Chapter: 19

A/n: Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter.

Chapter Nineteen: Shine a Light Down on Me

“Harry?” Sirius dropped the dinner roll from his mouth as Harry stormed through the open door. “What are you dong here?”

“I need to find a book… a book on rituals used with firstborn children.” Harry brushed passed his cousin and ran up the stairs where he knew where the library was. “Have you ever heard of a ritual using five children?” He was well aware of the man following behind him. Although Sirius was light, or attempting to be light, he was still a Black.

“Ah…” Sirius started, clearing his throat of the bread. “A few, you’d best use the Loric tome. It deals with firstborn children.” Harry summoned the tome to his open palm. It weighed down heavily, causing him to grab it with two hands. “Is this some sort of last minute essay you have to write about, kid? Because when I was your age-,”

“Sirius,” Harry snapped, looking up at his cousin with a sigh of aggravation. “For once, you can drop your act. I won’t judge.” Looking away from the surprised face of the Black, Harry quickly paged through the crisp pages. “I need to find something for five firstborn children.” Harry intoned. The book glowed, shuddering. With his magic, Harry compelled the book. “I also need to find something that will involve loyal sacrifices with a powerful conductor.”

Letting the book go, the pages flipped themselves, listening to him.

“Maybe something that’s related to the Cannius Ritual; one where the five children are marked by the conductor at birth.” Taking a deep breath, Harry looked up at the ceiling, feeling himself frown sadly. “Possibly one that drains the children’s magic.” His voice was soft, almost weak. A part of him hoped there would be no such ritual…a part of him hoped Voldemort would really trust him enough…

But as he looked down, the book was motionless, lying open to the ritual he had briefly remembered reading about.

The Sadist Ritual.

It was a ritual where the conductor, Voldemort, would be in need of five loyal follower’s children; the firstborns. To the children, after the ritual was complete, it would feel as if they were gaining magic, sharing it with the conductor. But in reality, the conductor would be slowly draining their magic until they were dead. It was a powerful ritual, one where many superstitious numbers and signs were scattered throughout the process:

Five children because there were five points in a runes star.

Children because they were pure.

Loyal followers because it would strengthen the bond and the amount of magic given to the conductor.

And firstborns because it was known that the first born had more power, the ideal heir.

Harry gave a loud groan, his head full of pain. Voldemort had lied. The man knew how much family meant to him, how could the Dark Lord be so stupid? So cruel? What was he planning on doing with the five corpses of the children? How could he explain that? Would he really risk all that emotional pain just to gain more power?

Yes. Tom Riddle was always known for being power hungry. Why should it shock him so?

In doing this ritual, not only would Voldemort gain more power, he would also loose his loyal followers. Lucius and the other parents would eventually put two and two together after they slowly realized their children all died with a loss of magic. Harry was sure Voldemort could come up with a way to cover it up well enough… but really.  It was a surprise that the parents really trusted the Dark Lord this much. To allow the man to hold their children’s life in his palm. But Harry had to be reasonable. It was their Lord. They would follow the Dark Lord anywhere. They would never question.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked; his tone serious for once. His eyebrows frowned, dark eyes searching Harry.

“Lord Voldemort is going to do the Sadist Ritual on my brother and four others.” Harry replied truthfully, tiredly. He stood up, intending to make his way to the Malfoy Manor. If they were to do it somewhere, it would be the Malfoy home. It had multiple of side chambers and dungeons.

Just as he was heading down the stairs, he heard Sirius give a dry snort in amusement. Harry whirled around, narrowing his eyes on his cousin. “Did you just laugh?”

“Sorry,” Sirius grinned. “But how is he going to complete that? After all, Draco isn’t even the firstborn.”

Harry froze. “What?” Icy green eyes narrowed into slits. “What did you just say?”

Sirius frowned, looking uncertain. He hesitated, licking his lips, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I…the Black Tapestry shows that you were born first, Harry. I thought you knew.”

Time seemed to stop for him. His hand clutched the railing, his mind racing. He was the firstborn. He was supposed to be the Malfoy Heir. Why had Lucius lied? Why had his father dismissed every pureblood law and ritual and pick the second child over the first?

Harry leaned forward, his face contorted in pain.

His father really had been ashamed of him. Having a dark haired and small framed Heir to the Malfoy family was unheard of. Of course. Why hadn’t Harry realized that sooner? His father would be reluctant of having someone like Harry as his heir. After all, Draco looked just like Lucius, just like a Malfoy should. Tears sprang unwantingly to Harry’s eyes as he brushed them away angrily.

Here he thought he and his father were slowly accepting one another again. But this betrayal from him was…another hitch, another setback. Granted, Harry wasn’t hardcore and set on the pureblood ways, but he knew being heir to a family was important. They received everything in the pureblood name, even having their own chair in the political world. And to keep it secret this whole time. Even his own mother.

He felt ill.

Even if Lucius had made a dim-witted last minute decision in giving the Dark Lord Draco, he could have redeemed himself. To both the Dark Lord and Harry. But this secret was still going strong. And in doing so, Lucius had destroyed Harry again and unknowingly, he may be destroying the Dark Lord and Draco.

But the Dark Lord wasn’t off Harry’s radar. The man had a mind frame to kill his brother and to lie about it. He had looked Harry directly in the eye and lied about killing his family.

Harry bit his lower lip, turning his heel and running out the Black house. No matter what they had all done, Draco didn’t deserve this. And Harry didn’t either.

He still had to stop this.

--SSC--

Lucius took a deep breath, trying to remain composed as he watched Draco enter the chamber with the four other children and the Dark Lord. He had been relying on another year before everything came down to the final ritual, but the Dark Lord had wanted to do it early. All the children were ‘magically’ mature, just not of age. It wouldn’t make a difference to the ritual, the Dark Lord said.

Lucius had been too cowardly to admit to the Dark Lord that Draco was not the firstborn child. But he hoped and believed that making Draco his legal heir, that the ritual would recognize Draco as the ideal and ‘firstborn’ child. With twins, it shouldn’t matter if one was seconds earlier or seconds later; as long as one of them was acknowledged as the family Heir.

With his logical mind frame, Lucius reassured himself.

Sixty seven seconds.

Harrison was sixty seven seconds older. Barely a minute.

Lucius had done some research on rituals. And his conclusion on naming Draco his legal heir had been mentioned as an exception. As were twins. He didn’t dare ask the Dark Lord if this particular ritual followed those exceptions. Narcissa had even disproved of his logic. For sixteen years she had quietly spoken her mind, warning him to tell the truth. But Lucius Malfoy did not make mistakes.

He had even asked Harrison- if there was a way for him to complete the ritual instead of Draco, would he desire it?

Sixty seven seconds….

And his oldest son had declined.

It should all be taken care of. Harrison was a powerful wizard in his own right and had the Seer ability. To make things fair, he figured he should keep Draco as the Malfoy Heir. Harrison had many things going for him, Draco needed something to occupy his time and energy toward. Working for the family would suit his son perfectly. Still, he couldn’t help but to feel a slight agitation in the pit of his stomach.

“Will this work?” Goyle Senior muttered to Crabbe. Lucius pursed his lips, looking straight ahead of himself. Ignoring the Death Eater’s around him, he breathed evenly through his nose. Pale fingers curled themselves over his lap, not one tremor.

“And why do you doubt it, Goyle?” Parkinson growled. “Do you doubt our Lord?” His heavy upper lip curled, baring his teeth. Goyle grunted, shaking his head furiously in denial to the claim. “Fool,” Parkinson hissed, trying to imitate the Dark Lord’s own menacing tone.

Sixty seven seconds….

Surely that didn’t affect it.

“What the hell?” Nott exclaimed loudly, hoarsely. Lucius stiffened, standing up as he saw the ice slowly start to crack and cover the corridor floor. His breath became visible and his body shuddered when he felt raw magic coming down the stairs.

And within seconds, a form came gliding fluidly across the corridor floor.

Lucius had to blink back the haze around his vision with the power that came suddenly thickened in the atmosphere. When he cleared his vision, his eyes widened.

Harrison all but floated. His small frame was dressed in nothing but his school robes, but the short cloak seemed to blend into the shadows, never ending and cloaking him in darkness- blackness. Those eerie green eyes blazed, showing nothing but power and immortality.

Lucius quickly pushed his back against the cold wall, not believing what he was seeing. He knew his son was powerful in his own right, but not like this. It was like seeing the Dark Lord unraveling in his younger days; it was like seeing a threat or danger. A threat Lucius knew better than to fight against and bend his own pride to. A threat he knew he could join for his own personal gains.

And it was his son.

Across from him, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott fell to their knees, overwhelmed with such a power that wasn’t coming from their Lord. Parkinson, a little more proud, leaned against the wall and outright stared in surprise at Harrison.

The small young man paid them no heed; his eyes were only for the closed door across from him. His full lips were set in a frown, a minor flaw to that priceless beauty.

No one tried to stop Harrison.

Lucius wouldn’t.

He had just seen his son in a whole new light.

--SSC--

Harrison allowed his magic to spin out of control, licking the walls and floor around him. He could feel the others in the corridor, but they were nothing to him at the moment. His bigger threat came from the other side of the door.

With his magic, he chipped away Voldemort’s own magic on the door and slammed it open.

Immediately, screams met his ears.

It took him only a small hesitation to take everything in.

A rune star was painted precisely on the stone ground. On each point, one of the children stood stiffly. In the middle of the five point star, Voldemort took his position. But it wasn’t all it seemed to be. Draco was collapsed on the ground, his eyes bulging from their sockets. His pale arms were bare, showing the ugly red skin. The smell of burning flesh stung his nose and the strong scent of blood filled the air.

Draco trembled severely, screaming, unable to move or put a pause on the proceedings. His fingers were curled in claws, trying to gouge the floor in an attempt to ease the pain. The other four children stood shell-shocked, frightened.

But Harry knew they weren’t as frightened of Draco as they were with the Dark Lord.

Tom Riddle trembled in a similar fashion; only, it didn’t seem as if his skin were burning. The affects on him seemed less, only enough to cause a conceited Dark Lord to fall and shake vulnerably on the floor.

Looking at his brother, Harry saw those watery grey eyes stare at him pleadingly. His brother, so proud and naive… and he remembered what Fate had in store for Draco. His brother was meant to die young. No matter how many times Harry saved him, Draco would still encounter death time after time.

“Get the hell out of the star, you idiots!” Harry yelled at the four children. They were still standing there. So foolish.

Crimson eyes watched him from inside the star’s pentagram. The man’s bony shoulders rolled as he got on his hands and knees. It looked almost if he were trying to push himself to stand in front of Harry.

But Harry never spared him a glance. He observed as the children all ran out of the star, their eyes almost as wide as Draco’s. Behind him, the Death Eater’s came in, muttering amongst themselves at the scene. Lucius, in particular, was silent- but his actions spoke for himself. The self-righteous Malfoy ran over to his son, his face full of worry. Harry was sure that was the most expression Lucius had ever shone in public.

“No,” Harry spoke softly but with magic. It seemed to halt everyone’s proceedings. Eyes turned to him. “You will not touch him.” Harry advised with a side glance to his father. Lucius thinned his lips, his expression cold and unreadable once again.

Harry studied the rune star, unable to understand why Draco and Voldemort were still being affected without all five of the children inside the rune. The ritual must have been completed, although wrong, it was in affect and nothing could stop Draco and Voldemort’s death.

Green eyes locked with crimson.

Voldemort closed his eyes, his lips twisted into a pained grimace.

Harry looked away in disgust and stared at Goyle’s bare ankle.

The small green serpent on his ankle grinned back at him.

Harry grinned in return.

Goyle swallowed, his face twisted in confusion as Harry advanced. “I apologize in advance, Goyle.” With his magic, he surrounded it around Goyle’s thick ankle, staring the boy in the eyes. “This may hurt just a bit.” Goyle cocked his head to the side, his mouth slack with uncertainty.

“What-,”

Eyes widened. And then Goyle tipped back his neck, screaming. He fell on his arse as his ankle was sliced cleanly through. The bloody foot rolled away from him and crimson liquid seeped on the cement floor. With the dismembered foot, the air seemed to stop buzzing and the screams from Draco died down into an eerie silence.

Harry glanced nonchalantly at the cut off foot, the serpent on the torn ankle- gone. The ritual was no longer.

The only sound in the room came from Goyle’s small, muffled screams, and Draco and Voldemort’s heavy breathing.

“My Lord,” Lucius murmured in disbelief, his face pale.

Harry stood off to the side, watching the events unfold in the shadows. His father glanced at Draco’s prone form, uncertain what his first move should be. The others stood far from the rune star, too shocked and confused to make a move.

Strands of black hair fell in the Dark Lord’s flushed face as he struggled to his feet. His crimson eyes were boring into Lucius, full of fury. “Do you mind, Lucius,” everyone, with the exception of Harry, flinched and cowered at the tone. “Telling me the minor detail you left out sixteen years ago?”

Lucius’ shoulders slumped. Harry’s lip curled as he watched his father fall pathetically to the floor in front of the Dark Lord. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I’m sorry. I apologize…” Lucius placed his forehead to the floor. It was pathetic. Harry glanced away, gathering himself, and looked back at the scene. He would remain hidden for now. Now, now Lucius had to understand and accept the mistake he had made.

“Tell me!” Voldemort yelled, his fingers twitching near his wand pocket.

“Harrison is the firstborn, My Lord.” The other Death Eaters were on their own knees, Goyle receiving a numbing spell from his father. His sniffs were the only sound throughout the chamber. Harry could sense the Death Eater’s shock and disgust toward his father.

After all, Lucius Malfoy, the right hand man to Lord Voldemort, had betrayed.

“I thought… I would give you the healthy child.” Harry’s jaw clenched, his own emotions becoming too hard to control. “They were twins, My Lord. Please, you must understand where I come from.”

“Crucio,”

Lucius twitched on the floor, screaming. Harry reared his head back, breathing harshly through his nostrils. Lucius deserved this. And if Voldemort weren’t weak, Harry was sure the Crucio spell would have instantly snapped his father’s mind. He could feel the rage from Voldemort. It was thick, almost as thick as Harry’s own.

“I think that is enough.” Harry intoned softly, stepping from the shadows. His father’s body twitched as Voldemort readily lifted the curse, his crimson eyes landing on his form.

The two wizards stood across from one another, staring each other down. While Voldemort was still breathing heavily, face flushed, Harry’s own face was seemingly carved from marble. “He deserves death.” Voldemort spat, eyes narrowing. “You think you have a hand in controlling my followers?” Lucius gave a whimper, his watery eyes staring between the two wizards above him. It seemed to cost him a lot of his strength to stay coherent.

Pursing his lips, Harry lifted his chin, eyes glowing in rage. “Oh, Tom…” Harry hissed in Parseltongue. “You…my Match…” Harry paused, too angry to form the correct words. “You think I am stupid? You think me an idiot? I know exactly what you were doing before I stepped foot in this room. Be glad I won’t tell your Death Eater’s the truth. In return, you will refrain from touching Lucius.”

Voldemort’s jaw clenched; his crimson eyes almost orange… his face showed nothing.

“The Cannius Ritual, you said.” Harry started again. “I asked you for the truth and you give me nothing but lies!”

“This is not your place.” Voldemort hissed back, his face wet with sweat. “It is not your place to belittle me and tell me what to do. I am the dominant, I am the Dark Lord. You are nothing but a child!”

“Is that really what you think, Tom?” Harry took an advancing step forward. “I think you are just grasping at air, trying to get a hold on yourself for screwing up so royally. You knew you were doing the wrong, you knew every day after I inquired about the ritual. You knew I wouldn’t like it, yet you go through it anyway.” Breathing heavily, Harry grimaced. Voldemort still had no emotion on his face, nothing but a small smirk. “You think this isn’t my place, Tom? You were going to drain my brother to death.”

Shaking his head, Harry grinned back at that damned smirk. “If you knew I had been the firstborn, would you have gone through it anyway?”

Voldemort waved his wand in the air, glaring. “You know the answer to that, child.”

“Do I?” Harry took a step backward this time, intent to turn and run. He couldn’t handle all this now.

“This is war, Harrison. I did what I knew would be best. If it meant sacrificing five children to gain more power, so be it. Just because you are my Match, it does not mean I have to satisfy you in every way. I did no harm to you, nothing.”

“I hope, beyond hope, that you will realize the wrong of those words. I hope, Tom, that someday, you will realize the extent to this betrayal to me. Until the time you realize you need me in more ways then sex, I will be building my own. But please know, I will never forget this. Forget this betrayal.”

Voldemort hissed at him, his teeth bared. Magic grew dense around him, making it difficult to breathe and stand so upright. Turning around, Harry snapped his fingers, a house elf bowing low at the waist. “Clean this mess up, Dobby. Take care of Master Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes Masters Malfoy.” The house elf sauntered over to Draco.

“You think to walk away?” Voldemort leered, a twisted smile on his face as Harry turned his back.

“You better pray to Merlin, Tom.” Harry laughed deliriously, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve better get on your knees and bend that conceited neck of yours and pray that my brother lives past your mistake. Because if he dies because of you, be sure that I will never stand anywhere near you in this war.”

And Harry all but jogged from the room, ignoring Voldemort’s angry outburst.

--SSC--

The gold in his hand reflected off his lone candle beside his bedside. A wet trail on his cheek glimmered in the light of the flame, drawing attention to the sharp conjunction of his cheek.

Harry wiped it away angrily, staring at the Horcrux dangling in his fingers.

Betrayal. It was such a strong emotion. An emotion Harry had overlooked and underestimated many times.

The locket swung back and forth, the first time in ages since it wasn’t around his neck. Tom Riddle’s soul warmed his fingers, looping and licking at the skin on his palm. Harry frowned, his eyes not really seeing anything as he stared at the glittering emeralds.

Tom Riddle. He knew the boy had a screwed up childhood. He knew Tom Riddle was inbred tightly with Salazar Slytherin’s line and perhaps many generations of interbreeding and incest between the Guants. It must have been a part of why the Dark Lord was so chemically unbalanced, so cold and emotionless. Of course, incest and interbreeding weren’t all of it. There were seven…eight Horcruxes. His soul was split so heavily…

Perhaps that was why it was so hard for Harry to read him, despite his Seer status.

Tom Riddle was bred for power, insaneness. Overtime, Riddle found the Dark Arts and dived headfirst in the dark magic he was born for… and then drowned in the lust of that power. When the man experienced the feel of power, he wanted more. And with a weakness of mortality, Voldemort strived for immortality. In doing so, he drove himself into a cold shell of a human.

The man had been that way for over sixty years.

And then Harry had arrived.

In Voldemort’s eyes, it must have been…revolting to realize he actually had an equal. And with the notion of being the most powerful wizard in centuries, Voldemort easily deduced that Harry couldn’t possibly be as strong as him, despite the fact they were Matches.

But Voldemort hadn’t planned on Harry having his own mind. Harry had more than enough sureness that Voldemort had planned to chain Harry as a little Death Eater, a follower, perhaps a right hand man. Except Harry wanted to stand on equal footing, causing Voldemort’s mind track to become haywire.

Harry had to put himself in Voldemort’s shoes. It must be difficult for the Dark Lord to treat someone with equality after sixty some years of living in solitude. Without emotions. And to be Matches with a Seer, who specialized in emotions at that. They were opposites, both struggling for the higher footing. Merlin knew they were good for each other. It would never be boring and he could always string Voldemort along on his toes…. But…

Harry knew, without a doubt, there would always be that trust issue between them. And there would always be that struggle for Voldemort to treat Harry respectively.

The question was; did Harry really want to experience this time and time again?

“No,” he whispered to the Horcrux. “I can’t.”

A malicious grin spread across Harry’s lips as he carefully placed the locket in a jewelry box.

He had plans for both the locket and Longbottom.

And it would make both him and Voldemort happy.

They both would win.

Voldemort would get his Horcrux.

Harry would get his freedom...and revenge.