DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.
This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.
Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them.
Chapter 33 – Baiting the Trap
October 30 – 31, 1997
Shin considered every aspect of his plans once more, to make certain that he’d covered all possible contingencies. To do less would be simply foolish, after all.
And it was absolutely critical that this go off as he’d planned, though not for the reasons that most others might suspect. To Malfoy (and possibly Davis, though she was intelligent enough to see this plan for what it was), this attack was meant to eliminate the remnants of the so-called “Scarlet Seven” within the castle, and thus, all potential sources of organised resistance. Davis, being more intelligent, likely understood that this was merely a reconnaissance mission; a probing attack of their capabilities and defences, while heightening their tension level. They both had some idea of his nature and abilities, and were almost certainly terrified of him. The sudden panic of his attack, after having already deflected the Hallowe’en attack they’d expected, ought to make overcoming them easier.
In some ways, it was a feint, in preparation for a better-organised and better-executed strike at the first Quidditch match. And this was true, so far as it went, but Shin’s ultimate aims went far deeper than even that.
Lord Voldemort had expended a great deal of time and effort – to say nothing of the value of an agent of Kohaku’s calibre – in infiltrating Hogwarts Castle. While he had accomplished that, as well as some lesser actions, his plans had not worked out to nearly to the degree he had wished for. Likewise, his mother had managed to acquire the lost Nanaya, and conceive by him, but her capture of his daughter had not gone even remotely as well. The girl had escaped; Shin himself had been at risk of dying from a stray gunshot, and in addition to the damage done to their property, the damage to their reputation within the Imperial Court had nearly caused the Emperor to dissolve the clan entirely. No, neither leader could honestly count the outcomes of their schemes as successes.
But on the other hand, if he could, then . . . Then, ultimately, he would’ve proven himself a superior leader – a superior heir. The faction within the clan that supported his position would have genuine reason to do so: a legitimate success that neither the clan’s current head nor its ally could claim. With that, there was a good chance that his rank within the succession could be maintained, regardless of his soon-to-be siblings’ abilities. At worst, he would be confirmed as a regent, until one or more of them was properly qualified for the position.
And so many accidents could befall them within that timeframe . . .
It was a scenario Shin felt quite pleased with, and therefore was anxious to see brought about. And the first step towards accomplishing that would be to successfully (but not too successfully) attack the Gryffindor girls tomorrow night. From there, the real attack would hit in less than a week – and after that . . .
Well, after that, it would honestly depend on what could be learned from the two. Both Lord Voldemort and his mother seemed to believe that the pair knew where the rest of their group was hiding. Personally, Shin doubted it; every report he’d seen on the group as a whole indicated that they were both well-organised and very well-versed in military tactics – and their assault on the penthouse last summer certainly argued in favour of that impression.
In his opinion, the smart thing to do, if they had to send the pair to the school, was to treat them as a resistance cell. Effectively, while they might answer to a controller among their group, that person’s location would be kept secret, even if their identity wasn’t. More to the point, with the proper application of certain skills and spells, the girls could be rendered incapable of divulging information, which he certainly would’ve made certain of, had he been running the opposite side. Shin had to assume that they had, as well.
Of course, every spell and potion had a counter, or a workaround – it was simply a matter of finding it. But that would take time and effort, which he certainly could take, provided that he got his hands on the girls in the first place.
. . . This brought him back to needing his assault to go off smoothly – which in turn required that this one go off as planned.
Patience, he told himself, echoing Kohaku’s oft-spoken mantra. It always comes down to patience. If a man waits by the river long enough, the bodies of his enemies will float down it.
Of course, the Metamorphmagus had always added, if you have something more important to be doing then you’d probably be better off throwing them in the river yourself . . .
Galen awoke, and became suddenly aware that his left arm had been restrained. After blinking, and sorting through the sensory input, he understood that Hermione had wrapped his arm around her body, pinning it under her hip – low enough that she couldn’t reach it without moving.
And I’d be awake before that happened – either because I’d caught up on my sleep, or because the sudden absence of her weight would trigger my instincts. So I’m effectively safe, but at the same time, she gets some comfort from my touch . . . Clever girl.
That last thought, cribbed from the film version of Jurassic Park, was tinged with the traditional Robert Muldoon accent, but meant affectionately rather than ironically. That said, however, Hermione’s position did present a problem regarding his getting up, since she was effectively paralysed by rigor mortis – and while she wasn’t heavily-built, she was dead weight, in a literal sense. That would make moving his hand out from under her difficult . . . And the act was further complicated by his abrupt realisation that Takara was very firmly moulded to his back.
Galen blinked, momentarily knocked off-kilter. He wasn’t usually the sandwich filling, when it came to these situations – what had happened earlier, again?
A quick dive into his Occlumency rituals recalled and ordered his memories of the time before he went to sleep, and Galen found his current position perfectly understandable. Both girls would’ve wanted comfort, and this was the safest position for all involved – whether “safest” was referring to the likelihood of falling victim of Hermione’s bloodlust, or the odds of any or all of them retaining their virginity in this situation.
(Hey, they were physically teenagers, and he was a male literally surrounded by two beautiful girls, at least one of whom was sleeping in the nude – it was a definite possibility.)
More to the point, however, reviewing the events of several hours ago (given his new sleeping habits, maybe four hours, tops?), the ex-lycanthrope realised that they’d picked up two of the Deathly Hallows – but neglected the fact that the third one was also present there. It was a mistake he ought to rectify, immediately.
As tempting as it is to just use a Summoning Charm on it, Galen reasoned, I doubt it’d work. I’d expect that the Elder Wand could only be summoned by its master – who is not me. But even if I could, if there’s a team of Aurors and/or hit-wizards combing the battlefield, I’ll be leading them right to us. That would just be terminally stupid.
He sighed. There’s no help for it, I suppose – I’ll have to get up.
As Fred and George Weasley had demonstrated inside Grimmauld Place, Apparition was possible within even the most heavily-warded structure, barring application of the specific jinx. And unlike most things, the rules didn’t follow those of the book; he didn’t actually need to take a step before pulling it off – of course, that might’ve applied to just him . . .
That said, however, it was a bit startling going from being parallel to the floor and surrounded by bodies, to suddenly being perpendicular to the floor, with no such impediments. He reached out to catch himself on the tent wall with one hand, the other drawing his wand. A silent Summoning Charm called the Deathcloak to him, and a quick motion had him garbed in it.
Galen paused, kneeling down to adjust the blanket over Takara’s form, so she wouldn’t be too cold – and stroking Hermione’s cheek, to be reminded of how cold she was. It was important that he remember that. She was so human, most of the time, and so damned darkly alluring to him, that he worked hard to remind himself that this was something that had been done to her. That it was something terrible, something unforgivable, and he didn’t ever want to become so used to it that the horror of that didn’t touch him.
Now thoroughly angry, Galen found it quite easy to assume his Animagus form on exiting the tent, which he did, for the same reasons as before – the dire wolf was better suited to moving with stealth in the forest, invisible or otherwise. And as the transformation produced no detectable magic, he’d be able to shift back and forth to ambush anyone he might come across.
Tracing their scent trail back to the battle site was child’s play, and he was pleased to see that whatever investigation the Albanian Ministry might’ve done had come and gone. There might be a detection ward on the scene, if they were looking for someone to come back – which might be a problem for them when they did come back, to deal with the diadem – but otherwise, he needn’t worry about ducking actual interference.
. . . Wait – the diadem?
Thinking didn’t come as easily to him in this form, but he was clever, for a dire wolf. As such, he worried whether or not the Ministry investigators had found the diadem, instead of (or worse, as well as) the wand. And the thought caused him to curse for several minutes. Not that wolves, whether they were dire or otherwise, had much of an actual concept of invective, much less a capacity for it – but Galen certainly gave it his best shot.
The Animagus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The ozone scent of the dual lightning strikes in the area hadn’t faded much, at least not to his nose. The overwhelmingly dark and bloody scents that had marked the revenants had faded, though there was a strong miasma of char in the air. As far as metal scents were concerned, though . . .
There – it was still in the same place he’d caught it before. Whatever Riddle had done to conceal it from magical detection had apparently worked. But while he was relieved to know that, there was still the reason that had brought him out here in the first place: the Elder Wand. Just what had happened to it . . .?
Unfortunately, he had no idea what elder wood smelled like, so he had no way of confirming its presence other than visual. Fortunately, he did know what it looked like, but considering that he was looking for what amounted to a segmented twig on the forest floor – and without even colour vision, for crying out loud – it promised to be a long search.
The dire wolf sighed – a rather impressive huff, given its size – and began nosing along the ground.
Fortunately for his sanity (whatever little remained of it), the wolf had very little sense of time, and (dare he say it?) a dogged sense of persistence. That, combined with his ability to review the battle scene and at least guess the direction that the explosion had thrown the wand in, eventually rewarded him with the sight of the Elder Wand.
No doubt it had been overlooked as a stick amidst a pile of sticks, being far from the site of so much expended magic. After all, no one used elder as a wand wood, thanks to the superstition engendered by Beedle the Bard – and he was likely as widespread in the magical world as the Grimms were in the mundane, making it a common taboo. Regardless, it had worked in their favour this time, and he dipped his head down towards the wand, his mouth open –
And it tasted cold and bitter, like half-frozen crude oil, when he tried to take it in his jaws.
Galen sat back on his haunches before transforming back to human, confused and desperately wanting some industrial-strength mouthwash. People who hadn’t been the Elder Wand’s master had been able to handle it before, and even use it! Why the odd reaction?
Maybe it’s because it’s a genuine Deathly Hallow, and since I’m not its master, its power isn’t attuned to me like the cloak is – how many times have the others complained that wearing it makes them uncomfortable? Or it could be because animals have a closer relationship to death than humans, he conceded, remembering how Nala had proven able to track him under the Deathcloak. Heck, it might even be because I’m a Hallow holder myself, and not worthy to “unite” them – and thus, I’m being punished for trying, even though I’m actually not.
Or, knowing my luck, it could even be all of the above.
Regardless, it meant he had to be careful. Slowly rolling the wand in the edge of the Deathcloak, he carefully held its wrapped weight in his hands, and gradually made his way back to the tent. Once inside its protections, he let out a relieved sigh. He suspected that they’d really dodged a bullet there –
“Where on earth have you been?” Takara demanded angrily, her eyes flashing and her wand drawn.
God damned ricochets, he thought, realising that the bullet had caught him after all, even if not in the form he’d originally feared. They always end up getting you, don’t they?
Neville spent the morning of Hallowe’en pacing the Room of Requirement and cursing. After being more or less confined to rooms of one form or another for the last three months, he was almost getting accustomed to having four walls around him at all times – but today, he wanted out.
Hallowe’en never ends well for us – not really, he thought, and especially not lately. It’s been getting worse every year, too – and how are they going to try and top last year?
He very carefully did not ask the question aloud, nor had it ever come up in his communications with Ginny and Luna. In this, they all trusted Galen’s maxim: “Don’t tempt Fate – the woman has no self-control.”
Yes, as beliefs went, it was a bit sexist, and a lot paranoid – but when applied to Neville’s experiences in the last seven years, it certainly wasn’t wrong. And given that last year had seen Hermione turned into a vampire, Neville didn’t want to hand any more impetus to Fate to try and top the event than he had to. In fact, he’d prefer that topping that not be tried at all . . .
The young wizard shook his head, willing himself to focus on the matter at hand. According to past history, at some point tonight, someone would try and stick a knife in their backs – figuratively or literally. Since he was the proverbial ace in the hole here, that meant it was up to him to see it coming and block its strike.
. . . The only major question is, where should I be looking?
In general, whenever the Hallowe’en Curse had come up before, they usually had some warning. Granted, for the first few years, that warning had consisted of the trinity’s foreknowledge, but even later, they’d had some clue as to where their troubles might be coming from. Whether it the presence of the Goblet of Fire and its selection for the Triwizard Tournament, or even the vague warning that Tracey Davis had passed along about Hermione’s being targeted –
He paused. That was a possibility. Davis had been keeping her head down, much as Ginny and Luna had, since returning to school. But they knew she’d had a hand in Takara’s kidnapping – though the question remained as to whether or not it was voluntary, and whether or not they should care if it had been, or just curse her out of hand . . .
Neville shook his head – he was getting distracted again. The point was that with the castle’s current political layout, Tracey Davis was an ideal candidate for a hidden attacker. She knew how to use subtlety, they sort-of trusted her (or at least, there was a basis where they could be prevailed upon to trust her), and the girl had connections. Certainly, she was a greater threat to them than, say, Draco Malfoy. But on the other hand, Shin Tohno just screamed “overt threat.” By all accounts, he’d nearly beaten Galen to death with his bare hands – something that hadn’t happened since first year. There was no real need for subtlety when that kind of force was available.
Neville frowned. Practically speaking, however, the hostage principle still applied. So long as the Death Eaters at the Ministry wanted to pretend that everything was running normally and smoothly, they couldn’t be too overt or heavy-handed in their dealings with the citizenry. That very much included Hogwarts, since the students were their hostages for people’s good behaviour – and if the hostages started suffering, then Riddle and his ilk could find that they were facing wide-scale rebellion in very short order.
Particularly, he noted, since Luna’s father ran a media outlet, and was no longer easily run to ground at the Lovegood home. He could whip the populace into a seething frenzy very quickly, if motivated to do so.
And hurting Luna would motivate Mister Lovegood like nothing else in this world, the young wizard thought grimly.
All right, so subtlety was definitely the order of the day, for their enemies – which meant what? What were they liable to do?
Neville spent most of the morning considering that, when he wasn’t exercising or checking his gear. He also kept the Marauder’s Map open, eyes scanning the most likely trouble sources: Tohno, Davis, Malfoy, Umbridge – as well as keeping Ginny and Luna themselves in sight . . . It wasn’t easy, even with half a decade’s Occlumency studies augmenting his concentration and focus. Hermione, and maybe Luna, could probably do it easily, but he just wasn’t used to tracking so many moving targets across such a wide field.
It’s a shame that Ginny didn’t keep Winky’s services, or that we weren’t able to free that “Dobby” the trinity talk about, he reflected. The extra set of eyes would be a big help right now – and house-elves’ magical abilities wouldn’t hurt, either.
He could always go to the kitchens and ask for a house-elf to help, of course, but as they were bound in service to Hogwarts, and the Headmistress in particular, that wasn’t exactly the brightest idea. And to a lesser extent, the same tie bound ghosts like Lady Ravenclaw or Sir Nicholas, so asking them to help would result in the same problem.
Briefly, the young wizard considered calling for Kreacher, the Black family elf. While the old house-elf didn’t like him much, the Longbottoms being notable blood-traitors, Galen and Sirius both had ordered him to assist any of their allies . . . But on the other hand, given the current situation, that could mean pitting him directly in opposition to Malfoy (or in a worst-case scenario, Bellatrix Lestrange). While Galen was reasonably cunning in closing loopholes, and events had left Kreacher with a supreme dislike for that side of the family, they were of the Black bloodline, and there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t cause him harm to oppose them. Or, for that matter, that they couldn’t find a way to issue Kreacher orders that he had to obey, Galen and Sirius’ commands notwithstanding.
It was better, Neville decided, to keep the house-elf in reserve, in case they needed a quick extraction from Hogwarts altogether. Well-protected though they were, both the Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets could be broken into (the latter even more easily than the former, since Riddle was now in charge), but Grimmauld Place was absolutely secure. It had been designed that way, so that if necessary, they could fall back to there – and Kreacher could have them there in a matter of seconds, despite all of Hogwarts’ enchantments. Yes, far better to keep him in reserve.
All of which meant that, like it or not (and he didn’t), the girls had only him to act as overseer – and Neville was determined to do the job right. Given what had happened to Hermione last year, he didn’t dare do otherwise . . . All of which led him back to his original questions: what form would the attack take this year, and who would it come from?
If everything goes by the tradition, the young wizard thought, I’ll find out at the Hallowe’en feast. I just hope that by that point, it won’t already be too late . . .
Revenge – at last, revenge!
The thought had occupied virtually every waking moment of Draco Malfoy’s existence for nearly a solid week. In truth, without the protection of his Dark Mark, he’d likely have been in detention until the end of the year for the amount of attention he’d failed to pay his classes, his teachers, or almost anything else in the same period of time.
But that didn’t matter to him – not really. Not when, after years of humiliation, he finally had the means to destroy those Gryffindor fools once and for all!
It should be noted at this point that Draco Malfoy had always had an obsessive personality. Mostly self-obsessive, to be sure, but the foundation was always in place. When added to a string of constant defeats over nearly seven years, and mounting losses that included the father he’d idolised, the teacher he’d respected, his own striking good looks, and finally his home, and his mother with it . . . Nobody had said it out loud, but even Crabbe and Goyle knew it: Draco had well and truly lost the proverbial plot.
“Make sure everything’s in place!” he snapped. “I don’t want any surprises this time!” An unholy light shone in his eyes. “Weasley and Lovegood aren’t going to escape – and then Longbottom, Aozaki and Einzbern are going to pay.”
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Kieran
Hope it's worth it for you all. 
