lomonaaeren

The way to the Headmaster’s office was longer than Harry had thought it would be. Then again, he hadn’t seen Dumbledore leave the professors’ table, and he didn’t know how long they would have to walk.

Snape appeared silently angry behind him. Harry could accept that. The Dursleys were like that a lot of the time.

Snape had to snap, “Sugar Quills,” at a gargoyle, which was the name of a sweet. Harry blinked but said nothing as they rode a moving staircase up.

“Enter!”

Dumbledore’s voice sounded cheerful, at least, but Uncle Vernon could sound cheerful when he was talking to Aunt Marge, and Mr. Malfoy could sound happy when he was talking about blood purity. Harry walked into the office not convinced.

It was a bright and cheerful office, at least. There were sparkling silver instruments everywhere, even more than in one of the experimental Potions labs Mrs. Malfoy had sternly told Harry he wasn’t allowed into by himself, and there was a phoenix on a perch. Harry blinked at it. The phoenix fluffed up all its feathers and cooed at him.

Snape audibly sneered.

“Ah, Harry, my boy. Please sit down.”

He calls me Harry like Mr. Malfoy does, Harry thought, as he sat in a bright purple chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk. Probably for the same reason, too.

“I find my disposition immensely improved by sweets,” Dumbledore said, and held out a bowl towards Harry that he rattled as if he would be disappointed if Harry didn’t snatch one right now.

Harry wasn’t Dudley. He gave the Headmaster a little smile and sat still, shaking his head. “No, thank you, sir,” he said softly.

“Ah, well.” Dumbledore put his dish down and examined Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Did you know that you have caused a great deal of trouble, my boy?”

“Have I, sir? I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, well, we were all quite frantic for your safety after we realized the Malfoys had kidnapped you.”

Harry frowned. That hadn’t really been what he’d expected Dumbledore to say. Accusations about corruption had been what he’d thought would happen. “But didn’t you come to the house and talk to him, sir?”

“Yes, I did. And he refused to give you back.”

“Did you—I don’t know who handles kidnappings, sir. Part of the Ministry? Did you go talk to them?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Alas, they are all deep in Mr. Malfoy’s robe pockets, having accepted bribes from him. They would do nothing.”

Harry tilted his head slowly. This felt like one of the logic guessing games he’d played with Draco over the summer. “But did you go talk to them, sir? Or not?”

Dumbledore paused. Then he said, “I didn’t think I needed to, Harry. You and I—and the Malfoys—all understand the situation. What they did to you is wrong, and we will certainly be striving to get you back.”

“Just you, sir?”

“Also the Ministry. And certain associates of mine who remember very well what Lucius Malfoy did during the war, and that he wasn’t under the Imperius Curse.”

Draco had been the first one to explain the Imperius Curse and the war to Harry in detail, although Mr. Malfoy had added some more context once he saw that Harry knew what he was talking about. Harry had listened to all the words they said, as carefully as he was listening to Dumbledore now. He had to admit that the excuse sounded like bollocks. Mr. Malfoy probably had been a willing Death Eater.

But there was something else he had noticed, because he listened carefully.

“What about the Dursleys, sir?”

“What about them, Harry?”

It’s good that Mr. Malfoy called me Harry sometimes. It got me ready for this. “Are they joining you to get me back?”

“Muggles have no standing in our world, young Harry. They need a wizard or witch to speak for them to the Ministry, which, alas, has no more conception of granting rights to Muggles than they do of bribes being wrong.”

“No standing? No legal rights?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore looked worn down. “Appalling, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded absently. He could see why that would be bad if you were a Muggleborn witch or wizard whose parents couldn’t even get taken seriously if something happened to you while you were at Hogwarts.

But he had thought of something else. “Wouldn’t that mean they couldn’t have custody of me either, sir? That it wouldn’t be legal?”

“Oh, no, custody of children is a different thing,” Dumbledore said quickly. “Otherwise, all our young Muggleborn students would have to be snatched from their parents—which is something that purebloods sometimes recommend, of course, because they’d like to use it set terrible precedents. Did Mr. Malfoy ever speak of something like that around you, Harry?”

“No, sir. I just wondered if the Dursleys were also trying to get me back, or not. And why they had custody of me since my parents were magical.”

“They are your mother’s relatives, Mr. Potter.”

Huh. Now he’s calling me “Mr. Potter.” Does that mean I did something to upset him? Or not? “I know, sir. But since they aren’t magical and they hate magic and they aren’t my parents, I just wondered why they had custody of me.”

“They are your mother’s relatives,” Dumbledore said, in a piercing tone that told Harry the discussion was closed.

Harry just nodded, and gave an internal shrug. He’d have to find some other means of discovering why the Dursleys had had him.

“And they love you very much, and they want you back.”

Harry did want to appear calm and resolute in front of Dumbledore the way that Mr. Malfoy had said he should be in front of other people, but he knew that he’d failed when Dumbledore added, “Mr. Potter, what is that look for?”

“Maybe they want me back, sir. But they don’t love me.”

“Of course they do. Your aunt loves you. The protections that keep you safe in that house are built on her blood and her love.”

“What do they keep me safe from, sir?” Harry asked with real curiosity. This wasn’t something he’d heard before.

“From Death Eaters. Mr. Malfoy never could have touched you as long as you lived in that house.”

“Oh. So they don’t keep me safe from the Dursleys?”

Dumbledore leaned forwards earnestly across the desk. Harry tilted his head again. The weird thing was, he didn’t think Dumbledore was speaking to him, but to some other audience, someone who wasn’t in the room, maybe. Or at least not Harry.

“They do not need to keep you safe from the Dursleys, Mr. Potter. Your relatives love you.”

“They had me sleep in a cupboard and withheld food from me when they got angry, sir. That’s not love.”

There was a sharp breath from behind him, and Harry’s face burned as he remembered that there was someone else in the room. Of course, Dumbledore had probably been speaking to Professor Snape. Harry felt like an idiot for forgetting.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment. Then he said softly, “The blood protections that exist around the house are based on your mother’s love. They would not be active if your aunt didn’t love you.”

Harry just nodded a little. He should have seen that coming. Uncle Vernon and Dudley hating him wasn’t a surprise, and if Dumbledore had magic linked to Aunt Petunia, he could probably say she had a tiny sliver of love and it would work.

“You will have a better time next summer.”

Yes, I will, no thanks to you, Harry thought. He nodded again. He’d just have to hide what he was thinking and lie a little the way he had with some primary school teachers who wanted him and Dudley to “get along.”

He’d go with the Malfoys. They were evil, or at least Mr. Malfoy was evil; Draco was too silly to be evil. But they didn’t put him in a cupboard.

“I will make sure that your aunt doesn’t put you in a cupboard or hold back food from you,” Dumbledore said, a little more strongly. “I will send her a letter.”

Harry studied him, a bit interested. “A letter that would make sure she didn’t do that?”

“Not magically, Harry.” Dumbledore looked a little horrified. “That would be compulsion, and that’s…akin to controlling someone’s mind.”

So she’ll still do it, then. Harry nodded again. He was feeling calmer. This was like the Dursleys’, too. He would just hide and lie and not trust people. It had worked so far, and things kept getting better, with a bed here in Hogwarts and more food, too.

Will I ever get somewhere that isn’t like the Dursleys’?

Harry felt a bit wistful as he thought about that. He’d hoped, the morning that Hagrid came and got him, that magical school would be different, but now he knew it wasn’t. And if Hagrid had taken him back to the Dursleys’, it wouldn’t be, either.

This was about the best he could do.

“Dismissed, Harry.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “I’m so glad that you understand why your family home is the safest place for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry stood up and nodded to the Headmaster, then turned and walked out the door with Professor Snape. The man was staring at him. Harry stood quietly next to him as they rode down the moving staircase.

“You live with Petunia Evans?” Snape asked suddenly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, a little curious. He wondered how Snape knew his aunt’s name. But, well, his parents were almost as famous as he was, so it probably wasn’t a surprise.

“And she treats you the way you said she treats you?”

Harry blinked again, wondering why the professor would think Harry would lie to two people who had never met his aunt. But he just said, “Yes, sir.”

“What—what else does she do?”

Okay, that had never happened before. Harry stared up at Snape with wide eyes. The man stared back at him with a little twist of irritation to his face.

Harry immediately lowered his head to study his feet again. This wasn’t about him in particular, he thought. Maybe Snape just hated Muggles the way Mr. Malfoy did, and wanted to know horrible things about them. Or he might be upset at the thought that any student was treated that way. It didn’t mean he cared about Harry.

Still, Harry answered, quiet and respectful the way he always was with purebloods. “She has me do a lot of chores, sir. Gardening, washing the car, washing the floors, cleaning the bathroom, cooking the meals, that sort of thing. She yells and calls me a freak a lot. A few times she swung a frying pan at my head.”

Snape made a low sound. Harry didn’t know what it was. But the professor also didn’t ask any more questions, so Harry stayed silent as Snape escorted him down the moving staircase and into a maze of dungeons that ended in a blank stretch of wall. Harry hoped the prefects would help him find his way about the next day.

“The password to the common room is Purity,” Snape said, and a stretch of the wall turned into a door. “You are to memorize the new password when the prefects establish one and never let anyone from another House into the common room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape lingered for a moment as if he wanted to say something else, and then shook his head and swept away. Harry entered.

People did stare at him, but not many. He just wasn’t noticeable enough yet, he thought, despite his fame. He picked his way over to where Draco sat on a couch with Crabbe and Goyle. Draco instantly made Goyle move so Harry could sit next to him.

“Well? What did Dumbledore want?”

“He wanted to tell me why it would be best for me to go back to the Muggles.”

Draco immediately started ranting, the way Harry had thought he would. Harry kept silent other than to mumble support every now and then. Sometimes, he thought, the role he had in Draco’s life wasn’t any different than Crabbe or Goyle’s.

That caused one hot spark of resentment to flare to life inside him. Harry wanted it to be different. He wanted people he didn’t have to cringe around or hide from. He wanted to be valued for just who he was, the way Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy valued Draco and Dumbledore valued his aunt.

But he had to swallow it back. The time for that hadn’t come yet. Maybe it wouldn’t come until he had finished Hogwarts.

Harry had to be patient and wait. At least he knew how to do that.

*

“Slytherin. As if there were any doubt.”

Lucius sat back in his chair with a faint, satisfied smile. “I did doubt when it came to Potter, of course. Despite the training we tried to give him, a month in good company can only erase so many traits of the Mudblood.”

He blinked when he saw the look Narcissa was giving him above the edge of Draco’s letter. “What?”

“You aren’t to call him that, Lucius.”

“Of course I wouldn’t to the boy’s face, other than to correct his behavior. But I did think things were different in the privacy of our own home.”

Narcissa folded the letter with precise movements, and put it down on top of her equally folded copy of the Daily Prophet. “What will our teachings do if we resort to hatred and cruelty at the flick of a wand, Lucius? He’s at the age where it’s easy for a child to become confused when they notice contradictions in what someone’s telling them. We told him he’s a half-blood, not a Mudblood. We have to maintain that.”

“I wasn’t saying…”

Narcissa gave him a withering look and swept out of the dining room. Lucius was left to stare after her, and sip tea that seemed to have lost its flavor.

What was that? Narcissa had never criticized his language before. Even with Draco, she was soft-spoken and would point out what had gone wrong rather than scolding him.

Wrongfooted, Lucius returned to his breakfast. It was a welcome distraction when the Floo on the far wall flared. Few people had the password, and everyone who did was likely to bring him an interesting problem.

He did blink when Severus stepped out. The man had visited, of course, but not for months now. And Lucius would have expected him to be too busy with the first day of classes to manage it now.

“Severus?”

“I’ve come to find out whether Potter is telling the truth about the Muggles.”

“Did he whine to you about them? That’s not what we meant him to do. My apologies.”

“No. The Headmaster called Potter to his office to explain why he was safer with his Muggle relatives, and Potter told some stories, including being shut in a cupboard and starved and having his aunt attack him and call him a freak. I came to find out whether he was exaggerating or not.”

“It’s true,” Lucius said, although he hadn’t heard the particular one about the attack. Potter didn’t strike him as a boy prone to exaggerate. “He’s too grateful to us for simply giving him a bedroom and regular meals for me to think he would be lying.”

Severus’s nostrils flared. He looked at the far wall for a moment, his face blank. Lucius watched him in concealed curiosity. It was seldom that he didn’t have at least a hint of Severus’s emotions, but now he didn’t. He knew well enough how Severus had hated James Potter, but he couldn’t even tell if the hatred had transferred to the son.

“I see,” Severus said at last, softly.

“I do hope that we haven’t imposed an unnecessary burden on you by encouraging the boy to Sort Slytherin, Severus.” Lucius could be gracious in victory.

“No.” Severus’s gaze came back to him, and now both his face and his tone were bland. “Thank you for the confirmation, Lucius. It’s been most enlightening.” He turned to the fireplace again, one hand already rising to the china bowl where they always kept the Floo powder.

“Perhaps you can give me some enlightenment in return by telling me how the boy handled the conversation with the Headmaster.”

“Like a professional. No unnecessary information, reliance on body language to make Albus think Potter agreed with him more than was the case, and commitment to doing what he wanted while not saying so.”

Severus vanished in a whirl of green flame. Lucius leaned back, content. It was always good to know that their ward was more teachable than he’d thought.

Perhaps Narcissa was right that the boy needed advanced lessons, and was smart enough to notice the problems with the simpler ones.

Lucius could admit that there were advantages to an intelligent ward.

*

Draco shook his head as yet another Gryffindor stared so hard at Harry that they almost walked into a wall. He sighed and let Harry stare at them for a moment, then tapped his shoulder and motioned forwards.

“Eyes to the front. We don’t gape at plebians.”

Harry nodded and turned back, although his eye twitched as if he wanted to turn around and stare at the Gryffindor. Draco could understand that. If he’d been a member of any other family, or if he hadn’t been someone who had to guide and protect Harry, he would have done the same thing.

But he was who he was. He was Harry’s brother in all but name, and Father had promised that the name would come soon.

(Well, not exactly promised. He’d hinted around it and hadn’t said it outright. But Draco knew that Father wouldn’t promise him a brother, or anything, unless he could actually get it for him).

Draco was determined that nothing was going to go wrong and prevent him from having his brother. That meant Harry couldn’t behave too terribly at school, lest word got back to Mother and Father.

“Are you ready for Potions?” Draco asked softly. Harry had shown only a little aptitude for that during the summer, but then, he’d only been preparing ingredients and learning the spells to heat the cauldron and such things.

“As much as I can be.”

Draco smiled at him. “You’ll do fine. I’ll be right there, and Professor Snape likes me.”

“I don’t think he likes me. Or cares about me.”

“That’s why I’ll be right there,” Draco explained, as patiently as he knew how. Yes, of course Harry needed guidance, but sometimes it was a bit much.

Someone gasped behind them and said, “What’s he doing with a Malfoy?”

Harry twitched, but didn’t turn around.

Draco smiled at him proudly, and went on explaining what should be done and why with little movements of his eyes and hands and shoulders. He would turn Harry into an acceptable brother yet.