Standard disclaimer applies.
Chapter 22 – Unravelling and Rebuilding
The balance stretched, strained – desperately, Draco grabbed at the seven surviving threads and tried to hold them as the other six backlashed, flailing; the shockwaves pouring through his…his body? Did he have a body, or hands to hold on with? He could feel the strain, feel his magic, the strength of the pure wizarding blood untainted by muggle genes, undiluted by the centuries of interbreeding that other, less traditional Clans practiced, feel even that great strength falter…
And it hurt…oh, Lady it hurt…
The threads slipped, slowly and inexorably through his fingers, and he couldn’t hold them, couldn’t hold on…
~()~
Beyond the edge of his senses, on the periphery of his sixth, magical sense, something unimaginably ancient, something unimaginably powerful slowly stretched its senses, stirred…
Awareness glimmered, for the first time in millennia…
~()~
Luc’s voice came from an unimaginable distance, blurred and distorted by the sheer weight of the waves of unraveling magic. His uncle bent over him, gripping his left hand hard enough that he could feel it even now…
“Hold on, Draco…you must hold on!”
A faint, barely voiced whisper… “Can’t…”
“You must! Listen to me Draco, hold on!” It was the second time in his life that he’d ever heard his uncle sound less than composed…
~()~
Hold on to what? To the magic? To the Covenant – to the seven Covenants he was trying so desperately to keep together? The six shattered ones were slowly ripping apart around him, he could feel it; he knew the pain that had ripped through him when his father died – that had been only a partial tear – this was all that, multiplied sevenfold…
To the other six Lords? Lestrange-Avery-Snape-Courtney-Andahni-Zabini – he could see them, if he tried hard enough.
See into the most sacred places of their souls and their Clans…
Brief flashes of sight, of vision – Clan Lestrange, whose home was a windy, weathered fortress perched on a promontory overlooking a deep, prosperous harbour…
Clan Avery, positioned midway between the north and the south, at the junction of all the major trade routes…
Clan Snape, who had built a manor not far from the tumbled, abandoned, somehow lonely stones of what had once been a mighty fortress…once, it had controlled the whole of the northern moors, as far as the eye could see and beyond…
Clan Courtney, who controlled the great lakes, which lay like silver mirrors in the earth, and all the surrounding pastureland…
Clan Andahni, who ruled over endless, rolling fields, so fertile that the wheat rippled like a golden pelt bursting with health in the wind…
Clan Zabini, who in their quest for neutrality had retreated to the mountains, made their eyrie high above the world, aloof from the rest of the world and their struggles…
And finally his own home, the land Beyond the Veil, in the mountain valleys of Gwynedd, the deepest heart of Cymry – the Malfoy had no need to go out into the world; the world came to them…
And now it was all threatened, and his strength of magic, his strength of will, his strength of belief, was all that stood in the way.
No. No, there was something else… Faintly, with his fading, overwhelmed and flooded senses, he felt it, felt another thread – not the bright, shining rope of a Covenant, forged through years of faith and worship, but something that was his and his alone. Warmth and laughter, passion and feminine strength, compassion and love, the Malfoy soul bond was their greatest strength, the ultimate joining of male and female, God and Goddess – they complimented and completed each other, supported and sustained each other; if one should falter, the other would be there to catch them when they fell…
Grasping with the last of his strength, he reached out to Ginny, felt her strength and her magic flow into him, renewing his faith and his determination. He could do this. He could hold on, and he could centre the wildly flailing enchantment, because he was the Lord of the Malfoy, and with his wife and his soul mate by his side, he could do anything.
~()~
Shouts, pounding feet and shouted spells echoed through the courtroom, creating chaos and disorder in the physical world that echoed the chaos in the magical world; just as the six renegades were even now magically struggling against the other seven, their physical agents were trying their best to kill them through more conventional means, and Draco’s agents were doing their best to stop them. It was quite frustrating that Luc could not issue a like order to kill – if any one of the Thirteen Lords died now, before Draco had stabilized the Binding, before he created it anew, it would undo all his hard-fought efforts…
Perhaps it had not been wise to have all thirteen Clan Lords here in the one room – but the time for keeping High Clan business inside the High Clan had passed when the first newspaper story had broken, when they had brought the shadows of the past into the light of public interest. So, then, let them bring everything – everything – into the light. And then, the victors could control what the world saw, and how they interpreted it. And Luc would do his best to ensure that the Malfoy and all those who had remained loyal would emerge victors…
Not moving, without loosening his almost bruising grip on Draco and Ginevra’s hands, he looked up to see Walden McNair pointing his wand at Ginevra’s slumped form, his mouth forming the unforgivable words; with a whispered word of his own, a surge of the supremely controlled, disciplined power he had honed over the course of a rather shadowed life, he reinforced the magical shield which enfolded them all, and the curse bounced off and ricocheted back to its caster.
He had not gone to the trouble and effort of bringing Draco and the girl together, of encouraging and nurturing their bond until it was finally consummated, to see it snapped now. Since she had insisted on staying by her husband’s side, instead of lending her support from a safe place, then he had taken personal responsibility for her protection, just as others were protecting the other six Lords who lay slumped alongside them.
All he had to do was hold on, and pray that Draco could fulfill his part.
~()~
With new strength and new determination, fueled by his wife’s magic and her Gryffindoric determination, Draco dug deep, deep inside himself to find the bedrock, fundamental strength of his Malfoy blood, the sheer will that had driven his ancestor to such lengths to achieve his goal, and found, in the calm centre of his soul, the hushed peace of the Grove.
He pulled all seven of the flailing threads together with one last, straining heave, and bound them together, took the strength of the faith and the worship contained within them, and…pushed…the other six away, held them at arms length, held them still. Slowly, oh so slowly, the tilting balance swung back his way, leveled, and stabilized, if rather tentatively. He breathed out in relief – now he had time; space to breathe, and to think.
And then, for the first time, he could see the Great Binding, or at least what was left of it. It was…it was a breathtakingly complicated Binding spell on an unimaginable scale, spanning the whole of Britain, a complex web of interlocking enchantments each secured by a focal nexus, a Grove, located over the intersection points of the ley lines that channeled magic throughout the land. Even torn as it was, almost to breaking point, like a sail flapping in a gale, secured only by half of its ropes and spilling wind, it was breathtaking. And the arrogance of it was inconceivable.
What they had done…! It could not be redone – too many of the Locks were smashed, and it was only just holding – but, perhaps, there was just enough left to make something new. But first he would have to find out just how they had done it in the first place…
~()~
Brought almost to the point of full awareness by a loosening of the chains that had held it for so long, it could feel, for the first time since it was bound, the touch of its homeland, the physical and magical realm that was Albion, that it had been created to protect and defend.
It could feel the wrongness, feel the corruption and the strangers who had no right to be there…
Anger swelled, and it flexed its power, anticipating the moment when it would be freed, when it could sweep the land free of the invaders and the corruption, make it whole and free again…
Soon. Very, very soon.
~()~
Gradually, order was restored as the Aurors, whose Headquarters were situated right next to the Ministry building, finally responded to the chaos and quelled the disturbance – by now, the only combatants were the agents of the six renegades, who were promptly arrested.
The sight of thirteen of the most influential High Clan, along with the youngest Weasley – who was, they remembered now, the new Lady Malfoy – lying slumped on the ground, they found rather suspicious, imagining High Clan plots and manipulations…
But, after Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, and Dane Harcourt, who were not likely to be involved in whatever was going on, told them that all would be explained once the sleepers woke, they were soothed and reassured, at least to the point where they agreed to wait and see what happened.
~()~
Acting in his capacity as Lord, with the power of seven Covenants at his fingertips, Draco reached out and…Called…to the only people who could tell him just how they had created the original Binding – the Original Thirteen themselves, the ultimate ancestors of the High Clan, who survived, even so long after their physical deaths, as the Guardians of their Clans. He reached out to all thirteen – but only seven answered his Call.
The first Lestrange, with a slashing grin and brilliant green eyes, who had been ready for any challenge the road might bring; Snape, with his haunted air and burning, almost feral eyes, who had loved to the point of obsession; Avery, dark and sardonic and unreadable, amused and cynical, who had been the skeptic of the company; Courtney, supportive and fiercely loyal, whose faith had never wavered; Andahni, somehow softer and younger than his peers, more innocent, whom they had all taken under their wing; Zabini, with the calm, aloof, eyes of a man who stood always outside and apart, who had walked away; and Brandon Malfoy, with his incredibly old, somehow sad silver eyes, a sense of deep, fierce strength, and a presence so bright it burned like the sun, who had kept them all together, who had led them all into the light.
Draco looked around. “But where are the others?” he asked, already half aware of the answer.
Malfoy looked up, his eyes dark with an unnamed sorrow. “They are gone,” he said softly, finally. “The faith was broken.”
Draco opened his mouth…and then shut it again. He could feel the shock running through the seven lords he was steadying, or who were steadying him…and could see the grief on the seven Lords who stood before him. They had lost their companions, he and his peers had lost a great chunk of their heritage…and the whole world had lost something precious. But he couldn’t deal with that now.
“Can you…” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “Can you show me what you did? How you created it?”
The seven ancient Lords exchanged glances. Malfoy extended both his hands to Draco, palms upwards – hesitantly, aware that he was reaching out to his ultimate ancestor, his boyhood hero, Draco gripped them, and…
~()~
He was standing in a circle, one of thirteen, and as he looked around he saw the faces of his peers and his companions, of his friends and his followers. Despite their great differences, they were all united in this one thing, in this one great undertaking.
Slowly, reaching down into the well of his magic, he drew on every single ounce of his power, and, concentrating everything he had on his intentions, on the words they had created for this one occasion, he let the power run through him and he spoke the words, every one of his companions channeling the power and speaking the words at the same time, believing with all their hearts and all their souls that this could be done, that it was possible and that the outcome would be everything they had ever imagined it would be…
That it was worth the price, and that they were doing the right thing.
When it was all over, after a hideous mental and psychic battle, they collapsed in complete and utter exhaustion – but secure in the knowledge that they had succeeded, and that they and their descendants would live safely in this new world they had claimed for as long as the Binding held, for as long as they held to the old ways and kept the faith.
It was enough. It was more than enough.
~()~
Slowly, eventually, Draco came back to himself. “Oh,” he whispered softly, almost in awe of their resolve, of their determination. He looked back up to his ancestor, to the others, and he frowned absently. He could not replicate that exact working; he didn’t even have thirteen Locks…
The first Snape, his eyes intense and driven, looked at Draco and said, “You must make it anew, Malfoy Lord. You cannot let the Guardian break free.”
Draco nodded slowly, focused his resolve on finding a way out of this. He would need six more Locks, would have to make that monumental decision himself, bring them into the Binding himself… Suddenly, he was struck by a moment of doubt, of insecurity. Oh, Lady, what was he thinking, to believe that he could do this? For the barest moment, his faith slipped.
~()~
The Guardian reached out, pushed at the weakened bonds, and almost, almost broke free…slowly, so slowly, it gathered its strength for one last attempt…
~()~
“Focus!” Brandon Malfoy hissed desperately, seeing and interpreting his turmoil. “You must believe that you can do this. Your belief is the final element of the binding – if you have no faith, it is all for nothing.”
Zabini spoke for the first time, his voice smooth, modulated and utterly reasonable. “We will help you as much as we can…but we can no longer directly affect the physical world. The faith must be yours…”
Draco closed his eyes, took a deep, bracing breath, and let his magical instinct free. Did the Locks truly have to be Clans? Could they be something else – such as Places? Magical nexuses… Of course…! He smiled.
Hogwarts, the magical cradle of Britain. There was so much magic focused in that site, it all but vibrated with power, and to the inner eye, when not clouded by illusion, it was like a bright, steady glow. Two and a half thousand years ago, it had not existed, had not even been conceived…
Avalon – the last remnants of the Old Ways and the Old People had taken refuge on the ancient isle, hidden behind its veil of mists, and retreated far into the Otherworld. They had not been woven into the Binding, but were very much part of this Britain…perhaps it was time to bring the island back into the fold.
Stonehenge – once the greatest nexus of power in Britain, before Malfoy had changed the whole magical makeup of the land and had wiped out the centuries of built up power that had sustained the great stone Dance. They had always shunned it, feeling the shades of the people they had destroyed in its shadow, but, as with Avalon, perhaps it was time to build things anew.
And, lastly…oh, yes…the nexus that lay almost directly under their feet, right under Westminster Abbey – since time immemorial, it had been a sacred place. So, he had seven Clans and four Places. He wondered what he should use next.
Brandon Malfoy came up to him, spoke softly. “Pick Clans,” he said, “to ensure a clear majority. Places anchor the Binding, but Clans perpetuate it through Covenants…”
Laughing, Lestrange joined them. “And make sure the Clans are loyal, and are likely to stay so…”
Draco looked at his advisors, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps I should choose the Weasleys?” He thought he saw them wince – he could definitely feel the six Lords under his control cringe.
But, somehow, it was all so easy now…
“Harcourt,” he said with absolute certainty. “And de Sauvigny…” Harcourt, for his calm confidence and his reputation within the Ministry and the wider community. And Luc Malfoy, and his chosen successor Marc de Sauvigny, because they had bound themselves so securely to the Malfoy star that they rose or fell with him… Because, besides Ginny, there was no one else he trusted more.
And so, with complete and eerie belief in his choices, in his ability to carry this through to the end, he took hold of the seven threads in his hand, paused briefly to savour the feel of Ginevra’s support, took a deep breath, and severed the six other, renegade threads, cutting them off completely.
~()~
To the watchers in the courtroom, it seemed as though six of the forms on the floor, unconscious as they were, suddenly jerked, convulsed and went still – their hearts simply stopped. And they died – just like that. So ended six of the Thirteen original High Clans. And so the Great Binding was shattered.
Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and prayed.
~()~
Now…
The Guardian pushed with all its might, and the Binding simply parted before it…
~()~
Now…
With all the power at his command, he reached out with his left hand and grasped the ley lines that ran beneath the four Places, taking control of the magic that flowed through them. Simultaneously, he reached out with his right hand to Luc Malfoy and Dane Harcourt, tugging on the Covenants that they had sworn and had faithfully upheld, and through that the Bond to their own Groves…
(In the courtroom, Luc and Dane jerked, their breath catching in their throats. Their eyes went blind and unfocused, and they slumped, bonelessly, onto the ground…)
And finally, he brought them, and the seven he already held, together and with or without their willing cooperation, wove them all together into the pattern he had seen in Brandon Malfoy’s memory…
And then braced, as immediately the Guardian’s final push came up against the still forming Binding. Once again, as the centre, as the balance, he gave of his own strength to hold it firm as it was solidifying and settling, only this time, the Guardian had far more strength and it took far more power, and far more pain, to hold it back until the binding was fully formed. But this time, he knew he had Ginevra with him, this time, there were no renegades and no flailing threads to distract him, and this time he had the full and free backing of the magic of Britain, recognizing the danger posed to it by the very force that had been created to protect it…
Nothing stays the same forever, especially not for two and a half thousand years. Many debts can be paid in that time, many old scores forgotten, or forgone – a Malfoy could love a mudblood, and even marry her; a Weasley could join herself to an ancient enemy; and traditional enemies could join forces against those who had once been their allies. What seemed unforgivable so many years ago could be accepted now, and even understood. Perhaps it could even be forgiven…
~()~
The last push failed.
The Guardian subsided once more into deep, dreamless slumber, bound by chains harder and tighter than the strongest alloy – chains of faith, and trust, and loyalty…of belief.
But it had not forgotten…
~()~
Slowly, gradually, they all came back to themselves – regained their individuality, their own control over their Covenants, and their senses, as they opened their eyes and looked around at the courtroom they had left behind what seemed like so long ago…
The spectators were all seated in the public gallery, as they had been before – minus a few notable figures, who had all been removed. The judge and the jury were in the same place, but for some dishevelment that showed there had been some kind of action going on while they were in the trance.
Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Rosier, Flint and Wilkes were all gone – somehow, they all knew they were dead. And there were Aurors all around the perimeter of the room, watching them with unblinking eyes, filled with suspicion and distrust.
Finally, the judge spoke. “Mr. Malfoy,” his voice was grave, mellifluous and somber, and somehow ridiculous in its self-importance. “Will you please explain what this is all about?”
Draco pushed a hand through his hair, and looked at the man in disbelief. Surely he couldn’t be…he looked at Luc, whose eyes were cynical and mocking, and at Ginevra, whose eyes were wide with outrage. He looked around at the room which hadn’t changed one bit from the time when he thought the outcome of the trial would be all-important, and had waited with bated breath to learn whether or not he would be sent to Azkaban for murder. And then he began to laugh. Somehow, there didn’t seem to be any other option. It was either that or start to cry.
**********************************************
Chapter 22 – Unravelling and Rebuilding
The balance stretched, strained – desperately, Draco grabbed at the seven surviving threads and tried to hold them as the other six backlashed, flailing; the shockwaves pouring through his…his body? Did he have a body, or hands to hold on with? He could feel the strain, feel his magic, the strength of the pure wizarding blood untainted by muggle genes, undiluted by the centuries of interbreeding that other, less traditional Clans practiced, feel even that great strength falter…
And it hurt…oh, Lady it hurt…
The threads slipped, slowly and inexorably through his fingers, and he couldn’t hold them, couldn’t hold on…
~()~
Beyond the edge of his senses, on the periphery of his sixth, magical sense, something unimaginably ancient, something unimaginably powerful slowly stretched its senses, stirred…
Awareness glimmered, for the first time in millennia…
~()~
Luc’s voice came from an unimaginable distance, blurred and distorted by the sheer weight of the waves of unraveling magic. His uncle bent over him, gripping his left hand hard enough that he could feel it even now…
“Hold on, Draco…you must hold on!”
A faint, barely voiced whisper… “Can’t…”
“You must! Listen to me Draco, hold on!” It was the second time in his life that he’d ever heard his uncle sound less than composed…
~()~
Hold on to what? To the magic? To the Covenant – to the seven Covenants he was trying so desperately to keep together? The six shattered ones were slowly ripping apart around him, he could feel it; he knew the pain that had ripped through him when his father died – that had been only a partial tear – this was all that, multiplied sevenfold…
To the other six Lords? Lestrange-Avery-Snape-Courtney-Andahni-Zabini – he could see them, if he tried hard enough.
See into the most sacred places of their souls and their Clans…
Brief flashes of sight, of vision – Clan Lestrange, whose home was a windy, weathered fortress perched on a promontory overlooking a deep, prosperous harbour…
Clan Avery, positioned midway between the north and the south, at the junction of all the major trade routes…
Clan Snape, who had built a manor not far from the tumbled, abandoned, somehow lonely stones of what had once been a mighty fortress…once, it had controlled the whole of the northern moors, as far as the eye could see and beyond…
Clan Courtney, who controlled the great lakes, which lay like silver mirrors in the earth, and all the surrounding pastureland…
Clan Andahni, who ruled over endless, rolling fields, so fertile that the wheat rippled like a golden pelt bursting with health in the wind…
Clan Zabini, who in their quest for neutrality had retreated to the mountains, made their eyrie high above the world, aloof from the rest of the world and their struggles…
And finally his own home, the land Beyond the Veil, in the mountain valleys of Gwynedd, the deepest heart of Cymry – the Malfoy had no need to go out into the world; the world came to them…
And now it was all threatened, and his strength of magic, his strength of will, his strength of belief, was all that stood in the way.
No. No, there was something else… Faintly, with his fading, overwhelmed and flooded senses, he felt it, felt another thread – not the bright, shining rope of a Covenant, forged through years of faith and worship, but something that was his and his alone. Warmth and laughter, passion and feminine strength, compassion and love, the Malfoy soul bond was their greatest strength, the ultimate joining of male and female, God and Goddess – they complimented and completed each other, supported and sustained each other; if one should falter, the other would be there to catch them when they fell…
Grasping with the last of his strength, he reached out to Ginny, felt her strength and her magic flow into him, renewing his faith and his determination. He could do this. He could hold on, and he could centre the wildly flailing enchantment, because he was the Lord of the Malfoy, and with his wife and his soul mate by his side, he could do anything.
~()~
Shouts, pounding feet and shouted spells echoed through the courtroom, creating chaos and disorder in the physical world that echoed the chaos in the magical world; just as the six renegades were even now magically struggling against the other seven, their physical agents were trying their best to kill them through more conventional means, and Draco’s agents were doing their best to stop them. It was quite frustrating that Luc could not issue a like order to kill – if any one of the Thirteen Lords died now, before Draco had stabilized the Binding, before he created it anew, it would undo all his hard-fought efforts…
Perhaps it had not been wise to have all thirteen Clan Lords here in the one room – but the time for keeping High Clan business inside the High Clan had passed when the first newspaper story had broken, when they had brought the shadows of the past into the light of public interest. So, then, let them bring everything – everything – into the light. And then, the victors could control what the world saw, and how they interpreted it. And Luc would do his best to ensure that the Malfoy and all those who had remained loyal would emerge victors…
Not moving, without loosening his almost bruising grip on Draco and Ginevra’s hands, he looked up to see Walden McNair pointing his wand at Ginevra’s slumped form, his mouth forming the unforgivable words; with a whispered word of his own, a surge of the supremely controlled, disciplined power he had honed over the course of a rather shadowed life, he reinforced the magical shield which enfolded them all, and the curse bounced off and ricocheted back to its caster.
He had not gone to the trouble and effort of bringing Draco and the girl together, of encouraging and nurturing their bond until it was finally consummated, to see it snapped now. Since she had insisted on staying by her husband’s side, instead of lending her support from a safe place, then he had taken personal responsibility for her protection, just as others were protecting the other six Lords who lay slumped alongside them.
All he had to do was hold on, and pray that Draco could fulfill his part.
~()~
With new strength and new determination, fueled by his wife’s magic and her Gryffindoric determination, Draco dug deep, deep inside himself to find the bedrock, fundamental strength of his Malfoy blood, the sheer will that had driven his ancestor to such lengths to achieve his goal, and found, in the calm centre of his soul, the hushed peace of the Grove.
He pulled all seven of the flailing threads together with one last, straining heave, and bound them together, took the strength of the faith and the worship contained within them, and…pushed…the other six away, held them at arms length, held them still. Slowly, oh so slowly, the tilting balance swung back his way, leveled, and stabilized, if rather tentatively. He breathed out in relief – now he had time; space to breathe, and to think.
And then, for the first time, he could see the Great Binding, or at least what was left of it. It was…it was a breathtakingly complicated Binding spell on an unimaginable scale, spanning the whole of Britain, a complex web of interlocking enchantments each secured by a focal nexus, a Grove, located over the intersection points of the ley lines that channeled magic throughout the land. Even torn as it was, almost to breaking point, like a sail flapping in a gale, secured only by half of its ropes and spilling wind, it was breathtaking. And the arrogance of it was inconceivable.
What they had done…! It could not be redone – too many of the Locks were smashed, and it was only just holding – but, perhaps, there was just enough left to make something new. But first he would have to find out just how they had done it in the first place…
~()~
Brought almost to the point of full awareness by a loosening of the chains that had held it for so long, it could feel, for the first time since it was bound, the touch of its homeland, the physical and magical realm that was Albion, that it had been created to protect and defend.
It could feel the wrongness, feel the corruption and the strangers who had no right to be there…
Anger swelled, and it flexed its power, anticipating the moment when it would be freed, when it could sweep the land free of the invaders and the corruption, make it whole and free again…
Soon. Very, very soon.
~()~
Gradually, order was restored as the Aurors, whose Headquarters were situated right next to the Ministry building, finally responded to the chaos and quelled the disturbance – by now, the only combatants were the agents of the six renegades, who were promptly arrested.
The sight of thirteen of the most influential High Clan, along with the youngest Weasley – who was, they remembered now, the new Lady Malfoy – lying slumped on the ground, they found rather suspicious, imagining High Clan plots and manipulations…
But, after Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, and Dane Harcourt, who were not likely to be involved in whatever was going on, told them that all would be explained once the sleepers woke, they were soothed and reassured, at least to the point where they agreed to wait and see what happened.
~()~
Acting in his capacity as Lord, with the power of seven Covenants at his fingertips, Draco reached out and…Called…to the only people who could tell him just how they had created the original Binding – the Original Thirteen themselves, the ultimate ancestors of the High Clan, who survived, even so long after their physical deaths, as the Guardians of their Clans. He reached out to all thirteen – but only seven answered his Call.
The first Lestrange, with a slashing grin and brilliant green eyes, who had been ready for any challenge the road might bring; Snape, with his haunted air and burning, almost feral eyes, who had loved to the point of obsession; Avery, dark and sardonic and unreadable, amused and cynical, who had been the skeptic of the company; Courtney, supportive and fiercely loyal, whose faith had never wavered; Andahni, somehow softer and younger than his peers, more innocent, whom they had all taken under their wing; Zabini, with the calm, aloof, eyes of a man who stood always outside and apart, who had walked away; and Brandon Malfoy, with his incredibly old, somehow sad silver eyes, a sense of deep, fierce strength, and a presence so bright it burned like the sun, who had kept them all together, who had led them all into the light.
Draco looked around. “But where are the others?” he asked, already half aware of the answer.
Malfoy looked up, his eyes dark with an unnamed sorrow. “They are gone,” he said softly, finally. “The faith was broken.”
Draco opened his mouth…and then shut it again. He could feel the shock running through the seven lords he was steadying, or who were steadying him…and could see the grief on the seven Lords who stood before him. They had lost their companions, he and his peers had lost a great chunk of their heritage…and the whole world had lost something precious. But he couldn’t deal with that now.
“Can you…” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “Can you show me what you did? How you created it?”
The seven ancient Lords exchanged glances. Malfoy extended both his hands to Draco, palms upwards – hesitantly, aware that he was reaching out to his ultimate ancestor, his boyhood hero, Draco gripped them, and…
~()~
He was standing in a circle, one of thirteen, and as he looked around he saw the faces of his peers and his companions, of his friends and his followers. Despite their great differences, they were all united in this one thing, in this one great undertaking.
Slowly, reaching down into the well of his magic, he drew on every single ounce of his power, and, concentrating everything he had on his intentions, on the words they had created for this one occasion, he let the power run through him and he spoke the words, every one of his companions channeling the power and speaking the words at the same time, believing with all their hearts and all their souls that this could be done, that it was possible and that the outcome would be everything they had ever imagined it would be…
That it was worth the price, and that they were doing the right thing.
When it was all over, after a hideous mental and psychic battle, they collapsed in complete and utter exhaustion – but secure in the knowledge that they had succeeded, and that they and their descendants would live safely in this new world they had claimed for as long as the Binding held, for as long as they held to the old ways and kept the faith.
It was enough. It was more than enough.
~()~
Slowly, eventually, Draco came back to himself. “Oh,” he whispered softly, almost in awe of their resolve, of their determination. He looked back up to his ancestor, to the others, and he frowned absently. He could not replicate that exact working; he didn’t even have thirteen Locks…
The first Snape, his eyes intense and driven, looked at Draco and said, “You must make it anew, Malfoy Lord. You cannot let the Guardian break free.”
Draco nodded slowly, focused his resolve on finding a way out of this. He would need six more Locks, would have to make that monumental decision himself, bring them into the Binding himself… Suddenly, he was struck by a moment of doubt, of insecurity. Oh, Lady, what was he thinking, to believe that he could do this? For the barest moment, his faith slipped.
~()~
The Guardian reached out, pushed at the weakened bonds, and almost, almost broke free…slowly, so slowly, it gathered its strength for one last attempt…
~()~
“Focus!” Brandon Malfoy hissed desperately, seeing and interpreting his turmoil. “You must believe that you can do this. Your belief is the final element of the binding – if you have no faith, it is all for nothing.”
Zabini spoke for the first time, his voice smooth, modulated and utterly reasonable. “We will help you as much as we can…but we can no longer directly affect the physical world. The faith must be yours…”
Draco closed his eyes, took a deep, bracing breath, and let his magical instinct free. Did the Locks truly have to be Clans? Could they be something else – such as Places? Magical nexuses… Of course…! He smiled.
Hogwarts, the magical cradle of Britain. There was so much magic focused in that site, it all but vibrated with power, and to the inner eye, when not clouded by illusion, it was like a bright, steady glow. Two and a half thousand years ago, it had not existed, had not even been conceived…
Avalon – the last remnants of the Old Ways and the Old People had taken refuge on the ancient isle, hidden behind its veil of mists, and retreated far into the Otherworld. They had not been woven into the Binding, but were very much part of this Britain…perhaps it was time to bring the island back into the fold.
Stonehenge – once the greatest nexus of power in Britain, before Malfoy had changed the whole magical makeup of the land and had wiped out the centuries of built up power that had sustained the great stone Dance. They had always shunned it, feeling the shades of the people they had destroyed in its shadow, but, as with Avalon, perhaps it was time to build things anew.
And, lastly…oh, yes…the nexus that lay almost directly under their feet, right under Westminster Abbey – since time immemorial, it had been a sacred place. So, he had seven Clans and four Places. He wondered what he should use next.
Brandon Malfoy came up to him, spoke softly. “Pick Clans,” he said, “to ensure a clear majority. Places anchor the Binding, but Clans perpetuate it through Covenants…”
Laughing, Lestrange joined them. “And make sure the Clans are loyal, and are likely to stay so…”
Draco looked at his advisors, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps I should choose the Weasleys?” He thought he saw them wince – he could definitely feel the six Lords under his control cringe.
But, somehow, it was all so easy now…
“Harcourt,” he said with absolute certainty. “And de Sauvigny…” Harcourt, for his calm confidence and his reputation within the Ministry and the wider community. And Luc Malfoy, and his chosen successor Marc de Sauvigny, because they had bound themselves so securely to the Malfoy star that they rose or fell with him… Because, besides Ginny, there was no one else he trusted more.
And so, with complete and eerie belief in his choices, in his ability to carry this through to the end, he took hold of the seven threads in his hand, paused briefly to savour the feel of Ginevra’s support, took a deep breath, and severed the six other, renegade threads, cutting them off completely.
~()~
To the watchers in the courtroom, it seemed as though six of the forms on the floor, unconscious as they were, suddenly jerked, convulsed and went still – their hearts simply stopped. And they died – just like that. So ended six of the Thirteen original High Clans. And so the Great Binding was shattered.
Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and prayed.
~()~
Now…
The Guardian pushed with all its might, and the Binding simply parted before it…
~()~
Now…
With all the power at his command, he reached out with his left hand and grasped the ley lines that ran beneath the four Places, taking control of the magic that flowed through them. Simultaneously, he reached out with his right hand to Luc Malfoy and Dane Harcourt, tugging on the Covenants that they had sworn and had faithfully upheld, and through that the Bond to their own Groves…
(In the courtroom, Luc and Dane jerked, their breath catching in their throats. Their eyes went blind and unfocused, and they slumped, bonelessly, onto the ground…)
And finally, he brought them, and the seven he already held, together and with or without their willing cooperation, wove them all together into the pattern he had seen in Brandon Malfoy’s memory…
And then braced, as immediately the Guardian’s final push came up against the still forming Binding. Once again, as the centre, as the balance, he gave of his own strength to hold it firm as it was solidifying and settling, only this time, the Guardian had far more strength and it took far more power, and far more pain, to hold it back until the binding was fully formed. But this time, he knew he had Ginevra with him, this time, there were no renegades and no flailing threads to distract him, and this time he had the full and free backing of the magic of Britain, recognizing the danger posed to it by the very force that had been created to protect it…
Nothing stays the same forever, especially not for two and a half thousand years. Many debts can be paid in that time, many old scores forgotten, or forgone – a Malfoy could love a mudblood, and even marry her; a Weasley could join herself to an ancient enemy; and traditional enemies could join forces against those who had once been their allies. What seemed unforgivable so many years ago could be accepted now, and even understood. Perhaps it could even be forgiven…
~()~
The last push failed.
The Guardian subsided once more into deep, dreamless slumber, bound by chains harder and tighter than the strongest alloy – chains of faith, and trust, and loyalty…of belief.
But it had not forgotten…
~()~
Slowly, gradually, they all came back to themselves – regained their individuality, their own control over their Covenants, and their senses, as they opened their eyes and looked around at the courtroom they had left behind what seemed like so long ago…
The spectators were all seated in the public gallery, as they had been before – minus a few notable figures, who had all been removed. The judge and the jury were in the same place, but for some dishevelment that showed there had been some kind of action going on while they were in the trance.
Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Rosier, Flint and Wilkes were all gone – somehow, they all knew they were dead. And there were Aurors all around the perimeter of the room, watching them with unblinking eyes, filled with suspicion and distrust.
Finally, the judge spoke. “Mr. Malfoy,” his voice was grave, mellifluous and somber, and somehow ridiculous in its self-importance. “Will you please explain what this is all about?”
Draco pushed a hand through his hair, and looked at the man in disbelief. Surely he couldn’t be…he looked at Luc, whose eyes were cynical and mocking, and at Ginevra, whose eyes were wide with outrage. He looked around at the room which hadn’t changed one bit from the time when he thought the outcome of the trial would be all-important, and had waited with bated breath to learn whether or not he would be sent to Azkaban for murder. And then he began to laugh. Somehow, there didn’t seem to be any other option. It was either that or start to cry.
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