fortunately the chains were long, and he had almost a full range of movement around the small space he called his own.

He had already counted the number of stones in the wall opposite (715), and the number of freckles on his arms and chest (27 - a number he found surprising considering he wasn't a particularly freckly person), and thinking numbers now made his head hurt.

After he had stopped counting, he had turned his attention to the situation he was in. He had many questions; most of them concerning Draco's intentions, and what Lucius intended to do with him. He had a horrible suspicion that it would involve some ancient and powerful magic, and he would almost certainly end up dead or badly injured. If he was lucky. He knew some of the things that magic was capable of doing to people, things worse than death or injury, and those he didn't know about he really didn't want to know about.

He was distracted (somewhat thankfully) from his thoughts by a knock at the door. Then it opened, and let in some of the soft light from the candles and tapers in the corridor. His own cell had one candle fixed to an ancient sconce, but the quality of light was poor at best.

There was a figure standing in the doorway, a figure he had seen so many times before.

"Come in," he said, his eagerness to know what was going on and his boredom overtaking any idea of playing it cautious.

The figure walked over to him and sat down next to him on the hard stone floor, blonde hair glistening softly in the light of the lone candle and the moonbeams that entered the room through the barred window-space.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Draco put a long, slender finger to it and instead spoke himself.

"I'm sorry, first of all. I didn't know he was going to do that."

"But you knew he'd be here?" Harry interjected.

Draco nodded, his face grim.

"It's true what he said about me luring you here. I did, and I'm so sorry about it. I didn't want to, I've tried so hard to fight him, to do something different, but I couldn't help it. I'm weak, and he's strong. I knew what he would do to me if I failed, and I was so afraid of that that I led you straight to him."

Harry frowned and began to pick at a half-healed scab on his hand.

"That's fine," he said, his voice sounding light and as if it came from far away.

Draco looked at him, but he continued to concentrate on the scab, picking at it until it bled.

"It's not fine, I know it isn't. I'm a cheap bastard, Harry, and no one knows that more than I do."

Harry said nothing.

"I've come here to give you an explanation," Draco continued, trying to find the words from somewhere deep inside himself, somewhere that he was beginning to realise didn't exist. He was almost entirely shallow, shallow as a rock pool, shallow as a puddle on the shore. He had no inner reserve of strength and calm like Harry had. He had nothing but a horrid, bitter self-loathing that slept deep within, like an unforgiving serpent, at once his master and his greatest foe. He could see so much more clearly now, now that he had felt love for the first time, then sold that love away. It was not Lucius who was his master, nor Lucius who he was afraid of. It was, in fact, himself. He had come this far expecting that the consequences of not coming would have been facing his father, but far more importantly, as he now saw, he would have had to face himself, he would have had to look deep within himself, look at the ugly, twisted coil of self-hatred and destruction and violence and hate that lived inside, and he would have had to tell it he was stronger than it had ever imagined.

But of course, he was weak, and it seemed that his weakness would now be costing him his one chance for happiness.

"You deserve an explanation," he said to the silent boy next to him who was now sucking his own blood from his hand.

"I don't want anything from you," the boy said coldly. "You've done enough already."

"Do you want me to go away?" Draco asked, feeling his eyes sting slightly, and his heart sting more. Harry shrugged.

"Do what you want."

Sensing that there was nothing to be gained by staying in the cold, lonely cell with the cold, lonely boy, Draco stood up and left.

*

Remus was alone in his living room in the house that he owned in Hogsmeade, sat on the sofa, trying to read his book, when a knock came at the door. It startled him slightly, since his front door was locked, and there was no way anyone could have gotten in the house. Anyhow, burglars didn't usually knock before entering. The thing that had surprised him most, though, had been the knock. Sirius' knock.

"Come in," he called warily, and he saw the door handle move downwards as if someone on the other side had pushed it. The door then opened, and in stepped a dark-haired, handsome man, who looked to be about the same age that Remus was.

"Hello, my love," the man said, and sat down next to Remus on the sofa. He took the book out of his hand and replaced it wit one of his own.

"Sirius?" Remus asked, almost speechless in amazement. The man nodded.

"How?" Remus asked. The man smiled.

"It was all thanks to the letter you wrote me, the one about Neville. Yes, dear, I've been reading the letters. They're so...sad, Remmie. They make me cry, all of them, because I just want to reach out and hug you, and make you feel better. Anyway, when I heard Neville was dead, I went to look for his soul. Poor thing was a bit shaken, but the young ones usually are. He was so pleased I comforted him that he traded me his favour in return for a pledge of friendship."

"His...favour? And where exactly did you meet him? And what exactly are you? A ghost?"

Sirius smiled again.

"When you die, you pass into a sort of spirit world. I won't call it heaven, because it isn't, but it's not a bad place. Every soul that enters the spirit world gets what is called a favour, a sort of token you receive to soften the blow of dying slightly. You can spend it freely, pretty much. That's how some people become ghosts. They use their favour to become an imitation of life. The one condition is that you cannot use your own favour to make yourself a real person again, not even for a few hours, but you can use someone else's. I gave my own favour to a poor chap I met who desperately needed to see his wife again. Traded it for something or other.

"I used Neville's favour, the one he gave me, to have six hours back on earth in a real body. For the next five and a half hours I'm entirely human."

Remus looked at him in amazement for a few minutes, then threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. They both found that they were crying into each other.

"I've missed you so much," Remus sniffled, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"I've missed you too, Moony. But I'm yours for the next five and a half hours. It would have been six, but I stopped in to have a look at Harry on the way here. He was on a train platform, I think it's the end of term."

"What did he say to you?" Remus asked.

"Nothing. I didn't talk to him, or approach him. I've seen how much he's been hurting lately, I thought that seeing me might hurt even more, especially if he knew he'd have to let me go once again."

Remus started to cry harder.

"I'm going to have to let go of you again. And this time, I'll know what's happening as well!"

Sirius patted him soothingly.

"It's all right. It'll be hard, but you'll always have the memories, both of now and of before. I know you have memories, Remus, precious ones. I see you thinking sometimes, and I know you're thinking of us."

"Can you do something for me?" Remus asked.

"What?"

"Hold me, Sirius, hold me like you never mean to let go."

*

Draco went back to see Harry that evening, although he waited until he was asleep, then sat down on the floor and stroked his hair softly.

"I'm sorry, Harry, really I am," he whispered. "Sorrier than you'll ever know. You're going to die tomorrow. You're going to die, and I'll be left alone. I'll be left alone and it'll all be my fault. I'll have killed you, I helped set up the trap, I laid the bait; I watched and waited until you came in, and now it's too late. Why didn't I tell you before? Why didn't I warn you? You'd have hated me, that's for sure, because I'd have had to tell you that I was supposed to pretend to love you. I didn't just pretend, Harry, I really loved you, but you would have thought I had pretended all along if I'd have told you earlier. I'd have lost you, I would have been alone, but you'd still have been alive. I really did love you, Harry, I still do. I love you so much, more than I ever loved another person, more than I ever loved anything before. You're the one I get up for in the morning, and the one I think of before I go to sleep at night. You're my up, my down, my black and white and night and day. You're my everything, and I can't live without you. If you're killed tomorrow...oh God...when you're killed tomorrow...my heart might as well stop beating, because it'll be no use to me any more.

"All this is my fault, Harry, this whole stupid mess, all my fault, and it's me who will suffer for it in the end, I suppose. I'm sorry, Harry, so, so so, so sorry, sorrier than I'll ever be able to tell you...I'd give my life if it would make it up to you...give my life for you...but it's no good, you're as good as dead. No point now, no point. Oh God, such a mess, I love you, Harry, I love you and I'm sorry, and I love you, really I do, I love you so much."

He got up off the floor, tried to wipe his face dry but found it was impossible to fight the cascades of tears that poured from him. Instead, he closed the door gently and left Harry sleeping, and unaware of the monologue he had just witnessed.

*

"Let's go! Let's go!" said Dean, bouncing on Seamus' bed. The sleepy boy opened his eyes gingerly in the early morning light and looked at him.

"What are you on about, Dean? It's five in the morning!"

"You said we could go to that castle place in the morning. It's the morning."

"I meant later in the morning, like maybe the sort of time a normal person would get up. Go back to sleep. You can wake me up again at eight if you have to."

"Yay!"

*

Remus felt the sheets rustling next to him, and opened his eyes. Light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the gaps in he Venetian blinds, casting stripes of dark and shadow onto the white bed. He turned over and saw that Sirius had gotten up.

"I must go now," he said. "My time is almost up." Remus felt the tears of the earlier evening returning to him, and he tried to force them back.

"Don't. Please don't. Don't leave me again, I can't stand the pain."

Sirius kissed him.

"Remember, I'm always watching you. Every time you talk to me I'm listening, every letter you write me I read. Don't stop talking or writing, because one day I'll find a way to answer you. Never give up hope, Remus; hope is the most important thing you have. Hope will keep you alive where nothing else will. Hope that I'll get another favour, hope that I'll find a way to talk to you. I will see you again, Remus, I know I will. If you can't live for yourself, live for me."

Remus smiled slightly.

"What if I did kill myself? We'd be together then, forever, in death."

Sirius frowned slightly.

"Don't," he said. "Don't do it. It's not worth it. People still need you. You're the closest thing Harry has now to both me and his father and mother. The students like you. You've made some good friends. Live for them, Remus, and live in the knowledge and the hope that we'll see each other again one day."

Remus looked up at him mournfully.

"Please. Please don't go. Please. Stay with me forever."

"I will. I'm always with you, even if you can't see me."

"What if I wake up later and think that all this was a dream?"

Sirius paused and thought for a moment. Then he took Remus' left arm, turned it over so that the pale skin on the underside showed, and kissed it, almost exactly where a Dark Mark would be if he had even been a Death Eater.

Remus looked down to the spot of the kiss and saw Sirius' lip marks printed onto his skin. He touched the mark and found it hurt, like a burn or a brand.

"That is your proof. It is proof that I have always loved you above any other, and always will. Goodbye, Remus, it was lovely to see you again."

He kissed his again, then turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly. Remus heard footsteps down the hall, and then the footsteps ceased, and he knew that Sirius was gone once more.

*

Harry was woken from his uncomfortable sleep by a sharp knock on the door. He sat up and the door opened. The cell was light now, and he guessed the morning must have come.

Lucius walked in, in what appeared to be his best robes, and Draco followed after him, his head still hung. Lucius was carrying an old book, and although Harry did not know what it was, he did not like the look of it. When it had been carried into his cell, he felt a jerk in his stomach, as though he had just travelled by portkey.

"Good morning, Mr Potter," said Lucius. "How are you this fine and sunny day?" Harry did not answer him.

"It is time, Mr Potter," he continued. "Time to do the work I have planned for so long, work which could not have happened without the effort of my son, for it was he who lured our prize to us. I want to explain to you what is going to happen now."

"Save your breath," Harry said, his voice deep and low. "I know I'm going to die. Just get on with it." Lucius smirked.

"I'm afraid it isn't as easy as that. I feel you still need an explanation. You, Mr Potter, are the proud owner of what we in the business call a Golden Orb. It is a sort of magical core, very highly prized, capable of some of the strongest magic that is known about. Very rare these days as well.

"This book in my hands is called the Magnanimatis Adnecto. I won't bore you with the details of the name, I'll just tell you the facts. This book contains the soul of Charon, a medieval sorcerer, possibly the most powerful the world has ever known. Afraid to die, Charon instead bound himself in a book, a very special kind of book. You see, whenever the book gets near to a pureblood, it begins to sap their strength. It doesn't affect Draco and I because we are descendants of Charon, which is how the book came to be in my possession.

"When the witch or wizard's strength has finally been sapped entirely, the witch or wizard dies, and Charon takes their body and magic, with magic of his own, and the body takes on his own physical appearance. However the reanimated copy of Charon cannot exist for more than a few days alone. To seal himself, he needs a Golden Orb, which he must wear at all times or he will fade back into the book.

"That's where you come in. We already have a pureblood witch who will provide him with his strength, and we need you to seal him. Unfortunately, the only way to get to a Golden Orb is by first killing the possessor."

Harry looked at Draco, whose eyes met his, and who nodded. It was true. They were going to kill him, and use the core of his magic to bring back to life a medieval sorcerer who had been trapped inside a book for centuries. If it hadn't been so frightening he might have found the situation funny.

"So that's it?" Harry said, looking at Draco. "That's all there is. All I get from loving you is a chance to die at the hands of your father just so some crazy bastard from the middle ages can come back and wreak havoc on the world? Well thanks a lot, Draco. I'm glad to see that you care more about your father and his evil plans than you do me. I almost thought you might have felt the same way about me. I almost thought you might have loved me. You almost had me fooled, Draco, you almost had me fooled."

Draco said nothing, but looked at the floor as he had done the day before in the bedroom.

"Alas, Mr Potter, there is no more time for talking," said Lucius. "I have a sorcerer to reanimate, and we need your Golden Orb. Draco...you can do the honours."

Both Draco and Harry looked stricken.

"Prove yourself to me, Draco," Lucius said, his nasty smile firmly fixed to his face. "Prove your allegiance."

Harry looked around the room, looked at the two men who were to seal his doom, looked at the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the bars to his cell and realised that these were the last things he would ever see. With a pang, he thought of how he would never again see the lake at Hogwarts, or his friends, or the sunset over the ocean, or any of the many beautiful things he hadn't realised how much he loved until he had realised he would never see them again.

He hung his head and waited for death.

Draco lifted his wand and spoke the two words that had cost so many lives.

"Avada Kedavra."