[From Litha to Lammas]: Like the Fox, Like the Phoenix, Like a Malfoy series, gen, 3/6

[lomonaaeren]

Lucius narrowed his eyes as he read Henry’s letter again. Honestly, he didn’t understand what Henry was writing. He had wanted Lucius to promise never to use necromancy again, and now he was asking him to take it up?

He stated his reasons vaguely. He said something about helping someone, but that was not enough for Lucius.

He tucked the letter into a pocket and picked up Draco’s. This concern, at least, was easier to address. Lucius could go and ask Narcissa what kind of surprise she was preparing for their boys, and she would answer him, since she had no reason to keep it secret from him.

When he got to her bedroom, Narcissa was nowhere to be found, but Jester, her elf, bowed and said, “Mistress Narcissa is in her private lab, Master Lucius.”

Lucius blinked. It seemed that Narcissa was serious about a surprise for the boys, then. She rarely brewed nowadays, at least not without using the common lab that any of the family could enter. “All right. If you will tell her—”

“She said she will not be disturbed.”

Lucius frowned at the wall that he knew concealed Narcissa’s private lab. Not even he knew how to touch the stones or disarm the wards in the right way to enter, not without Narcissa’s guidance. She was as distant in that small room as she would have been in Muggle London.

“Very well,” he said slowly. “But do tell her that I want to speak to her when she comes out.”

“Of course, Master Lucius.”

Lucius stepped out of Narcissa’s rooms, feeling a prickle up his spine. There were too many coincidences at the moment for him. Draco and Henry’s strange letters, Sirius Black wanting to reconcile, Narcissa planning a “surprise” that she had neglected to tell him about…

He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew that he didn’t like it.

For the moment, however, he could do nothing but answer his sons’ letters, and look through some of his books on necromancy and Dark Arts, and try to prepare himself for whatever was coming as best he could.

*

Regulus woke in the night to flaring pain all up and down his left arm, where the Dark Mark lay.

Despite the agony, he stayed still for an instant with panic thundering up and down his spine like an echo of the summons. No. No. He can’t have found me—he would have had no reason to call me—he doesn’t know I’m alive—

But that interview at the Records Archive. Any number of people could have seen Regulus enter the Ministry, and any of them could have noticed the change in the records that had made Ms. Ossory and her people call him in.

Regulus stumbled to his feet, because the pain wouldn’t stop unless he answered the call. And then he halted again, shivering and bowing his head. What exactly was he going to say? He didn’t have a lie that would fool the Dark Lord.

He did have one defense, though, one person he thought would help him and would be able to hold back the summons.

“Kreacher!”

There was a moment long enough that Regulus feared Kreacher was attending Sirius and wouldn’t be able to get away, or not cleanly. And then he appeared in front of Regulus wringing his ears. “Oh, Master Regulus, the Dark Lord has found you! What is Master Regulus going to do? What is he going to do?”

“Kreacher.” Regulus crouched down and pitched his voice low. He had done this so many times that the impulse cut through his own fear. “Do you remember how you used to block out the pain of that curse Mother cast on me?” The curse had never had a name, and might have been a spell that Walburga Black had invented, a pain curse that struck directly at the nerves.

Kreacher looked up at him with huge eyes and nodded, sniffling a little. Regulus shuffled towards his friend and held out his arm, while all the muscles screamed as if they were going to be cut off.

“Then see if you can do it this time. I’ll concentrate on rejecting him with all my heart and soul. The Dark Mark has to be taken willingly, so maybe—”

The next pulse of pain nearly rocked Regulus off his feet. He could feel the desire to follow the call, dark as the waters of the lake. If he was going to end up dead one way or the other, what did it matter if he Apparated to the Dark Lord and died, or died here resisting the pain?

But Kreacher cried out and grabbed Regulus’s Mark with both hands. For long moments, nothing seemed to happen, except that Regulus could think a little.

And he set himself to resist. He hadn’t survived the lake and returned into a bright, terrifying life for this. Even if it was just for Kreacher and Henry and the chance of destroying more Horcruxes, he would resist.

His rejection twined with Kreacher’s magic, and Regulus could feel them spreading over him like a blanket made of Augurey feathers. The next moment, the pain vanished, and Regulus sobbed and lifted his left arm to stare at the Mark.

It was a glowing, poisonous green. He had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t even tell if the Dark Lord had given up on calling him. He couldn’t feel anything.

“Master Regulus.”

Regulus snapped his attention back to Kreacher, who was rocking on his heels, his head bowed. Regulus reached out and embraced him, drawing Kreacher close against his body. “You did well,” he whispered. “Do you hear me, Kreacher? You did so well. Do you think you can maintain this level of magic?”

Kreacher panted without replying for long moments. Then he replied, “Kreacher can, but he must stay in contact with Master Regulus.”

Regulus understood. They’d been having Kreacher return to Grimmauld Place and stay there most of the time, so that Sirius wouldn’t have a reason to suspect something was wrong, but that wasn’t going to be possible now.

Regulus didn’t care. He would still duel Sirius to take control of the wards and gain the Horcrux, but he needed his friend here.

He tightened his grip. “Then stay here, Kreacher. You’re more than welcome.”

Kreacher put his face close to Regulus’s, and shook for a long moment. Regulus remained still, arms still wrapped around his friend, the house-elf who had understood him and fought for him when no one else would have.

Other wizards and witches might make fun of his friendship with Kreacher. Some people might doubt that it was worth their time to talk to elves at all, like Ms. Ossory. And some might think that since Kreacher was a bound house-elf, this was more slavery than friendship.

That didn’t matter to Regulus or Kreacher, which meant that it mattered to no one Regulus considered important. Not when it came to this.

He Transfigured his end table into a small cot for Kreacher, with the straw-filled pillows that helped grow elf magic, and went to sleep in his own bed again, his hand dangling and locked in his friend’s. They stayed like that all night long.

*

“Henry?”

“Draco.”

Draco’s skin prickled. Henry had turned around and was smiling at him, but there was something about the smile that was—off. A little more crimped than he normally smiled, perhaps, just as there was something more formal about his posture.

“Are you all right?” Draco blurted, and then wondered if he should have. If Mother was right and Henry needed some independent of his own to—

“Of course.” Henry’s brow wrinkled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I’m not going to say anything about it. Maybe Mother is right, and if she is, then he’ll be upset that I’m fussing.

And if something was wrong, something deep, then Draco didn’t want to let on that he’d noticed. He needed to spend some time finding out what it was and how he could help without annoying his brother.

“I thought you looked unhappy,” Draco said, because that was a vague and safe thing to say, and Henry’s face relaxed into a smile. With a hint of a sneer to it, Draco thought, and his conviction that was something really wrong grew. Henry didn’t sneer even when he would have had a perfect right to, such as when Granger had betrayed him.

“Oh, no. There were a few people having a pillow fight, of all things, in our bedroom last night, and it was hard to get to sleep.”

“Finnigan and Thomas?”

“Yes, them. Can you believe that Finnigan was whinging about my getting up on time this morning? He knows what time breakfast is, there’s no reason for him to stay up late the night before if he thinks that he’ll have trouble rising.”

Draco just nodded, while part of him thought, Henry calls Finnigan and Thomas by their first names, as little as they might deserve it. And he wouldn’t use a phrase like “have trouble rising.” “Have trouble getting up,” maybe.

“I should perhaps ask if you’re all right, twin brother?” Henry tilted his head in a parody of concern—and Draco was sure that was what it was, even though he would have a hard time spelling out why. “All these questions aren’t like you.”

“In the wake of the ritual? Of course they are.”

“Of course.” But Henry’s smile was false, and he excused himself, after a minute, to hurry into the Great Hall.

Draco followed him, but he was sure he was a poor conversational partner at breakfast, since Pansy, Theo, and Blaise mostly ended up talking around him. He was watching his brother, and that Granger was doing the same thing only confirmed that he was right to worry.

Mother won’t listen, and there’s no time to write to Father, not if this is something serious. I’ll have to do something today or tomorrow. I can’t leave Henry to suffer.

*

They are so easy to fool.

Riddle’s voice echoed through Harry’s head—or his portion of his head, or his portion of his mind. He didn’t understand exactly how the possession worked, something else that Riddle regularly made fun of him for.

They don’t know you at all, your friends and your pet Mudblood and your esteemed twin brother. They might look at me oddly sometimes, but they agree with me and follow me around. I could corrupt them if I wanted to. It would take me a few months to have them casting the Cruciatus at unsuspecting targets. What do you say, Henry? Should I do that?

Harry screamed in response and flung himself at the glassy barrier that seemed to divide him from Riddle. Glassy it might be, but it didn’t break like glass, and it echoed with the noise of his pounding fists and Riddle’s mocking laughter.

Harry didn’t really understand how the barrier worked. He could see it, and he could hear Riddle’s laughter and the taunts that Riddle directed towards him. He could also see what was happening around them, and hear the way that Riddle responded to Ron and Hermione and Draco and the professors. The closest comparison he could think of was that it was like looking through different holes in a solid wall.

And he saw the way that Hermione frowned at him, and Draco asked what was wrong—once—and the way that Riddle managed to fool them.

How well do they know you? I know there are small differences between us, but not that small. And yet they ignore it! Do they know you at all, Henry Malfoy?

Harry screamed rage and defiance, and hurled himself against the barrier again. It stood up to the hardest pounding he could give it.

Do continue doing that. Your frustration and rage are delicious.

Harry wanted to retreat, hearing that. He wanted to try and think and come up with a plan. But how could he when Riddle had access to Harry’s every thought, and picked through them to amuse himself?

I am going to corrupt them. It will be fun.

Harry screamed again, and the only person who could hear him laughed.

*

Draco swallowed as he broke the seal on the letter from his father. He knew it wouldn’t be about Henry, because Draco hadn’t actually written to Father about his twin, but he felt his heart leap in his throat anyway.

I hope that Mother is all right. I hope that she isn’t going to send this surprise and cause some problem that I’ll have to resolve.

It was horrifying to think like that. Once, when Draco hadn’t had any family but his parents, the idea that he would have considered hearing from his mother an imposition had been unthinkable.

But now…

Noe he was the only one here, and although Weasley and Granger whispered about how Henry acted towards them, Draco was the only one who saw enough of a difference to know something was wrong. Henry had even sneered at Uncle Ted during their Defense lesson, and he had never once shown any disdain for Muggleborns.

No. Draco had to act.

As soon as he finished reading the letter from Father, and figured out if there was any information here that would prevent him from acting.

Dear Draco,

I am aware that your mother is preparing a surprise, but I do not know what it is other than a potion. She has been brewing in her private lab for several days now. I only see her at meals, and she seems distracted and hardly talks to me before rushing off again. I must admit that I am concerned.

I will speak with her today even if she does not want me to. If you have further questions, please ask them. In the meantime, I have one for you. Your brother wrote me to ask about necromancy, even though he never wanted me to practice those spells again, but then he sent another letter saying that I wasn’t to mind that and he’d been mistaken about needing to know anything about the art. Has he said anything to you?

Love,
Your Father.

Draco’s mouth crimped in a snarl. Yes, something was wrong. Henry hated necromancy, but he might have asked about it to help someone else, especially one of his friends. But to then just give up on it and act like he’d been wrong to ask in the first place?

Yes, Draco had to act now.

He stood up from the Slytherin table but left the little group of fifth-years heading to Transfiguration to walk towards the professors’ table. More than one of his friends gave him a sideways glance. Draco ignored that. He had to put his plan into motion.

“Professor McGonagall?”

The Gryffindor Head of House had just risen to her feet, but was still involved in the last of what looked like an argument with Professor Sinistra. She started and turned to face Draco. ”Mr. Malfoy?”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can come to Transfiguration today. I don’t feel very good…”

Draco trembled and bent over at the waist, as if his stomach hurt. He’d spent some time practicing in front of the mirror last night, after he was sure all the other Slytherin boys were in bed. He coughed, and he’d worked on making that sound convincing, too.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, gasping. “I think I have to go the hospital wing.”

“What a pity that Madam Pomfrey already left,” McGonagall muttered, and looked towards the entrance to the Great Hall. She hesitated. “Can you get there by yourself, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, professor.”

McGonagall nodded, looking relieved that she wouldn’t have to abandon the other Transfiguration students or be late to her class. “Then you are excused, Mr. Malfoy. I hope that you feel better in the near future. I’ll have your brother bring you the homework.”

Draco smiled at her and bowed his head. “Thanks, Professor. That would be perfect. I—” Then he pretended to gag, and hurried out of the Great Hall, noticing the way that people scooted aside for him.

I ought to pretend to be sick more often.

Once he was out of the Great Hall, Draco began to run. He kept one hand clutched across his stomach so that people watching him would think he was sick, and he did head in the general direction of the hospital wing, but he ducked aside long before he got there, into an alcove at the top of the only staircase that Henry ever took to the fourth floor. He’d taken it the last few days when he was acting strange as well as before that, so Draco thought it was a good place for an ambush.

He sank back into the shadows and recited a spell to himself that Mother had taught him before the year began. She’d thought he might have to use it on a few of the people in Slytherin if they said something about his brother, but no one ever had.

It would still be useful, though.

Draco flexed his wand hand, and waited.

*

“If you’ll take this homework to your brother in the hospital wing, Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry could feel Riddle’s irritation, burning through their shared mind like Fiendfyre. But outwardly, he only nodded and accepted the bundle of parchment without a change in his expression. “I’d be happy to, Professor McGonagall.’

She nodded to them, already turning away. Riddle shifted the parchments in his hands and uttered a long, put-upon sigh.

“Aren’t you worried about Malfoy, Harry? Everyone saw him run out of the Great Hall, but you didn’t say anything about it!”

Riddle was also annoyed that Hermione was calling Harry by his real name instead of Henry—

Henry is just as much your real name as Harry—

But once again, Riddle showed no irritation on his face. He simply turned around and smiled a little. “I think he was feigning illness to get out of class. He’s been neglecting ordinary schoolwork for his OWL studies, he told me. I suspect that he’s fine.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Ron burst out.

“I do not know what you mean, Ronald.”

“All posh! And since when do you call me Ronald?”

Riddle sighed a little. “Apologies. I had a talk with my parents and my brother, and they agree that I was neglecting my pureblood heritage. I’m simply trying to talk and act a little more posh, as you phrase it, so that I can fit in with my family.”

They’re never going to buy that, Harry thought.

He could feel Riddle’s annoyance like a flash of fire. Riddle really did think that Ron and Hermione should just act and speak the way Riddle thought was best. He hated having to watch what he said and guard his tongue around people he believed he was clever enough to fool.

What about your plan to corrupt them?

“Harry?”

Riddle shook his head and focused more of his attention on the conversation. “What? I told you about how I talked with my parents and my brother, and—”

“That doesn’t mean you need to call me Ronald!”

“You haven’t altered your behavior in the more than three years since you found out you were a Malfoy, Harry. Why are you doing it now?”

Riddle gave a half-snarl. Ron and Hermione both recoiled. Riddle visibly tried to recover, smoothing a hand down his face and dredging up a charming smile that Harry knew was nothing like his own best efforts. “Apologies. I’m simply worried about Draco. I need to go to the hospital wing now. Good-bye.”

He turned around and hurried out, fuming. Harry flung himself against the glass barrier again, and made sure Riddle was the one who could hear his laughter this time. The acting wearing on you, Riddle? Not so used to pretending to be a Hogwarts student now? Old and decrepit by the time you made this Horcrux?

Shut up!

You won’t be able to fool them forever. Even Professor McGonagall is going to notice something off about you if you keep talking this way and acting this way. But I don’t think you could talk or act any other way, either. You’re just—

Riddle’s rage snapped like a flash of icy blue lightning. I will kill them, if you keep on like this. I won’t bother trying to corrupt them. I’ll just kill them.

Harry gave his own snarl. Then what do you think is going to happen? Everyone would know it was you!

No, they would think it’s you, Henry Malfoy. Finally gone Dark, finally given in to the worse impulses of his nature—

I hate you!

Riddle started to reply with something, but then a silvery spell shot out of the dark corner they were passing at the top of the staircase and struck him. Riddle came to a halt with an offended shriek. Harry gasped as he felt the tendrils of the spell snaking around him, diving down into his mind.

And it dragged out the intentions and half-voiced thoughts that he hadn’t been able to speak aloud because Riddle was controlling his mind and his mouth. And it did the same to Riddle.

A silvery corona of light bloomed around them, with the words written in floating black letters.

Help me! He’s possessed me!

These Mudbloods, how I despise them.

Someone has to be able to hear me, look into my mind, be able to drag me out of here and free me from his possession. It’s a Horcrux, do you hear me, it’s a Horcrux that you have to break—

When the puling thing is dead—

Riddle spat hatred and Dark magic into the air, and it struck the silvery light and forced it to fade. Harry felt his brief hope die. There went all the proof that they had, and who knew if the person who had cast the spell would be able to cast it again or not?

But Draco was the one who stepped out from behind the wall that had sheltered him, and his eyes were full of his own hatred and resolve.

“Don’t worry, Henry,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of there.”

“There is nothing that you can do, little boy—”

Draco ignored Riddle, and aimed his wand at his own heart. Harry lunged at the glass wall again, screaming. He couldn’t live if his brother sacrificed himself, no matter what Draco might be trying to do with the spell.

“Potestas geminorum,” Draco whispered.

The glass wall broke as a slug of power hit it, and Harry realized what had happened a moment before Riddle did. He hurled himself into the battle, distantly aware of Draco sprawling unconscious on the floor.

His brother was here, with him, magic and souls entwined, a spell that Harry knew enough Latin to recognize had to do with the power of twins.

And they were going to destroy Riddle.