lomonaaeren

“You are not usually so reluctant to come before me, my Horcrux.”

Harry takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know why sometimes Voldemort calls him by his name and sometimes Horcrux and sometimes heir and sometimes son. There’s probably a pattern to it, and one important enough that he should figure it out, but he has so little time these days for anything like that.

“Something terrible happened.”

Voldemort has appeared standing inside the dream library that Harry has seen before. It does resemble a few rooms in the house Harry stayed in over the holidays, but none of them exactly. Now he weaves forwards like a snake, covering the distance between them impossibly quickly. “Someone attacked you?”

“Not with spells.”

“An attack without spells is still an attack. Tell me.”

Harry takes a deep breath, because this was what he wanted to avoid with everything in him. He didn’t want to—

But fantasies of protecting his friends and Ginny have turned out to be just that. Harry tells the story of the confrontation in the Gryffindor common room in the shortest words he can, and takes care to mention that everyone thought the story of him being Voldemort’s son was absurd. Still, his father is very still when he finishes.

Then Voldemort says, “They will die. All of them.”

“I don’t want them to!”

Harry gives that cry instinctively, instead of the moral argument that he was prepared for. And somehow, it works. Voldemort stops and stares at him with eyes as large as moons.

He says, “Then they will not,” in English, which is as shocking as the statement itself and means Harry takes a longer moment to process it.

Harry murmurs, weakly, “What?”

“They will not die if you do not wish them to do so. I shall come up with some other method to punish them and keep their mouths shut. There is something Corban has been asking me to let him try. I shall do so.”

Harry sags back against a shelf that might exist or not. “That’s it?” he whispers. “All I had to do was ask.”

“All you ever had to do, my son, was ask.”

“You mean, since you discovered I was your Horcrux.”

“You will agree, I hope, that we stood in a very different relation before that.”

Harry nods, finally. That’s true, and arguing against it would just make him sound stupid. He drags himself all the way to his feet and moves away from the support of the bookcase behind him. “Thank you, Father,” he says, as clearly and earnestly as he can. “I won’t forget this mercy.”

“See that you do not.” There’s a flicker of a forked tongue around Voldemort’s lips. “I offer it because you ask for it, and because things are not yet disastrous, and perhaps killing them would lend credibility to their accusations or make people suspect you of the deed. But keep in mind that they will suffer, and they will suffer further if they try to hurt you again.”

Harry nods as earnestly as he can. “I don’t think talking to them would do any good, or I’d try. But thank you, Father, thank you.”

Voldemort looks pleased, an expression that sits strangely on his nonhuman features. He slides back into Parseltongue as the room begins to fade around Harry. “Your thanks is as pleasant to me as your screams once would have been. Do not forget that, Harry, even when you wake.”

Harry opens his eyes and turns over in his bed to see Basilisk beside him. She lifts her head, the bond surging with bright yellow curiosity. “It wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

“It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought,” Harry whispers, stroking her.

Basilisk’s smugness is bright, too. “What you ask for, you shall receive.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so.”

*

Corban Yaxley nearly rebelled against this assignment when the Dark Lord offered it to him. He is loyal, and he would go most anywhere else that his lord ordered him to, but he saw no reason to return to Hogwarts, the scene of some of his worst memories.

Not everyone Sorted into Slytherin has the kind of wealth and power that keeps them safe, no matter their pureblood last names.

But then the Dark Lord turned to him and said that he would make Corban one of his courtiers if Corban successfully protected his son.

Corban has aspired to his lord’s court for years. Of course he said yes.

He watches, now, as the Dark Prince sits down next to Neville Longbottom and says something that makes Longbottom snort. That’s not unusual now that Weasley and Granger have abandoned the Prince, but there is something else, an undercurrent of tension running between the Gryffindors at their pathetic table, that makes Corban pay close attention.

He still hasn’t decided for certain what it is when the Prince and Longbottom stand and leave the Great Hall, but he knows that something happened.

He makes a snap decision to arrange for practice duels in Transfiguration today. It should be most interesting to see if he can work out what’s going on.

And before the Prince’s courtiers, at that, who are sitting obliviously on the other side of the room. Corban shakes his head.

There is some merit in not being caught up in school students’ drama and preoccupations, after all.

*

“You will be dueling using Transfiguration today.”

Theo is on the alert the moment he hears Yaxley speak. Something has happened, or the Death Eater in the school (disguised Death Eater to most, Theo supposes, although he doesn’t know why others don’t realize it) wouldn’t be changing the curriculum that he announces at the beginning of each week and normally never varies from day to day.

Harry’s bond resonated with pain and fury last night, which Theo intended to ask him about, but Longbottom has been keeping close to Harry, and they don’t have Potions today, and there’s no viable excuse (that Longbottom knows about) for Theo to work with Harry. Hopefully this will be it.

“Nott and Potter, you’re together. Remember, you’re to use only Transfiguration spells.”

Theo half-nods to Yaxley, his eyes on Harry. Harry gives Theo a smile that at least isn’t as unhappy as it could be.

“Are you all right?” Theo takes the first opportunity of whispering as they step up to face each other and bow.

Harry looks relieved to only do a half-bow. He doesn’t like that particular dueling custom for reasons Theo doesn’t know, but will someday. “Yeah. I—well, I confronted Ginny in the Gryffindor common room last night about what she said to Draco, and Ron announced what he thinks about my background.”

Theo feels as if he’s falling.

“It’s all right,” Harry says intently, his eyes trained on Theo. “I handled it, and then I handled it. Currently, most of Gryffindor thinks he’s mental.”

“And your background?”

“It’s all right.”

Theo can just imagine how hard that conversation was for Harry to have with the Dark Lord. But his own lord’s bond pulses bright and steady, and he has to nod and back off. Too much care and concern will irritate Harry as much as too little.

My lord is a delicate lord.

Harry narrows his eyes in a way that seems to indicate he’s sensed that thought, and then he raises his wand and Transfigures the floor beneath Theo’s feet to sand.

It’s an unusual choice, Theo thinks as he leaps out of the way, since he would have chosen ice himself, and sand isn’t that difficult to move around in—

Then he sinks to his waist, and swears.

“Something wrong, Nott?” Harry asks, with such a sickly sweet smile on his face that Theo is delighted despite himself. He wishes he could have seen the way Harry convinced the whole of Gryffindor that he’s still James Potter’s son. It was probably delightful to watch.

“Not at all,” Theo says, and performs the ice Transfiguration he was thinking of beneath Harry’s feet while his wand is still above the quicksand.

Harry is already moving, though, probably sensing Theo’s intention through their bond, and Theo’s spell crashes against the stone wall he’s Transfigured out of something in front of him. Then Theo manages to haul himself out of the quicksand and turn it back into a piece of ordinary classroom floor, and he and Harry are dodging and dancing through a duel that’s a lot more complicated than most of the other students are managing.

They’re laughing at each other, and Theo smiles a little as he notices the pairs of wide eyes aimed in their direction. This isn’t exactly what he intended as an outcome of the duel, but he does think that—

Then the floor under him turns to ice, and he slips and falls. Harry Disarms him in the next moment.

“Yield, Nott!”

Theo looks up with a smile that he can’t help, catching and holding Harry’s eye. Harry falls silent, his own eyes widening.

“Oh,” Theo whispers, “I do.”

“You’re friends, Harry?”

That’s Lavender Brown, one of the biggest gossips in the school. Theo just turns his head and catches Brown’s eye, then turns away again, ducking his head as he scrambles to his feet. Let her make of that what she will.

But since the news about Harry’s true heritage is at least drifting as a possibility in some minds, Theo sees no reason to hide their connection. It will prepare others—as much as they can be prepared—for the day when it’s inevitable that Harry’s court emerges, as well.

“Yeah.”

Theo freezes. Because Harry is the one speaking that word, the one tossing Theo’s wand back to him with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Harry repeats. “After everything that’s happened? I think House divisions are pretty stupid.”

What are you doing? Theo asks, barely moving his lips.

What do you think I’m doing? Harry mouths back, and then turns to answer Brown’s eager questions about how they became friends. Theo has to admit that his lies have merit, sound natural, since they’re related to the summer that everyone knows Harry spent “elsewhere” and learning magic together. Truth in the shadow of truth.

Nearly unnoticed except for a few Gryffindors staring at him, Theo claims his wand and fades into the background. He’s thinking hard.

Yes, he intended to make people think about him and Harry in the same context, but he didn’t know that Harry would agree to that.

Confusion flows down their bond from Harry. Of course I would want to protect you, says that amalgamation of thoughts and emotions that forms in Theo’s mind. You’re mine.

Theo closes his eyes and half-turns away from Harry, because he has to shield his face at the moment, and he doesn’t know if anyone else would understand.

He is so glad that Harry was revealed as the Dark Lord’s son. So glad that he has the chance to serve a Lord worthy of the name.

*

Hermione doesn’t understand what’s happening.

There was that failed confrontation last night, when Harry was trying to make Ginny do something—she thinks—but didn’t succeed. But then Ron announced Harry as Voldemort’s son, and everyone laughed?

What’s happening? Hermione thinks, as she trails Ron to the edge of the grounds where they’ll meet someone who can Apparate them to Grimmauld Place. When did everyone become so stupid?

Or maybe it’s just Gryffindors?

Hermione shakes her head, and then comes back sharply to the present when Professor Dumbledore himself steps around one of the tree trunks. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. It’s not like she wants to shout with delight or surprise when they’re still this near the school.

But Ron does. “Sir!” he exclaims, loudly enough that Hermione feels the need to step on his foot. “You’re here!”

Professor Dumbledore gives them both a sad smile. “I could never abandon Hogwarts fully,” he says, and turns to gaze in the direction of the school with an expression that makes Hermione want to cry. “Not while people still loyal to me dwell here.”

“We’re always loyal to you, sir.”

Hermione nods fervently. As far as she can tell, Professor Dumbledore is the one person who’s doing something about Harry being Voldemort’s son, instead of treating it as a subject for laughter or gossip.

Or just not believing it.

“I believe we have an Order meeting to attend,” the professor says, and extends his hands to them with a cheerful smile.

Hermione doesn’t enjoy the experience of Apparition, but at least it’s not as bad when the Headmaster does it, maybe because of his magical power. And then they’re standing on the Muggle street across from Grimmauld Place, and rushing up to it quickly, and stepping inside.

They did replace the Fidelius Charm, or protected it with more powerful wards, Hermione knows now. Professor Dumbledore sits down at the head of the table, and Mrs. Weasley comes in with biscuits and pie, and everything is as it should have been.

Except for a glaring absence of Hermione’s other best friend.

Hermione takes a long, difficult breath, and turns towards Professor Dumbledore as he clears his throat.

“There are some matters that all of you should know,” he says, his eyes darting around the table. The adults murmur and nod. “The first is that I have come to believe it will be impossible to gain back Harry’s allegiance.”

Hermione shuts her eyes tight.

“But don’t we need him?” asks Hestia Jones, who has a slightly nasal voice. “We can’t defeat You-Know-Who without him, can we?”

“I am working on that,” Professor Dumbledore says, with the iron determination that Hermione thinks probably made a lot of people follow him in battle once. “For now, I will ask that you leave it to me.”

“Why do you think it’s impossible to win Potter back?” Mad-Eye Moody barks, thumping his wooden leg on the floor.

“He has chosen his side, and it is not ours.” Dumbledore sounds old and weary and terribly sad. “He has put protecting a few people above defending the rest of the country.”

Like Nott, Hermione thinks, the scene in Transfiguration returning to her. Harry and Nott dueled like—old friends.

They are friends, of course, Hermione’s seen them together, but she thought that their friendship was recent. Not old.

How long has Harry been lying to us?

“What do you want us to do about it, then?” Mrs. Weasley speaks in a subdued voice, her head bowed. Hermione wonders if she’s as upset about Harry’s desertion as the rest of them are.

“I will ask you to provide support as I define our plans.” Then Dumbledore turns and looks directly at Ron and Hermione. “Except the people who are in school with Harry at the moment. They will have to take a more active role.”

“I told them that he’s Voldemort’s son,” Ron says, his voice trembling. Hermione wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Everyone in the common room. And they all thought I was mental. Or lying.”

“Such disgust is often the fate of those who tell the truth,” Professor Dumbledore says, and nods a little as if to comfort Ron. Hermione wishes someone could. She’s not succeeding. “But I honor you for trying.”

“Is there nothing that can make him come back to us?” Hermione asks. She doesn’t want to use Harry as a weapon against Voldemort the way she thinks Jones was talking about, but— “Really nothing?”

Professor Dumbledore hesitates.

“Please tell us, Albus,” Mrs. Weasley says. “Please.”

Professor Dumbledore takes a deep breath and folds his hands on the table. “There is one option,” he said. “It is one of the things I am working on. But it is so desperate that I do not want to define it.”

“Because you think it might not work?”

“Indeed, Miss Granger.” The Headmaster gives her a weary smile. “I would hate to make it a source of hope and then disappoint people.”

“But you’re Dumbledore,” says Ron, in a mumble, while his ears turn red, as if he’s afraid of voicing the sentiment. “You can do anything.”

“Alas, if only that were true.” The professor hesitates, then shakes his head. “It is best that that plan remain unspoken for now. Trust me, you will be among the very first people to know that it worked if it works.”

With that, Hermione has to be content. She bites her lip and listens to the reports of the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. They’re full of what would normally be good news, the lack of raids and torture on ordinary witches and wizards, but right now it’s all bad. Because Hermione knows what that lack of raids and torture means.

He’s only doing this for Harry. He’s only doing this because he thinks Harry would be disappointed in him if he didn’t.

Part of Hermione wants to believe that’s good. If Voldemort cares what Harry thinks, at least it’s better than him only caring about himself.

But the rest of her is just convinced that it only means Harry and Voldemort are on the same side now. Sooner or later, Harry will say something careless or just decide that he only needs to care about the few people close to him, and everyone will start suffering again.

Or maybe…

Hermione can barely touch the conclusion even in her thoughts, because it’s so terrible. But the boy who looked at her in the common room last night is no longer her best friend, so she has to think it.

Or maybe he’ll become like Voldemort. Part of him. Like father, like son. Or just because a father that supposedly loves him would be too much to resist.

Hermione draws a shaky breath. She can see why that would be a temptation for Harry, but he has to resist it. So many people are counting on him.

And she doesn’t think most people would just accept, the way she can tell Professor Dumbledore has, that they will have to move on that from that dependence.

The Order turns to discussing other things, and Hermione leans her head on Ron’s shoulder. Now and then he squeezes her waist in reassurance.

At least I have one best friend left.

*

Corban sips his wine slowly, sitting back in his seat as he stares at the ceiling. He didn’t learn what he necessarily expected to from the Transfiguration duels he assigned, but he did learn something intriguing.

And that means that he must now make a decision.

Corban spins the wineglass in his fingers, stopping only when it would make liquid slop over the rim of the glass. He did not want to come here, but he must admit that the assignment hasn’t been all that bad. He has been able to stay away from the Slytherin dormitories and the dungeon corridors and other places that would have sparked his bad memories to life.

And in the meantime…

Corban smiles without humor. In the meantime, he has learned certain things.

Namely, that he would rather follow the son than the father.

Corban nods and sets down his glass, decision made. This will have to be handled delicately, not least because the son might simply report back to the father in panic that Corban is considering “deserting” his post.

But considering the way that the Dark Prince protected Nott when people tried to attack him with words alone?

Corban is fairly sure that he can take a place in the Prince’s court.

And have, in return, a devoted, protective lord, which is all he has ever wanted.