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Part Three

“I want you to report to me everything Lucius Malfoy said to you.”

Harry carefully marshalled his face into the expressionless mask that Augusta expected to see every time she looked at him, and bowed from the waist. Augusta was sitting in her private study, a room Harry had only been invited into once, when he first moved into Longbottom Manor.

“Yes, Mrs. Longbottom.”

The room had probably been different at one point, but Harry had only seen it after Ginny died, when photographs and portraits of her covered the walls. Harry had always thought that you could only paint one portrait of a person, but it seemed that it was different if you did it at different stages of their lives. Pictures of Ginny laughing, flying on brooms, holding up her Hogwarts letter, leaning on her brothers’ shoulders, running with her hair steaming behind her, were everywhere around him, leaving only a few bare stretches of wall.

In the center of it all, her back to the desk that stood beneath the only window, sat Augusta Longbottom in a rocking chair. She stared at Harry, silent and motionless, for long moments, and then gestured for him to rise.

Harry did, and stood in front of Augusta with his hands clasped behind his back, looking over her shoulder slightly. It was the way she preferred everyone to stand.

“Why did Malfoy want to court you?”

“He was trying to gather information to use against Ian.” Harry kept his voice as emotionless as possible, too, calm and cool and crisp. “He pretended that he was interested in me because a Diviner had seen my name in her tarot cards—”

“That’s not the way tarot cards work, boy.”

Harry thought for a moment of Uncle Vernon’s voice and how he’d spoken the word boy with hatred and contempt. The only difference when it came to Augusta Longbottom’s voice was that grief was the source of some of the acid. “Yes, Madam.”

“Why did you say it, then?”

“That’s what Malfoy claimed, Madam.”

“And you were stupid enough to believe him, I see. Go on.”

Harry wanted to rage and storm, but what would be the point? This was the woman whose approval Ian had had to gain for Harry to live in the manor, and she could order him thrown out in a moment. And then he would die at the wands of the Weasleys.

“Today Malfoy claimed that he had gone back through Pensieve memories and Prophet articles to try and discern the way Ian thought of me, but he couldn’t make it out. He was annoyed that I wouldn’t tell him more about Ian than he already knew. He said so many offensive and stupid things that I broke the courtship off.”

“Despite Ian wanting you to continue the courtship, although Merlin knows you don’t deserve the honor even from someone like Malfoy.”

Harry said nothing.

Augusta rocked in her chair for a moment. Then she slapped her hands against the chair arms. “Do you know what you did by killing Ginny?”

The only relief here was that Harry already knew this subject went, the way the arguments ran, and that meant he wouldn’t have to lie about what had happened with Malfoy anymore.

“I deprived Ian of the love of his life,” Harry said, in the emptiest voice he could. “I deprived Neville of someone he thought of as the sister, and the Weasley family of its beating heart. I deprived you of your goddaughter.”

“If that were all. You deprived us all of a chance to reverse Fate!”

Harry’s eyes widened before he could stop himself. He had never heard anything about this before. Reverse what Fate?

“If you’d done what you were bloody supposed to do, then everything would be fine!” Augusta rocked her chair more aggressively. “The years when they were children were idyllic. I was healing from my grief for Frank and Alice. Neville had other children who were like siblings to him. Ian was being supported and protected from the immense burden he would have to assume later. And Ginny—”

She shuddered and put her hands over her eyes.

Harry continued saying nothing. What could he say? In essence, these were the same accusations that everyone had flung at him since Ginny died, but the talk about “reversing Fate” was new.

Augusta stopped rocking and closed her eyes. Tears glimmered under the lids. Then she turned her head and stared at the nearest portrait, where Ginny, at sixteen—or what looked like it, what she’d looked like when she died—stood with her hand resting against the surface of the portrait. Her eyes were huge and sad, and she turned her head away as Harry stared at her.

“Instead,” Augusta whispered, “we’re all paying the price. Get out of my sight.”

Harry was glad enough to do so. As he closed the door quietly behind him, he wondered if he could go to the Longbottom library and take out books on Fate without triggering some alarm ward.

A floorboard creaked. Harry looked up, wondering if Neville or Ian were coming down the stairs. But it was coming from the short corridor that ran between the door to Augusta’s study and the staircase. Harry hesitated, then cast a Disillusionment Charm and a Silencing Charm on himself and crept down the corridor.

There was a door standing open that Harry didn’t remember ever having seen before. He couldn’t see much of the room beyond, because Ian was standing with his arms folded in the doorway. His back was to the corridor and Harry, thankfully. Ian was a powerful wizard who sometimes could see right through Disillusionment Charms.

“It’s getting worse.”

“Of course it’s getting worse.” Ian’s voice was still stern, but flat and tired, too. “We thought this would work, but given that Harry broke off the courtship, we’re in an even more terrible position than we were.”

What terrible position? Why? Harry felt as though his curiosity had woken up from a sleep in a cocoon. It reminded him of the way he had felt during his first two years at Hogwarts, when he was creeping around after the Philosopher’s Stone and what turned out to be a basilisk. He hadn’t been part of either defeat of Voldemort. The first time, Ian had left him behind Body-Bound in the Gryffindor common room, and the second time, Harry had been Petrified for most of a month. They never had told him who the Heir of Slytherin was.

Neville let out a gusty sigh and then spoke in much the same cracked voice Harry had heard from him that morning when he was explaining how beloved Ginny had been. “And you’re sure there’s no way that we can retrieve our position?”

“The runes are sure.”

“Fuck the runes!”

“They’re the ones your grandmother chose, Neville.” Ian raised a hand and rubbed his forehead, the way he’d used to do before the end of the war when his scar was hurting. “And Molly and Arthur. What are we supposed to do now? They depended on all the parts being in place.”

“But…maybe if we could find someone…Luna, Hermione—”

“You think I would want to marry either one of them?”

Harry staggered in place. Marry? What the fuck? Hermione was dating Ron, and the last Harry had heard, Luna hadn’t been interested in dating anyone. Although he hadn’t spoken to her since she had glared at him, eyes bright with tears, and told him he was worse than the Ministry for letting her best friend die.

“You really think there’s no way to turn this back?”

“The only ways are ones that would be worse than the disease.”

“The disease is the worst part of this, Ian!”

“It’s not as bad as necromancy. Not as bad as human sacrifice. Not as bad as Horcruxes.”

Harry blinked. What’s a Horcrux?

“But you know what will happen if we don’t find the cure for the Horcrux!”

“I know, Neville. I’m working on it, honestly I am, but sometimes I think that I should give in and let this have me.”

“There is no way that is going to happen!” Shadows shifted in the room, and Harry could see Neville standing with his hands gripping Ian’s arms. “I won’t let you lie down and die even if you want to! Do you know how much the magical world needs you?”

Ian swallowed, a delicate bob of his throat. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him look vulnerable. “And you and Augusta and the Weasleys, I know,” he whispered. “But if it comes to it, promise that you’ll do what we discussed last week—”

“It won’t. I’ll do whatever I have to do to prevent that.”

“Do you remember when Ginny was alive? How we laughed when she said that she would make a ring out of unicorn horn for me to wear?”

“I remember.” Neville’s voice broke.

It seemed they weren’t going to do anything but reminisce about Ginny after that, so Harry turned and crept down the corridor. He had other things that he wanted to go look up in the Longbottom library now, although he would have to be careful to cast the research spells where no one could overhear him.

Whatever Horcruxes were, Ian had kept even the word secret from Harry, and for all Harry knew, there were Longbottom portraits or house-elves who would be spying to overhear any instance of it. He had to be careful.

But at least now, he had some proof that there was more to this than just grief over Ginny. Horcruxes. Runes. Some mysterious disease Ian had, although he’d never seemed sick in the last ten years since Harry had met him.

At least I have something to look up.

*
“There is being an owl for Master Harry.”

Harry looked up, blinking. He’d searched in as many books as he could in the Longbottom library, but he hadn’t been able to find a mention of the word Horcrux anywhere. Now he was looking at books on runes, and growing more and more frustrated. He hadn’t taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, but even so, he’d thought he understood enough to find a reference to runes in marriage. Apparently not.

“Master Harry, the owl.”

The Longbottom library had no windows, because sun might damage the books, and was lit by orbs of golden light floating near the ceiling. Many owls got lost when they tried to deliver a message to someone there, so the house-elves usually brought them. The one standing in front of Harry now held out the owl insistently. It hooted gently, and extended a leg with a plain letter attached to it.

Harry cast a detection charm for poison, and then one for curses, because he couldn’t think of many people who would send him a letter without that. Neither made the parchment flash, but he still used his wand to float it into the air and open it.

Dear Harry, it said, in Lucius’s handwriting.

Harry rolled his eyes and thought about burning the letter and dismissing the owl without a reply. But he was a little curious as to what the bastard had to say for himself—and, he would admit, more curious that this particular message had come on such plain parchment and without any ribbons or wax seals or anything that would indicate Malfoy was trying to start another courtship. Harry let the owl perch on his arm and dismissed the elf while the letter hovered in midair for him to read.

I most sincerely apologize. I should have known that it would seem as if I were trying to acquire information on your brother from your reactions. Let me reiterate that my interest is in you, and you only. I could read the Prophet or speak to my acquaintances in the Wizengamot if I wanted to know what your brother was doing.

Harry snorted unwillingly. That was true. Other than this reference to runes and Horcruxes and moving parts, Ian had no secrets that Harry knew of. He was always making speeches and proposing legislation and meeting with people in public, to prove that he was serious about the reform of the wizarding world.

You stood up to me. I can recall no one who did that. It was not Narcissa’s way to speak in open argument. If we disagreed, she would exit the room and go about things in her own manner. Draco would either give in at once or speak softly to my face and attempt to do whatever he wanted later on. Other people I have never been close enough to to risk such a thing. My Galleons spoke for me.

The Dark Lord was so powerful that I felt compelled to follow and worship him. He could have put me to death with a wave of his wand. That was not equality, either.

You have shown me a way that I did not know existed. And you simply left instead of trying to force me to do what you wanted. You spoke the truth as you knew it, and you entrusted me with a great deal of your past. That matters to me in a way that you might not understand at the moment.

I see now what the Diviner meant, when she said that you would be the person who could show me true joy. I cannot stop thinking about you, about your courage.

Harry blinked at the letter. It sounded honest, although he had heard people say that Lucius Malfoy could convince the sun it was blue. And at least it wasn’t talking about the looks that Harry knew he didn’t possess.

But this just proved that Malfoy didn’t know him very well, either. Harry wasn’t courageous compared to other Gryffindors.

He looked back at the letter, thinking that he might as well read the rest of it and decide if it still sounded honest when he’d had time to consider it.

You are unlike anyone else I have ever known. You make me wish to change, to become a different person, and I did not know that was possible. I had thought that the person who brought me joy would confirm me in myself, not change me.

I know that you have broken the courtship, but that does not mean that a new one cannot begin. Let me prove myself to you, please. Ask me for anything that you need, and I can deliver it to you. I have money, I have magic, I have strength and pride.

Let me prove myself.

The signature was a flourishing Lucius Malfoy. Harry curled his fingers around the edge of the parchment, thinking.

Malfoy didn’t promise kindness and love. But then again, Harry had dumped all these things about Ian and the Weasleys and the Longbottoms on him earlier. Maybe Malfoy knew that Harry had little experience with kindness and love. Maybe he thought Harry wouldn’t believe him if he promised them.

Harry exhaled slowly and stared at the parchment. He did know one thing he could ask for. He just wasn’t sure that he trusted Malfoy to continue a courtship, even if he really wanted an answer to a question.

He made a mistake. You could say that. He did apologize. And if you tell him that you’re giving him a test and he fails it, then you could break this courtship in the future, the same way you did that one.

Harry nodded. That made sense to him. And it seemed unlikely that he would get what he needed from any book in the Longbottom library.

He reached for a scrap of parchment that he’d intended to take notes on, before finding out that there were virtually no books for what he needed, and dipped his quill in the ink.

Dear Malfoy,

I am tempted to accept your apology on a provisional basis, and your courtship, too. There’s an answer to a question I need. If you can answer it, then I’ll consider reopening the courtship, but I’ll just leave again if you try to use me for information on Ian. Or the rest of them, for that matter.

Tell me what Horcruxes are. Everything you know about them. And what they might have to do with runes.

He thought about what he should sign, and then just shrugged and signed his first name. It wasn’t like Malfoy didn’t know who he’d written to.

He stood up and marched up to the owlery, where Hedwig ruffled eager feathers and flew over to him. Harry couldn’t help smiling as he stroked her neck. She was the only person he knew whose opinion of him had never changed.

“Please take this to Lucius Malfoy, Hedwig,” he said quietly. “Make sure that he’s alone when you bring it to him. And make sure that I’m alone when you bring the answer back to me.” He didn’t know if that would be enough to escape the portraits and house-elves, but Hedwig was smart enough to avoid him if they were there. He thought.

Hedwig bobbed her head and took off, soaring so fast out the window that she left a few feathers behind. Harry leaned his arms on the stone sill and stared out across the Longbottom grounds. They had a few truly spectacular gardens.

He hadn’t been allowed in most of them, and the times that he was, Neville had come with him and stared at him with wide, sullen eyes. It had destroyed any pleasure Harry took in them, and he’d retreated inside quickly.

Neville had probably stared at him because of something to do with Horcruxes, come to think of that. But what were they?

Harry shook his head, and went back to the library and his Runes books. He couldn’t deny the pulse of hope in his chest, but he was doing what he could. He didn’t dare hope too much.

*

Hedwig brought the next letter from Malfoy to Harry in his bedroom that night, when he was already reading in bed. He blinked and opened it. He hadn’t thought Malfoy would write back that fast.

Of course, it turned out that he easily could have, because it was only nine words.

Meet me at the edge of the Malfoy wards.

Harry bit his lip and touched Hedwig’s beak, making her look inquiringly at him. “What do you think?” he asked. “Did he—was he plotting to kill me, do you think?” He felt a little silly asking an owl for advice, but he had no one else to turn to.

Hedwig only made a low, calm noise. Harry settled back against his pillow. It seemed that Malfoy hadn’t been that agitated when he was writing, then.

Well, what did he have to lose? If Malfoy tried to kill him, Harry could defend himself. But he didn’t think that Malfoy would have much reason to kill him.

“Except if he’s embarrassed about the letter he wrote me and trying to erase the evidence,” he mumbled.

Hedwig hopped up onto Harry’s outstretched arm and bit him gently on the ear. Harry held up the letter, and Hedwig billed it. “You think I should go, then? And see what happens?”

Hedwig made the calm noise again. Harry sighed and stood. He certainly wasn’t going to get more sleep like this, for wondering if Malfoy had found the answer to his question. And if he had, Harry wanted to know about it right away.

“All right, girl. Keep an eye out for house-elves, will you?”

*

Having managed to escape his bedroom and down the stairs without alerting house-elf spies, Harry Apparated to the edge of the Malfoy wards. When he did, he started to walk towards the gravel driveway up to the front doors that he had used yesterday, but the doors flew open and Malfoy came hurtling out.

Harry found himself drawing his wand as Malfoy passed under a set of floating lanterns that cast clear light on him. His face looked tight and strained, paler than ever, and his long hair was ruffled as though he’d been pulling on it.

He grabbed Harry’s forearms and stared into his face, demanding in a low voice, “Have you come in contact with one?”

“What?”

“A Horcrux. Have you come in contact with one?” Malfoy shook him slightly.

“I have no idea what they are, so how would I know?”

“I think you would know.” Malfoy shut his eyes and stood there, holding Harry’s forearms. Harry was irritated to discover that his skin seemed to burn beneath the touch the way it had when Malfoy had escorted him places.

It’s because I haven’t ever had many people touching me. That’s all it is.

Malfoy took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Horcruxes are objects in which a shard of soul can be stored,” he said quietly. “It requires a murder to break loose the shard and empower the vessel. The Dark Lord used them to become immortal.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, so sickened that he could feel his stomach squirming. He now had an excellent idea of what Ian, Neville, and Ron had been doing during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts.

“So they had to destroy them so he could—”

Malfoy gave a choppy nod of his head. When he closed his eyes, lines appeared across his forehead that Harry wished he could smooth away. While he was wrestling with that unwelcome thought, Malfoy said quietly, “I had one in my possession.”

“You—why you?”

“It was given to my father, Abraxas, who proved himself a more loyal Death Eater than I did.” Malfoy’s voice had a faint tone of sarcasm, but the look he gave Harry was entirely serious. “I wished to rid myself of it. I cast it into the cauldron of a girl who stood nearby in the bookshop before what would have been your second year at Hogwarts, who was convenient.”

“You’re why I wound up Petrified?”

“I do regret that extremely.”

“Now!”

“Yes, now.” Malfoy’s fingers tightened on his arms. “Harry, think. I cast it into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron. It possessed her and allowed her to open the Chamber of Secrets and release the basilisk. She was not perfect. I need you to understand that other people around you may have allowed their grief to rewrite history, but you need not think of her the same way.”

Harry reeled, and thought he probably would have fallen except for Malfoy’s grip on his arms. It almost didn’t matter that Malfoy had been the one to give this Horcrux to Ginny and was one of the reasons that Harry had ended up Petrified. Ginny had been the one to creep around the school releasing the monster.

Ginny. She wasn’t perfect.

Harry shuddered all over, and the thought that hit his mind like a Bludger was I always knew that, but I never had any evidence for it before.

“Where did you hear the word Horcrux?” Malfoy asked, giving Harry another little shake, and bringing Harry’s attention back to him. “In what context?”

“I heard Neville and Ian talking,” Harry murmured through numb lips. His mind was still mostly on Ginny, and how they had forgiven her for being possessed but not Harry for not holding Ginny back in the Battle of Hogwarts. “I didn’t understand everything. They talked about Horcruxes, and runes, and made it sound like Ian had some kind of disease. Or someone did, anyway. At one point, Neville suggested that Ian could marry Hermione Granger or Luna Lovegood. I didn’t understand that part—”

Malfoy inhaled so hard that he sounded like Ian speaking Parseltongue for a moment. Then he said, “Harry, will you please stay the night with me?”

“What?”

“I did not mean that you should sleep in the same bed.” Malfoy’s words were falling over each other like rocks being tumbled in a stream, and Harry had to tell himself that this was no time to find it endearing. “I meant, will you stay in the Manor? Not go back to Longbottom Manor?”

“They’re going to know something’s wrong if I don’t.”

“If I am right in my suspicions, then they intend to kill you. If not tonight, then soon.”

Harry swallowed, staring at Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes shone in the lantern light with what seemed to be desperation.

“Swear something to me first.”

“If I can.”

“Do you really find it intriguing that I stood up to you? Do you really think that you could want to marry me someday?”

Malfoy stood very straight. He stared at Harry with a gaze so deep that Harry felt as though it were cutting through parts of himself Ian’s grief and worry and hatred had never touched. Harry stood straighter, too.

“I swear on my name and my magic that I find you intriguing, and that I cannot only imagine you married to me, but I will do everything I can and that you allow to make it happen.”

Harry nodded, and tried to lessen the feeling that he was falling from a great height without a broom. “All right. Then—I’ll stay in the Manor tonight. In a separate bed.”

“Of course,” Malfoy said, and held out his arm in the escort position. “Sharing the same one would not be appropriate until we are in a more advanced phase of the courtship.”

Harry swallowed hysteria and laid his hand on Malfoy’s arm. He hoped he would find safety and answers in the morning. He might know what Horcruxes were, but not exactly what Neville and Ian had been talking about, even now, or why Ian had to marry someone.

But for now, he could cling to one revelation.

She wasn’t perfect. They were wrong. They were wrong about her, and they were wrong about me.