lomonaaeren

“They’re paying more attention to you, my lord.”

Harry sighs as he stares down at the half-complete Transfiguration in front of him, which right now is a furred stone. He and Theo have partnered in Transfiguration ever since the duel that Corban—Professor Yaxley—had them do. It’s only partially because Ron and Hermione have dropped any inclination they ever had to work with Harry.

“More attention than they ought to be paying you, if they are determined to abandon you for not living up to their expectations.”

Harry sighs a little more as he swirls his wand and the stone only grows harder. “I know, Theo.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

Harry looks up into Theo’s eyes with his own narrowed for a moment. “That sounds like you want me to do a specific thing. Haven’t I proven by now that if you have a specific suggestion, you should just tell me, because I’m not going to be able to guess it?”

Theo blinks for a long moment. Then he puts his own wand down on the table and spreads his hands, ignoring the speculative glances from people who are not Ron and Hermione. “Forgive me, my lord. I am—unsure if you thought I was implying disrespect. I am not.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know what I can do except ignore them. They would take any chance to turn Gryffindor against me if they could.”

“Do you think they’d succeed? I thought that no one in your House would believe their insane tales.”

“That might change if they could present some proof.”

From Theo’s eyes, he’s already planning to figure out who has the proof and “convince” them not to reveal it. Harry shifts in his seat and takes the chance to press down on Theo’s wrist. “I appreciate your dedication, but I don’t want you to do anything to anyone.”

“Why not? Is that not part of my vows?”

“I’m unaware of it. What vows?”

“You know. The ones that we made to each other.” Theo’s eyes flicker down towards the chimera on his arm, and then he withdraws his hand as Corban turns towards them. Harry is unsure why, unless Theo thinks that other people are watching them and might draw the wrong conclusion.

“Please leave my friends alone, Theo.”

“Friends?”

“Former friends.”

For a long moment, as Theo stares at him, Harry thinks he might need to argue with his most dedicated vassal about it. But then Theo rolls his head on his neck and sighs a little. “As you will, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

“I am not happy about it.”

“I’m not asking you to be,” Harry says, and Theo’s mouth quirks up at the corners.

At least they’re able to go back to working on Transfiguration in peace after that, and Corban—Professor Yaxley—even critiques Harry’s piece when they’re done. Harry is relieved. The last thing he wants is someone who was a Death Eater to try and replicate the relationship they had with Voldemort when it comes to Harry.

But from the way that Corban gives him a faint, severe frown, and looks back and forth between Harry and his former friends, he probably doesn’t need to worry about that.

*

“Doesn’t he deserve to know?”

“You know what Professor Dumbledore said.”

Hermione nods impatiently. Yes, she knows very well what Professor Dumbledore said. He wants to reveal Sirius’s survival to Harry at the most opportune time, when Sirius can appeal to Harry and pull him away from his monster of a “father.”

That doesn’t make it any easier to sit on the couch near the fire in Gryffindor Tower inside their Privacy Bubble and watch Harry laughing with Neville and sometimes working on his homework, his brow furrowed. Hermione’s heart hurts. Once he would have been laughing with them. Once he would have asked her for her help on homework.

Hermione still wants to tell him about Sirius. Maybe then he would see that whatever reasons he turned to Voldemort aren’t relevant anymore.

“Hermione.”

Hermione reluctantly tears her eyes away from Harry and looks at Ginny. Ginny is leaning forwards with a soft, exhausted expression on her face. Hermione bites her lip. She hates to see Ginny looking that way.

“Please let Professor Dumbledore’s plan work out the way he wants,” Ginny breathes. “It’s the only hope I have right now, that Sirius will bring him back to our side. And that might fail if Harry knows about Sirius beforehand. I know that you want Harry to have every chance, but—” She shakes her head. “This is every chance, for me.”

“All right,” Hermione says. She can’t deny that kind of direct appeal. Of course Ginny would feel differently about Sirius’s return and the possibility of Harry turning away from evil than Hermione does. Harry was Hermione’s best friend—one of them—but he was Ginny’s rescuer and the boy she’s had a crush on since before she met him.

“Thanks,” Ginny says with a weary smile, and then hauls out her Arithmancy book. “Can you help me with this equation? Vector says it should be simple, but I’ve worked on it and worked on it and I can’t get it.”

“Professor Vector,” Hermione mumbles, but her heart isn’t in it. She shoots one more glance in Harry and Neville’s direction before she bends over the book to help Ginny.

She thinks she sees Harry staring back, but shakes it off. The point, the point, is that they have a weapon that is going to bring Harry back to their side.

They just have to wait to use it.

*

“Why are Ron and Hermione and Ginny always whispering and staring at you?”

Harry has to shrug at Neville. “I don’t know. Maybe they regret blowing up our friendship in the stupid way they did.”

Neville’s face darkens. “I can’t believe that they expected all of us to just believe that ridiculous lie about you being Voldemort’s son.”

Harry blinks. It might be the first time Neville has actually said his father’s name. Or maybe he did it once before? Harry honestly can’t remember.

“I think it was a symptom of something else,” he has to say. “That I drifted away from them and started making new friends, maybe. They really didn’t like that I started spending more time with the Slytherins.”

“You know, I did want to ask. Why Malfoy, of all people? Parkinson just made a few remarks and Nott never interacted with you, but Malfoy?”

“It’s related to what happened during the summer. Sorry, Nev. I really can’t tell you.”

“Was that on Dumbledore’s orders?”

“Er. Well, at first. Kind of. But not now.”

Neville nodded. “I didn’t think so. Not when Snape tried to kill you, and we all know that he never took a breath without Dumbledore’s permission.”

Harry gapes at Neville. Then he says, without thinking about, “I hope not.”

“Why not?”

“Then it means that Dumbledore was fine with him bullying you in class and treating me the way he did. I hope that he wasn’t. I don’t think Dumbledore is the kind of fine upstanding person I used to anymore, but I want to believe he’s not a sadist.”

Neville blinks, and then gives a reluctant smile. “Maybe we should just say that Dumbledore didn’t care about that, then.”

“Yeah. Or thought it was an acceptable sacrifice.”

“Did he say things to you like that? The times that you visited his office?”

“Not always in those exact words,” Harry murmurs, thinking of his final conversations with Dumbledore before the man fled Hogwarts. “But close to it, yes. He seemed to think that I didn’t deserve any happiness until Voldemort was defeated.”

He’s using the name as a test, but the first time wasn’t a fluke. Neville doesn’t flinch, only studies Harry as if hoping that Harry will say he was joking about Dumbledore. Then Neville leans back with a shake of his head and a frown. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs and stares at the ceiling. “I suppose that he really did think I would turn traitor, the way that Ron and Hermione do.”

There’s enough silence that Harry thinks he should turn back to his homework. Voldemort is weirdly invested in his marks—weirdly, because Harry thinks they have much more important things to discuss, including whether Voldemort will keep his promises not to torture and kill people for any longer than the end of the term.

“Harry.”

Neville sounds serious enough that Harry puts down the Charms book and turns back to face him. Neville is leaning his fist on his leg and biting his lip.

“Did Dumbledore believe what they said? About—about Voldemort?”

Part of Harry freezes internally. How many times is he going to have to go through this? How many times will he have to lose friends?

But at least the loss of Ron and Hermione—and Ginny—has given him some practice. He can’t hesitate, even though they’re in the middle of the common room. His wand is tucked in his hand and Basilisk stirring around his neck as he says gently, “Why would you think that he believed them, Neville?”

“It would make sense,” Neville says. He doesn’t move, except to twitch his wand in a way that nearly make Harry react. However, the muffling of noise around them just proves that he cast a Privacy Charm. “Why he would order Snape to kill you. Why he would leave the school afterwards. If he thinks that Voldemort is going to take over, or that we have no hope because you’re on his side.”

“I’m not on his side!”

“But you are his son.”

Harry calls the incantation of the Memory Charm into the forefront of his brain and holds it there as he stares at Neville and says, as calmly as he can, “Yes.”

Neville just nods. Harry can’t really make anything out of the blank expression on his face. “When did you find out?”

“At the beginning of last summer.” Harry isn’t going to say anything about the Horcruxes no matter how much Neville pries. That’s the kind of thing that Voldemort really would kill Neville for knowing.

“And he was the one who cured my parents.”

“Arranged for it. Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s bloody crazy,” Harry snaps. Neville blinks in surprise. “He heard that we were friends last term, and he did it as a gift to you for being my friend. But he also threatens Ron and Hermione all the time. He’s mental.”

Neville is quiet for long enough that Harry hopes he can just cast the Memory Charm and get on with it. Basilisk is hissing suggestions from around his neck that Harry doesn’t intend to listen to, but Neville doesn’t give any indication he can hear her.

Then Neville glances at him and says, “It doesn’t sound like you’re completely on his side.”

“No.”

“So what did you do that made Dumbledore and Ron and Hermione and Ginny think you are?”

“It’s always my bloody fault, isn’t it? Not theirs. They can’t have leaped to conclusions or made stupid decisions. No, it’s always my fault.”

“Mate,” Neville says, sounding so like Ron that Harry darts him a miserable glance. “I didn’t say that they were right. I’m just trying to give you a chance to explain.”

Harry closes his eyes. He wants to give a calm, coherent explanation that will make Neville choose his side, as maybe the only friend Harry has left, but it doesn’t work out that way. The words just tumble out.

“Voldemort found out and he wasn’t going to let it go. He kidnapped me from my Muggle relatives’ house and killed them. Then he tortured Hagrid because Hagrid was the one who took me to the Dursleys’ house in the first place. He made me live in Malfoy Manor and take Dark Arts lessons and take on some people who would have been Marked as his Death Eaters otherwise. He gave me people to protect and he keeps threatening to take them away. He gives me these gifts he thinks I want and they’re always insane. He pretends that he loves me and acts like he does and Dumbledore was always telling me that I couldn’t fall for that and the fantasy of a loving family when I never had one. I ask him not to do things and he says all I have to do is ask, but he’s still insane and he could change his mind at any time. And now more people keep coming to me and asking for protection and what happens when I can’t protect them all and Voldemort changes his mind and I have to join him for real to protect them?”

Harry’s words finally run down. He sits there with his eyes closed and breathes, ignoring the tension in his bonds, the soft voice of Theo asking what’s wrong, Basilisk’s agitated hisses. He didn’t even realize how afraid he was of all that until he got the chance to voice it.

He waits. Waits for Neville to say something, laugh, act offended, reject him—something.

“And Ron and Hermione…”

Well, that’s not what Harry thought Neville would concentrate on, but he’ll take it. “Are upset that I Marked people and that I’m trying to protect some who might get Marked and turned over to Voldemort otherwise,” Harry says tiredly. “Upset that I didn’t tell them. Upset I killed Snape. Upset that I begged special sanctuary for them from Voldemort. Upset about everything, really. I think they just want to change things so that I’m not his son, but that’s not going to happen.”

Neville is silent again. Then he says, “That’s not your fault.”

Harry opens his eyes with a gasp, staring at Neville. It’s honestly the last thing he thought his friend would say. He’s already lost multiple friends, after all, and Neville’s parents fought with the Order of the Phoenix.

“You don’t know what this means, Neville,” Harry whispers. “If it’s about your parents, then he could change his mind and turn against them if they join the war again—”

“You think they would?”

“Of—course?” There was never really a doubt in Harry’s mind, even if Neville tried to persuade them otherwise. After all, he’s sure his own parents would immediately go back to fighting Voldemort if they were resurrected.

Well, James and his mum. That’s still weird to think about.

Neville shakes his head. His eyes are hard and bright, and Harry’s heard a few whispers comparing his own eye color to poison in fifth and fourth year, but Neville’s are the ones that look like that right now.

“They’re going to focus on healing,” Neville whispers. “They’re both awake and walking around now, and they can eat and get dressed on their own, but they’ve got—a long way to go. And don’t tell anyone this, but I go to the hospital wing and Floo home each weekend. They want to spend time with me to make up for the time they lost.”

“I’m so sorry, Nev.”

“It was—if it were Bellatrix Lestrange or Barty Crouch that did this, I might not be able to accept it.”

It takes Harry a moment, sorting through the guilt and the grief, to realize what Neville is saying. He stares at his friend.

“Do not be stupid,” Basilisk says impatiently. “He is offering to be your true friend. Take it.”

“You can forgive me?” Harry whispers.

“None of us can help who we’re related to. Maybe someday you’ll tell me more, and I’d like to hear it, but you don’t have to. My Great Uncle Algie is a pretty awful person, but—he’s family.” Neville closes his eyes. “And I know it’s more complicated than that when we’re talking about a bloody Dark Lord, but—that’s the way it is.”

Harry closes his eyes, too. The Privacy Charm won’t hide it if he stands up and throws his arms around Neville, and so he has to fight that impulse down.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“No problem, mate.”

*

“Absolutely no one believes them.”

Harry blinks and glances up at Justin, who has come to lean against Harry’s table in the library. He has a sneer on his face that reminds Harry of what Draco used to look like before he got some sense knocked into him by the Marking. Harry says, “I assume you mean Ron and Hermione, but who doesn’t believe them?”

“Anyone.” Justin sits down at the table, shifting his left arm so that his Mark stays under the sleeve. Harry really needs to ask Voldemort for the enchantment that will keep it hidden unless they’re alone or with other Marked people. “All the Ravenclaws I’ve talked to, all the Hufflepuffs, and the Slytherins think it’s a grand joke.”

“Do you think anyone is likely to start believing them?”

“No.” Justin pauses. “I don’t know if you realize this, but Granger and Weasley are pretty unpopular.”

“They—are?”

“No, you didn’t realize it. I see.” Justin shakes his head. “A lot of people still think of Granger as stuck-up, since she has a tendency to correct them. And Weasley insults people in other Houses all the time.”

“Um. So did I.”

“Yeah, but you were unpopular for other reasons.”

Harry has to acknowledge that with a reluctant nod. “All right. Thanks for looking into that for me, Justin.”

“What are sort-of-friends-who-are-survivelling-you-to-make-sure-you-don’t-go-mad for?” Justin says, and stands and wanders away towards a table with Ernie Macmillan sitting at it. Harry idly wonders if Ernie himself is at all popular outside his House, and then puts the speculation away.

It’s good to know that other people aren’t likely to start figuring out his real parentage, at least, or believing what Ron and Hermione spread around. It doesn’t tell Harry why Ron and Hermione are whispering and paying more attention to him lately, but.

One problem at a time.

*

“I do not understand what you have asked of me.”

“It is a simple thing, Nagini.”

“It is not simple. I do not understand what you mean by better.”

Lord Voldemort sighs and reaches out to run his fingers down his familiar’s chin. Nagini is not soothed by the gesture as she usually is, however. She turns her head away and coils down into a pile of scales and sulk.

They are seated in the room where the Christmas tree remains, and Lord Voldemort leans back and watches the fairy lights as he considers how to reword his request. He wanted Nagini to judge between the Horcruxes—the ones he has here, at least—and say who is the best among them, or if his soul feels stronger. He does not trust his own judgment.

But Nagini does not understand him even when he rephrases the question, and finally slithers out the door in a fine temper. Lord Voldemort places his chin in his palm and ponders.

He will have to rely on his own judgment, he decides at last. And that judgment says Harry is the best portion of him.

Well. Then he must begin the great work.

*

“Why are we here? It is cold. I wish to go back to sleep.”

Harry gently rubs Basilisk’s side as he paces along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He doesn’t know himself why they’re here, really. Only that he woke up and felt the tug of something powerful, something he assumed at first was Voldemort calling him, and then thought might be a distress call from one of his courtiers.

But it turned out to be neither. And Harry doesn’t feel fear or distress as he walks the edge of the Forest. Just a sense of anticipation.

“It is cold.”

“All right, we’ll go back to bed,” Harry mumbles, and turns around.

And his breath rushes out of him as he sees someone walk into the light of his lit wand.

“Hello, Harry,” Sirius says softly, and holds out his arms.

Harry can’t help his choked sob as he dashes into them, as he feels his godfather’s arms close around him, as Sirius whispers to him and rocks him over and over.