FicWad

Here is a one-shot, I felt like writing. I hope you like it.

I was watching “V for Vendetta” this morning cause I was too lazy to do anything productive. So, the story reeks of ‘gun powder, treason and plot’ metaphorically speaking of course.

*

“Paradise Lost”

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can safely say that none of the Harry Potter franchise belongs to my person, as much as I regret that fact. I would dearly have loved to have came up with the idea of at the very least the Malfoys, but they too belong to Ms. Rowling.
Summary: LMHP 20-year-old Harry has a tough decision to make. When the new Minister is eviler than Voldemort, will Harry remain a saint in dark times, or will he follow the advice of John Milton and reign in Hell, rather than serve in Heaven? Dark Harry AU
Warnings: Slash. Violence. Character Death. AU. Post HBP. Dark Harry. Quotes. Torture. You know, my usual!
Rating: R/NC-17 SLASH!! Violence. Character Death. Post HBP.
A/N: I am working on Wolf 15 and on Brothers in Arms III 7, but this idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave. I understand that Harry Potter is unlikely to suddenly go evil, but maybe he was evil all along and just didn’t know it? Or, maybe he just decided the pros outweighed the cons. Stick with it, then review!

XXX

Words: 8,483
Chapter 1
Paradise Lost
To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
Better to reign in hell than serve in Heav’n.
- - John Milton, Paradise Lost

All my life, I have been the good guy; the noble one; the heroic saviour, and every time I play the hero someone I love dies. Every single time I do a good deed, Fate kicks me in the balls and rips my heart from my chest. And I’m so bloody sick of it.

They tell me I’m the Saviour of the Wizarding World, they tell me I have to – HAVE to – defeat Lord Voldemort because he’s evil and I’m so righteous and good, and they all stand beside me at every funeral of everyone I was alive to see killed because of me, and they tell me it was for the greater good. But, for whose greater good? Mine? I highly doubt that, but it’s not like my opinion matters much.

All I am is a figurehead. I may hold some power, I may wield some force, but when it all boils down, I’m a symbol, not a person.

I can’t be a person; a person can be killed.

But a hundred years from now, if we were so unfortunate enough to still be fighting against Voldemort, someone could dress up as me, when I’m long dead, and claim to be Harry Potter, all round saviour. Because Harry Potter is a symbol, and symbols never die.

When Voldemort’s forces tell the world that Harry Potter has been murdered and throw out my battered corpse for the masses to view, the solution is easy. Rather than allow the public to give over to mass hysteria, they find the person dressed like me and sacrifice him for the greater good. He can come out screaming, “The report of my death was an exaggeration.” And wave the wand – my wand – that one of our spies managed to get back from Voldemort’s lair, and all would be right with the world.

Because they still had their symbol of hope; their beacon in the darkness; they would have their saviour back.

I wonder sometimes, if I had died, would they have sunk so low as to bring me back? Would they have condemned me for abandoning them? For giving in so easily, far too easily in their opinion to the terror and power wielded by Lord Voldemort? When I, out of the countless others who have fallen before his wrath, am the only one still alive to tell the tale, would they still think I am weak? I suppose I will never know. I am not dead; and if I were dead, I still wouldn’t know would I? Because by the time they resurrect me, I would be nothing more than a shell. Unless, of course, they had the audacity to use a Time-Turner and force me from the past into the future to fight a battle that was never mine to begin with.

As someone, far wiser than me, and someone who I think has been dead a lot longer than I’ve been alive – although I might be wrong, I never read much so I’m not very knowledgeable – well anyway, he once said “Unhappy the land that needs heroes,” and I think I’d have to agree.

So I don’t understand why people make monsters, or allow people to become monsters themselves, when they then need to create heroes, and start wars. Wars are so unnecessary, so hateful and degrading. Can you imagine, dragging yourself, day after day, through fields where the mud has gorged itself on the blood of people you once knew, and the grass is hidden beneath the bodies? Can you even begin to understand how disgusting, how inhuman, one feels when you simply walk across fallen comrades because there is no time to clear the way?

I knew Hermione Granger since I started Hogwarts in my first year. That was nine years ago. I was eleven then; I’m twenty now. That’s a long time to know someone I suppose, nine years. Well, it was eight actually. She died, last year, and I didn’t know until the day they made me crawl across her corpse to get to the other side. She just lay there, staring up at me, as if she was begging me to take her away from the filth and the degradation, begging me to make her human again. But I couldn’t. She wasn’t human to them, she was a body, an empty shell, and she was an obstruction. I couldn’t crawl across her, I couldn’t, she was – she used to be – my friend. So they waved their magic wands and made her disappear. I never got to bury her, and I had to explain to her husband why he has no where to mourn his wife.

I haven’t felt human since that day.

It took me so long to realize I was a symbol to these hopeless people. It was that day a year ago that I realized, for the first time, that the same people I symbolized hope to, didn’t even know I was human anymore.

Not human, godly; I wonder if that’s what Albus Dumbledore felt like sometimes, before he died? I envy him his death. After all, only the dead have seen the end of war. But I hate him too, because he left me. And now, I have millions of people looking to me demanding I give them the answers, answers that I don’t have because I have never been told the problems. How can I work out the answers without knowing what needs answering? All they tell me is that Voldemort has attacked and I should attack back.

They make us behave as badly as the Death Eaters. My squad and I are sent, night after night, striking back at the Dark Lords forces. I have killed children and defenceless women and men – people they call Death Eaters, but I know are not – in the name of justice. I call it revenge. I said that once, and they told me that an eye for an eye evens the score.

I thought the saying was, “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”, but who am I to argue with the new Minister for Magic?

I’m only their symbol after all, not a human, not a person with feelings or a sense of right and wrong. I am a weapon, moulded since the age of eleven, taught since the age of sixteen that life doesn’t always give you lemons. I watched as the man I considered to be a Grandfather died in front of me, killed by someone he trusted without a doubt, and I felt my world shatter. It took me months to glue the pieces back together. And then, when I found Severus Snape and he told me everything, I believed him. And my world fell apart at the seams again.

I tried to protect him, when they came for him. They wanted to punish the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore, they wanted retribution; Severus only wanted forgiveness.

He had killed Dumbledore, because Dumbledore ordered him to: to put him out of his misery and to save the life of Draco Malfoy. Fat lot of good it did. Severus Snape was publicly tortured and executed for Death Eater crimes – they didn’t even charge him with Albus’ murder!

And Draco Malfoy? He was hunted like an animal for years, until he was caught. I protested of course, he was a child, like I was, innocent only of being forced into a situation he had no control over. Like all humans, he did what he had to in order to survive. They didn’t listen to me; they never did. Draco was butchered, ripped apart by various curses and I was forced to participate. And they took his father out of Azkaban Prison to watch. If I have ever felt sorry for Lucius ‘Bastard’ Malfoy, it was the moment he noticed exactly who was being murdered in front of him. Draco was such a mess by the time he was brought to his execution that even his own father didn’t recognize him. I think I remember crying.

I haven’t cried since, I know that. We were both eighteen. The night they brought Lucius to watch, I turned eighteen. I also died a little that day as well.

Sometimes I think life would be simpler if we just gave up and let Voldemort have control. He can’t be any worse than the lunatic we have running the country now. They booted Cornelius Fudge out at the end of my fifth year and brought in Rufus Scrimgeour. He lasted a year and a couple months, before extremist Egan Whiteadder supposedly caught him committing Death Eater activities. Truly, I know for a fact that Scrimgeour was murdered in his bed, just so Whiteadder could make himself Minister. Since he came to power, about four years ago now, all he has done was cause misery and grief.

And it’s sickening how people let him. I’m as guilty as anyone else, I know, because I was just as scared. I was just as weak and frightened and I stood back when people insisted I should challenge him for the place as Minister, and I let him continue. A man is only as guilty of a crime, after all, as those that assist him. I assisted didn’t I? I knew he had killed Scrimgeour, but then, I’ve never liked Rufus either, so I supposed Whiteadder couldn’t be too bad. Merlin was I wrong!

They tell us that this new society that they’re building with the blood of its own citizens will be a Paradise, a utopian society, a Heaven if you will. Dark Magic is banned, and anyone who is caught using it will be killed without trial. No one took notice at first, of course they didn’t. Before, words had meant nothing. It was only action that counted, the actions of Voldemort inspired fear; the words of Whiteadder enthused a healthy dose of cynicism.

Soon people realized that the meaning of words, that had mattered so little before, was beginning to change. Being different was a blessing in the Wizarding World, but soon ‘different’ became ‘dangerous’. Having a set ‘bedtime’ for errant children became a strict ‘curfew’ for adults, except Aurors – like me – and Death Eaters who were hardly ever caught out late anyway. Hardly any guilty Death Eaters were caught in the four years since Whiteadder became Minister.

My fellow Aurors and I have killed and tortured many a innocent person simply because they didn’t fit the ‘Whiteadder criteria’: they wore black clothes, they didn’t smile enough, they were shifty looking, they had bad hygiene, they had too many children, they had too little children, they were far too beautiful so they must have used Dark Magic, or maybe they were part-creature; but never once, has anyone I slaughtered in the name of ‘Criteria’ been a Death Eater. They have always been, in every case, someone who opposed Whiteadder. Someone who criticised Whiteadder. Someone ‘different’ to Whiteadder.

The man is insaner than Voldemort ever was accused of being.

People still fear Voldemort of course, because Whiteadder says they should; because they’re too afraid for their own lives to fear Whiteadder, so they fear the evil that is being flaunted to keep their fear strong. Voldemort has ceased attacking the innocent, he stopped that long ago. Now, he only attacks ‘Snakes’, as the media termed them briefly, before the editor was killed for ‘Death Eater activity’. Whiteadder, adder, snake; do you get the joke?

So they fear Voldemort? There was a time when they feared me too. And by the Fates, I’ll put the fear of God into them again if I have to. If they fear us separately, I can only hope Whiteadder will piss himself with fear when he hears that Voldemort and I are now on the same side. Against Egan Whiteadder and his Snakes.

XXX

I woke up one morning, a few months or so ago, and I couldn’t feel anything. There was no hope, no joy, sadness, anger, love or fear. I was no longer human.

I was like Voldemort then, wasn’t I? After all, how many times had I been told that Voldemort couldn’t feel, couldn’t love? How many times had I been told that the ‘power he knows not’ was my ability to love when he couldn’t?

But I can’t love… nor can Whiteadder, or Voldemort, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I was wrong. It took me a few hours but I realized I could feel. I could feel hate. That was something at least. I gathered my friends, what was left of them, and the rest of my Auror Squad – we’re split into teams of twenty, each with different skills – and together we marched on Rome; well, Voldemort’s lair actually, but excuse the joke.

He had moved from Riddle Manor when Whiteadder came to power and tried to burn him out of his filthy, Muggle father’s home. I think that was the only time he ever actually killed real Death Eaters. Voldemort lived somewhere else now. Somewhere no one could penetrate, except me. I had lived there years ago, just like Voldemort, and to the both of us it was a sanctuary, a place of hope, and a home all in one. And now, it is home to him once again, and a place of hope to me once more.

Hogwarts – no longer a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – had never looked so beautiful as it did the morning my friends and I arrived at its front doors. We handed over our wands silently, and let the small group of Death Eaters drag us before Lord Voldemort. Even though we out numbered the group that met us, we didn’t fight.

Voldemort didn’t seem to notice any one in my group, apart from me. It was me he stared at, me he smirked at, and me he spoke to. The rest of my friends were ignored, my Squad mates were glared at, but I was noticed. And for once, someone seemed to notice I was a living person.

“You’re bleeding,” Voldemort said and the sound of his voice made me jump. The last time I heard him speak was in the Department of Mysteries during my fifth year. He had sounded like a snake then, dragging out his ‘s’s into a hiss; he even looked like a snake then. Now, he looked gorgeous. He wasn’t as pretty as he had been in the Chamber of Secrets, I decided, but he was certainly handsome enough. His cheekbones were more refined, higher, and his nose was – well, the point is he had a nose now – straight and slightly pointed, but what caught my attention were Voldemort’s lips. They were red, as if he had been biting them, and the bottom one was fuller than the top so it looked as if the man was pouting.

I looked at my arm, where Voldemort was staring and I frowned. I hadn’t even noticed that the gash was bleeding. Usually, I don’t bleed. “I had to rip the Tag out.” He nodded solemnly.

A Tag, if anyone is wondering is a bit like a Muggle tracking device – I think that’s the first time I’ve used the word ‘Muggle’ in four years… we’ve had bigger problems than the Muggles since Whiteadder came around. Tags are inserted under the skin and provide Whiteadder and his Snakes a location on every single person in the country, except the Death Eaters who have never been caught. Even those in Azkaban were fitted.

I look to Voldemort’s right, and Lucius Malfoy is unconsciously rubbing at his right arm, the same place mine is bleeding, and I sigh. He must have ripped his out as well; it was the only was to stay safe. But then, they know when the Tags are detached and they immediately declare you a fugitive. It’s a big risk to take in the name of privacy; a risk only the desperate can afford.

But aren’t I desperate? I am here; before my enemy after all, about to offer my friends, and myself, so doesn’t that make me desperate?

Lucius is still rubbing his arm, and his eyes meet mine but they’re unfocused. I haven’t seen him since his son was murdered. He escaped Azkaban soon after, I heard, and I don’t believe for a second that the filthy, horrid Prison even came close to breaking the man before me… not like the death of Draco did. I lower my eyes, trying to apologize, and he nods in acceptance. At least he doesn’t blame me, I find myself relieved. I had no more choice than Draco did. I was just as trapped.

But not anymore.

I deserve freedom.

“I was thinking,” I started to say, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows – he has those as well, now, I notice. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could do what the Sorting Hat preached years ago? Unite against a common enemy?”

“I was that enemy, my dearest Harry.” He reminds me and I smile.

“Maybe, maybe not. Who’s to say that ‘neither can live while the other survives’ doesn’t apply to Whiteadder and myself, rather than to you? Dumbledore, Trelawney, they’re both dead. There is no one left to make assumptions about my life, and personally, I don’t really see the point in facing off against you when I have bigger fish to fry.” He nods his head, indicating that maybe I should continue with my idea. “We should unite. Whiteadder has how many Snakes?”

“Seven hundred,” a voice supplies. I don’t turn towards it; I merely nod to show I heard.

“Seven hundred Snakes and Whiteadder. I have my friends, what is left of them, I have nineteen members of my Squad and myself, I am in command of seven other squads, and you have, how many Death Eaters left?”

“Not many, not as much as I used to.” Voldemort answers, his voice tinged with regret, a feeling I didn’t know he could feel. “Not enough.”

“How many, Voldemort?”

He closes his eyes, thinking. He opens them again, and says, “around four hundred or so.”

“Four hundred Death Eaters, one-hundred-and-sixty Squad members and ten of my friends. We have five-hundred-and-seventy people against seven hundred Snakes. I think that is a better chance than we have separately. And, most importantly, we have the public.”

“How so?” Lucius asked his eyes still glazed over.

I sigh. “The public hate Whiteadder, but they are too afraid to fight him. The public used to be too afraid of you to do anything but turn to help, and it led to Whiteadder. Now, we only need to create panic, fear, anger, chaos, before we come in and give the public everything they need in a leader. We merely set the stage, and we let the public revolt. The people should never be afraid of their Government; the Government should be afraid of the people.” I smirk slightly, and run my hand through my hair: as unruly as ever.

“It’s foolish!” One Death Eater cried.

“Suicide,” another agreed.

“Fortune favours the audacious.” I merely reply, before turning my full attention back to Lord Voldemort. After all, it’s his opinion that truly matters.

“Tell me what you have in mind, my dearest Harry,” and so I told him everything.

XXX

I got the other seven Squads into Hogwarts no bother, we had their Tags removed on the way, and before long we had a handful of them sent back battered and bruised claming to have been kidnapped by Death Eaters, fanning the flames. When the Snakes were no longer watching them that small handful of people began to make a difference, and I couldn’t have been prouder of them.

First, they started small, doing as I told them to, and handing out leaflets charmed to look like Whiteadder propaganda. When they were pasted to walls, and nearly every one had a leaflet, I activated the spell that would drop the glamour.

While before, the leaflet was Pro-Egan Whiteadder; it now became… a symbol of hope.

A small movie played in the centre of the page. Around the outside were the words Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter have teamed up against Egan Whiteadder. Judgement Day approaches; whom will you side with?

I remember filming the mini-film. Voldemort had looked at me as if I was mad, but he had agreed to my idea only because it was the only idea anyone had. I remember putting on my Squad uniform – which I had in my pocket, shrunk – and I remember Voldemort, in his full snake-like appearance, sitting beside me. Behind us were the rest of my Squad in their uniforms, and the Death Eaters in robes and masks.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” I had said. Voldemort had decided that I should do all the speaking: since I was their old symbol, it would be my job to create them a new one. “and like all stories, it starts with good versus evil. Once upon a time, Harry Potter defeated the evil Lord Voldemort. But he came back, more evil and scarier than ever. And Harry Potter was expected to defeat him again. Only he couldn’t, because he wasn’t strong enough alone. And so, along came Egan Whiteadder. A man who thought he was strong, a man who believed he was right, a man who created disasters only to avert them and wallow in public praise. In no time, this man had cowed even the great Harry Potter. Lord Voldemort was never quite as scary as he used to be, not now that Whiteadder was around.

“Except no one wanted to say Whiteadder was scary, in case they were convicted of ‘Death Eater activities’. But I’m not afraid any more. I used to be, I used to be like you all, afraid and alone, trembling at the thought of standing up to that man, the Minister for Magic, but I’m not anymore. I have stood by and watched as he slaughtered thousands of innocent people. I helped murder children because Minister Whiteadder said it was the right thing to do, and because I was too afraid to say ‘no’. I was afraid because I thought I was weak. But I’m not weak.

“I have people on my side, and that makes me strong because I’m not alone. I have no reason to fear a man so cowardly that he sends children, teenagers, in the dead of night to massacre anyone who opposes him, because he is afraid to do it himself! I have no reason to fear someone who can’t admit that he is wrong. I can say ‘no’, because I no longer fear Egan Whiteadder! Without fear, comes freedom.

“When the time comes, you will have to pick a side. Once upon a time, you picked my side, when we stood together against Lord Voldemort. But now I stand with Voldemort and against Whiteadder, and I want to know, who believes what Whiteadder is doing is right? Who believes that Whiteadder has actually killed even one single Death Eater in his entire four-year reign of terror? And who believes in me, in justice and freedom? When the time comes, whose side will you pick?

“Remember, freedom is a possession of inestimable value, don’t give it up without a fight.” Voldemort had changed at the end, no longer looking like a snake, but dropping his glamour to reveal the handsome man hidden underneath. I told him it would be a good way to show people he wasn’t really a monster, and I prayed to Merlin that it would work; that this entire plan would work, just a little.

Whiteadder slanders me in the Ministry controlled Newspapers. I know he calls me the Devil, he claims that I am more damned than Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’, they say I should burn in Hell, because I am ruining their Paradise.

So… Paradise is Lost, is it?

Well, I’d rather reign in Hell along side my old arch nemesis, than serve in a Heaven, so corrupt in nature, of their making. Maybe Milton had the right idea?

But, I know better than Whiteadder that people have been choosing my side. I know because the moment they finished watching the mini-film, they chose a side, and if it were mine – Voldemort and mine; our side – the leaflet became a Portkey and they were brought to Hogwarts. At the moment we have an army of one thousand people. We outnumber the Snakes 1.4 to 1; I’d say we have a fair chance of wining.

Voldemort and I have decided to wait. In less than a year, we’ll go for the gold.

“Remember, remember the fifth of November,” he smirked at me. “A day that’ll never be forgot.” I think that was the first time in four years that I’ve laughed.

XXX

The year passed quickly. I fell in and out of bed with Voldemort, who is just as gorgeous without the clothing as he is with them on. Lucius cornered me at one point, I remember, and we fell in to bed together as well. Unlike Ron and Hermione, I never got married. I had never wanted to, I think Ron’s sister following me around, making suggestions the whole time put me off the idea. Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same as far as I’m concerned. I really don’t see what the point is? Some people marry so they won’t be lonely, so that there will be someone beside them should the Snakes ever slither to their home. And some marry because they genuinely are in love. But, I’ve never been in love, nor am I afraid of being arrested.

He wouldn’t have dared to arrest me as the Boy-Who-Lived: if he had the people might have revolted. It’s actually a pity he didn’t try. And now, there’s no way he can get near me. Plus, I always preferred men, and neither Voldemort nor Lucius would relish the idea of being my ‘wife’. I can’t help but smile at the thought of either of those powerful men in wedding dresses.

I remember the day I first bedded Lucius with clarity. We had just received eighty more supporters – the leaflets continued to be circulated. Just when Whiteadder thought he had them all burnt, more would go out, with the same message and each one would become a Portkey if who ever was holding it truly wanted to join our side. Soon, we would begin to run out of places for our supporters to sleep, we’d run out of food as well, I realized at the time.

Voldemort was in a meeting with the House Elves, the creatures refused to serve Whiteadder and his Snakes no matter how they were threatened. I was wondering the halls, reminiscing about the past and the mischief my friends and I got into when we were younger. I was coming down the corridor from the Headmasters Office when Lucius’ voice interrupted my thoughts.

“It was here, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly. He didn’t use that snake cane anymore I noticed. But then, the Slytherins of old, no longer seemed proud of their snake emblem, with the Snakes around. It was too much like taking their side, I supposed.

“What was, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Call me Lucius.” He frowned. He stepped forward and pointed at a spot on the floor, before moving to stand there. “Yes it was here.” He held his arm out towards me, his wand in hand. “Do you remember? I was about to curse you, but that damned House-Elf sent me flying.” He dropped his arm and laughed. I smiled slightly. Maybe I wasn’t the only one still living in the past? “Will you tell me about your school days? And Draco, if you can?” He sounded so hopeful I felt my heartbreak. There weren’t many nice things that happened to Malfoy Junior when in my presence. “Even if they aren’t so pleasant.”

“Did he ever tell you about the time he got turned into a ferret?”

Lucius smirked. “He mentioned it, but wouldn’t elaborate.” He paused. “Will you tell me?”

I smirked and launched into the tale, pausing at intervals I always found amusing to give Lucius time to laugh. I was rather pleased when Draco’s father found the funny side. When that tale was over, I began a new one, this time about the time Ron, Hermione and I were convinced that Draco was the Heir of Slytherin.

“And you brewed the Polyjuice Potion, on your own?” He sounded incredulous. I don’t blame him. We were only twelve at the time.

“Nope, Hermione brewed it on her own. Ron and I just drank it!” He smiled.

When that story was done, I looked up and noticed that we were in a part of the castle that I never had a reason to go to before. The Hufflepuff area wasn’t as cheery as it was rumoured to be when I was in school. There were no yellow and black banners on the walls, the paintings were all empty and it was far too quiet. “I couldn’t bare being in the Slytherin dorms.” Lucius offered as he gave the password and the Hufflepuff entrance opened; even without the resident of the portrait being present. “Would you like to come in? You can tell me some more?”

I entered, and I think he was relieved that I had stayed to speak with him. It was late, but I knew better than most that late didn’t necessarily mean sleep. I found it hard to sleep, even without Voldemort’s visions, the nightmares I have from my job on the Squad haunt me. Maybe Lucius was tormented by the past as well?

“Sit, sit,” he insisted when we were in his room, in what was once the seventh year dorms. He has it all to himself, I noticed. It must be lonely. I shared my room with my Squad, and my friends – all that was left of the DA. It was a bit like being in school again. We had the seventh year Gryffindor dorm, in the Tower, and it was a tight squeeze but at least we didn’t get cold.

“So,” he said while pouring us drinks, “tell me more?” He smiled at me, his eyes focused this time and they lit up as he smiled, turning from grey to silver.

“Well,” I tried to think. There really wasn’t much in my life that had involved Draco.

“Tell me about that night,” he said softly. “Dumbledore granted him amnesty, am I right?”

“Yes. And Draco would have taken it. I was so angry when he came into the room and threatened to kill Dumbledore. I couldn’t understand why Dumbledore didn’t do something, anything to unarm Draco. I couldn’t move, he had stunned me and hid me under my Invisibility Cloak, and I watched as Draco lowered his wand and Snape came and killed Dumbledore before Draco could give an answer. And they ran, and I chased them. And when they were caught, I tried to protect them, but no one would listen.”

Lucius had tears running freely down his cheeks. “When they brought me out of Azkaban, I wasn’t told why. And then I heard screaming and I thought I was next. And I made peace with myself, Harry; I was ready to die. But then I saw him, Draco, and I screamed. It was my son and I could do nothing but watch. I saw you. You were crying, and they kept shouting ‘join in, Potter, you’ll enjoy yourself’ and ‘come on, Potter’ and you just stood there and cried until they Crucioed you. I remember.”

“Do you remember that I did join in?” I asked him then, my hands shaking, my voice cold.

“You cast the Killing Curse. You ended their game, and you let my son die, finally.” Lucius moved towards me and I admit I flinched, but he only wrapped his arms around me and pressed his face to my neck. I could feel his tears dripping onto my skin, wetting me, and I raised a hand and began to card it through his long blond locks. He sobbed against me and whispered, “Avenge him. Don’t let them go unpunished, please?”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? Draco deserved vengeance just as much as Hermione and Severus did, and countless others; but while those that were guilty would be punished, it wouldn’t be for those who had died. They that were guilty would be punished to free those that were still living, for the benefit of those alive to rejoice in the punishment: but it seemed callous to say that to Lucius, so I kept quiet.

He kissed me then. He moved away from my neck and pressed his lips to mine. Yet another kiss where someone cried. But I enjoyed it more than I did Cho’s ‘wet’ kiss (not that I’m talking ill of the dead).

I don’t know how we got there or when, but I was naked and so was Lucius, and we were both on the bed. Considering he broke down only moments ago at the time, I assumed I would be topping. He quickly set me right, of course. He rolled so I was pinned beneath him and he kissed me again, and again and I moaned and arched my back, rubbing against him. My present lover – Voldemort – had been neglecting me at the time, so I was rather horny and Lucius was drop dead gorgeous too.

Azkaban seemed to have had little or no effect on the blond man. For which I was grateful. He had always been beautiful, Lucius had, with his long platinum blond hair – which I can assure you is natural – and his silver eyes that can look into your soul. Don’t think for a minute that he was girly; he wasn’t. He was beautiful, and that was all there was too it. He had this presence around him I remember, whenever he walked into the room people would just stop and stare. They’d watch him wide eyed, no matter if they hated him or not, and their eyes would follow Lucius across the room. Azkaban didn’t rob him of his presence; he was still perfectly able to draw my attention without even trying.

Before that night, all he had to do was to brush his hair out of his face, and my eyes would instantly dart to his lips. He would tap his fingers on his knee and I would stare at his thigh, imagining my hand there, touching him. I think he knew, he used to smirk at me sometimes, when he felt like it. Lucius has his good and his bad days: like everyone, some days are just harder than others.

That day was obviously a good one!

His hands ran down the length of my body, and I remembered arching beneath his touch, moaning out his name in little breathy whispers as his fingers brushed the head of my swollen cock.

His lips fluttered over the skin of my neck, and down along my collarbone. He stopped his movements every once in a while, and sucked harshly on my skin, bringing the blood to the surface and marking me as his. I remembered thinking I’d have to explain those marks to Voldemort: but Tom took it rather well the next day.

Lucius stroked me, breaking me from my thoughts and I arched off the bed with a gasp. One hand remained wrapped around my penis, the thumb brushing the head, while his other hand delved lower. A finger circled my entrance and I moaned and pushed against it. “Hurry the fuck up, Lucius!” I cried and he chuckled.

Just being in the same space as the man was driving me wild; I couldn’t wait until we were even closer, until he was inside of me. He said something I didn’t catch, but when a warm, wet tingling sensation happened in my arse, I figured it was a lubrication charm of some sorts. He pushed his finger in, then, in one go, and I moaned his name again. He was probably sick of hearing “Lucssssiusssss” by the end of the night! I kept drawing out all the ‘s’ sounds; but at least I said it in English, not Parseltongue.

I was too busy panting and begging him to fuck me that I didn’t notice him push another two fingers into my body. When he scraped his nails against my prostate gland, my breath caught in my throat and he smirked down at me roguishly. “Please, Lucius, please,” I begged him and he only whispered my name against my ear. He re-casts the lubrication charm on his hand and quickly slicked his penis up. My eyes were fixed on his hand as it moved up and down the pale, stiff organ before lining it up with my stretched hole. His fingers now gripped my hips, and raised me slightly off the bed as he arched forward and thrust deep inside of me.

He and I both tensed, we were both so close to the edge, neither of us wanted to come so soon and ruin the night. My hand cupped his cheek and I pulled his face down so I could capture his lips in a slow, sweet kiss. When I was sure I was no longer hanging on the edge of the abyss, I arched upwards, pushing my arse against his crotch to let him know I was ready. He gave a shallow thrust forward, making sure he was no longer close to release. Then he fucked me. And I loved every second of it.

I moaned as he pulled out of me, whimpering with loss. And I screamed in delight as he drove back into my body, bruising my hips with his fingers and marking my neck with his teeth. I panted for more, squeezing the muscles inside of me relishing in every moan I drew from the blond’s lips. Every cry of my name was like a slice of Heaven; and I knew a Paradise of my own.

Nothing like Whiteadder’s. This Paradise was perfection. Lucius and I, and heaps of pleasure, with no horrid snake to tempt us into ruin. I refused to lose the thought, and I clung to it as we made love.

I came screaming his name, seconds before he orgasmed with a cry of his own. “I find myself having fallen in love with you,” he whispered before rolling off of me, and pulling me into his arms. We lay, with him spooned against my back and I remember feeling something other than lust or hate. I could feel happiness and joy again. And we continued to come together, day after day, and I realized I could feel love again. I think Voldemort had a fair idea. He no longer took me to his bed, which upset me at first before it dawned on me that he was allowing Lucius to have all of me, and then it just made me want to hug him.

Voldemort had never been one to give up what he wanted to make someone else happy. But, I suppose even Voldemort falls victim to momentary bouts of kindness. He’d call them a lapse in judgement!

Lucius and I stayed together for months. And that brings us to where we are now. It is July 2001 now, and I’m turning twenty-one years old in five hours. Lucius and Voldemort threw a party for me, and they say they have a gift but I’m not allowed to open it until midnight. I can wait. I think I know who it is, my gift… from the sounds of his pleading, it sounds a lot like the same man who killed Remus Lupin. I kissed both Lucius and Voldemort in thanks, completely sure that I had guessed right: I had a score to settle.

XXX

November fourth

It’s today! Tonight we set our plan in motion! I can hardly wait. Lucius has been glued to my side all week, as if he is afraid that something will go wrong and he’ll lose me. I’m afraid of losing him, as well, but I have faith in my plan.

We let our supporters go two hours ago. At the moment they are all wearing black robes and Guy Fawkes masks. Strange, huh? They really should be wearing Death Eater masks I suppose, but they aren’t. They aren’t Death Eaters; they are the public, they live for themselves and fight for themselves, not Voldemort. So they should wear what will symbolize them best. And they are. They should wear Guy Fawkes masks, because at midnight tonight, we’re blowing up the Parliament.

If we had one… we’re actually aiming for the Ministry of Magic. And the Death Eaters and the Squads are going to make sure that every Snake is inside that building and unable to get out when it blows.

The Squads are leaving in an hour, a further twenty minutes later the Death Eaters will leave Hogwarts and make their way to London. Lucius, Voldemort and I will go separately. Voldemort and I are their symbols, of good and bad, light and dark so seeing us together will give them hope that we can unite against common enemies. And Lucius? I just can’t bare the thought that if he goes with the Death Eaters, he could get hurt and I won’t ever see him again.

Voldemort and I are taking care of the explosives. We’re doing it the Muggle way, because I doubt that any of the Snakes have the faintest clue of how to disable a bomb. We have two duffle bags with us, filled with small black devices that will explode when triggered, as well as the main bomb that will trigger them. Lucius had a bag filled with fireworks: what’s Guy Fawkes Night without them?

I’m sure they still think I’m mad. I might be. Would you blame me?

I smile as the Squads file out of the Hogwarts doors. They walk in lines of two, partnered, and I’m very proud of them. My friends remain behind. I need them to help me sneak into the Ministry. Some of them have done it before, years ago when we were fifteen.

“Neville, Luna,” they walk towards me slowly. I hand them the bag of fireworks. “Underground. Every room you can get in to.”

The both nod. “Yes sir,” Neville answers. Luna remains silent. I can’t blame her: she refused to tell the Snakes where her father was hiding – Mr. Lovegood ran the anti-Whiteadder newspaper. Because she wouldn’t talk, they took away the ability. I never could find a way to make her tongue grow back.

They walked out of the doors, and I knew they’d be apparating when they passed the wards. Neville was fortunate enough to have thought ahead. He had five fake IDs for five different people who didn’t exist. So, even though the Snakes have figured out two of those were false, he still had the other three to fall back on.

Ron Weasley – Hermione’s husband – came over and punched me on the shoulder, and I smiled at him. “What you waiting for?” I ask with a smirk. He grins back and runs out of the doors after the other two. Three fake IDs left: one for Luna, one of Neville and one for Ron.

We waited for the twenty minutes, and then Voldemort sent the Death Eaters out. They put their masks on, and patted each other on the back reassuringly before they marched towards the door in a group. In teams of five, they apparated to London. It shouldn’t take too long for the Snakes to realize there are Death Eaters on the loose. Voldemort smirked at me, and raised one eyebrow questioningly. I nod slowly, hesitantly. I know now isn’t the time for “saucy doubts and fears” but I can’t help myself. What if it doesn’t work? What if it doesn’t change a thing?

No! I have to believe, because hope is all any of us have left.

Lucius takes my hand in his, and squeezes gently. I squeeze back, and pull my hand from his, clutching it into a fist at my side. “Are you ready?” They both nod back, and each of them grabs hold of one duffle bag, leaving my hands free to defend them. I’m awed at the trust they have in me.

We made our way unhindered. The Snakes were too busy trying to hold back the numerous Guy Fawkes’ that were marching towards the Ministry of Magic. No one seemed to care if a Muggle saw him or her. No one was afraid of Muggles anymore, not when Whiteadder was around to be feared. We apparated to Hogsmeade, then, one last time, we took the Hogwarts Express to Kings Cross Station. It has been so long since I rode on that train, I almost forgotten what it was like. It felt like flying. Freedom— Escaping from the Dursley’s as a child, and now escaping from a totalitarian oppressor. I closed my eyes for a while, and I could almost hear that old woman asking “anything from the trolley’s, dear?” again.

We apparated from Kings Cross to the Ministry telephone box. The box didn’t work anymore, but we were able to make our way down the tunnel to the centre of the Ministry building. As we walked we lay the small black boxes along the sides of the walls, one for every half mile.

We laid the bomb, itself, directly beneath the Ministers Office. Whiteadder was there; I could hear him walking above us. I wanted nothing more than to go up there and hurt him. Kill him; tear him to pieces for everyone he has hurt. I want him to suffer. But, now is not the time.

Neville, Luna and Ron had done their job: I found a few of the hidden fireworks, and placed a brief glamour on them. It wouldn’t do to have anyone find them. I couldn’t help but grin, everything was going to plan. All we had to do now was make sure the Snakes were in their den before midnight.

The Death Eaters took care of that. They attacked as many people as they could; they threw curses but didn’t kill anyone. The Squad members – the eight that I command – arrived and fought them off, battling them towards the centre of London, towards the Ministry. And the Snakes lost interest in the public marchers and they followed the Death Eaters, hoping for the chance to play with one or two of them, no doubt. Voldemort and Lucius apparated onto the roof of a near by building: not too far away, but not close enough to get hurt. I waited under the Ministers Office. When the Death Eaters entered the Ministry building, the Snakes followed.

The Squad members who went back, claiming to be kidnapped had, by my orders, laid out Portkeys with a lightening bolt to mark them out. Each of the Death Eaters crowded around as many as they could find, and when every Snake was inside, an alarm tripped. I smirked as I heard the wailing echo throughout the building, and then the numerous ‘pop’s as the Portkeys activated.

Quickly, I threw up the strongest containment spell I could think of. No one was getting in or out of the building now. Except me: I fingered the Portkey in my pocket and took a deep breath before apparating upstairs, into the Ministers Office.

“Hello, Egan. Have you missed me?” I knew both Lucius and Voldemort would worry until I was back, so I decided I should make this as quick as I could. The man paled and took a step backwards. “Remember, remember, the fifth of November; the gunpowder treason and plot. I see no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.” I smirked. The watch on my right arm gave a tingle, the small bell ringing out to alert me to the time. Midnight.

This time, two years ago, Minister Egan set off a bomb that blew three Squads to pieces in the attempt to catch a very small group of Death Eaters: Hermione included. I always thought it would be an ironic way for him to die. I pulled my hands out of my pockets; in my right hand was the Portkey. And in my left was a small, flat black box with a red button on top. I pressed my finger down on the button and activated the Portkey.

“Vive la resistance!” I giggled as I landed on my arse, on the roof of a building over looking the Ministry. Lucius pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around my waist.

The three of us watched as each of the devices exploded, triggered when I set off the bomb under Whiteadder’s Office. As the bombs exploded, room after room in the building collapsed, and fireworks shot out of the wreckage, lighting up the sky in colours and sparks. The people gathered below us cheered as they peeled the Guy Fawkes masks off and dropped them to the floor. The Death Eaters threw their masks into the air and cheered as well. My Squad mates group hugged each other and waved up at me.

I watched as the people celebrated and I knew that I would be the one to lead them now. There was no chance that I was going to let something like this happen again. Never, as long as I could help it!

Lucius’ arms tightened around my waist and I told him what he wanted to hear for the first time, “I love you, Lucius.” He smiled against the side of my neck, and I felt his mouth move as he whispered the words back, so low I couldn’t hear them. But I knew he meant it.

I have to say; I really think Milton was right. I look over at Voldemort, who is smiling like I’ve never seen anyone smile before. I don’t think he is the Devil; even if I am reigning in Hell, now. Their Paradise was overrated anyway.

I’m contemplating making the lightening bolt my symbol. Voldemort has his Dark Mark, and Whiteadder had a white squiggle, that I think was supposed to be an adder, but I don’t have one. I should get one. I need one. After all, I’m only a man: men die.

Symbols live forever.

They’re a bit like cock roaches really, aren’t they?

The End

*

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
Better to reign in hell than serve in Heav’n.
- - John Milton, Paradise Lost

"The report of my death was an exaggeration." – Mark Twain

“Unhappy the land that needs heroes,” – Bertolt Brecht

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” – Plato

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” – Ghandi

Marching on Rome, attempted by Mussolini as a coup d’ete. The joke: that’s what Harry is planning.

“Fortune Favours The Audacious.” – Desiderius Erasmus

“Freedom Is A Possession of Inestimable Value” – Cicero

From ‘Macbeth’, “Not in the legions of horrid hell can come a devil more damned in evils to top Macbeth.” – Harry is that ‘devil more damned’ in Whiteadder’s opinion.

“Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same” – Oscar Wilde

“Saucy doubts and fears,” – Macbeth