[From Samhain to the Solstice]: Like Clouded Endless Stars, gen, Like a Malfoy series, 4/6

[lomonaaeren]

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part Four

Hermione eyed the letter that had arrived with Hedwig. She knew that Professor Adley had been accused of attacking Harry and that Harry was spending a week at Malfoy Manor, but she didn’t know much more than that.

She was afraid to open the letter, she admitted to herself. She was afraid that it spelled the end of their friendship.

But as her mum would say, if Harry was the sort to give up a friendship with her over her sincerely held beliefs, he was the sort it wasn’t worth having as a friend. With a heavy heart, Hermione opened the letter.

Hermione,

You should know that the man calling himself Arcturus Adley was actually Sirius Black.

Hermione gasped aloud, and then ducked her head, flushing, when other people turned to stare at her. Ron leaned over, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Hermione nodded shakily and turned to the side to keep reading the letter. She felt as though someone had punched her in the gut and doused her with cold water, but she had to keep reading.

I didn’t expect you to know that or anything. But I thought you ought to know that he really did try to kidnap me, and Dumbledore and “Adley” both lied to you when they tried to get you to get him close to me.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Ron was still watching her, but she couldn’t bring herself to glance at him. An ache had taken possession of the inside of her chest.

She wanted to say that Harry was lying. She wanted to say that Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t do something like that.

But the rumors were all over the school. Plenty of people who wouldn’t feel like they had to get into the good graces of the Malfoys had seen Professor Adley grab for Harry’s arm. And that was when Draco had launched the glass shards at him.

Hermione finally opened her eyes and committed herself to reading on.

I don’t hate Black because of blood prejudice. He tried to kidnap me, again. When he first turned up at the Manor the summer before third year, he was going on about how he would involve me in some necromantic ritual that would turn me into a “real” Potter. He’s not mad anymore, because Dobby cured that, but he’s obsessed with me. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to do something like that. And neither was Draco. That’s the only reason that he cursed him like that, because he knows what Black is like when he gets going.

Hermione wondered if Harry was lying a little, or exaggerating. Because Draco couldn’t possibly have known that Black was Professor Adley, or he never would have let Black get close to Harry in the first place.

But maybe it didn’t matter. Hermione had bigger liars to confront.

She folded the letter, after making sure that it contained nothing else other than Harry’s signature, along neat, precise lines, and stood up. Ron gave her another concerned look. Hermione ignored him. She marched towards the professors’ table, where Dumbledore had just sat down.

Both Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall gave her a surprised stare as she halted in front of them. Hermione tilted her head back, and ignored the prickling heat in her cheeks. Principles were important.

“Did you lie about Professor Adley being Sirius Black, Headmaster?” she asked, with a voice that she didn’t intend to be as loud as it was. But people at the nearest tables were shutting up so they could listen, and yeah, her voice carried. Hermione clenched her fingers in front of her and stared at Dumbledore.

He looked old and very tired. He shook his head a little. “What, Miss Granger?”

“Our Defense professor. Arcturus Adley.” It hadn’t really bothered Hermione at the time, the professor having a star name. He could have been related to the Blacks. Or other purebloods could have names that ridiculous, even if they had no connection to the Black family. But now it was another clue that Harry was telling the truth. “Harry says that he’s really Sirius Black. Is that true?”

Now more than half the students were staring avidly at the professors. Dumbledore looked tired again.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said at last. “He was really Sirius Black.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, and her voice soared despite herself. “Sir, why? Why in the world would you bring someone who was known for kidnapping Harry when he was a baby into the same school where he was?”

She thought her voice broke near the end of the sentence, but she was honestly too upset to tell. She lowered her eyes and felt a stinging around the lids. This was—this was—

There was no reason to lie to her. Or to Harry and the Malfoys. They should have confronted them openly and explained that they thought the Malfoys were corrupting Harry.

Not sneaked around, the way Professor Dumbledore had told Hermione the Malfoys would. Not lied.

“We could have hardly brought Sirius here under his own name,” Dumbledore said. His gaze was fixed on her, and he was ignoring the noises of confusion and shock starting up from the tables. “The Malfoys would have refused to let Harry and Draco come back to the school.”

“Then maybe they should have!”

“We have spoken about this, Miss Granger. Please remember.”

They had. Hermione did remember. There had been so many letters during the summer explaining that Harry was vital to the future of the war, the only enemy that Voldemort would ever take seriously, and Hermione had reluctantly agreed. She didn’t know exactly why Voldemort would take Harry seriously, any more than she knew all the details of why he had wanted to kill Harry as a baby. But she knew that it was important to keep other people safe.

Now, she knew that Professor Dumbledore had played with Harry’s safety and dangled him in front of Sirius Black for no apparent reason. Now, she knew that Dumbledore would play with one person’s safety, anyway.

And he had played with Hermione’s trust.

Hermione blinked again, and again. She had spoken up in front of the Great Hall, and kind of shouted out why she had without meaning to, but she wasn’t going to cry in front of them. She turned and walked back to their House table, where Ron put an arm around her.

“Can we leave?” Hermione whispered to him. Some people were watching her, but more of the attention was on the professors. Hermione thought that Professor McGonagall and maybe some other people were questioning Dumbledore.

“Of course.”

Ron stood up with her and guided her towards the doors out of the Great Hall. And if some people tried to speak to Hermione, Ron glared them into silence.

Harry would have done the same, if he were here.

Hermione took a slow breath. She owed him an apology, and a lot of thinking. But she would write the one, and speak it when Harry came back to school, and do the other.

She wasn’t going to let two people’s lack of principles ruin her own.

*

“Henry, I want you to seriously rethink going back to Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed and leaned back on the couch in the ivory sitting room, glancing back and forth between his parents. Father kept twitching like he wanted to stand up and check Harry’s scar again. He had checked it last night, although Harry hadn’t had a dream about Voldemort then, and the night before, right after the nightmare about Voldemort returning to life.

Well, the vision. Harry was smart enough to name it for what it was.

“Where else would I go, Mother?” he asked. “I can’t go to Beauxbatons. I don’t know French. And I don’t know any of the languages that Draco talked about them using at Durmstrang, either.”

“There are such things as Translation Charms.” Mother looked as polished as the ivory around them on the surface, but Harry could see the twitching tension in her arms, the way she longed to let spells fly and destroy the delicate dishes and figurines in the room. Harry kind of wished she would. “And if you liked, we could keep you home for the rest of the Hogwarts year, and you could learn French and go to Beauxbatons during your sixth year.”

“What about Draco?”

“Obviously it would be easier for both of you, in some ways, if both of you made the same decisions,” Mother said softly. “Including easier for us. But you are twins, not the same person. I will respect what you want to do.”

Harry took a deep breath and stared out the window. There were traceries of brown in the grass, and some flowers in the beds in the gardens had closed and wouldn’t open again. He thought about staying here, and felt a great wave of longing rise in his soul.

But he also wanted to go back. He would miss Hogwarts, and Gryffindor Tower, and Ron, and Hermione, so much if he left now. And he didn’t want to let anyone push him out. Not Dumbledore, and not Black, and not Voldemort.

Besides, he didn’t think Dumbledore would give up on trying to get him to come back if Harry stayed home for the rest of the term. The last thing he needed now was for new rumors to spread about Father or Mother because Dumbledore couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“You’ve decided, then.”

There was heavy grief in Mother’s voice. Harry blinked and turned around. “I didn’t say I had.”

“You didn’t need to. I know the set of your jaw.” Mother sighed. “I won’t try to dissuade you, Henry, but I would like you to tell us why.”

Harry nodded. “I want to stay in Hogwarts,” he said. “I would miss the classes and being a Gryffindor and my friends. And I don’t want to look like a coward, like I’m running away, because I let them win. And I don’t want Dumbledore to act like you’ve kidnapped me again, the way he did after you took me home from the hospital wing at the end of last year. You know that he would try to say that.”

“You could let us worry about our own reputations,” Father said. He was leaning forwards now, straining against something that looked almost like an invisible leash. Harry suspected that he wanted to destroy things, too, or people, just like Mother.

Did I inherit that?

Well, he had killed Pettigrew.

Harry managed to keep from flinching at the reminder, with some difficulty, and took a deep breath. “You don’t want me to fight for you.”

“No, because you are a child. You have done enough fighting in your life. You should have been able to depend on adults to protect you, but you could not because of your ridiculous Muggle guardians and your ridiculous professors. We would like you to stay safe, Henry, and to stay out of this war.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling tears spring to them. Mother promptly moved over to the couch he sat on and drew him close, smoothing her hands over his hair. Harry huddled against her and wished…

He wished he could just say yes. The thought of being taken care of, of having parents who were real parents, still seemed like a miracle to him sometimes. He wanted to sit back and let them do it.

But he also knew that they hadn’t found all the Horcruxes yet, and hadn’t stopped Voldemort yet. Hell, Voldemort had just returned to a new body. One of his first priorities would probably be killing Father, because he would hate Father for being a traitor.

Harry couldn’t sit back and let them take all the risks. He had even let Draco take a risk for him with Black, because he was the one who had cast the spell and Harry was the one who had stood there like a frightened rabbit.

He had to do better than that. Maybe he should hope that he had inherited their parents’ violence, because sooner or later, he would have to fight back.

“I wish I could,” he whispered.

“But your hero complex won’t let you?”

Harry flinched from the lacerating tone in Father’s voice. He felt Mother shift slightly, and thought she would say something about it, too, but she said simply, “Lucius, leave the room, now.”

There was a pause, and then Father strode out. Harry sighed and leaned harder against Mother. “I’m sorry if I disappointed him,” he whispered.

“He is angry about the situation, not about you,” Mother said, and spread her fingers around the shell of Harry’s ear. He sank a little more into her. “But his anger is still not something you need right now.”

They sat like that, and Harry cuddled closer, and thought there was one thing better than parents who protected him against all the troubles of the world. That was parents who respected his decisions, and protected him against themselves when necessary.

*

I’m so sorry. I should have believed you.

That was what Hermione’s letter had said, but Harry still wasn’t prepared to step into the middle of the Gryffindor common room and have Hermione say in a clear, carrying voice, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry halted, and blinked. He glanced at Ron, and saw from Ron’s wide eyes that he hadn’t thought Hermione would do this, either. He kind of jerked his head back at her, and Harry turned and faced her.

But he understood when he saw her red cheeks and the way her eyes fastened on the floor. She had had confrontations with him in public and might have contributed to people thinking he was a blood purist in public, so she was going to make her apology in public, too.

Harry thought about telling her that he didn’t need her to. But maybe part of him did, because he just nodded and asked, “Why?”

“Because that professor was your kidnapper. And the people I thought had your best interests at heart didn’t. You were right about Adley, and you were right about Dumbledore.” More than one person murmured or stared when she said that, but Hermione had told Harry about confronting Dumbledore in the Great Hall, so he knew why they weren’t that surprised. “I have no idea what they were playing at. But you deserve better than that.”

Hermione lifted her head and dashed away a tear with one hand. But she stood there and kept speaking, a true Gryffindor. “I’m sorry, Harry. For what they did, and how they contributed to it.”

Ron nudged him in the back, and Harry realized that he was standing there and gaping at Hermione like an idiot. Ron must be afraid that their friendship was never going to be repaired if he didn’t go talk to Hermione now.

“I accept your apology,” Harry said, and stepped forwards with his hand out for her to shake.

Hermione launched herself at him in a hug instead, and Harry managed to keep himself from flinching. He hugged her back, and some people laughed and some people burst into applause, led by Fred and George. Hermione laughed wetly against Harry’s neck, and he let himself smile.

“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” Hermione whispered. “But thank you for forgiving me.”

Harry held her back, and smiled, and smiled harder as he noticed the relieved look on Ron’s face, and imagined what Draco would say.

*

“I imagine that your last few months have been rather quiet compared to the first.”

Harry nodded and sipped the tea he’d once again brought with him to the Room of Requirement. “Dumbledore had to hire a replacement for Black. It sort of concerns me that I don’t know where he sent Black, though.”

“Do you need to keep track of him? Can you let your parents do that?”

With Healer Letham, it was a genuine question, not the implied “Can’t you let your parents do that?” that it would have been from almost anyone else. Harry thought about it, but only for a minute, before he shook his head regretfully. “I sort of wish I could, but I distrust him too much. I need to know where he is.”

“I might be able to get Dumbledore to tell me.”

Harry blinked. “Why?”

“I could write to him in the guise of a concerned parent and ask.”

Harry sat up slowly. “You would lie for me to someone else? Doesn’t that sort of compromise, I don’t know, some sort of professional Mind-Healer ethics or something?”

Healer Letham smiled. “I didn’t promise to lie, but I am keeping your secrets from your parents, and standing up for you to them when necessary. I could also stand up to Dumbledore. I would do it directly, but I think that might endanger my ability to come and visit you in the school.”

Harry nodded slowly. His mind was whirling. He had never even thought of asking Healer Letham for help. In his mind, she was sort of in the middle of helping him more anyway, since he went and talked to her about things that he couldn’t ask anyone else about.

“I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I don’t want Dumbledore to lie to you about it and us to believe him and then get surprised if Black shows up somewhere else. And I think that he would probably lie to you about it.”

Healer Letham sighed a little. “I cannot disprove your conclusions. Disappointing though this is to hear about the Headmaster of your school and how he shouldn’t be lying to students and their parents, I suppose I should reserve my efforts for where they would do the most good.” She settled back against the couch and swung her foot. “And how is your reconciliation going with Hermione?”

“We’re reconciled.”

Healer Letham tilted her head at him.

Harry flushed a little. “All right, so I might never trust her as completely as I did again, but we are. She apologized in public, and it took a lot of courage for her to do that. Especially since Hermione hates being wrong.”

“Does she?” Healer Letham propped her chin up on her fist, smiling a little. “And what do you think will happen the next time you have a disagreement?”

“She’ll try to make more room for my point of view, but then she’ll end up snapping a little and telling me all the reasons why she’s right. Then she’ll look guilty and pretend that she never snapped.”

Healer Letham laughed. “It sounds as though you know your friend well.”

Harry smiled back at her. Then a sharp sting of pain came from his scar, and he inhaled as he reached up to rub it.

“Do you want to talk about this?”

Healer Letham’s eyes were both sad and considering. Harry shook his head a little. “I haven’t had any new visions since that one where I saw him reborn. I just—I don’t know if he’s aware of the connection and he’s blocking me, or if he’s focusing on something else and not really thinking about me at all. Or maybe I only get the pain when he’s thinking about me.”

“And you’re content to leave the Horcrux hunt to your parents?”

“They don’t want me to know too much, in case he does sense the connection and leave it open.”

Healer Letham nodded. “Then let us speak of your studies. How are your explorations of defensive magic with Mr. Tonks going?”

*

Andromeda knocked on the Manor’s door and then shifted back and forth in place as she waited. She hadn’t told Narcissa she was coming before she did, or she would simply have come via the Floo. But an idea had struck her in the middle of walking through Diagon Alley, and she hadn’t been able to wait before she came to the Manor, just Apparating straight here.

Narcissa opened the door and frowned a little. “Lucius and I are busy, Andromeda—”

“I might have an idea for what can remove a Horcrux from a child,” Andromeda interrupted.

It seemed to her that Narcissa stopped breathing, and simply stared at her in the silence of a stopped heartbeat for long moments. Then she reached out a hand and yanked Andromeda into the house.

Andromeda didn’t smile, but she could feel something shining at the bottom of her soul. She had rather thought that might be Narcissa’s reaction.