Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 01 : Tying-Up Loose Beginnings
by I Got Tired of Waiting

Part One : The Art of War
"All Warfare is Based on Deception."

1997

The student bent over the book and read out loud, "The general who is skilled in defence hides in the most secret recesses of the earth." He looked up into the austere face of his teacher and asked, "What does this mean?"

The depthless black eyes turned thoughtful a moment before he replied, "Sun Tzu, in The Art of War, uses quite a bit of metaphor. The literal translation is 'The General who is skilled in defence hides under the ninth earth,' which means he moves in the utmost secrecy and concealment so his enemy does not know his whereabouts."

"Like a spy?" the youth asked, confused.

The stern brow crinkled slightly before smoothing. "Actually, it is more like a trap-door spider. She lies hidden, patiently waiting in her hole, until her prey is almost past before she strikes and kills."

Never having actually seen this spider, the younger one made use of the words instead. "Like an ambush, then?"

The perpetually sneering mouth almost twisted into a smile, "Precisely."

Part Two : The End of the Beginning
"The general who is skilled in defence hides under the ninth earth; he who is skilled in attack flashes forth from the topmost heights of heaven."

30 April 1999

Sailing across the bloody battlefield, the final curse went forth from the wand of the Dark Lord. A bright, deadly green, it followed closely the roared words, "AVADA KADAVRA," released in panicked, thoughtless haste. On it came, the destiny of a people flying in its wake; its target, a young man with messy, black hair and blazing eyes of green, stood calmly defiant, proud, and ready. The scar on his forehead glowed the same eerie red as the eyes of the almost-human casting the curse; his resolve in ending this conflict was no less than his opponent's. Only one of them would survive this day.

Behind this young man, holding off all comers for unmarked hours, two other Wizards moved in a complicated dance to protect his back, to allow him the room to do this part of the work he'd been born to do. One old, with focused blue eyes and a wicked wand, moved sedately, almost regally, his apparent lack of speed in no way hampering his ability to protect the young one from harm. The other Wizard, younger, with flying ebon hair and a compelling wand, wove in and out of the fray, his sharp, dark eyes searching for the holes, the ones they'd missed, the ones who could destroy everything. Both men his guards, both his teachers, both his friends--they fought knowing their past efforts, their gifted knowledge, and their shared wisdom would reach fulfilment today.

In perverse slow motion, the young man watched the curse wing its way to him. He allowed no distracting thoughts of his part in this--of a prophecy demanding his presence this day. He did not think of the men behind him or of the countless others of the Light, whose bodies were strewn over the battlefield like so many pick-up-sticks of the gods. No, his thoughts were focused on two things only: holding the defence aura steady around him and his mother.

Since her death when he was a babe, Lily and her sacrifice had always been a part of him; his scar and the numerous times he'd survived his personal encounters with his nemesis were the proof. His teachers had helped him painstakingly bind her lingering presence within him to his own native strengths--the result being an effective protection to hold the Dark Lord at bay.

From long practice, he wrapped the vestiges of her shiny copper hair around him like the finest armour. Her warm green eyes pervaded his inner sight; her ethereal arms joined his in sustaining his defensive shield. He heard neither the cries of the injured nor the shouted directions of the two men guarding him. Instead, her full throated laughter, pulled joyfully from dim memories, filled his ears. And when the curse hit him, he felt his mother scream her defiance. Hearing anew the words of love which had preserved his life, he felt her remaining life force within him blaze until his aura and her spirit once again repelled and transformed the miscalculation of a cunning man, who never would understand the one thing which would ultimately defeat him.

Silence reigned as those still remaining fearfully witnessed the young man surrounded by a fierce wall of poison green flames, obscuring him from their view. The triumphant crowing of the dread Wizard across the field was obscene in the unnatural quiet. His cackle of glee faded into a cry of alarm as he watched his curse meld with the young man's aura. Quickly tempered into emerald and copper wildfire, the resulting amalgam pulled into itself, forming a molten ball of immutable will. Raging bright, it retained all of the hate and fear captured from Voldemort's curse amplified by the powerful force of Harry's determination bounded by Lily's love.

The trap had been sprung.

As quick as thought, the furious inferno of Harry Potter's retribution returned like a comet to its original caster. Voldemort had no more turned to Disapparate when it caught and encircled him. With agonizing slowness it consumed him. His hideous screams and violent passing rent the very air, leaving gaping rips in its fabric as his robes and body fueled the evolving conflagration until he was nothing more than a writhing column of pure white, purging fire. Strands of swirling black wind, containing his remaining essence, rose from the centre to carry him into the beyond. The inky tendrils were sucked into the voids of air, filling them until he was gone forever.

The fire, deprived of its prize, gave one convulsive shudder and disappeared, leaving the stunned survivors behind. It was finally over.

Weakened beyond anything he'd ever known, his wellspring almost dry, Harry thanked his mother in the growing darkness of his mind as she kissed him tenderly farewell, both knowing he would someday join her--maybe even today.

His body never hit the ground.

Part Three : Genesis
"Therefore the skillful leader subdues the enemy's troops without any fighting; he captures their cities without laying siege to them; he overthrows their kingdom without lengthy operations in the field."

February 2000

They gathered in a secret place, deep in the heart of a country estate proscribed and guarded by their enemies. By Portkey for the timid and by foot for the daring, they arrived stealthily in pairs and alone, as each was called by revenge and a chance to rinse the fetid taste of defeat from their mouths. Unmasked, unbound, unmarked they came, called by a man who gave them no doubts. A man whose baseness and charisma had once held him high at the side of their supposed saviour; he called their confidence once more as his retained power circumvented the strong wards surrounding the estate.

The mastermind of this pilgrimage relaxed in front of a large spy-mirror many rooms away. He was the perfect model of studied insouciance, his arms folded carelessly across his broad chest while he leant against the edge of a table, his feet crossed at the ankles. Lucius Malfoy's steely eyes belied the haughty ennui of his face as he took stock of each new arrival through the silvered glass in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he watched them come to this forbidden place, the home of their former master. He'd chosen the location as a reminder of what they'd lost, what had been conquered.

He would wait until they'd all arrived before he made his entrance.

"Almost a play it is," he murmured to no one in particular, watching the milling crowd cautiously greet each other. "Mark the cues, rehearse the lines, and then mesmerize the audience with the ever-moving words and characters."

"Pardon, sir?" a light tenor ventured. Sparing a glance, Lucius Malfoy assessed his son, Draco, who alone was standing guard at the door.

"A play, Draco. We use the mundane magic of the stage to make them forget for one moment their sorry little lives and petty concerns." He noted the bright stare of Draco's speculation and wondered which way he would interpret it.

"The play is arranged up front to hide what goes on behind it?" Draco asked, not disappointing his father.

'So quick, like his mother,' he thought, once again watching the mirror. "Precisely," he answered.

His smile feral, Lucius observed Peter Pettigrew slink into the chamber, making the conversations around him cease as the former Death Eaters paid a silent mocking tribute to the betrayer who had stood at Voldemort's side from the beginning and survived. "Yes--Pettigrew," he whispered. He looked at his son's reflection in the glass. "Mark Peter well, Draco; he will be instrumental in all this. Trapped by his own fawning gratitude. The Ministry lost interest in him when our mangy cousin, Black, died; we can use that. Especially when the proof lies beyond the Veil. I have one more betrayal for him to make. All in the family, of course." He chuckled.

To the left of Peter was Lucius' own beloved Bellatrix. Decadent, sensuous, and willing to stay his mistress, she'd survived the final confrontation of Light and Dark by not attending it. Nor had he for that matter, nor most of the people entering the chamber. His own son had stood on the side of the Light. 'All a part of the plan. A calculated risk which proved to be a good one. Our 'Master',' his mind sneered the title, 'was too unstable to survive the ordeal; his days of rational thought long gone. There was no good reason to risk ourselves in a battle we could not win.'

In the mirror's reflection, he watched his son fidget, amused that Draco found him as much an enigma today as yesterday. 'Ah yes, my son, perhaps I have underestimated your value to 'The Plan'. Despite your ultimate failure at Hogwarts, your distracting dalliance with 'The Golden Boy' bought us the time to let the good ones escape, the weak and useless falling prey to the Ministry and that fool, Dumbledore. Too bad you missed the Potter brat, although you got closer than I ever thought you would.'

His ruminations were interrupted when Draco asked him boldly, "Father, what is it we're going to do?"

Lucius hesitated, but only for a moment. Shrugging mentally, he decided to humour the boy, to test his mettle. He turned his gaze from the mirror and fixed Draco with piercing eyes. "We are going to war, Draco."

"War, sir?" Draco's open disbelief was exactly what Lucius hoped to inflict on the rest of the Wizarding World.

"Yes, war. But not as we have waged it before. It will take cunning and stealth, years to implement and, when we unleash the mayhem we've built, nothing will stop it." He allowed himself a small smile of keen anticipation.

Lucius relished the look of thoughtful confusion on Draco's face and laughed outright when the young man asked, "You're going to place spies?"

"Eventually, my boy. Eventually. Spies, such as our Mr. Pettigrew, have their uses." He continued chuckling. 'Perhaps a last-minute rehearsal with Draco could be beneficial after all. My 'esteemed' colleagues,' he thought with contempt, 'will not suffer from a wait, and I need to be certain the plan is clear to all.'

Knowing Draco loathed the rat, Lucius noted his son staring at Pettigrew in the mirror as he asked, "How then does one wage a stealthy war?"

"First, we will start with commerce. The rebuilding of our fortunes. None of these here tonight were present at the last battle and as such were not condemned by the Ministry. All of us, though, need time to rebuild our empires from the devastation Voldemort made of our estates. We also need time to let the memories fade of his atrocities and our 'amusements'." His lip curled in irony. "We need to be accepted back into society without censure; 'they' must trust us again." Of all that must be accomplished, this one thing would probably prove the most difficult: stopping the violent proclivities of his fellow former Death Eaters; they'd not had much reason these last years to restrain themselves. And they must if his plan were to succeed--or at least, hide their 'entertainment' better than they had.

"There are also certain people we need eliminate. Dumbledore is top on my list, but luckily he was a fool and destroyed the Philosopher's Stone; he will not live forever. Of course, Potter and Snape must be dealt with as well. Peter will help us there, I am thinking."

Lucius could see Draco relished this idea very much and silently approved his desire to finish what he'd started with Potter, although there was something else, a glint in his eye suggesting that Draco wouldn't turn down an opportunity to 'dally' with Snape as well.

He continued, "At the same time we need to increase our numbers. Many of us were so... wary of Voldemort, we stopped having children; the bloodlines are thinning. This practice needs to stop. We need to breed." He chuckled wickedly. "Perhaps we should all take lessons from the Weasleys."

Draco smirked knowingly. "Does this mean I'll have a new 'mother' soon?" he asked with mock innocence.

"Oh yes. Avery's youngest daughter, Bethany, will be leaving Beauxbatons this year. We sign the marriage contract tonight. I expect to be ploughing her before the year's end. She will, after all, want a proper wedding."

"Certainly young enough to bear you several children," he chuckled.

"And young enough to be malleable; your mother was willful and refused to bear more than you." He raised a brow. "I've also been searching for a suitable girl for you as well, but we will discuss that later." At Draco's horrified expression, he smiled. "Have no fear, she'll be of good family and properly trained to know her place. Providing you keep her bearing, you can enjoy her dowry and take as many lovers as you want. Of course, it goes without saying that a child born out-of-wedlock can be taught a different kind of loyalty."

When Draco sighed with obvious relief, Lucius decided he needed to finalise his son's contract sooner than later; the bastards needed to be born after the heir and he would brook no contention of his holdings.

Lucius hid well his excitement. "And after all is ready--our fortunes, our security, our children--we will wage a surreptitious war, a Muggle war. A war our brother Wizards will fight for us. We'll not raise our wands against them; we won't need to. Oh, so innocent we'll be. And when subjugated by our Muggle allies, we'll rescue them and take over, our fortunes tied to both worlds."

Draco eyes shone at the sheer magnitude of what his father was proposing. "It will take generations!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, yes, my boy. Years. Our unborn children will join our endeavours." Lucius' silver eyes shone bright with absolute conviction. "And we will win."

Lucius straightened and swept away from the mirror in a swirl of rich robes, pleased with the dawning comprehension and what he took to be admiration in his son's eyes. "Come, Draco, it is time to begin."

Part Done : Quotes and Sources

I-18. All warfare is based on deception.

III-6. Therefore the skillful leader subdues the enemy's troops without any fighting; he captures their cities without laying siege to them; he overthrows their kingdom without lengthy operations in the field.

IV-7. The general who is skilled in defense hides under the ninth earth; he who is skilled in attack flashes forth from the topmost heights of heaven. Thus on the one hand we have ability to protect ourselves; on the other, a victory that is complete.

VI-11. If we wish to fight, the enemy can be forced to an engagement even though he be sheltered behind a high rampart and a deep ditch. All we need do is attack some other place that he will be obliged to relieve.

Sun Tzu, in The Art of War

Continued in A Bit of All Right