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lomonaaerenTitle: Like Clouded Endless Stars
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Mentions of Lucius/Narcissa and Ron/Hermione, otherwise gen
Content Notes: AU (Harry is a Malfoy), violence, angst, gore
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: This part 3700
Summary: Sequel to “A Darkness Like Fire.” Harry returns for his fifth year at Hogwarts, still bearing the burden of having killed someone. The burdens waiting for him at the school may make that one seem small.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” series, chaptered fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. This is another entry in my “Like a Malfoy” series, following “How Like Hatred,” “A Name Like Henry,” “A Godfather Like Him,” “A Year Like This,” “A Path Like Frost,” and “A Darkness Like Fire.” This won’t make sense without the previous stories in the series, so read those first. This will have five or six parts.
Like Clouded Endless Stars
“So why doesn’t Hermione want to come over?”
Ron looked startled. Harry didn’t think his friend had expected Harry to just ask outright like that. He put down a glass of chilled butterbeer he was drinking and sighed.
Harry waited. He and Ron were sitting on either side of a small table in a sitting room done all in gold, down to the canaries that chirped when the clock sounded the hour. And the Malfoy house-elves had brought them a feast: scones and biscuits and little cakes and butterbeer and tiny lemon pies that could be eaten in one swallow.
Ron hadn’t acted like anything was wrong, but for Harry, the chair on the other side of the table ached like a loose tooth.
“This is just what she told me,” Ron said at last.
“That’s all right.”
“She—thinks that you’re slipping into trusting the Malfoys too much. She really didn’t like that your dad and mum just took you from Hogwarts without letting Dumbledore or anyone else know where you were going.” Ron frowned a little and picked up his butterbeer again. “I pointed out they were your parents and they could make that decision, and she said she knew, but it wouldn’t have cost them anything to tell the Headmaster.”
“Yeah, but they don’t trust him.”
“Then why do they let you come back to the school? Hermione thinks it would make more sense if they took you somewhere else.”
Harry sighed and stared out the window, at an enchanted scene of shining snow and mountains under a dim blue sky. Mother had discussed sending him to Beauxbatons, he knew. If either he or Draco had been an only child, that one of them would probably have gone. But Harry didn’t want to leave his friends, and Draco didn’t want to leave his brother.
Father simply promised that there would be no need for Harry to fear anything at Hogwarts. His eyes were so sharp and cruel when he spoke those words that Harry just accepted them, and the hand that stroked his hair, and went back to trying to enjoy the last few weeks of summer.
“Hermione wants the Malfoys to be logical.”
Harry started and returned to the conversation with Ron. “I know, but they aren’t.”
“She thinks that they shouldn’t make exceptions for you just because you’re their son. She thinks they shouldn’t make exceptions for her and invite a Muggleborn to their house just because she’s one of their son’s best friends.”
Harry nodded, understanding. “She would want to see that Father and Mother changed their minds because of principles. Not people.”
“Exactly.” Ron squinted at him. “Have you been reading books or something? You sound like Hermione.”
Harry laughed despite himself. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking for a while.”
“Okay.” Ron reached for one of the little cakes. “So she’s probably going to be standoffish around you at school for a while. Just so you know.”
Harry nodded again. He understood that, too. “But I haven’t started believing that purebloods are better than everyone else.”
“She thinks you might as well have. Given that you’ve accepted all the people, she thinks that you’ve accepted the principles, too.”
Harry sighed again. “And if I argue that I haven’t, she’ll just point to my behavior and says I shouldn’t have associated with my parents or Draco.”
“Yeah.”
Harry shrugged. “I can’t exactly turn my back on my parents now. I’m not going to start thinking Dumbledore is great when he didn’t notice ‘Moody’ being a different person all last year and didn’t even notice that Black didn’t have a trial during the first war. I’ll go to the school and I’ll speak up against pureblood bigotry when I see it. That’s all.”
“She might not think that’s enough.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at the wall. Words from Healer Letham played through his mind, ones she had spoken to him yesterday when Harry shared his worries that he might not be strong enough to act “like a Malfoy” and please his parents this year.
If they love you, they will wait for you. And I think they do, Harry. There are things you could argue you should do to compromise with them, but living through your trauma is not one of those things.
“I’ll do the best I can to be a good person and a friend to Hermione,” Harry said softly. “If that’s not enough for her—if she thinks I should go back to being called Harry Potter and letting Sirius Black into my life or whatever—then it’s the end of our friendship.”
Ron looked badly surprised. “What?”
“Would you reject your family for Hermione, Ron?”
“Well, no. But my family’s not a bunch of raging blood purists.”
“Your father treats Muggles like they’re some kind of fascinating new device. And Hermione hasn’t ever said she thinks that’s terrible. Would you turn your back on your dad if she did decide it’s terrible?”
Ron closed his eyes. Then he said, “No.”
Harry nodded, and reached for another cake.
*
Narcissa wrapped herself in a cloak of pure arrogance and disdain and stepped into Gringotts.
She knew she was immediately the focus of some attention, not all of it friendly. She kept her chin up as she walked across the lobby and towards the nearest queue. She would proceed with this request, which would be the simplest way to get hold of the Horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault. If it didn’t work, then she would turn to another plan.
But Narcissa didn’t know it wouldn’t work, yet. So she would act confident until she knew one way or the other.
Strangely, a goblin intercepted her before she got to the queue at all. “Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, and his eyes shone like coals. “Come with me.”
Narcissa turned and walked after the goblin, not flinching and not looking around when more heavy stares came to rest on her. The goblins had some reason for this. And if it was less than friendly, Narcissa carried a Portkey that would take her home to the Manor at once.
She would insist that both her sons carry them, this year, along with the tokens embedded in their skins that would ring if they were in danger.
They mounted several steps, heading into a part of Gringotts Narcissa had never seen before. She maintained her icy, unvarying expression, even as she sent silent tendrils of magic out to brush against the walls. She felt nothing that would prevent a Portkey from acting, and that was the only thing that might have prevented her from accompanying the goblin further.
They finally arrived at a heavy stone door set into a wall of pure marble. The goblin guiding Narcissa unlocked it with an iron key that looked at least a quarter of the weight of the door itself and stepped out of the way, waving his hand. Narcissa walked in.
She was in a large but low-roofed cavern of carved black stone. Narcissa remained with her hands at her side. The Portkey was a large button on her robe pocket. She didn’t need to reach for her wand to touch it.
“Mrs. Malfoy. Welcome.”
The voice came from the largest goblin she had ever seen, standing at what looked like a podium of black stone similar to the ones that the tellers used in some parts of the bank. Two other podiums flanked his, both of them large goblins with bright red eyes. Narcissa inclined her head.
“Greetings.”
She remained silent after that, until the goblin in the middle chuckled and leaned forwards. “Do you know why we have called you here?”
“No.”
“Why do you not address him with a title?” interrupted the goblin standing by the podium on the left.
“I do not know the correct one, and I do not want to offend the goblins,” Narcissa said, allowing her eyes to flicker over once before they returned to the goblin at the middle podium.
“Some people would say that you are looking to offend me,” said the middle goblin thoughtfully, tapping sharpened claws against sharpened teeth. “That you should have gone with the title that you would use to a human in this case, even if it was the wrong one.”
“I would be drawing my wand on a human in this situation, as I would assume they were trying to entrap and destroy me.”
One of the goblins laughed, a sound like rocks being crushed to powder, and more laughter echoed from the darkness beyond the podiums. Narcissa didn’t move. She had suspected more goblins were there, although she couldn’t see them. She kept her gaze fixed on the ones nearest her, the more dangerous opponents.
“A fair point,” said the middle goblin, somewhat to her shock. He leaned forwards over the podium. “Why did you come to the bank today, Mrs. Malfoy? The truth.”
“I wanted to access the vault that belongs to my sister Bellatrix Lestrange. I have reason to believe there is a Horcrux in there.”
Narcissa knew even as she spoke the name of the Dark Lord’s foul object that she was taking a chance. It was entirely possible that the goblins would approve of such a thing, or at least not disapprove. Narcissa knew little of their morality, except that they considered it dishonorable to be accused of cheating or stealing, and took up weapons at a moment’s notice.
There was a muffled noise that seemed to roll around the cavern. The middle goblin said something that was not in Gobbledegook, and the other goblins stopped speaking. Narcissa waited, her hands folded in front of her. One of them was very close to the Portkey that would take her home now.
But she did not want to use it unless she absolutely had to. This was interesting, and possibly she would find something here that could help Henry.
“An interesting claim,” said the middle goblin. “What do you claim this Horcrux looks like?”
“A golden cup with two handles, and a badger emblem. An artifact of Helga Hufflepuff.”
“And you intended to steal it?”
“I intended to destroy it.”
The middle goblin paused. One more of them emerged from the darkness behind the podiums, and whispered urgently into his ear. The goblin waved an impatient hand without taking his gaze from Narcissa, and the goblin who had spoken bowed and retreated.
“One would have thought you would restore it to its rightful owners. A cup of that description was stolen from the Smith family in the 1960s.”
Narcissa gave a delicate shrug. “The Horcrux is connected to the Dark Lord. I intend to destroy the Dark Lord for what he did to my son. I consider the Smith family’s claim less important than defending my family.”
This time, it was the goblin standing at the podium on the left who spoke. “How did you come to know this?”
“He made other Horcruxes,” Narcissa said evenly. “He entrusted my husband with one of them, and we used that in a ritual that allowed us to divine the existence of the others.” Not even to get the Hufflepuff cup would she divulge the existence of the shard in Henry. It was too great a weakness.
There was a louder murmur this time, but the goblin at the middle podium snapped his fingers, and the sound stilled. He leaned closer to her, his eyes wide with something that Narcissa couldn’t define. “How many Horcruxes did he make?”
Narcissa grimaced. “We are uncertain, but at least six.” There did remain some uncertainty, for her, about the snake Lucius had killed in the graveyard, and that would make her statement sound like truth for the goblins.
There was another storm of murmurs, this time in the language that didn’t sound like Gobbledegook. Narcissa stood with her hand resting near the Portkey and said nothing, but wondered.
The goblin at the middle podium finally nodded, and the murmurs died as if they had never happened. “We will help you fetch the Horcrux cup from the Lestrange vault, but it will be up to you to destroy it,” he said.
“I appreciate your help,” Narcissa said. “What is the price?”
“The destruction of the Horcruxes, and anything else you can destroy that relates to the being calling itself Lord Voldemort.” The goblin leaned forwards, and his intense golden eyes scanned her. “Humans are not the only ones who have prophecies. We have our own, and the Dark Lord who made six Horcruxes spells the end of our life.”
Narcissa felt a chill rake cold talons down the middle of her chest. It seemed unwise to ask for more details, such as what the goblin meant. “End of our way of life,” perhaps. But it didn’t matter. What did was that they had made it so that she was able to help Henry.
“We have a bargain.”
*
“Are you all right, Father?”
Lucius turned his head. He and Narcissa had been standing in the garden watching as Lucius’s Fiendfyre, corralled by a powerful application of the family wards, burned the cup Horcrux to death. Neither of them had heard Henry come out through the glass doors that led into the grounds. He stood now watching them with those grey eyes that were supposedly identical to Draco’s but so much more solemn.
Lucius stepped towards Henry and then checked, glancing at Narcissa. She shook her head, silently granting Lucius permission to be the one to comfort their son.
Henry had spoken to him, after all.
Lucius stepped up to Henry and wrapped his arms around him, lowering his head to breathe in the sharp scent of Calming Draught that flowed from him. Healer Letham had recommended that Henry take them, the past several nights. “I’m well, Henry. We just destroyed another Horcrux.”
“Oh.” Henry’s voice was muffled as he leaned into Lucius’s embrace. “But you don’t sound…very happy about it?”
Lucius hugged him tighter, and then drew back to let his fingers rest for a moment on Henry’s scar. “I will not be happy until all of them are destroyed. Until we have figured out some way to take the one from you.”
“Oh,” Henry said again, but it sounded more understanding this time. He snuggled closer. Lucius drew him in, relishing every moment, every second of being with a son he had once thought he would never see again. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Narcissa stood nearby, one hand clasped over her lips, eyes so bright that the moon seemed to strike sparks from them. She glanced at Lucius and then looked at the ground. Narcissa had never enjoyed weeping in front of others, even beloved others. It had been one of the things that had drawn Lucius to her when they married.
Lucius ran his hand lightly over Henry’s hair. Words crept up his throat. He wanted to propose again that Henry stay home this year, that he get tutors to help him prepare for the OWLS, and that he not venture near Hogwarts again until the Dark Lord had been defeated.
But Lucius would not take Hogwarts from his son, or the friends who had been there for Henry since before they learned his identity, even if he seemed to be having some sort of fight with the Muggleborn girl at the moment. He instead bent down to touch his lips to Henry’s scar like a blessing, before he moved back.
“How close are you to destroying all of them?” Henry asked, his head upturned and his face pale and solemn.
“We are not close yet to finding a way to take the one out of you,” Lucius said. He had promised his son honesty about this, and that was probably the only way to keep from losing Henry forever. Dumbledore had lied to him, Black had lied, and his kidnappers and Mrs. Potter’s relatives. Lucius would not join their ranks, the ranks of those who had alienated his son. “But we have possible leads on a few of the others.”
Henry nodded and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and asked, “How can I help?”
“You cannot.”
Henry scowled at him at once, his cheeks flushing pink. “Just because you think of me as a child—”
“You cannot help at the moment because we do not know how much of the information might transfer down your scar to the Dark Lord,” Lucius interrupted. He hated talking about this, but he had to. He had promised honesty. “The connection between you might be weak since he doesn’t have a body, but it might also become stronger. We do not know what his state is right now, or who might be helping you.” Lucius did not know the state of all the other Death Eaters, or who might be drawn to the Dark Lord’s side, or even coerced into helping him.
“Oh.” Henry subsided again.
“When we know more, we will tell you some things,” said Narcissa abruptly. Henry turned towards her and relaxed. It was ridiculous to be jealous of his own wife, but Lucius did feel a brief stab of it then. Henry was always more easy with his mother than his father, no matter how well they had come to understand each other in the last few weeks. “But at the moment, there is truly nothing you can help with.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, Henry. We are sure.”
“All right,” Henry said, and gave them one more hesitant smile before he turned and vanished up the steps into the Manor.
Narcissa reached out and tapped Lucius’s arm with one pointed fingernail. “Stop acting as though you have lost your Crup puppy, Lucius. Let us return to our research.”
“I know. But is it foolish of me to wish that someday he will be as easy with me as Draco is?”
“Not foolish. Only not possible right now.”
That was a good way of phrasing it, Lucius thought, one that acknowledged reality without shutting out hope for the future. He nodded, and began to focus on that future again.
*
“Does this have something to do with Henry?”
“No.” Mother leaned over and ran a tender hand down Draco’s cheek. “It occurred to me that too much lately has been about Henry. I wanted an afternoon that was just for us, in the shops in Diagon Alley, as we used to go.”
Draco felt a painful bound of relief and happiness in the center of his chest. He did want Henry to get better, of course, and he would fight to defend his brother. Maye even kill. He didn’t know yet.
But it was sometimes hurtful to see Mother and Father working so hard to identify the problem that linked Henry to the Dark Lord, and solve it. Draco sometimes felt left out. And now Mother had sensed that, before Draco could even ask her—and before he had to feel bad about asking when it might take his parents’ attention away from Henry—and they were going shopping.
Mother swept him into an Apparition, and they landed in a small alley off Diagon, between clothing shops. Mother touched Draco’s cheek again and asked, “Where do you want to go first?”
“Madam Malkin’s.”
Mother’s eyebrows rose.
“I want to get the finest set of dress robes she can commission. And dragonhide boots. And dragonhide gloves.”
Mother chuckled and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder to steer him along. It wasn’t needed, not when he was fifteen, but he lifted his chin and walked beside her, as proud and relieved as he had been on the day he got his Hogwarts letter.
A lot was about Henry, but not everything.
*
Albus sat back behind his desk and sighed softly. He had secured Sirius’s agreement to be the Defense professor this year just in time. The Ministry had tried to interject a candidate of their choice, and simply based on her presence in the Wizengamot, Albus shuddered to think of what changes she would have tried to wreak in Hogwarts.
Of course, Sirius would have to be under a glamour, and with a false name and history. Otherwise, Harry Malfoy wouldn’t be the only child not returning to the school. There were plenty of people who thought Sirius still guilty and whispered that his trial had been rigged, no matter that he’d been acquitted of betraying the Potters.
Albus leaned back with his hands clasped across his stomach and shook his head at the ceiling.
In the end, his own comfort didn’t matter much. Neither did Sirius’s comfort, or Harry’s, more was the pity. Voldemort believed in the prophecy. He would probably return to a body this year, if he hadn’t already. He would seek Harry out and attempt to destroy him. It was more important that Harry be alive and ally with people who could protect him than that he be comfortable. And while the Malfoys might say they had turned their backs on Lucius’s Lord for the sake of their son, Albus would never trust them.
The past is the only indicator I have of whether I can trust them. And I cannot.
Albus leaned forwards and picked up a piece of parchment, beginning to write, slowly and steadily. He would need to send instructions to Remus and to his allies among the goblins. There were preparations to be undertaken before Harry returned to the castle.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Mentions of Lucius/Narcissa and Ron/Hermione, otherwise gen
Content Notes: AU (Harry is a Malfoy), violence, angst, gore
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: This part 3700
Summary: Sequel to “A Darkness Like Fire.” Harry returns for his fifth year at Hogwarts, still bearing the burden of having killed someone. The burdens waiting for him at the school may make that one seem small.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” series, chaptered fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. This is another entry in my “Like a Malfoy” series, following “How Like Hatred,” “A Name Like Henry,” “A Godfather Like Him,” “A Year Like This,” “A Path Like Frost,” and “A Darkness Like Fire.” This won’t make sense without the previous stories in the series, so read those first. This will have five or six parts.
Like Clouded Endless Stars
“So why doesn’t Hermione want to come over?”
Ron looked startled. Harry didn’t think his friend had expected Harry to just ask outright like that. He put down a glass of chilled butterbeer he was drinking and sighed.
Harry waited. He and Ron were sitting on either side of a small table in a sitting room done all in gold, down to the canaries that chirped when the clock sounded the hour. And the Malfoy house-elves had brought them a feast: scones and biscuits and little cakes and butterbeer and tiny lemon pies that could be eaten in one swallow.
Ron hadn’t acted like anything was wrong, but for Harry, the chair on the other side of the table ached like a loose tooth.
“This is just what she told me,” Ron said at last.
“That’s all right.”
“She—thinks that you’re slipping into trusting the Malfoys too much. She really didn’t like that your dad and mum just took you from Hogwarts without letting Dumbledore or anyone else know where you were going.” Ron frowned a little and picked up his butterbeer again. “I pointed out they were your parents and they could make that decision, and she said she knew, but it wouldn’t have cost them anything to tell the Headmaster.”
“Yeah, but they don’t trust him.”
“Then why do they let you come back to the school? Hermione thinks it would make more sense if they took you somewhere else.”
Harry sighed and stared out the window, at an enchanted scene of shining snow and mountains under a dim blue sky. Mother had discussed sending him to Beauxbatons, he knew. If either he or Draco had been an only child, that one of them would probably have gone. But Harry didn’t want to leave his friends, and Draco didn’t want to leave his brother.
Father simply promised that there would be no need for Harry to fear anything at Hogwarts. His eyes were so sharp and cruel when he spoke those words that Harry just accepted them, and the hand that stroked his hair, and went back to trying to enjoy the last few weeks of summer.
“Hermione wants the Malfoys to be logical.”
Harry started and returned to the conversation with Ron. “I know, but they aren’t.”
“She thinks that they shouldn’t make exceptions for you just because you’re their son. She thinks they shouldn’t make exceptions for her and invite a Muggleborn to their house just because she’s one of their son’s best friends.”
Harry nodded, understanding. “She would want to see that Father and Mother changed their minds because of principles. Not people.”
“Exactly.” Ron squinted at him. “Have you been reading books or something? You sound like Hermione.”
Harry laughed despite himself. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking for a while.”
“Okay.” Ron reached for one of the little cakes. “So she’s probably going to be standoffish around you at school for a while. Just so you know.”
Harry nodded again. He understood that, too. “But I haven’t started believing that purebloods are better than everyone else.”
“She thinks you might as well have. Given that you’ve accepted all the people, she thinks that you’ve accepted the principles, too.”
Harry sighed again. “And if I argue that I haven’t, she’ll just point to my behavior and says I shouldn’t have associated with my parents or Draco.”
“Yeah.”
Harry shrugged. “I can’t exactly turn my back on my parents now. I’m not going to start thinking Dumbledore is great when he didn’t notice ‘Moody’ being a different person all last year and didn’t even notice that Black didn’t have a trial during the first war. I’ll go to the school and I’ll speak up against pureblood bigotry when I see it. That’s all.”
“She might not think that’s enough.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at the wall. Words from Healer Letham played through his mind, ones she had spoken to him yesterday when Harry shared his worries that he might not be strong enough to act “like a Malfoy” and please his parents this year.
If they love you, they will wait for you. And I think they do, Harry. There are things you could argue you should do to compromise with them, but living through your trauma is not one of those things.
“I’ll do the best I can to be a good person and a friend to Hermione,” Harry said softly. “If that’s not enough for her—if she thinks I should go back to being called Harry Potter and letting Sirius Black into my life or whatever—then it’s the end of our friendship.”
Ron looked badly surprised. “What?”
“Would you reject your family for Hermione, Ron?”
“Well, no. But my family’s not a bunch of raging blood purists.”
“Your father treats Muggles like they’re some kind of fascinating new device. And Hermione hasn’t ever said she thinks that’s terrible. Would you turn your back on your dad if she did decide it’s terrible?”
Ron closed his eyes. Then he said, “No.”
Harry nodded, and reached for another cake.
*
Narcissa wrapped herself in a cloak of pure arrogance and disdain and stepped into Gringotts.
She knew she was immediately the focus of some attention, not all of it friendly. She kept her chin up as she walked across the lobby and towards the nearest queue. She would proceed with this request, which would be the simplest way to get hold of the Horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault. If it didn’t work, then she would turn to another plan.
But Narcissa didn’t know it wouldn’t work, yet. So she would act confident until she knew one way or the other.
Strangely, a goblin intercepted her before she got to the queue at all. “Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, and his eyes shone like coals. “Come with me.”
Narcissa turned and walked after the goblin, not flinching and not looking around when more heavy stares came to rest on her. The goblins had some reason for this. And if it was less than friendly, Narcissa carried a Portkey that would take her home to the Manor at once.
She would insist that both her sons carry them, this year, along with the tokens embedded in their skins that would ring if they were in danger.
They mounted several steps, heading into a part of Gringotts Narcissa had never seen before. She maintained her icy, unvarying expression, even as she sent silent tendrils of magic out to brush against the walls. She felt nothing that would prevent a Portkey from acting, and that was the only thing that might have prevented her from accompanying the goblin further.
They finally arrived at a heavy stone door set into a wall of pure marble. The goblin guiding Narcissa unlocked it with an iron key that looked at least a quarter of the weight of the door itself and stepped out of the way, waving his hand. Narcissa walked in.
She was in a large but low-roofed cavern of carved black stone. Narcissa remained with her hands at her side. The Portkey was a large button on her robe pocket. She didn’t need to reach for her wand to touch it.
“Mrs. Malfoy. Welcome.”
The voice came from the largest goblin she had ever seen, standing at what looked like a podium of black stone similar to the ones that the tellers used in some parts of the bank. Two other podiums flanked his, both of them large goblins with bright red eyes. Narcissa inclined her head.
“Greetings.”
She remained silent after that, until the goblin in the middle chuckled and leaned forwards. “Do you know why we have called you here?”
“No.”
“Why do you not address him with a title?” interrupted the goblin standing by the podium on the left.
“I do not know the correct one, and I do not want to offend the goblins,” Narcissa said, allowing her eyes to flicker over once before they returned to the goblin at the middle podium.
“Some people would say that you are looking to offend me,” said the middle goblin thoughtfully, tapping sharpened claws against sharpened teeth. “That you should have gone with the title that you would use to a human in this case, even if it was the wrong one.”
“I would be drawing my wand on a human in this situation, as I would assume they were trying to entrap and destroy me.”
One of the goblins laughed, a sound like rocks being crushed to powder, and more laughter echoed from the darkness beyond the podiums. Narcissa didn’t move. She had suspected more goblins were there, although she couldn’t see them. She kept her gaze fixed on the ones nearest her, the more dangerous opponents.
“A fair point,” said the middle goblin, somewhat to her shock. He leaned forwards over the podium. “Why did you come to the bank today, Mrs. Malfoy? The truth.”
“I wanted to access the vault that belongs to my sister Bellatrix Lestrange. I have reason to believe there is a Horcrux in there.”
Narcissa knew even as she spoke the name of the Dark Lord’s foul object that she was taking a chance. It was entirely possible that the goblins would approve of such a thing, or at least not disapprove. Narcissa knew little of their morality, except that they considered it dishonorable to be accused of cheating or stealing, and took up weapons at a moment’s notice.
There was a muffled noise that seemed to roll around the cavern. The middle goblin said something that was not in Gobbledegook, and the other goblins stopped speaking. Narcissa waited, her hands folded in front of her. One of them was very close to the Portkey that would take her home now.
But she did not want to use it unless she absolutely had to. This was interesting, and possibly she would find something here that could help Henry.
“An interesting claim,” said the middle goblin. “What do you claim this Horcrux looks like?”
“A golden cup with two handles, and a badger emblem. An artifact of Helga Hufflepuff.”
“And you intended to steal it?”
“I intended to destroy it.”
The middle goblin paused. One more of them emerged from the darkness behind the podiums, and whispered urgently into his ear. The goblin waved an impatient hand without taking his gaze from Narcissa, and the goblin who had spoken bowed and retreated.
“One would have thought you would restore it to its rightful owners. A cup of that description was stolen from the Smith family in the 1960s.”
Narcissa gave a delicate shrug. “The Horcrux is connected to the Dark Lord. I intend to destroy the Dark Lord for what he did to my son. I consider the Smith family’s claim less important than defending my family.”
This time, it was the goblin standing at the podium on the left who spoke. “How did you come to know this?”
“He made other Horcruxes,” Narcissa said evenly. “He entrusted my husband with one of them, and we used that in a ritual that allowed us to divine the existence of the others.” Not even to get the Hufflepuff cup would she divulge the existence of the shard in Henry. It was too great a weakness.
There was a louder murmur this time, but the goblin at the middle podium snapped his fingers, and the sound stilled. He leaned closer to her, his eyes wide with something that Narcissa couldn’t define. “How many Horcruxes did he make?”
Narcissa grimaced. “We are uncertain, but at least six.” There did remain some uncertainty, for her, about the snake Lucius had killed in the graveyard, and that would make her statement sound like truth for the goblins.
There was another storm of murmurs, this time in the language that didn’t sound like Gobbledegook. Narcissa stood with her hand resting near the Portkey and said nothing, but wondered.
The goblin at the middle podium finally nodded, and the murmurs died as if they had never happened. “We will help you fetch the Horcrux cup from the Lestrange vault, but it will be up to you to destroy it,” he said.
“I appreciate your help,” Narcissa said. “What is the price?”
“The destruction of the Horcruxes, and anything else you can destroy that relates to the being calling itself Lord Voldemort.” The goblin leaned forwards, and his intense golden eyes scanned her. “Humans are not the only ones who have prophecies. We have our own, and the Dark Lord who made six Horcruxes spells the end of our life.”
Narcissa felt a chill rake cold talons down the middle of her chest. It seemed unwise to ask for more details, such as what the goblin meant. “End of our way of life,” perhaps. But it didn’t matter. What did was that they had made it so that she was able to help Henry.
“We have a bargain.”
*
“Are you all right, Father?”
Lucius turned his head. He and Narcissa had been standing in the garden watching as Lucius’s Fiendfyre, corralled by a powerful application of the family wards, burned the cup Horcrux to death. Neither of them had heard Henry come out through the glass doors that led into the grounds. He stood now watching them with those grey eyes that were supposedly identical to Draco’s but so much more solemn.
Lucius stepped towards Henry and then checked, glancing at Narcissa. She shook her head, silently granting Lucius permission to be the one to comfort their son.
Henry had spoken to him, after all.
Lucius stepped up to Henry and wrapped his arms around him, lowering his head to breathe in the sharp scent of Calming Draught that flowed from him. Healer Letham had recommended that Henry take them, the past several nights. “I’m well, Henry. We just destroyed another Horcrux.”
“Oh.” Henry’s voice was muffled as he leaned into Lucius’s embrace. “But you don’t sound…very happy about it?”
Lucius hugged him tighter, and then drew back to let his fingers rest for a moment on Henry’s scar. “I will not be happy until all of them are destroyed. Until we have figured out some way to take the one from you.”
“Oh,” Henry said again, but it sounded more understanding this time. He snuggled closer. Lucius drew him in, relishing every moment, every second of being with a son he had once thought he would never see again. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Narcissa stood nearby, one hand clasped over her lips, eyes so bright that the moon seemed to strike sparks from them. She glanced at Lucius and then looked at the ground. Narcissa had never enjoyed weeping in front of others, even beloved others. It had been one of the things that had drawn Lucius to her when they married.
Lucius ran his hand lightly over Henry’s hair. Words crept up his throat. He wanted to propose again that Henry stay home this year, that he get tutors to help him prepare for the OWLS, and that he not venture near Hogwarts again until the Dark Lord had been defeated.
But Lucius would not take Hogwarts from his son, or the friends who had been there for Henry since before they learned his identity, even if he seemed to be having some sort of fight with the Muggleborn girl at the moment. He instead bent down to touch his lips to Henry’s scar like a blessing, before he moved back.
“How close are you to destroying all of them?” Henry asked, his head upturned and his face pale and solemn.
“We are not close yet to finding a way to take the one out of you,” Lucius said. He had promised his son honesty about this, and that was probably the only way to keep from losing Henry forever. Dumbledore had lied to him, Black had lied, and his kidnappers and Mrs. Potter’s relatives. Lucius would not join their ranks, the ranks of those who had alienated his son. “But we have possible leads on a few of the others.”
Henry nodded and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and asked, “How can I help?”
“You cannot.”
Henry scowled at him at once, his cheeks flushing pink. “Just because you think of me as a child—”
“You cannot help at the moment because we do not know how much of the information might transfer down your scar to the Dark Lord,” Lucius interrupted. He hated talking about this, but he had to. He had promised honesty. “The connection between you might be weak since he doesn’t have a body, but it might also become stronger. We do not know what his state is right now, or who might be helping you.” Lucius did not know the state of all the other Death Eaters, or who might be drawn to the Dark Lord’s side, or even coerced into helping him.
“Oh.” Henry subsided again.
“When we know more, we will tell you some things,” said Narcissa abruptly. Henry turned towards her and relaxed. It was ridiculous to be jealous of his own wife, but Lucius did feel a brief stab of it then. Henry was always more easy with his mother than his father, no matter how well they had come to understand each other in the last few weeks. “But at the moment, there is truly nothing you can help with.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, Henry. We are sure.”
“All right,” Henry said, and gave them one more hesitant smile before he turned and vanished up the steps into the Manor.
Narcissa reached out and tapped Lucius’s arm with one pointed fingernail. “Stop acting as though you have lost your Crup puppy, Lucius. Let us return to our research.”
“I know. But is it foolish of me to wish that someday he will be as easy with me as Draco is?”
“Not foolish. Only not possible right now.”
That was a good way of phrasing it, Lucius thought, one that acknowledged reality without shutting out hope for the future. He nodded, and began to focus on that future again.
*
“Does this have something to do with Henry?”
“No.” Mother leaned over and ran a tender hand down Draco’s cheek. “It occurred to me that too much lately has been about Henry. I wanted an afternoon that was just for us, in the shops in Diagon Alley, as we used to go.”
Draco felt a painful bound of relief and happiness in the center of his chest. He did want Henry to get better, of course, and he would fight to defend his brother. Maye even kill. He didn’t know yet.
But it was sometimes hurtful to see Mother and Father working so hard to identify the problem that linked Henry to the Dark Lord, and solve it. Draco sometimes felt left out. And now Mother had sensed that, before Draco could even ask her—and before he had to feel bad about asking when it might take his parents’ attention away from Henry—and they were going shopping.
Mother swept him into an Apparition, and they landed in a small alley off Diagon, between clothing shops. Mother touched Draco’s cheek again and asked, “Where do you want to go first?”
“Madam Malkin’s.”
Mother’s eyebrows rose.
“I want to get the finest set of dress robes she can commission. And dragonhide boots. And dragonhide gloves.”
Mother chuckled and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder to steer him along. It wasn’t needed, not when he was fifteen, but he lifted his chin and walked beside her, as proud and relieved as he had been on the day he got his Hogwarts letter.
A lot was about Henry, but not everything.
*
Albus sat back behind his desk and sighed softly. He had secured Sirius’s agreement to be the Defense professor this year just in time. The Ministry had tried to interject a candidate of their choice, and simply based on her presence in the Wizengamot, Albus shuddered to think of what changes she would have tried to wreak in Hogwarts.
Of course, Sirius would have to be under a glamour, and with a false name and history. Otherwise, Harry Malfoy wouldn’t be the only child not returning to the school. There were plenty of people who thought Sirius still guilty and whispered that his trial had been rigged, no matter that he’d been acquitted of betraying the Potters.
Albus leaned back with his hands clasped across his stomach and shook his head at the ceiling.
In the end, his own comfort didn’t matter much. Neither did Sirius’s comfort, or Harry’s, more was the pity. Voldemort believed in the prophecy. He would probably return to a body this year, if he hadn’t already. He would seek Harry out and attempt to destroy him. It was more important that Harry be alive and ally with people who could protect him than that he be comfortable. And while the Malfoys might say they had turned their backs on Lucius’s Lord for the sake of their son, Albus would never trust them.
The past is the only indicator I have of whether I can trust them. And I cannot.
Albus leaned forwards and picked up a piece of parchment, beginning to write, slowly and steadily. He would need to send instructions to Remus and to his allies among the goblins. There were preparations to be undertaken before Harry returned to the castle.
