- Rating:
- PG
- House:
- Schnoogle
- Characters:
- Draco Malfoy Harry Potter Remus Lupin Sirius Black
- Genres:
- Action Angst
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
- Stats:
-
Published: 09/19/2003Updated: 09/28/2003Words: 29,317Chapters: 10Hits: 20,487
Acts Infernal
samvimes
- Story Summary:
- An old man in Diagon Alley has a story to tell, if the price is right: about the gates of Hades, a silver boy and a sable boy, a cast-off angel, and a knife that can sever your soul.
Chapter 02
- Posted:
- 09/19/2003
- Hits:
- 1,768
- Author's Note:
- Acts Infernal is the brainchild of a few images -- Harry hitching his way through England, a map-keeper's shop, a road to Hades, a bat-winged angel with a knife, a redemption for a dead man. It grew into something larger and stranger than I could have imagined.
Men talk of peace, but I have seen
The emery-wheel turn round.
The voice of Abel cries again
To God from out the ground.
Vachel Lindsay
Those local to the Berkshire Downs have their own myths about its magic and the sources of the White Horse. Unrestrained by academic sociologists or archaeological thinking, they maintain that the white figure in chalk on the hillside of Uffington Castle (no longer a castle in anything but name -- only fragments of wood and stone remain) is a portrait of the dragon which was slain by St. George on nearby Dragon Hill. There, another irregular chalk pit supposedly represents the places the dragon's blood fell.
Perhaps the mythology becomes the fact, though English Heritage archaeologists say that the horse is old enough to belong to a cult of Epona, a horse goddess worshipped by a tribe called the Belgae, who spread throughout Britain in the Bronze Age. And the horse is now preserved by English Heritage, who own the land and the rights to it, and so what they say is law.
You can see Dragon Hill from the eye of the White Horse, where you may stand and make a wish. The blood of the dragon, spilled on the hilltop, left it barren in those chalk-white spots -- at least, according to legend, assisted by a ritual scouring of the grass from the chalk every seven years.
Some believe the area, and the former castle in particular, represent the site of the battle of Badon, the final victory of Arthur over the Saxons.
To reach the eye of the Horse, one walks along the Ridgeway, an ancient road which runs for thirty-three kilometres, from Uffington Castle to the modern city of Goring. If one were to walk the opposite direction, away from the horse, one would soon come to a pleasant, forested area which contains fields of poppies, trees, and Wayland's Smithy.
Harry sat, arms curled around legs, just above the eye of the horse, looking downward towards Dragon Hill. The magic was so strong here that a wizard, listening for it, could almost hear it hum, even over the roar of the highway in the distance and the sounds of tourists coming and going. He had eaten the last of the sandwiches provided for him by the Creevys, and was thinking on what to do next. Neither the Hill, nor the Horse, nor the Castle were what he had searched for.
If he'd caught the train and then a bus and then hitch-hiked all the way out here for nothing, he was going to be extremely put out.
Behind him, there was a loud crack, but he didn't flinch; he had been expecting something like this, and was only glad that there were no Muggles around to be startled.
"I knew you wouldn't try to stop me until you thought I had a chance of succeeding," he said, a trifle angrily. A hand touched his shoulder, and he smelled faint traces of eucalyptus and peppermint.
"It's dangerous for you to be abroad, Harry," said Remus Lupin gently.
"So I'm told," Harry answered. Remus crouched just behind him, bright keen eyes sweeping across the breathtaking view from the Horse's head.
"And you didn't answer when I tried to use the mirrors."
Harry nodded. Dumbledore too; he could not be truly angry at Lupin, but he had no such qualms about his Headmaster. Not after all that Dumbledore had put him through, however well-intentioned he'd been.
He turned his head to look up at Dumbledore, simply as a child. Remus turned too, his face a question mark.
"We're your family too, Harry," Remus murmured. Harry fought off a choking in his throat.
"Yes. I'd miss you," he admitted. "But it's like everyone keeps telling me."
He turned back. The view really was quite spectacular. He could see why someone would want to build a castle here.
"We won't be apart forever," he said, with a sardonic smile. Remus bent his head slightly, acknowledging defeat. "Who told you, anyhow? I only told Ron where I was going, and him not everything."
Harry looked up and to his right, past Remus, to where a figure was approaching from the hill, dusting dirt and grass-stains off his trousers, lit cigarette between his lips.
"You're an eavesdropper and a spy, Malfoy," Harry muttered. Draco Malfoy grinned. "I suppose you read my Owls?"
"No. Friends in high places," Draco replied, eyes
sliding from Dumbledore to Harry and back. "Personally, I'd like you to
succeed," he said. "
He dropped to the grass next to Harry, as Remus stood up and put his head in his hands, ruefully.
"Well, I don't, really. But I'm coming with you, see."
"Given a job?" Harry asked.
Draco let his left arm hang down, and Harry could see, under the rolled-up sleeve, a few inches of tattoo. Part of a Dark Mark.
"I should kill you," Harry said.
"We should be going," was Draco's only reply, as he stood, too. Dumbledore stretched out a hand, stopping Harry.
"I said it was pointless," Remus said quietly, watching them leave. "I told you it would only make him angry. You made me come anyway."
Silence.
"He's gone to fetch his parents, you know, and I'm sure Draco's gone to get some Death Eater or other. And if we can't even stop Harry there's no way we'll stop Draco..."
Nothing.
"Dumbledore, for god's sake, say somethi -- "
There was a crack, and when he turned, he was alone.
"Enigmatic bastard," he muttered.
***
The unfortunate truth about places with high magical charges, such as the White Horse and the Smithy, is that people are drawn to them. It is the reason that Wizarding schools are Muggle-protected so extensively, the reason that Diagon Alley is in the middle of a busy downtown shopping district.
When Harry and Draco emerged from the high weeds blocking either side of the Ridgeway, into the little fenced-in clearing where the Smithy lay, it was crowded already. This was summer, tourist season, and people were on holiday. There was a small gang of solemn-faced children and what must be either mother or teacher; a couple of hippies in bare feet and peasant shirts, unconcernedly worshipping whatever it was they worshipped; Americans in tennis shoes, snapping pictures. All Muggle; some obviously unsure why they were there.
Wayland's Smithy was a long, low barrow, surrounded by upright stones, with an entrance at one end far too short for most people to enter, and mostly blocked off by rock anyhow. It was long-since overgrown with green grass, and made a sort of oblong hillock on the otherwise flat clearing.
They stood there for a while, watching the comings and goings, two gangling teenage boys leaning on the low wooden fence. Finally, Draco snorted and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. He took the last one out of the paper carton, tapped it, touched it to his lips, and murmured a few words in Latin. The end flared to life.
"I am going to kill you, sooner or later," Harry said softly. "We're on opposite sides, now."
"Reckon one of us'll kill the other," Draco answered. "That
always happens in the stories.
"At least we get the really interesting archetypes,"
Harry sighed.
"Here's a hint. If a woman in a lake gives you a sword,
don't take it.
"Could kill 'em," Draco said.
"I really don't think that's a very good answer."
"Have it your way." Draco stepped forward and climbed the barrow, holding up his hands for attention.
"EXCUSE ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!
"The parks service is closing the car park. Your autos
are all about to be towed," Draco said.
"Yes, I'm full of surprises," the blond boy answered.
"I go in. You follow me like a coward and a thief,"
Harry replied grimly, pulling his wand out of his back pocket.
"I can live with that," Draco answered amiably.
"Shut up, Malfoy.
"Bite me, Potter.
"You're not bright enough to figure all this out on your
own," Harry said, examining his wand. "Your family got you this job,
didn't they? Fuck, even in the ranks of evil, you have to rely on nepotism.
"What are you doing, you big pansy?" Draco asked, sneering.
Nunc suscipe,
terra, fovendum,
Gremioque hunc concipe
molli.
Hominis tibi membra
sequestro,
Generosa et fragmina credo.
Veniant modo tempora
justa
Cumspem Deus impleat omnem,
Reddas patefacta, necesse
est,
Qualem tibi trado
figuram.
Draco watched with a sort of detatched interest as the entrance began to grow, the dirt slide back to reveal a slanting hole, down into which a dirt road stretched. It glowed a faint green, tinged with gold, even in the bright afternoon. Harry moved to stand just behind him, staring at it.
"Be my guest," Draco said, waving him forward.
"I'm not putting my back to you, thanks," Harry replied. Draco shrugged, and ducked inside the cave, his boots crunching on the moist gravel of the road.
Harry and Draco both turned at the shout, in time to see Remus Lupin, standing by the fence, one hand on the post.
"Harry, wait," he said, coming forward. He stopped, near Harry, eyes sweeping the boy continually, face lined and tired. Harry flinched as Remus touched his shoulder, then gripped it.
"Superata tellus sidera donat," he said, quietly, eyes staring into Harry's.
"What does it mean?" Harry asked, confused.
"I won't," Harry said. "You could come too."
"I doubt it. My blood. Best not to mix magics, when they run this deep," Remus replied, and Harry nodded. He turned, Remus' hand falling from his shoulder, and followed Draco into the passage.
"I expected something more...medieval," Draco replied.
Harry paused. "Hornets?" he asked, brows drawing together.
Into the wall of the cliff were cut rough steps, and along the edge -- where the drop was painfully steep -- an iron railing had been attached to the rock.
"I guess we go down," Harry said.
"Where do you get your brains, Potter?" Draco answered, testing the first step. When he found it solid, he continued, Harry following behind -- one hand carrying the lantern, the other on the railing.
"Bugger this for a game of soldiers," he said, and grabbed Harry by shoulders, pulling him forward. Harry had a terrifying moment when he thought Draco meant to push him over the edge, and then they were sliding, falling along the rail, faster and faster, far too fast for Harry's liking. He shouted in surprise as the stairway twisted and turned, and somehow Draco managed to keep them both on the railing until they ended, in a heap of limbs, at the bottom.
He trailed off as he turned, and Harry held up the lantern; in front of them were two large, dun coloured walls, easily thirty feet high. There was an entrance doorway, normal sized, between them, and beyond it they could see other walls behind the first two, going in all directions, though not quite as tall.
"Guess there are some gaps in your Muggle education," Harry said, studying the map. "Now, we go straight until we reach the centre of the maze."
"And then?" Draco asked, studying it from the other side. Harry looked up and met his bright grey eyes.
"And then I run away and lose you."
They walked through the pylon entrance into the labyrinth, Harry moving carefully, noting offshoots and doorways that Draco barely looked at. He simply followed Harry, closely, close enough that if Harry did try to run, he could hit him with a stunning spell. And if that failed, stretch out a long leg and trip him.
Considering all the risk Anastasia had gone to in order to draw the map, it was tediously dull finding their way to the end. There were no monsters, no riddles, nothing even to break the boring stone walls, which were too high to climb. Still, Harry -- who had spent most of the time muttering to himself about right and left turns -- breathed a sigh of relief when they circled one final wall, and found themselves in a long corridor with an open gate at the far end.
"I guess this map was better than the last one," Harry said, folding it carefully and stowing it in a pocket. Draco led the way through the gate.
"What now, hero?" he asked, over his shoulder. Harry's eyes were wide. Slowly, Draco turned around as well.
"Fuck," he said, with feeling.
"I don't think Dante's going to help us with this one," Harry added.
The gate opened onto a vast cavern, dirt-floored, walls arching up into the darkness. In front of them, his back to the smooth, curving rear wall of the cavern, sat an enormous man, easily ten feet tall. He was seated on a small, square stool, made of wood with peeling gilt, and wore only a white linen kilt, clasped with a circular golden buckle at his navel.
He was olive-skinned, solidly muscular and hairless, except --
Except for his head, which was not a human head at all, but grew out of his neck quite naturally all the same. Liquid black eyes looked down on them from a furry, elongated face -- the toothy snout of a jackal.
Its ears, tall and triangular, twitched slightly.