[From Samhain to the Solstice]: A Godfather Like Him, gen, Malfoys series, 5/6, PG-13

[lomonaaeren]

Part Four.

Part One.

Title: A Godfather Like Him (5/6)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Background Lucius/Narcissa and mentions of Lily/James, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Major AU (Harry is Draco’s twin), not compliant with PoA, violence, angst, drama, family, discussion of canonical child abuse
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: This part 4300
Summary: Sequel to “How Like Hatred” and “A Name Like Henry.” Harry comes home for the summer, and it really is a relief to be at Malfoy Manor with his parents and brother—at first. But then he finds out a secret that they’ve been keeping from him, and gets the news that Sirius Black has broken out of Azkaban. Plus he has to go a Mind-Healer. Harry isn’t sure which one is worst, frankly.
Author’s Notes: Make sure you read the first two stories in the series before this one. I’m posting this as part of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” fic series, and it should have between four and six chapters.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part Five

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Harry said, and shut the bathroom door hard while Draco was distracted by their admittedly childish argument. “You are not following me when I go to the loo. I don’t care what they told you. No one is going to kidnap me here.”

“They thought that no one was going to kidnap you in Diagon Alley, either.” At least Draco only leaned heavily against the door instead of trying to break it down or something. “Mother almost lost her mind.”

“I watched her lose it,” Harry muttered darkly, and then leaned towards the door and spoke as clearly as he could. “And if you think you’re going to listen to me piss, you aren’t. Go away.”

“We want to make sure that you’re safe.”

Harry held back the temptation to bang his head on the door instead of whisper to it, and turned to the loo. At least he thought the spells on the door that meant he had privacy when he was in here and Dobby was cleaning his room would probably keep Draco from hearing anything that he was doing, too.

Harry’s hands shook a little as he pissed and then washed his hands and brushed his teeth. He caught sight of his own grey eyes in the mirror, and had to look away, because all he could think of was the moment when Mrs. Malfoy’s had burned with hatred.

She had tried to explain, once they got back to Malfoy Manor. She had said the thought of someone taking Harry away again made her like that, and also there was something called the Black madness that ran in the family and probably was one of the reasons that Sirius had acted the way he had.

But Harry had said that she didn’t need to torture Black. And Mrs. Malfoy had taken him into her arms and whispered, “Yes, I did. It was all I could do to keep from killing him, but if I had cast the Killing Curse, I would have gone to Azkaban.”

That only made things worse, as far as Harry was concerned. It meant that she could control herself, but for whatever reason, she’d decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. That not showing those torture spells to Harry wasn’t worth the effort.

The Aurors had come and questioned both Mrs. Malfoy and Harry, but nothing had come of it. It turned out that the spell Mrs. Malfoy had used wasn’t actually illegal, unlike something called the Cruciatus Curse. She could basically do whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t actually use those illegal spells.

Harry had tried to speak up about how silly that was, but the Aurors had literally patted his head and obviously considered him a traumatized, silly child who was still too shaken up to give sensible testimony. And then they had left, and the real horror had begun.

No one wanted to let Harry out of their sight. He hadn’t had a session with Healer Letham since this happened, because those were supposed to be private. He did homework in the same room as Mr. Malfoy, who always kept his wand out. He went on walks in the gardens with Mrs. Malfoy, and someone always watched him if he flew. Draco had shown up with a second bed in Harry’s bedroom, without even asking, and just had the house-elves set it up.

Now he wanted to follow Harry into the bathroom.

The more Harry thought about it, the more indignant he got. He raked his hair back behind his ears and then stormed over to the bathroom door and threw it open. Draco stumbled, but didn’t fall. It seemed he had been leaning on the frame instead of the door itself.

“I can’t stand this,” Harry snapped at him.

“Stand what?” But then Draco proved he was smarter than Harry used to think he was, because he stood up straight and gave Harry a deeply injured look. “You know that we’re worried about you. You know that we’re just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, but I didn’t get kidnapped! You weren’t even this bad right after I got found.” Harry stalked past Draco into the room and threw himself on his own bed. Draco came over and sat on his, watching Harry narrowly.

“I hate it when you’re this overprotective,” Harry whispered, shutting his eyes.

“Well, we have to be.” Draco sounded offended. “Henry, Black can somehow come onto the grounds. We don’t even know how he’s doing it.”

Harry opened one eye. “I thought it was because he was an Animagus? Or because he’s a Grim Animagus.” Now that Mrs. Malfoy had seen Black transform from a black dog, Harry didn’t have to pretend that he doesn’t know about that anymore.

Draco shook his head. “There are wards that should have kept Animagi out. And I think he’s just a dog, not a Grim. He looks a lot like a Grim, that’s all.” Draco swallowed with visible nervousness. “And he—and he wants, what? I thought he wanted to kill you, but that bit about James’s legacy says he doesn’t.”

“I think he wants to take me back and make me be a Potter again.”

Draco sat up so rapidly he almost fell off the bed. “I didn’t even think about that!” he exclaimed, and leaped to his feet and started pacing back and forth. “Shit. What if that means that he’s going to Memory Charm you to forget you’re a Malfoy and reinstate the glamours? Then you wouldn’t even know you used to be part of our family!”

“Do you think that’s worse than me being killed?” Harry asked, a little entertained at the way Draco was phrasing it.

That entertainment ended when Draco turned around. His face was grim and pale, and he came around the foot of their beds and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Not worse,” he said. “But it’s terrible that we lost you. It would be terrible if we lost you again just as we found you, and if Black managed to convince you that you were really Harry Potter, so that you didn’t even want to come back.” Draco abruptly bit his lip, and looked for a second the way he had when Ron had accidentally let it slip that Harry was abused. “I don’t want to lose you, Henry.”

Harry was terrible at this. He’d never had a brother. But he did manage to wrap an arm around Draco and hold him for a second, before he let Draco go and punched him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I don’t want to lose you either, git.”

Draco sniffed. “Do you hate star and constellation names so much that you won’t even speak mine?”

“I just think ‘git’ suits you better.”

That led to a shoving match that made Harry feel better, especially when Draco didn’t try to follow him to the bathroom next time.

*

“Um. Wow, mate.”

Harry nodded and smiled anxiously at Ron and Hermione, who had walked through the front door of Malfoy Manor and then stopped and were staring around. “I know, it’s weird, isn’t it? So huge.”

It had taken some complicated negotiations, but in the end, Healer Letham—once Harry was allowed to visit her again—had helped him figure out ways to ask for his friends to come over. The Weasleys had given their permission, although reluctantly, and Hermione’s parents had done it happily. Harry didn’t think they really knew much difference between one wizarding destination and another.

It was Hermione herself who had been the challenge, and she held herself stiffly, warily, as Draco came around the corner into the entrance hall.

But Draco only nodded to them all, his face perfectly neutral, and glanced at Harry. “Henry, that elf of yours is in the silver drawing room. I think he’ll lose his mind if you don’t let him feed the three of you something.”

And Draco turned and walked away. Harry let out a long, shivering sigh. It had been a week since the kidnapping attempt, and the Malfoys had finally agreed to let him spend time by himself—or by himself with his friends. Harry knew them well enough to be sure that they were watching from a distance with spying spells, but that was at least an improvement over “right in his face.”

“You have your own house-elf?”

Ron sounded as though he didn’t know whether to be jealous or not. Harry laughed. “Yeah, it’s a long story. Come on, I’ll tell you.”

Hermione gasped and squealed when she saw Dobby, and then reached out a hand. “How do you do? I’m Hermione Granger.”

Dobby stared at her with his mouth open, and then began to wail. “Dobby has never been asked to shake hands before!”

Hermione grabbed his hand before Dobby could pull it back and shook it once, then turned and looked hard at Harry while Harry waved at Dobby to bring in the food he’d obviously been slaving over. Dobby vanished. “Harry! You never offered to shake his hand?”

“I was a little busy saving him from living in a dark, cold place off the kitchens,” Harry said dryly as he watched Dobby pop in with covered dishes, steaming bowls of soup, treacle tart, cups of hot chocolate, mugs of what might be cider…Harry sighed. There was far more food than any of them would ever be able to eat, weighing down a suddenly-appearing table that ran along the wall next to the fireplace. “The Malfoys treat their house-elves pretty badly.”

“Look at all this!” Ron grinned and reached for the nearest bowl of soup, which looked like some kind of creamy potato version. “Thanks, Dobby! This is amazing!”

Dobby muffled his sobs when Harry nodded to him, and then vanished. Harry sat down in the chair nearest to the table and reached for a bowl of soup of his own. It really did taste creamy and wonderful.

“Harry. I’m waiting.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione. “Like I said, I was saving him. The Malfoys tried to keep him concealed from me. Dobby was the house-elf who came last summer when I was still living with my rela—the Dursleys. The house-elf who was keeping my post and got me in trouble by floating that cake, remember?”

“I remember!” Ron shook his head and swallowed. “Merlin, that’s weird, mate, but it sounds like it all worked out in the end.” He reached for bread and marmalade.

“The house-elf who was being treated terribly and made to punish himself by his family?”

Hermione sounded horrified. Harry nodded to her. “So I made a bargain with the Malfoys. They don’t yell at the elves or treat them horribly by making them punish themselves anymore, and in the meantime, Dobby is just my elf. They improved the elf quarters, too.”

“And what did you give them in return?”

Ron’s eyes were narrow and shrewd. Harry smiled at him, a little embarrassed. Ron was determined to consider himself stupid next to Hermione, but he was really smart on his own. Just not as much at schoolwork as Hermione. “I promised to act happier, and attend sessions with a Mind-Healer. And not tell the elves to call me Harry instead of Henry. That’s what I told Dobby at first.”

“It sounds good,” said Hermione reluctantly, nibbling at a chocolate biscuit. “But I worry that they’re just slaves, Harry. Have you thought about freeing them?”

Harry snorted. “Then the Malfoys would be so upset that it would make the row over the kidnapping look like nothing.”

“Yes, I saw that story in the papers.” Ron leaned forwards intently. “Black tried to kidnap you right in the middle of Diagon Alley? Is he mental or something?”

“Well, yeah, I think so.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “But the really scary thing was Mrs. Malfoy. She used a spell on Black to get him to leave me alone. It practically tore his chest apart. The paper had a story one day that she might have killed him, but then apparently the Dementors are still hunting Black, so that’s how they know he’s alive or something.”

“That’s horrible, too,” Hermione whispered.

“Tell me about it.” Harry shook his head and grabbed a treacle tart. “It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. And the worst part is that none of them understand just how bad it was. They just keep saying that they can’t lose me again, and they would do anything to keep me safe. I don’t want that ‘anything’ to include torturing people, though.”

“I kind of understand it,” Ron said, totally unexpectedly. “I know Mum would go mental if someone hurt one of us.”

“Yeah, but she wouldn’t torture someone.”

“I think she would, mate.” Ron was staring into the bowl of soup in front of him as though it held all the secrets of the universe. “I think she might kill someone, even.”

Harry blinked, thrown. Then he said, “All right, but the Malfoys said that Mrs. Malfoy did that because of something called the Black madness. That means your mum wouldn’t actually go mental, because she doesn’t have that.”

Ron’s mouth quirked, but his eyes were unhappy. “All the pureblood families are interrelated, Harry. My mum has Black relatives not that far distant. And my father’s mum was a Black.” He perked up a little. “Hey, I ought to look at the old books and see how closely related we are, now that you’re a Malfoy. We’re probably cousins not too far back.”

“The point is,” Harry said, putting aside the thought for a moment that he might have relatives who weren’t smotheringly overprotective and inclined to torture people on a regular basis, “I don’t want them to torture to protect me, but I couldn’t get them to promise not to do it. And Black is still out there, and he’s been on the Manor grounds at least once, and they don’t know how he’s doing it.”

“That sounds scary.” Hermione reached over and rested a hand on his arm for a second, above the silver bracelet that Mrs. Malfoy wouldn’t let him take off. “Maybe you can—just take extra precautions? I’m not saying that you have to let them cast terrible spells to defend you. Just not take risks.”

“What risks can I take?” Harry asked bitterly. “There’s always someone with me now. I’m amazed that I got to visit you by myself, but maybe that’s because there’s two people with me and we’re right in the center of the Manor. The Malfoys probably think that there’s not that much risk to it.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance that Harry hated, because it felt as if it left him out. Then Hermione faced him and took a deep breath. “I have something to say, Harry, and I know you probably won’t like it, but hear me out.”

Harry felt an unpleasant squeeze happen in the middle of his stomach. “Okay,” he said.

Mrs. Malfoy would have scolded him for sounding ungracious. Hermione just gave him a smile. “The way you talk about them, it’s as if you don’t really belong here. You say ‘the Malfoys.’ You don’t call them Mother and Father, and you don’t talk about yourself like you’re a Malfoy. I think part of the problem is that they think they’re losing you, you’re slipping away, because you don’t seem to acknowledge that you’re part of a family.”

“I don’t want to be part of a family that tortures people!”

“I can’t blame you. But you weren’t talking like you were part of them even before that, were you? You were calling them Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy in your letters to us, and in your head, I’m sure, even if you don’t do it to their faces.”

Harry swallowed as he thought about the Malfoys learning that through the spying spells. But he shook off the fear. Healer Letham said they were his family and wouldn’t abandon him. That meant it was all right if they found out.

“I think,” Hermione went on in an even lower tone, “that they think they might already have lost you, because you’re drifting away from them. And they might lose you if Black kidnapped you again. So it’s hard for them to relax or let you out of their sight, because they’re worried about what you’re going to do. Maybe they’ll turn around and you’ll be gone.”

“Then they shouldn’t torture people,” Harry muttered, but he was thinking about it. Healer Letham had said some similar things, but not so bluntly as Hermione. And Harry was used to listening to Hermione, at least thinking about what she said when she said it.

“I think Hermione’s right, mate.” Ron had a biscuit of his own and was sipping hot chocolate, but he took the time to look at Harry over the rim of the mug in a way that was very familiar. This was Ron’s serious expression, the one he’d had when they were searching for the Philosopher’s Stone their first year. “They’re trying to overprotect you because they assume that you want to disappear. You want to be gone. And when you show that you don’t want to be protected by people who torture kidnappers…” He shook his head. “It just makes it worse.”

“But that’s still true,” Harry said, and straightened his shoulders. “I still don’t want to be protected by people who torture kidnappers.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on the edge of a silver plate. Harry didn’t know if it was Dobby who had chosen the ridiculous, extravagant things, or if it was just that there weren’t any plates in Malfoy Manor that weren’t like that. “Then you need to tell them that. Tell them that you can’t stand seeing them torture people.”

“They acted like it was justified.”

“Well, then go back and argue with them about it again.” Hermione smiled a little. “You said in your letter that you wanted to see us and you wouldn’t be happy until you did. And I bet you said that to them, too, right?”

Harry squirmed in place, especially knowing that Mrs. Malfoy and Mr. Malfoy were probably watching this conversation. Or one of them, anyway. “Um, yeah, I did.”

“They’ll do anything to keep you happy. That has to include not being violent. If they really mean it—if they value you more than they do the chance to torture Sirius Black—then they’ll do it.”

“But just keep in mind that it’s going to be hard for them,” Ron butted in. “I meant what I said about how my mum would go mental if one of us was hurt, Harry. If Black shows up again, then I don’t know how they’ll react.”

“They don’t need to hurt him like that. No one deserves to be hurt like that.”

“What if they think they were hurt like that when Black took you away as a baby?”

Harry winced, but lifted his chin. “That still doesn’t mean that the right thing to do is to try and spread the pain around. The Dursleys thought like that. Dudley and Vernon took it out ln me when they were angry. They shouldn’t think like that. Not if they’re really my family.”

“Tell them that,” Hermione advised him. “See what they say.”

*

“Henry?”

Mrs. Malfoy’s voice was low. She stood in the doorway of her drawing room and stared at him as though she was drowning and he was the one who might throw her a rope. Harry swallowed back the urge to say anything just to make her stop staring like that and asked, “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Malfoy stood aside. Harry walked into her drawing room and looked it over. It was decorated in dense green and silver, and he didn’t think it looked too different from what the inside of the Slytherin common room must look like. At least Draco’s bedroom was less full of House pride.

Mrs. Malfoy motioned him to sit down on a silver stool near the fireplace, and then built up the fire with a swish of her wand when he did. Harry sighed. Did he look cold? He couldn’t tell if he did, or if Mrs. Malfoy was just doing anything she could to make him happy.

If she’ll do that, then maybe she really will hold off on torturing people.

So Harry decided to be as blunt as he could. He met her eyes and asked, “Can you please never torture people again?”

Mrs. Malfoy clasped her hands around her knees and shivered as if she was the one who was cold. “I was—not myself when that happened. I admit it, Henry. But I would stop Black with any means at my disposal if I thought he would take you again. The only thought going through my mind when he failed to Apparate with you was that he might kill you right there.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “I don’t think he wants to do that. I think he wants to preserve the Potter legacy. When he mouthed James at me? I think he wants me to go back to being Harry Potter.”

“Do you want to?”

Mrs. Malfoy asked the question in an agonized voice, her hands so tight Harry could hear her bones creaking. Harry shook his head, but she didn’t look that reassured.

“No,” Harry said. “I just—I was never really Harry Potter. I can’t go back to living a lie now that I know the truth. I know Draco was afraid that Black might take me and Memory Charm me, but you know who I am, now. You could get me back. It’s just that Black’s so mental he probably isn’t thinking about that.”

Mrs. Malfoy bowed her head. “Then why do you speak of us—your father and I—as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?”

They did hear it when I said that to Ron and Hermione. Bloody hell. Harry didn’t spring up and run out of the room, though, even though he really, really wanted to. This kind of courage and facing up to it was something he and Healer Letham had talked about, even though she had thought Harry wasn’t ready to do it yet.

Well, I’m a Gryffindor. And I chose to be one, even though the Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. Time to live up to it.

Harry sighed and said, “Because I still lived the first twelve years of my life as someone else, and then I got pulled back into the family. Can you blame me? It’s still so strange. I like having living parents, and I like having Draco as a brother, but I still don’t think of you as perfectly my parents. I barely know who I am.”

Mrs. Malfoy stared at him as if she was having a revelation. Harry just blinked in confusion. He was pretty sure that he’d said all this before, like when he’d refused to take the name Aldebaran and refused Mr. Malfoy’s offer to have him moved to Slytherin House if that was what he wanted.

But maybe it being put in these exact words was what she needed to hear, because Mrs. Malfoy whispered, “Of course. Of course, Henry. I should have thought of that.”

“I know there are things I have to compromise on,” Harry continued. “Like I can’t just go outside alone because Black might be waiting for me, and my name, and not treating Draco the way I treated him before I knew we were brothers. But there are things I can’t compromise on. Things that are right and wrong. Like the way you treated house-elves, and the way you treated Black.”

He leaned forwards and stared at her. “Can we make something that’s not a bargain? Just a promise. I can promise that I’ll never go with Black, no matter what, no matter what he says. And you promise that you don’t torture someone again.”

Mrs. Malfoy swallowed, a tiny bob of her throat. “I meant what I said, Henry. I would use any means at my disposal to keep Black from taking you again.”

“But you could pick and choose the spells,” Harry insisted. “I know that you didn’t use the Unforgivables because you didn’t want to go to Azkaban.” He had looked up the Cruciatus the other day, and even though it sounded horrible, so was the curse that Mrs. Malfoy had actually used. “You could control yourself that much. So next time, you could set up a shield. Or grab me and Apparate away. Or another defensive spell that hurts him, but not as much as the one you used.”

“My poor darling.” Mrs. Malfoy reached out and wrapped her arms around him, as careful and delicate as if he was made of china. “It really scarred you, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Harry burrowed into her arms, and he could only say this because he wasn’t looking at her face. “If you won’t do it just because hurting people like that is wrong, can you do it for me?”

Mrs. Malfoy crushed him to her, then, and kissed his forehead, over the scar. “Of course. I would do so much for you.”

And Harry found that at least one part of his fantasy of a mum was true: she loved him, fiercely, insanely.

*

Harry woke up. His bedroom window was open, just a little, white curtains ruffling in the breeze. Draco had opened it before he’d gone to bed, claiming he wanted to be cool. He still hadn’t given up sleeping in Harry’s room even though their parents had backed off a little.

Harry sighed and got up to close the window.

And froze when he saw the figure crouched on the sill.

Before he could shout, Black shook his head desperately. His face was pale and brilliant in the faint moonlight.

“Can you hear me out?” he whispered. “Please. I didn’t betray your parents. I didn’t betray them to You-Know-Who. I didn’t kill the Muggles. That was Pettigrew.”

Harry stared at him, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.