[From Samhain to the Solstice]: A Path Like Frost, gen, Like a Malfoy series, 6/6

[lomonaaeren]

Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of this part of the story. I will update the next part in my summer solstice series of stories in 2022.

Part Six

Harry scowled at Ron’s empty bed on the morning of the Second Task. He hoped that Ron hadn’t had another fit of jealousy and decided to hide away because Harry was going to go and give a pitiful performance at the Task.

He would probably find him at breakfast, though. Or scooping up a meal in the kitchens, which Fred and George had shown them how to find last year.

But when he got down into the common room, he discovered Hermione wasn’t there, either. His skin prickling. Harry headed down the stairs towards the Great Hall. If he couldn’t find Draco, either, he was going to send a Patronus to their parents.

Luckily, Draco was standing near the top of the stairs that led up from the dungeons, looking around as if he thought Harry would be downstairs already. He jumped when he saw him, and ran right over.

“Henry!” he said in a low voice. “I heard some of the older Slytherins talking. Some of them have parents who work for the Ministry. Apparently the Second Task involves them taking someone you’re friends with.”

Harry stared at Draco. “And doing what with them?” he finally asked, when Draco’s face didn’t change and Harry had to get rid of his suspicion that Draco was joking.

“Putting them somewhere. Then you have to get them back.” Draco bit his lip. “Where are Weasley and Granger?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them this morning.” Harry ran his hand through his hair and stopped when it just fell back limply. “But would they take both of them, do you think? Why? To try and force me to participate?”

“I don’t know, either. But you remember that Granger went to the Yule Ball with Krum? Maybe they took her for him to retrieve.”

Harry felt a little guilty. That had obviously been important to Hermione, but he had been so busy with his end-of-term work, getting ready to go home for the hols, and planning his prank with Tonks that he’d only felt grateful Hermione wasn’t around to give him more lectures about Moody during the time she’d probably spent with Krum. And she hadn’t talked much about it when Harry and Draco came back from Malfoy Manor, either. Harry had gathered that she and Ron had had some kind of huge fight over it, and he hadn’t really wanted to hear about that, either.

“Do you know where the other Champions are?”

“Yeah, I think they’re out at the lakeshore.”

Harry hissed suddenly. “You don’t think they put the people they took under the lake?”

Draco’s eyes widened. “I don’t—that would be stupid. There’s merfolk and the Giant Squid and all kinds of other creatures under there!”

“That’s probably why they thought it would make a good Task,” Harry said grimly. He glanced sidelong at Draco. “Although, if they picked Ron—I don’t know why they didn’t pick you instead.”

Draco’s cheeks turned pink with soft pleasure. “Mother and Father would never have given permission. Presumably Weasley’s parents did.”

Harry nodded, although he wondered if the Ministry people like Crouch had told Mrs. Weasley exactly what they planned on doing with Ron. He couldn’t see her agreeing to anything that would put Ron in danger.

Harry paused. He also couldn’t see Hermione agreeing to put herself in danger just for a stupid Tournament Task, no matter how she felt about rules and fairness.

“I think it’s kind of a trap.”

“Well, obviously. If you’re supposed to dive under the lake and retrieve your special person—”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean that probably the people under the lake are going to be fine, and the challenge is to see how fast the Champions can get to them and bring them back to the surface.”

Draco looked skeptical. “Are you willing to bet Granger and Weasley’s safety on that?”

“Well, I don’t think they’d let me rescue Hermione, either, if she’s supposed to be there for Krum to save. As for Ron…” Harry hesitated. “Do Malfoys always get their way with money?”

“I don’t know who to bribe, here.”

“I just wondered if they also got their way with loud and obvious displays of temper, sometimes. You know.” But Draco looked blank, as if he wasn’t getting the reference, so Harry rolled his eyes and provided it. “My father will hear about this!”

Draco blushed furiously again, but this time his eyes were glittering with temper. “It works.”

“Good. It’ll work this time, too, then,” Harry decided, and marched outside with Draco trailing behind him.

*

Mother and Father were among the people crowded along the lakeshore, and Harry saw Mother straighten when he caught her eye, as if she thought he might have intended to dive into the lake after all. Harry managed to shake his head, and Mother stepped subtly back.

“Minister Fudge!”

Cornelius Fudge started and turned around to stare at Harry. His eyes widened, and then he made a clucking sound. “Mr. Malfoy! You aren’t in any sort of swimming gear. You should enter the lake as soon as possible. The others dived in five minutes ago!”

“I’m not concerned about winning.” Harry halted in front of the man, folded his arms, and tilted his nose back. “I want to know if you told all the parents about the possible danger their children could be in when they were placed under the lake.”

He supposed he was taking kind of a gamble. There was no guarantee that all the people under the lake were children. Maybe one of the other Champions had a parent or an aunt here or something. But he would have wagered on them taking people who could be found at Hogwarts.

From the way the Minister’s eyes bulged a little, Harry would have won.

“I—ah?” Fudge worked a finger under his collar and pulled it away from his neck, coughing. “Of course we did. As many as were feasible.”

“Ah.” Harry gave him a thin smile. “I know that my friend Hermione Granger is under the lake.” He raised his voice, noticing that more people were listening to him now. Then again, it was pretty boring to watch the surface of the water when you couldn’t tell what was going on underneath it. “She’s Muggleborn. Did you inform her parents?”

Fudge actually took a step away from him.

Maybe I can get good at behaving like a spoiled kid, Harry thought, and experienced a sudden surge of gratitude that Snape wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore.

“No—no time—of course, we asked Miss Granger, and she said she would be okay with it—”

“And what about the person Fleur Delacour is rescuing?” Harry picked her at random, but he was sure she was his best choice, since Krum was going after Hermione and Cedric’s person probably lived in Britain. “Did you have time to owl their parents in France to ask?”

Maybe that was going to backfire, he thought. Maybe it was another one of the Beauxbatons students who was of age and they had given permission for themselves. Harry hadn’t paid enough attention to Delacour to have any idea.

But from the way that Fudge’s face went pale, it wasn’t. Harry sneered a little.

“You put an innocent French child under the lake without asking permission of their parents?” he asked, and raised his voice a little more. “I thought the Tournament was supposed to improve international relations, not endanger them.”

Draco sounded as if he was having a choking fit behind him. Harry just hoped his brother didn’t really laugh and give the game away.

“They’re not in danger!” Fudge blurted abruptly. “It’s, ah, just a race, you see, to judge which Champion can display enough skill at magic to rescue their chosen person and get back most quickly! A race. That’s all.”

Harry folded his arms and tried to imitate Mother’s glare. “You’re sure?” And he was going to kill Draco if he didn’t stop laughing.

Fudge nodded and tried to lower his voice, although he quickly raised it again when Harry glared at him. “I promise you, Mr. Malfoy. It’s just to make things exciting for the audience. None of the children are in danger, of course not.”

Father had come up behind the Minister, although Harry was pretty sure Fudge was so focused on Harry himself that he hadn’t noticed. He was proven right when Father spoke and Fudge jumped almost four inches in the air. “Have you thought of the reasons why this was a poor choice, Minister?”

“Lucius!” Fudge spun around and tried to use a shining smile on him. “Of course, we know that Mr. Malfoy has been rather resistant to participating in the Tournament, but—”

“Our son has already been through enough trauma and loss,” Mother said, stopping beside Father and linking her arm with his while she stared down at Fudge. “To make him fear the loss of one of his few dear friends is inexcusable.”

Harry wondered why Fudge was sweating so much. Was he more scared of Mother than Father? That was kind of stupid, unless Fudge had actually seen the Black madness in action.

But Draco murmured into his ear, “Mother and Father have to agree on all spending decisions,” and Harry nodded. Fudge was probably upset at the idea that Mother wouldn’t agree to spend bribery money on the Minister anymore if he damaged her son.

“It was—it was just to add drama! We didn’t mean to make Mr. Malfoy fear anything, of course!” Fudge looked around as if hoping the audience had stopped watching him and gone back to the lake, but he was the focus of many interested eyes. “I promise, the children are going to be absolutely fine!”

Harry frowned. “They’d better be.”

“And that includes my own darling child,” Mother added, stepping around Fudge to draw Harry into a tight embrace.

“For shame, Cornelius,” Father said, only lowering his voice a little. Harry was sure that everyone in the audience could still hear. “I thought better of you. Putting a Muggleborn child under the water without bothering to contact her parents? That goes against everything progressive we stand for.”

Harry thought it was a good thing Mother was hugging him, so no one else would see him goggling. What the hell.

“We, ah,” Fudge said, and stared at Father in a kind of horrified fascination. “We do, Lucius?”

“Of course.” Father stood tall and proud, and just happened to draw his sleeve away from his left arm to bare it. “I have come to realize that some people had good reason to doubt my claim of being under the Imperius Curse during the war with You-Know-Who. After all, I hardly did anything to make up for the atrocities I committed under that curse, did I? I did not distance myself from known Death Eaters. My own dear sister-in-law was one.”

Harry shivered. He had heard just enough about Bellatrix Lestrange to know he never wanted to meet her in person.

“Of course,” Fudge mumbled. “So you’re, ah, doing something to distance yourself now?”

Father nodded. “I mistakenly expected the people around me to pick up on my change of heart without actions to prove it. I realize, now, that this seemed like equivocation. And I will be moving to demonstrate my true beliefs in the coming months.”

Harry peeked around Mother. Draco was goggling, too. Harry bit his lip savagely so he wouldn’t laugh.

“How is that, Lucius?” Fudge yanked on his collar again.

“We can discuss it further when we have more time,” Father said, and stepped back to stand beside Mother again, subtly escorting Draco along so they were together as a family. “For the moment, I appreciate that we are to watch the Second Task, and that we have taken more than enough of the audience’s time.”

Harry didn’t mind being escorted to the stands this time, either, but whispered to Mother on the way, “Do you think I have to participate more than that? Jump in the lake or something?”

“The Task was to seek your friend,” Mother said. “You looked for him, ascertained where he was, and made an effort at rescuing him. It is not your fault that the Ministry was so determined to have the Task take place that they did not remove him from the waters.”

It seemed the Goblet of Fire agreed, because Harry could still cast Warming Charms as they waited for the Champions to come back to the surface.

Delacour was first, empty-handed and crying. Mother translated the French for him in a whisper, and Harry winced at the thought that her little sister was under the water. He really might not have been able to stop himself from participating if they’d taken Draco.

And it sounded like Delacour’s sister was really young, maybe ten or so. Harry shuddered. Why was this stupid Tournament so important that they had to do that?

Krum floated up a minute before the hour was up, carrying Hermione. She started to cough and choke the minute her head was above the water. Diggory showed up a few minutes later, with a girl in his arms whom Harry vaguely remembered as Cho Chang, Ravenclaw’s Seeker. Probably Diggory’s girlfriend.

Fudge stepped to the edge of the water and nervously cleared his throat as he looked in Harry’s direction. However, before he could say anything, Ron’s head surfaced. Harry saw a glimpse of a scaley arm shoving him from below. Beside him was a little silver-haired girl Delacour immediately embraced. Harry looked at her carefully, and saw that she appeared whole and healthy, although she was crying, along with her sister.

Ron started coughing as he came out of the water, too, and Madam Pomfrey promptly descended on him with blankets, Warming Charms, and hot chocolate, clucking her tongue and glaring at Fudge as she muttered something about “children and lakes and challenges.”

While the judges talked among themselves about scores and gave Harry dark looks, Harry got down from the stands and went over to Ron. Ron raised his head, blinked at him, and looked away.

“You decided not to come get me, then?” he asked, a little sullenly.

“I’m not participating in the Tasks,” Harry answered, sitting down on the grass next to Ron. “And I didn’t even know what it was until this morning, remember, or that I was supposed to dive under a lake to find someone.” He waited. Ron still looked in the opposite direction. Harry sighed. “Did they tell your parents what they were doing?”

Ron turned and gaped at him. “Of course they did.”

“But they didn’t tell Hermione’s, or Delacour’s,” Harry said, looking at the way that the French girl had wrapped herself around her sister and was glaring at everyone who tried to approach. “I wonder if they told Chang’s? It would be interesting to know if they did and if she’s a pureblood or a half-blood. I’m not sure.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Harry blinked at Ron, and then reminded himself that Ron wasn’t used to thinking the way that Harry was learning to think. “They didn’t tell Hermione’s because they’re Muggles, and most wizards don’t think Muggles are worth anything,” he said bluntly. “And they didn’t tell Delacour’s, and she’s French and part-Veela besides. Wouldn’t surprise me if people like Fudge think foreigners or people with creature blood are worthless.”

Harry did lower his voice a little, since Fudge wasn’t far away, but he was talking with Dumbledore and probably wouldn’t have heard anyway.

“You think they only told mine because Mum and Dad are pureblood?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t know about Chang, like I said. But if she’s a half-blood and they only talked to her pureblood parent or no one at all, that would make a little too much sense, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ron bit his lip, and then abruptly seemed to remember that he was supposed to be angry at Harry. He glared at him. “Why didn’t you come into the lake and get me, though? I’m your best mate!”

“I thought that if Hermione had agreed—and they didn’t ask her parents—it couldn’t be anything that was deadly.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but Dumbledore said last night that the clue in the golden egg had to do with it being something you sorely miss. You don’t really miss me, then?”

It occurred to Harry that he could do something to keep this from becoming another simmering argument that would go on until the point when Ron felt like apologizing. He lifted his chin a little, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Not when you act like a prat, no.”

Ron spluttered incoherently. Harry thought he might have got up and stomped away, but he was still shivering a little from the lake.

“I’m not acting like a prat! You’re acting like a prat!”

“By not diving into a cold lake in the middle of February and rescuing you when it turns out that the challenge was just to find you? You weren’t going to be drowned or taken away forever by the merfolk after all?”

“I would have come for you if I were a Champion!”

“Really? Seems to me that it would depend on how you were feeling that day.”

Ron’s face flushed so deeply that Harry was a little surprised steam didn’t rise from it. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, but actually lowered his voice, maybe because the Minister for Magic was a few meters away and Ron didn’t want him to see Ron and Harry arguing. “My mate Harry wouldn’t do this! Are you just all stuck-up Malfoy now, Aldebaran?”

Harry noticed Draco and Mother watching him with more than the usual tension in their faces. Draco looked a little hopeful, though. Perhaps he thought Harry was finally going to drop Ron as a friend.

But Harry didn’t want to do that. He just wanted Ron to be a better friend.

“That’s not my name,” he said steadily, his eyes fixed on Ron’s face. “But neither is Harry Potter. And that means I have to think more about who I am, and who I want to be. And if you can suspect that I’m going to turn into a generic Malfoy after four years of knowing me, and get upset about me not diving into the lake even though you know I didn’t put my name in the Goblet, then maybe I need to be someone who isn’t friends with Ron Weasley.”

Ron, for the first time, looked a little lost, and utterly stupefied. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“It’s up to you,” Harry finished, after a few minutes when he waited to see if Ron would speak again. “But I’m sick and tired of putting up with your mood swings, I can tell you.” He got up and walked back to his family, feeling a little shaky but good overall. This probably wouldn’t make Ron never get angry again, but maybe it would put an end to his periods of getting angry and disbelieving Harry over stupid things.

One way or the other.

“You should have put him in his place,” Draco hissed when Harry stood at his side again. “I would have.”

“What gave you the impression that I’m you?” Harry asked, and got to see a second person look stupefied.

He got zero points from the judges for the Task, which Bagman and Fudge seemed to think he should be upset about. Harry’s main struggle was standing there trying to look bored instead of breaking out in a silly smile.

*

“Potter! Damn it, boy, let me talk to you!”

Harry felt his shoulders come up around his ears when he heard Professor Moody’s voice and heard the clunking of his wooden leg, but he just kept walking. The name “Potter” had nothing to do with him anymore, after all.

Well, except in conversations with Healer Letham. And it wasn’t like Moody was invited to those.

But years of living in the Dursley household had given Harry the useful skill of knowing when a man larger than he was was reaching for him, and he ducked and spun around, aiming his wand at Moody. Moody blinked at him with his real eye, while the magical one zoomed to the front of his face to point directly at Harry.

“Don’t touch me,” Harry said, struggling to keep the words from slipping into Parseltongue.

Moody visibly wavered between reactions for a moment, and then decided to go for amusement. He threw his head back and roared. Harry didn’t rise from his defensive crouch, thinking distantly that Ted would be proud of him.

In fact, he was supposed to be on his way to Defense tutoring right now. At least if this took too long, Ted would come looking for him, and if Moody tried something worse than touching him, the bell on the charm embedded in Harry’s skin would ring. Ted had the corresponding charm, so he would know to come right away.

“I like you, boy,” Moody said, and winked his magical eye at Harry, which made him jump a little. It fizzed and seemed about to disappear from existence for a second, like the cord on Tonks’s shield charm before she embedded it. “And I think you can benefit from the tutoring I can offer you.”

“I already have a Defense tutor I like, thank you.”

“Oh, no, not Defense. Curses. Countercurses.” Moody’s tongue flickered over his lips for a second, and then he leaned nearer and whispered, “Dark Arts.”

Harry stared at him, wondering for a second if his parents had put Moody up to this. But then he dismissed the notion. No. They might have liked it better if Harry had agreed to learn Dark Arts, but they wouldn’t have relied on someone who was known to have such a strong connection to Dumbledore.

“I don’t want to learn anything from you.”

Moody blinked hard, staring at Harry with both eyes as if he had never thought that could be the reason. Then he shook his head and waved a hand in front of him. “Wouldn’t try to hurt you, lad.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going with you.” Harry took a step back, both worried and happy that the bell on his charm hadn’t begun to ring yet. Moody must not be a threat. And that was a good thing, because Harry didn’t think he could have dueled an experienced Auror.

Moody rolled his eyes. “Fine. Then you’ll let my hints for the Third Task pass you by?”

“I’m not trying to do well in the Tournament,” Harry said, exasperated. Had there been some kind of potion in people’s drinks on Halloween that made them think he wanted to? “I’ll just show up for it and do something small the way I did for the others. Is that clear?” he added, raising his voice in case there were more people than Moody around and they needed to hear it. “Or should I say it louder for the morons in the back?”

Moody blinked at him for long moments. Then he shook his head, muttered something that sounded like, “Not going to work,” and turned and stumped away.

Harry stood rigidly for a few more moments. Then he turned and went to his Defense lesson, his wand still in his hand.

No one tried to attack him, though. And the charm in his back never rang.

*

“I need to talk to you, Father.”

Father glanced up from where he was sitting on a couch in his study surrounded by tomes and ledgers, and nodded. “Come in, Henry.”

Harry walked in and sat down on the couch in front of his father, arms folded. He’d been trying to talk to him since the Second Task about why Father had decided to suddenly care about Muggleborns, but Father had been evasive in his letters. Harry had been the one to determine that they were going to talk now that he was home for the Easter holidays.

“Why did you suddenly act as if you cared about Muggleborns in front of Fudge?” Harry asked. “And are you still doing it?” Harry thought he probably was, because suddenly Fudge was making announcements in the paper about things like an initiative to try to reach out to Muggleborns before their eleventh birthdays and teach them and their families about magic. Harry didn’t think Fudge would have ever thought of something like that himself.

But then, he wouldn’t have thought Father would, either.

Father ran his fingers through his hair for a second, and then focused on Harry. “I am doing it because I want to complete the redrawing of my image,” he said. “I was a Death Eater, at least as far as most of Britain was concerned, even if they didn’t think I was a willing one. Now I am not. And,” he hesitated. “I thought you would like it.”

Harry blinked several times. Then he said, “So you don’t really believe in it?”

Father eyed him in silence.

“What do you believe?” Harry continued, angrier and more bewildered by the second. Before this, he would have said that Lucius Malfoy believed, deeply and sincerely, in pureblood superiority. It had been the reason he was so obsessed with punishing the Dursleys—although he hadn’t mentioned that in several months, Harry realized. But now he was going against it, and…

Even if he wanted me to like him more, I wouldn’t have thought he’d make a public announcement like this. Maybe donate money to Muggleborns in need or something, and make sure his name got out. But not political moves.

Harry flopped back on the couch. “What is going on?” he whispered.

“I realize this must be confusing,” Father began quietly. “And I am afraid that you will not like me as much when I tell you the truth. But more and more, I am beginning to see that nothing else will do. Will you listen to me, Henry? And not ask questions until the end?”

Harry nodded, staring at Father. He pushed some of the tomes out of the way so that he could turn and face Harry more fully, his hand glancing along his bare left forearm for a second.

“All my life,” Father said, grey eyes focused on Harry’s, “I have been interested in power. I grew up with my father inviting people from the Ministry over, and of course the Dark Lord, and I saw how he interacted with them. I saw that the only people who seemed to have true ease, true comfort, true ability to do as they wanted, were the powerful ones. And I vowed that I would become like that.

“I knew I was…different from other people. Colder, in some way. I didn’t have the same depth of feeling as they did. I wasn’t interested in the same things. I didn’t understand how they coped as well in social situations as they did, but on the other hand, I also didn’t understand how they could let themselves be distracted from their goals by emotions. I named my goal and worked towards it.

“I understood that to present a good image to the Ministry and the public, I should marry and have children. I was prepared to do that. I assumed I would feel some minimal affection for them, as I did for my parents and some of my allies.” Father breathed out. “And then—then I found Narcissa.”

His face softened so much that Harry blinked. It was like he wasn’t looking at the same man. As if multiple people were moving in and out of Father’s skin.

Harry cast a small charm Ted had taught him that would detect illusions, although it wouldn’t get rid of them. But no, it was just Father sitting there—Father who raised an eyebrow when Harry finished moving his wand. Harry flushed and put it away.

“She was a revelation,” Father whispered. “I still don’t know what made her so determined to break through my barriers. Did she see the man she thought I was capable of becoming? I’ve never asked her. I am afraid of the answer.

“But she broke through them, and I found myself in love for the first time. I would have done anything to protect her, to hoard that fire that burned in me. Most of her family were followers of the Dark Lord, and so was my father, who had been urging me to take the Mark. Joining the Dark Lord seemed like the best way to keep Narcissa safe. And he seemed a path to power. Everything I wanted.

“So I took the Mark.”

Harry just stared at him, his thoughts in utter confusion. “You—you didn’t believe that Muggleborns were inferior to purebloods, then?” he blurted. “But you tortured and killed people!”

“Yes, I did.” Father sighed when Harry kept staring at him. “Henry, please understand. I told you I was incapable of the same depth of feeling as other people, at least most of the time. I regret it now, both because it created such a division between us and did not provide the safety for my family I thought it would.”

“You did it because you thought it was the best way to keep Mother safe,” Harry said dully. His own beliefs were so rooted that he felt—as if it would take something drastic to change them. Like finding out his parents had kidnapped him from his birth family, for example.

“Yes. And when you and Draco were born, you broke through my barriers, too.” Father gave him a smile that seemed to shine with sunlight. “I had been worried that wouldn’t happen, I admit. I had been concerned that I would resent having to share Narcissa with our children. But it did not. I have never felt so relieved about anything in my life.

“Well. Except one thing.”

Harry lowered his eyes, knowing well what that one other thing had been. “And you thought following—him was the best way to keep us safe?”

“Yes. He seemed to be winning. And when you were stolen, part of me froze. Forever, as I thought. I became obsessed with Narcissa’s safety, with Draco’s. I dedicated myself even more to becoming a high-ranked Death Eater, for the sake of power, and for their sake. I could not tolerate a world ever again where they were vulnerable.”

“What happened when I defeated him?”

“Then I chose the Imperius defense. I put in the long hours of acting necessary, of feigning remorse.” Father shrugged. “It was the work of nothing, when I thought it would keep my family safe. At the same time, I was sure that I could join the Dark Lord, if he returned, without any regrets. Then that would be the path to safety and power.”

Oddly, Harry did feel that he understood. Not the emotional side of it; he couldn’t imagine being that detached from the world. But the rest of it? Harry would have done anything for some people, too.

He licked his lips. “So the Muggleborn thing? Even though it seems likely he’s going to come back, because of the Horcrux?”

“I have made my choice,” Father said, and held up his bare left arm again. “That path is closed to me. It’s not a matter of belief; it’s a matter of action. That means that I need to make my way forwards and create a world that is safe for my sons and my wife based on not following the Dark Lord. And if I can manipulate the Minister and please my son at the same time? Then that is what I shall do.”

“You don’t believe that Muggleborns are the equals of purebloods, then.”

“No.”

“But you don’t hate them and want to kill them, either.”

Father shook his head. “As I told you, it is a matter of action, not belief. What I believe matters less than what I do.”

“And would you give up your current campaign to support Muggleborns if you thought there was a more advantageous way to keep us safe?”

Father frowned a little. “It is hard to imagine what that could be. The Dark Lord’s path was the only other one, and as I said, that is closed to me now. And you would be angry at me. I do not like it when you’re angry at me.”

Harry nodded slowly. He felt a little shocked, but also as though—

Well, it wasn’t a good thing that his father was so detached from everything but his family that he could switch political beliefs easily. Obviously.

But Harry couldn’t help but think it was better than having a father who was attached to the belief that purebloods were the only ones who mattered. Instead, it seemed that Father thought his family were the only ones who mattered.

Harry stood up. Father’s gaze narrowed at once, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he kept his mouth shut.

“Thank you for explaining it to me,” Harry mumbled. “And—and I’m glad that I matter to you enough that you’re going to change the way you act in public.”

Father smiled at him, an expression that seemed to go a lot deeper into his eyes than most of the ones he’d worn during the conversation, now that Harry was looking for that. “You matter so much to me, Henry. Believe me, in the end the Dark Lord will suffer for what he tried to do to you. I will destroy him.”

Harry blinked. “But he did that when you didn’t know I was your son.”

“Why does that matter?” Father sounded honestly baffled.

Harry leaned carefully around the ledgers and tomes and hugged him. Father’s arms returned the hug with crushing strength. He obviously didn’t want to let Harry go, but did when Harry decided that was enough and went to step away.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“I love you, Henry.”

“I love you, too, I think,” Harry said, and then ran away so he wouldn’t have to look at his father’s face.

*

“So what are you going to do? Just wander down to the first turning in the maze and then come right back?”

Harry smiled and made sure that his wand was in its holster and he had the Blood-Replenishing potion Mother had owled him the day before in his robe pocket. “Yeah. I thought that was the best plan.”

Ron shook his head a little. It had taken him a long time, but finally he’d come to Harry and admitted that he was lonely and tired of being angry, and he would do his best never to think that Harry was just a generic Malfoy again. “I still don’t know who’s going to win the Tournament. Probably Krum, though. He’s the most ahead in points.”

Harry nodded absently in acknowledgment while he looked up at the stands to find his family and Hermione. Hermione sat with a pointed distance between her and Draco, but that was all right. Harry was just as glad that some pieces of his life fit together, even if it was pretty rough right now.

Mother smiled at him and waved. Father didn’t smile. He hadn’t liked Harry’s plan of going through even one turning of the hedge maze, but once they learned what the Third Task was, Harry hadn’t seen what else he could do.

Draco had his arms crossed and was doing his best to imitate Father’s expression. Harry didn’t think he’d succeeded, though. Draco was much warmer and more emotional than Father was, even though he would have hated to hear that.

“Champions, get ready!” Bagman yelped.

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and turned around to jog to the line where he would wait, while Ron went to join Harry’s family in the stands. Because he had so few points, he would enter the maze after everyone else. Harry didn’t care about that, though, or about the boos and jeers that sometimes got thrown his way.

Krum entered the maze first, then Diggory, then Delacour. Harry stood where he was and yawned. He saw Professor Moody staring at him from not far outside the maze. Apparently he was one of the people who was supposed to make sure that no one cheated to help the Champions.

Harry avoided his gaze. Moody was far weirder than even Dumbledore. At least Dumbledore had explained that he thought Harry was important because of the prophecy.

“Henry—Malfoy!”

Harry ignored the sudden increase in noise and trotted into the maze. The path in front of him continued straight for quite a distance, and Harry had to walk for longer than he’d thought before he reached the first corner. He glanced down the path to the right, just to see where it led, and started when he saw a hole cut in the hedge. Had one of the other Champions gone that way? Or had someone else managed to get into the maze and cheat to help them after all?

Harry shook his head. Well, maybe they had, but it wasn’t his business. He ignored the temptation to investigate that unexpected side tunnel, and turned around. He thought he’d done enough to satisfy the Goblet of Fire.

Red sparks dazzled him. Harry blinked and looked up. They were coming from further inside the maze. He vaguely remembered Bagman saying something about how the Champions should send up red sparks if they were in distress.

Well, still not his business, even though Harry found himself worrying about the others. They had still chosen to put their names in the Goblet, and they were still legal adults. They had survived dragons. They could probably survive this.

He stepped forwards, and someone moved in front of him. Harry had his wand drawn before he even recognized the odd gait as belonging to Professor Moody.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Harry said in a flat voice he barely recognized. It felt as if another person was waking up in him, maybe the person that Ted drilled over and over again in fighting for his life.

Moody didn’t bother saying anything. He simply threw something at Harry. Harry tried to dodge, but it was aimed at his leg, and he wasn’t fast enough.

The pebble—was it a pebble?—touched him, and the world turned brilliant with the colors and swirling motion of what Harry knew was a Portkey seconds later.

*

Harry was rolling the minute the Portkey dropped him on hard, grassy ground among what looked like rounded stones a second later.

When you are in an unfamiliar area, assume your life is in danger every second, Ted’s voice murmured in the back of his head.

Harry ducked behind one of the rounded stones as a Stunner shot past him, scraping the earth where he’d been a few seconds before. He grabbed the sides of the stone and vaguely noted that it looked like a monument for someone dead, complete with an angel on top, before another Stunner angled towards him.

Harry rolled again, and put the stone between him and the Stunner. Bits and splinters went flying off the top.

Get on your feet as soon as you can. Like we practiced.

Harry scrambled up and gripped his wand. He and Ted had run through their defensive routines again and again, because Ted was convinced that Harry’s main problem would be not reacting fast enough when deadly spells were coming at him. But lately, they’d also started practicing so that Harry was the one casting the deadly spells.

Go!

As Harry shot out from behind the stone, he heard the faint, shrill sound of a bell ringing. He might have smiled if he wasn’t so focused on taking the man in front of him out.

He might have stumbled when he recognized Peter Pettigrew, except that Ted’s training was guiding his hands, and Harry couldn’t hesitate. He aimed his wand straight at Pettigrew and let loose with a Blasting Curse at his wand.

Pettigrew dodged with a cry, and Harry missed the wand. But he saw blood and bones flying, and knew that he’d blown a few fingers off his hand.

Pettigrew stood in place, staring down at his own blood. Harry took the time to catch his breath and aim. He had to strike Pettigrew on the hand this time, had to disarm him as soon as possible. He might have tried Expelliarmus, but Ted said that it didn’t work often enough to be worth it.

“Diffindo!”

But Pettigrew moved the minute Harry spoke, rolling to the ground and darting off behind a stone of his own. Harry swung around, trying to find him, and a grey spell nearly took his leg off. He hurtled into hiding, pressing his shoulders against the stone and trying to listen for Ted’s voice against. The bell on his back was going mad.

It’s good if you can envision a chain of spells and use them. But you have to be prepared to break from the chain at any point. And remember: the point to a fight is to end it as soon as possible.

“Confringo!”

The stone Harry was hiding behind blew up. He rolled instantly out of the way and scrambled to his feet. Pettigrew was clutching his bloodied hand to his side, but he had an expression of grim determination on his face that told Harry he wouldn’t give up, no matter how much of a coward he might be.

Someone else seemed to be there. At least, Harry heard a voice saying something. But he focused on Pettigrew, who was the real threat.

“Frangere ossa!”

The Bone-Breaking Curse flew straight and true. Harry heard one of Pettigrew’s kneecaps smash, and he went down, screaming. Harry charged madly towards him, having the idea that he could get Pettigrew’s wand away from him if he got close enough.

But Pettigrew was still armed, down or not. “Avada Kedavra!” he croaked.

“No, you fool!” said that other, darker voice.

Harry had already ducked under the Killing Curse, though, and he came up sure that his wand was aimed in the right direction this time. “Diffindo!” he incanted again, and he didn’t much care if he cut Pettigrew’s wand or his hand.

The Severing Charm flew; Harry thought he could see the faint disturbance in the air around it as it moved, like a whipping blade. Pettigrew was moving, scrambling back from it, and lifted his hand to shield his face.

The Severing Charm went in underneath that, and slashed his throat open.

Harry stared as blood poured out of the wound, jetting, gushing, with enough force that he knew he must have sliced something vital. He had the absurd impulse to say that he hadn’t meant it, not like that, but he could do nothing but stand there, as shocked as he had been when he first learned of the Horcrux in St. Mungo’s.

Pettigrew toppled over, his wand coming free at last from his damaged hand. Harry was left frozen. He should move, he knew that. He should run to the edge of the graveyard and see if he could get away, or if he was near enough Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade for someone to find him.

But he couldn’t move. Wormtail was dead.

Harry was a murderer.

“Harry Potter.”

Harry glanced up, every move he made feeling as if he was encased in syrup. He could still hear the bell calling shrilly from his back, but that didn’t seem important. He stared at the huge snake crawling towards him, and the baby-like figure seated on its back. It had burning red eyes that he abruptly realized were familiar. From the dreams he couldn’t really remember, but had been having more frequently as time wore on.

“Harry Potter,” the being, Voldemort, sighed. “You have cost me my servant. But you will still serve, in place of him, until I no longer have need of you.”

Abruptly, the little figure turned its head, and one stubby arm waved in the air. Then it laughed like a frog being boiled to death. “Or perhaps not. Even now, another servant of mine comes.”

The air seemed to shiver and crack apart, and then Father was there.

He looked insane. His eyes were bright and narrow, and his face was the color of bone, so that Harry almost thought for a minute he was wearing a white mask. He clutched his wand in his right hand, and a lion charm with a madly ringing bell in the other. Even as Harry watched, the bell fell silent, and so did the one in the middle of his back.

“Lucius,” Voldemort greeted, nodding to him from his seat on the back of the snake. “You are prompt. Bind the boy and tie him to a headstone. Then fetch—”

“Ignis inferiae.”

The fire shivered like the air had with Father’s Apparition, and came roaring out of his wand. Harry found himself diving to the ground and rolling away without even thinking about it, the heat or the danger breaking through his numb shock at last.

He saw—he didn’t think he was imagining it—curving claws and fangs forming in the fire and stabbing forwards. The snake uttered a thin, high noise, a shriek of Parseltongue that made Harry claw at his ears. He also heard a higher sound than that, one so shrill that it rapidly passed out of hearing range.

Something black and mucky touched him, and Harry sobbed. He was being buried in a bog, he was losing the last of his hope and life, he was—

Strong arms seized him and held him close, and Harry heard the roaring fire dim to a small noise. Father smashed Harry into his chest and asked many questions in a low, rumbling voice. Harry had a hard time distinguishing them. But he managed to make out that one of them was, “Are you all right, Henry?”

No. I’m a murderer. I think Voldemort touched me. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m a murderer.

He nodded.

“The snake is dead,” Father whispered into his ear. “The wraith is gone. I am sorry that I could not capture it, but I have not studied on such spells. I was looking instead for things that would kill a Horcrux, and I took the chance that the fire that would do that would also take care of the snake and at least the body the spirit had possessed.” He stroked Harry’s back. “What happened?”

“Moody—threw a Portkey at me,” Harry managed to say, although he didn’t know how. “And I killed—I killed—I killed—”

“Hush. I know. We’ll deal with it.”

At least Father wasn’t saying that he was proud of Harry or something like that, which Harry had been half-afraid he would say. He clung tightly to Father as the man stood and Apparated.

*

Harry’s whole body ached. He knew he was in a bright, warm room, and he knew that Mother was nearby, and he’d heard Draco’s voice. But he didn’t want to let go of Father, and when someone tried to take Harry away so that they could lay him flat on some kind of bed, he screamed.

“Leave him where he is,” Father said in that insane voice.

Harry held on, and Father held him back. Moments drifted past, came and went. Sometimes Harry was aware that Mother was hugging them, too, from the outside, and sometimes Draco stood there and was awkward, or hugged them and was awkward.

But he was mostly aware of Father holding him.

And that he was a murderer just like Father. He hadn’t meant to be, but what had Father said?

It’s not a matter of belief; it’s a matter of action.

When it came down to it, Harry had a lot of beliefs about murder, but he had acted to defend his life.

As he clung to his father, and his mother, and his brother when they were there, he wondered how he was supposed to feel, other than cold, with jagged pieces of ice whirling through him.

He wondered if Moody had been captured. He wondered where the spirit of Voldemort had gone.

But mostly, he breathed, and knew he was alive.

And that Father was there.

The End.