Arts and Sanctuary

by DoctorD

In the summer following his first encounter with the Dark Lord, Harry has managed to find himself in a situation where only a miracle could allow him to survive. Fortunately for him, Harry has that miracle inside him: it's called a Horcrux, but what is Harry willing to do to survive? Dark AU. Dark Harry Potter.

2. Chapter 2

Loneliness had eaten away at him over the first half of Harry's unusual summer. Initially, he'd felt trapped and bitter, abandoned by the two people he'd bonded with. The idea that, perhaps, Ronald and Hermione had found him… unacceptable of their time had been a constant presence, nagging and tugging at his consciousness as strongly as his uncle's physical affirmations of his worthlessness. He'd been thinking particularly hard about this concept the day of his awakening, allowing niggling doubts to distract him, to weaken him. It was something that the Dark Lord had picked up on, initially, his inadequate sense of self-worth…

So, that was the first of many things they worked on.

For, upon their disappearance from that darkened reality, he had immediately been thrust into an entirely different residency. One meant to 'strengthen the pathetic notions of magic' he'd been initially surrounded with. His reappearance, battered and barely conscious, had been enough to startle the beings he was meant to implore himself to. He'd tried to apologize as he oozed crimson over a rather lovely beige carpet, but the most he could do was wheeze and screech as whatever the Dark Lord had initially done to ease his suffering abruptly ended.

Embrace that pain, let it break you, then become something stronger.

He hadn't understood those words at the time, swaddled in delirium, but he never forgot them. That pain was a reminder that he was alive, meant to be born again beneath a banner of survival, of change. Voldemort had wound them both up, strangling them with an ancient vow of wild magic. Deep within his being, where the idle pulse of the Dark Lord's Horcrux merged magic mingled so well among his own, he knew that phrase would become his gospel.

So, he flopped and he croaked as expensive shoes slipped in and out of his vision, as voices loud and baffled swirled around him, creating a dizzying mixture of feminine and masculine tones. There were three people, soon to be four, that had tended to his bones and flesh, yet much of that night was still an inconceivable blur of happenings.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir?"

A voice, he knew it rather well.

"Dobby." Harry twisted around in his seat and gave the creature that had addressed him a somewhat withering look. While being interrupted from his musing wasn't the worst offense, that didn't make the interruption any more tolerable.

"Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Mr. Harry Potter should be coming downstairs for afternoon tea with Young Master Draco."

Harry leaned back in his seat, one arm tossed over the back of an ancient and, if Harry was honest, quite uncomfortable chair. "I'll be there in a bit, thank you Dobby."

Old habits die hard and while Harry was certain the little elf deserved very little thanks for what he'd done-for, upon his arrival and subsequent saving, the house-elf had tried to usher him from his new residence, a fact Harry did not appreciate considering this vile thing had also been keeping his mail from him-he was not so cold that immediately dismissing his would-be-horrible-savior felt appropriate.

After all, for his shame and disobedience, Dobby had been punished then gifted to him and Harry intended to keep a loyal house-elf, no matter the irritation that currently brought him. Eventually, Dobby would stop twitching and shaking whenever his new housemates were near and fall into an appropriate and natural routine again. Best way to help that along was an abundance of cordial and polite behavior, he'd learned that much from The House-Elf Bond & The Lord.

Well, to be clear, Harry had learned a great deal of things from that book among many others. Somehow, the idea of learning and reading without constant eyes and pressure upon him made the act rather enjoyable. Cathartic in fact and it wasn't one he'd give up anytime soon, no matter how naive people sought to make him.

Still, now was not the time to lose himself within another passage of The Perfect Gentlemen for Wizarding Children, there was work to be done and this meeting, much like many others, was just another aspect of his new existence and he intended to embrace fully. He would make Him proud, after all.

Since, those within this household very much believed him to be His son.

What a mischievous Horcrux.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The Malfoys were a family of impeccable taste. They wore a certain level of haughtiness that bespoke of their wizarding heritage and gave it a twist of royalty. Harry, no longer the ignorant youth of his early summer days, had spent many a night within their family parlor watching them interact with a sort of chilling introspection that may have worried the average parent. He found their interactions alien and foreign and the oddly rare but extremely genuine show of affection that happened to pass between them was an unreal experience for him. He'd only seen such actions, exaggerated for his benefit, between the family of his Aunt and he'd been sickened by the constant play of it. Here, however, here was something real. He could feel it in the heavy thump of magic that sung in the walls and crawled across the ceiling. This was a family, a magical family, who seemed rather chilling for all intents and purposes but…

"Oh, Harry," Narcissa sighed, an idle act of mild annoyance as she lightly brushed back the wildness of his hair and lightly rubbed her thumb across a smudge of ink that coated his left cheek, "Must you be so… slovenly?"

There's a certain fondness in her tone, a type of… affection reserved for him and he can't fault her for her annoyance, nor would he have wanted to. Though he was still recovering-emotionally-from his near-death experience he could understand genuinity and the good Madam Malfoy had been nothing but gentle-or as gentle as one, such as herself, could be-since his recovery within her estate. He gave her a crooked smile, something off, something different, but she accepted it all the same as a silent apology.

"Come along then," Narcissa said, her hand now steady upon the small of his back as she guided him toward a side-room, one that connected to the children's receiving area. "There's someone Draco would like you to meet."

She didn't enter with him, she never did. There was an unspoken respect between himself and his would-be enemy, one that spoke of a brotherhood Harry had never experienced. One that surprised him when he'd found the boy sitting on the edge of his bed with wide eyes as his father had told him-

'This boy, this boy-'

'Potter? Why was he here? Why was he like that?'

'Muggles, the Muggles he stayed with. They tried to destroy him.'

'What?!'

'Things have changed, so much has changed. I feel like… like He's returned. I can feel Him, that same sort of magic but…'

'Father, what are you talking about?'

'Listen, Harry Potter isn't what he seems, he may have never been. It's His son Draco, I believe Harry is His son.'

Harry wouldn't correct him. He knew, on some primitive level, that his entire makeup was intertwined with the wraith in such a way that he could very well have become Voldemort's son in some unbelievable fashion. Either way, from that point forward, Draco had been incredibly… well, an agitating clingy annoyance for the most part, with fierce features and a sort of sudden fearful protectiveness that Harry had never experienced, not even from Ronald.

It was cute, in an odd way.

"Harry!" Draco waved a hand furiously, motioning for him to come forward, to be enveloped by a slightly familiar face.

"You weren't telling a fib," A rolling voice said.

"Mr. Zabini," Harry greeted, extending a hand in the perfect emulation of pure-blood politeness.

"Mr. Potter," Zabini replied as he lifted a cocoa-colored hand to grip his own in a firm and powerful handshake, "I heard about what happened. We all did."

"All?" Harry asked, brow quirked toward Draco as the boy stood with hands upon his hips and a broad smile on his face.

"I told them, my immediate circle. I told them that dirty Muggles had nearly killed you. That now you understood us."

Harry gave a click of his tongue against the back of perfect teeth, "You're a gossip."

"I'm an informant!" Draco bristled.

"So, it's true then?" Zabini whispered, leaning closer as he tightened his grip around Harry's hand, "That they…?"

"Tried to kill me," Harry's tone was level, jolly even. He found the entire ordeal exhausting to blab about but interesting in how others thought it weakened him. He would not be defined by the abuse that attempted to steal his prowess, "The Malfoys have been rather generous, taking me in, saving my life."

Draco smiled then, something less maddened and more genuine as he pat his chest in arrogant pleasure, "My Mother is one of the best healers around."

Harry gave a mild nod of agreement, he supposed that was true enough.

"So," Zabini interrupted, "he came then? He really came here… with you?"

Harry could only repeat what he knew Draco had said, but the boy-his friend, he supposed-could exaggerate the most simple of tales. "I've been told that He brought me here. That He tasked the family with my protection."

"The greatest honor," Draco whispered, though his gaze seemed glassy, dreamy, "it's why I brought you here. You should reconsider, Zabini. Father was livid that Muggles had spilled magical blood-"

"How did you end up with them?" Zabini interrupted, "The Muggles?"

"I'm not certain," Harry answered, his words slow and thoughtful, "I have my suspicions. The Muggles, you see, they're blood relatives but they really were the worst sort of Muggles. Soured the whole bunch, you know."

Zabini pressed his lips thin as if there was something he wanted to say right on the edge of his tongue.

"Draco," Harry said, and immediately the blonde went toward the open doors of their room, only to close them abruptly and turn back to face them. Once, and only once, the doors were closed did Harry lift his hand and with a twitch of a finger or two- "It's silenced, speak your mind."

Zabini's mouth opened once, twice, flopping with disbelief, "You warded the room? Really?"

"There's a great deal of things I can do," Harry answered casually, "This is but one of them."

"He's the real deal," Draco whispered, "Tell him, Harry."

Harry tossed Draco a withering look, but the boy only stared back fervently, "He's alive, you know. The Dark Lord."

Zabini swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing, "You killed Him."

"I vanquished Him. The idea that He was killed is a fantasy, He came to me. He freed me from mediocrity."

"But why you?"

"I'm not entirely certain. It has something to with-"

"The Headmaster." Draco said, "The Headmaster has always been kind to you when he's been kind to no one else."

Harry paused for a moment but nodded, Draco was correct. "I've been given the chance to find out about a great deal of things. I intend to do so all for the glory of bettering myself."

Harry lifted his hands, to stare in idle thought at his flexing palms. He could feel his magic, his power, like a steady humming heat. It twisted along his fingertips, ebbed across his shoulders and caused his hair to billow in its manifested breeze. Draco shivered, his senses acute, and idly Harry swore he could feel the pluck and pull of Draco's core. Just a twitch, just a shift of his own magic and he could have, perhaps, had Draco swaying beneath his metaphysical allure. Likewise, even Zabini's eyes had widened, almost hollow with their distraction.

"That's you?" Zabini croaked, his voice low and hoarse.

"A bit of me," Harry mumbled, head tilted.

For a moment Zabini was still, his knees set to tremble as the pressure in the space increased and his chest heaved. Soon enough he fell into a bended knee crouch, an olde bow meant to display sworn fealty, a position any pure-blood son who craved honor and glory would have known to take.

"Y-you are the son of my Lord."

Harry gave a slight nod, "Yes, I believe I am."

Harry flexed his hand, causing the nearby bookcase-filled with all notions of rudimentary learnings and Quidditch history-to bounce in the sudden quake. Over the last few weeks Harry had felt elation at his magical progress. The power he wielded had been so very deep within him, buried beneath years of neglect and mistreatment. The therapeutic hum of the ancient Malfoy Manor had healed something in him, something small and begging to be nurtured. He could see the advantage a pure-blood child might have over someone Muggle raised. He could feel the magic wriggle along his consciousness, increasing cognitive reasoning and understanding. It was a wonder-and a testament to her ability-that Hermione had done so well among the gentry in Hogwarts.

Actually… how odd, indeed, that she had.

Just one more aspect of his former life he'd have to inspect, he supposed.

Confidence filled his chest and Draco stumbled over to drop into the same one-knee kneel Zabini currently did. Once upon a time, when Draco had questioned his previous friendships and deemed them worthless, Harry had forced him to kneel, to choose between adhering to his way of thinking, his pragmatic flexibility, or to be left behind when the time for change echoed around them. Last time, Harry had not given Draco much of a choice. This time, Draco kneeled in a form of solidarity, in respect.

"I'm giving you a choice, Mr. Zabini." Harry clasped his hands together, looping them at his front, a childish action of falsified innocence, "I have a lot of ideas about how our world currently is and how it could be."

Zabini cleared his throat, "Do you plan to continue His work?"

"His work could use a few adjustments," Harry said, "but he is correct that the Muggles and those that cater to them could destroy our way of life, our very existence, if we let them.

"You see, I've a grand idea. We've weakened, all of us, in the last few centuries. We're torn asunder by the idealistic views of dreamers instead of grounded by our realists. Our culture has devolved, eaten away by-"

"Mudbloods," Draco blurted out, his face twisted in a sneer.

Harry snorted, "No, not just Mudbloods, Draco." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, even if the word left a slimy taste upon his tongue and he wrinkled his lips at the vulgarity of it, "Propaganda would have you think that they were the underlying problem, but it's a lack of education."

Harry motioned for the boys to stand and they did so, even if reluctantly, "The ignorant and vulnerable will roll belly up in the presence of a more dominant and seemingly much wiser figure. If garbage is spewed by the first mouth, then it is easily replicated by the second. Then again, and again, until every household is filled with over-exaggerated notions."

"What do you mean?" Draco whispered.

"I mean," Harry said, "that each faction has utilized the most extreme nonsense to push their agenda. The Light, with its management and categorization of magic. The Dark, with its blame slinging and fear mongering."

Both of his companions looked ill at ease, concerned about the ideals Harry attempted to impart upon them, but he was confident in his ability to get his point across and he knew that two pure-blood children would understand his message far better than any others.

"But Father says," Draco said slowly, "that the Muggles… That their offspring is forcing us to change. To adapt to their sensibilities."

Harry's lips twisted up, a half-formed smile, "Some of them, but the others are just confused and bewildered children, being spoon-fed what to think and how to behave."

Their conversation paused for a moment before Harry broke the silence again, his voice low, like a conspirators whisper, "Do you know what I was told about the wizarding world when I found out about its existence?"

Their silence was their answer.

"I was told that I was The Chosen one. That I was special, and yet all my life I'd been called a freak, garbage, and a great many other things. I was told that I had vanquished Sir You-Know-Who and that that practically made me a celebrity, a hero, royalty-none of this filled me with any sort of ease, by the way."

Harry took a moment to laugh lightly. His experiences felt like another life. Like a dream that he'd barely held onto. He wondered if He had changed him, had infected his thoughts with dreams and startling maturity, "But, when I look back on it, that isn't the oddest thing I'd heard that summer. No, I was told, among other things, that the Dark Lord had been a Slytherin."

Zabini drew in a sharp breath, his brow pinched. It seemed like he already knew the ending of Harry's story, while Draco remained perfectly still, practically statuesque.

"Do you know who told me that? My good friend Hagrid. He told me, well, he told me there wasn't a single wizard in Slytherin that wasn't bad. You know? Abhorred? Loathed? Hated? That was my first impression."

Silence greeted him, but he could feel them, feel their fury in the idle snap of their magic beneath his blanket of potential, in the rolling snarl that Draco released and the harsh downturn of lips as Zabini exhaled loudly.

"And can you imagine how many others they tell that? How many half-bloods? How many Muggle-borns?"

When Draco finally spoke, it was with a tight throat and harsh hiss of, "No."

"Well, I imagine a lot of them. Slytherin is being slung through the mud before a new witch or wizard receive their first wand, you see."

There was a heavy silence among the pair, one that spoke of slouched shoulders and anger.

"When my Father-"

"Forget about your father, Draco." Harry interrupted, "Forget about the Headmaster for a moment, forget about the Dark Lord and focus on me."

Both boys snapped back to attention.

"When we return to Hogwarts things will undoubtedly change. Something is missing in me, something that has been torn asunder and replaced with something else. I was offered Slytherin initially, did you know that? And I rejected my rightful house out of fear of being hated when I was already hated so much beyond those walls."

He took a slight breath, one to collect his thoughts, "However, when word gets out that… a great deal has happened to Great Britain's Chosen One, there may be a call for a proper resort."

He extended his hands toward them both, expectant, his own gaze wide with the fervent passion of the absolute admiration he felt for his initial savior. It was something he couldn't resist, this unhealthy awe and paternal love for his current obsession. "Slytherin must change and we will be the ones to usher it forth! Not your father, Draco. Not the Headmaster. We will right the wrongs of those around us while pulling the powerful forward, shifting the normal structure of purity toward one that respects the hierarchy of authority."

His companions looked taken aback, but they did not scowl, they did not flee and while Harry had them, he would force them to listen. "They loathe you, us, because of our presentation. Power, real power, cannot be thrust aside and left to die because of the ignorance of both our parties. It is how we lost magic, real magic, wild and untainted, to the ages. It is how our original cause, our ideals and fight for preservation of our culture, our people, was perverted."

The words that came out of his mouth, so very beyond him but a few moons ago, now flowed with the sort of ease only known to the prodigal.

"So, we will help ourselves to the strong. We will accept guidance and provide it to those who put forth the effort. We will bring back the Olde Ways and champion our people under His banner of reform."

His lullaby had become a savage prophecy, one he intended to self-fulfill. He swept his companions into the frenzy, watched as they stood taller with rolled back shoulders and ferocious grins. They would be ambitious, they would be cunning, they would become the controlled controller, the disciplined disciplinarian, and the lord their world needed before His return.

And He would be proud as Harry laid the groundwork for His absolute dominion. His empire of prestige and power.

"The Muggles are worthless, but their progeny can still be worth something. So long as they obey. It is their choice whether they allow themselves to be used to push someone's agenda of control and magical suppression or grab the reigns of their true purpose."

For Harry, would not condemn an entire collective of fresh individuals, if some treasures could be found among the supposed garbage they were believed to be.

Draco twisted up his nose but gave a shaky nod. Harry knew there would still be work to be done, to slowly shift the balance of destructive ideals into something more useful. But Zabini…

"And what of those families who are… blood-traitors? The ones who started those lies. I am not some inherently evil scum."

"And the Muggle-borns aren't inherently worthless," Harry answered playfully earning a scowl from his current company, but he soon shook his head, "Their time will come, though I have hope for…"

He tapped his chin, an act of simple contemplation, "For some. I have hope for some. Those who refuse to remain blind."

He allowed them to digest his information before he combed Zabini's person. The boy was certainly angry enough, enraged and impassioned by Harry's words, but that was expected. Harry had, after all, been rather angry as well after his own personal discoveries. Let him boil and stew, and then, when all that restlessness needed somewhere to go, Harry would provide an appropriate outlet… but first-

"No matter what happens, we will spend this year united." Harry's tone was soft, his palms flat and toward his companions, "We will do what we can, because we are more than just simple children."

Then, with a soft exhale he turned to face Zabini fully, "But first… I'm looking for more friends."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Harry," Lucius voice was a strong and penetrating presence, a command swaddled in a soft tone and the firm grip of his hand upon his shoulder, "do you understand the reason we're here?"

Harry didn't mind the warmth of Lucius hand upon his shoulder, he rather liked the illusion that this man, Lucius, was his father figure. Indeed, perhaps, in some portion of Lucius, beyond the obvious responsibility and duties that the wraith had given to him, there could have been a seed of protective affection there. Harry knew that the Malfoys had certainly grown on him to a point. He was fond of their presence, even if he couldn't quite understand why they had such a thing about affection and touch.

"To view my accounts."

Lucius gave a nod as he guided him into the massive building that was Gringotts. "Yes. You see, I'm curious and I'm sure you're curious, about the state of your affairs since…"

"Yes," Harry replied, "I understand."

There was no need for Lucius to elaborate, especially not out here. While Gringotts wasn't particularly busy Harry was more than aware that this was a peculiar day, more or less the day that most families took their children out to shop for school supplies for the upcoming term. He could hear the rabble, some nearby crowd 'ooo'ing and 'aaah'ing but for the most part he thought it beyond his concern. Dobby would take care of his school shopping, now that the house-elf was more than willing and eager to obey and commit to him properly.

They stepped forward, one unit, ward and caretaker, toward the massive podium that housed a waiting goblin who seemed all teeth and hard frowns. There was nothing particularly inviting about the creature, though Harry hadn't found them delightful his first meeting either. Still, he was nothing if not a proper boy for his hidden father and his summer had been filled with all sorts of delightfully cultural insight.

"Well well," The goblin huffed, leaning forward on the podium so that he could properly sneer down at them, "Lord Malfoy, Mr. Potter."

Lucius gave the goblin a mild look of discomfort and disgust, something that certainly gave off an air of mild annoyance at being addressed in such a manner but Harry only gave the goblin his crooked grin.

"Good day, may your vaults overflow with bones and blood."

Lucius quirked brow and incredulous look was no more amusing that the slight widening of the goblin's eyes.

"And may you conquer and decimate your enemies, Mr. Potter." There's a slight hesitance in the goblin's gaze, a thoughtful cadence in his voice.

"I'm here with my current magical guardian to check on the state of my affairs, Sir-"

The goblin huffed and waved a gold ring covered hand, "No one has attached 'sir' before my title in centuries."

"Respect should be given when it is due," Harry replied, a simple statement but one that seemed to make the shadows within the goblin's gaze twist and glimmer.

"That is true," His gravelly voice gave off a bark of a laugh, something like the harsh squawk of the crushed and dying, "It's Sir Cringecrook."

"Sir Cringecrook," Harry said, "Then I would ask that you summon my current account manager for my guardian."

Cringecrook gave Harry a flash of pointy teeth, the goblin version of a rather nasty smile, before he turned a droll expression upon Mr. Malfoy. "Of course, of course."

With a grunt and a grumble Cringecrook leaned down to whisper something into the ear of a nearby goblin. With a swift nod that goblin stalked away, leaving them to the bank foyer and the emptiness within. It was in that moment that Harry had to appreciate the power and pull of Lucius allure with the Ministry and his rather… cunning ability to grasp temporary ownership of his person-under a clause that determined lost magical children remain with the nearest magical source. This was but one of many appropriate steps Lucius had taken to secure his legitimacy to Harry's person. Standing in the hall of the great goblin nation was another.

Thankfully, they didn't wait long. The goblins were a punctual and swift-acting lot. Soon enough the massive doors to the left of the bank opened and Harry recognized the confident swagger of one of the first goblins he had ever met.

"Sir Griphook," Harry greeted, "I hope your blades have been kept fed and well-cared for."

The goblin almost stumbled, his gaze comically wide, his jaw flapping. This time Lucius chuckled, hand resting lightly upon the head of his elegant cane, "You are just so full of surprises."

"Always," Harry grinned.

The goblin cleared his throat and raised a clawed hand to adjust the tie that now seemed a bit too tight around his throat. "Mr. Potter, I heard you had need of me?"

Harry gave an idle bob of head, "Oh yes, Sir Griphook. My current magical guardian and I have some questions, and plenty of time, if you'd like to answer them?"

The goblin seemed to study him, curious mayhaps about his change in demeanor and the aura of respect sans wonder that clung to him. "I must say, Mr. Potter, that I am more than a little interested in what you wish to discuss. You see, you seem a bit-"

"Different?" Harry chirped playfully, "A little. Your office…?"

With only a moment to spare narrow eyes upon the Malfoy lord the goblin soon turned to lead him toward his private space, though not before he gave a cautious tilt of his head toward the original goblin at the podium with a muttered- "I don't want to be disturbed."

Cringecrook only replied by way of dismissive wave and soon they were off beyond the massive barred doorway of the bank and down an elaborate gem encrusted hall of wet stone and flickering flames. Harry took a moment to take it in, to feel the heady rumble of something olde and wild in the walls.

Right before they arrived at an imposing door.

"Please, have a seat," Griphook said, motioning with an outstretched hand toward the tall back chairs before his desk. With little preamble, the goblin took his own seat on the other side not waiting for the two wizards to take their own before he began to pull out a series of rolled parchments and lay on the desk.

With a practiced grace, now ingrained and instinctive, Harry took his seat-Lucius beside him, face a careful mask of introspection.

Harry decided to break their collective silence, "I am without my key."

This caused Griphook to pause in his action, "No matter, a bloodtest-"

"It is a matter," Harry countered, leaned forward slightly so that his hands could be placed flat upon the wooden desk, "Because, you see. I should have it."

Griphook took a moment, letting the silence stretch before them, "The giant has not returned it to you, then?"

Ah.

"He has not. Is it not mine to hold and care for, Sir Griphook?"

The goblin tilted his head, drawn into the game of careful words and shark-toothed smiles, "I would say it is, Mr. Potter, though it isn't unheard of that a magical guardian would hold onto the key to keep safe."

"Oh?" Harry said, eyes impossibly wide, innocent, "But I was not aware Hagrid was my magical guardian, Sir."

"Mmm," the goblin leaned back. "I'd say it isn't him, exactly."

"So," Lucius interjected, "who might it be?"

The conversation rolled forward, inspired by an innocent inquiry with deeper implications. Griphook's almost amused expression grew pinched. His beady eyes began to narrow as he tapped a pointed claw against the desk. Harry could see the wheels turning in his head, just as surely as ideals and notions shifted across his own mentality.

He was no longer as blind as he'd once appeared.

"We should check," the goblin finally offered, "I'd need to open some files, Ministry mandated-"

"It would be prudent that we do. Preferably while here," Lucius offered, his tone a professional canter, "and perhaps, in doing so, it would be proper to provide a fee for processing."

This made Griphook release a thin-lipped smile, "A fee is appropriate, yes, something very reasonable for the security of your ward."

The goblin said little else thereafter and instead turned to an odd-looking bird of blacks and purples, with a crooked beak and missing eye- "You heard 'em."

With barely a sound the bird took off, leaving the space to fly toward and through a small vent within the office wall. With its departure came a slight lull in conversation, as Griphook waited with the sort of patience Harry had learned to appreciate. Even Lucius seemed somewhat relaxed in the current element, a father teaching his son to be lord of accounts and reason.

When the bird finally returned, it was as if life had been brought back into the room. In its clawed and yellow feet was a heavy scroll which was dropped unceremoniously into the grip of the goblin. "Good fly, Creek."

The bird said nothing, only settled upon his post and glared wearily at the party.

The goblin leaned forward with scroll in hand and with a quick tap of the parchment it began to unravel, "Do you see it here? This is the current assigned magical guardian, due to the absence of such."

Harry was not surprised by the name that glowed a brilliant gold at the bottom of the sheet, it was only one more confirmation among many that no-longer struck him as coincidental. "The Headmaster."

Griphook gave a slight nod, "Due to 'mysterious circumstance', and because he is lord and master of your current school, he was able to claim ownership of your person."

"Of which he has done little to keep safe," Lucius said, a passing note, a lure.

The goblin took the bait, glancing up from the parchment with a slow blink, "Oh?"

Harry sniffed slightly, a habit, before he leaned back, "I am not being guarded by the Headmaster, in my summers I spend time with Muggles, without proper guidance."

Griphook curled his upper-lip, "That is not what we were told."

"And what was it then, that you were told?" Lucius said.

"My assumption is that Albus Dumbledore has your key. Furthermore, through speculation and Albus own correspondence, we were to believe he had taken the appropriate measures to ensure, as the last heir of your line, Potter, and the owner of healthy vaults, that you were well cared for."

Harry gave a slight nod, amused by the notion that Dumbledore had his vault key-a key that he would be sure no longer functioned for a guardian that was horrid at the task. He expected boiling rage, to be swaddled in hatred, to feel the bile of loathing… but what he felt was the comforting numb of a puzzle piece sliding perfectly into place, one more hole filled through proper inspection.

"The Ministry is currently investigating the reasoning behind why Mr. Potter was found wandering my gardens, battered and half dead." Lucius said, turning a brief look toward Harry, who felt no embarrassment over his initial arrival. "It should be noted that Muggles have been caring for the Potter heir, improperly, which can be backed by pensive record."

Griphook's brows rose, he seemed surprised by such a statement, "How appalling, for wizards to treat their younglings in such a manner. Especially one with the importance that he supposedly holds."

"Do not misunderstand," Lucius corrected, his voice no longer that soft allure. His tone seemed somewhat chilling, harsh in command if only due to the nature of their discussion, "A true wizard would hold Heir Potter to the highest degree of security. Furthermore, his value to the wizarding world is irreplaceable, to those of us who truly care for our children. Albus," He spat, "irresponsibility is one of many reasons why we come to you today imparting such sensitive information. I can trust that you won't feel the need to repeat the words we've shared as we both work toward Heir Potter's safety and the fattening of his vaults."

With nose twisted in mild displeasure, perhaps at being addressed in such a way, Griphook said, "I do enjoy the fattening of vaults."

"Then," Harry interjected, "I would be thankful and appreciative for any help my accountant can provide, during this difficult time of hard choices and hard thoughts."

Griphook only gave him a withering stare, unmoved but not due to a lack of empathy, "And as you grow, Heir Potter, within your role and take your place among the wizards who think us only jockeys for their gold, where will I be?"

"In charge of the Most Ancient and Noble Potter vaults, I'd hope." Harry said, but his smile was somewhat off as lips pulled back to reveal teeth shiny and slick from saliva, "At my side, good friend, drowned by the gold and meat of our enemies."

Lucius throat flexed in a silent swallow, but Griphook's eyes gleamed with an healthy amount of interest.

"Then I am more than willing to help, though perhaps a fee should be exchanged as that would be more official as we begin to craft a new key for a newly managed wizard."

With reclaimed, interference free, accounts.

"I think that's appropriate," Harry whispered, though his gaze for was Lucius, who nodded without hesitation.

That was when the goblin laughed, a nail biting sound, full of rattles and a joy that seemed more malicious that not, "Then here is what we'll do."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The day had been more than fruitful, giving Harry the literal key to move forward and Lucius the necessary paperwork to apply for official guardianship. They expected little in terms of opposition. Lucius was a charismatic and fat-pocketed individual, but more than that, he was a skilled politician blessed with the finesse his father had held and his father before him. Draco prayed fervently to inherit such ability, and Harry thought the skills necessary to bring the amount of change he wished to see. So, when Lucius came to him later with evening, with a bundle of parchment, a purple covered book, with pinched brow Harry suspected what he wished to discuss.

"Harry," Lucius said, his person set to linger in the hallway of the library Harry enjoyed prowling in his leisure, "May I speak with you?"

Harry gave an idle nod as he snapped a well-worn edition of Hogwarts: A History closed. "Of course."

Before him the Malfoy lord took a seat, Harry's key in hand upon a simple chain-

"Keep it." Harry said, enjoying the somewhat startled expression upon Lucius face.

The older man gave a soft exhale, "It belongs to you."

"I don't think it would be safe to hold onto at Hogwarts, least certain figures ask for it back to correct the needed changes we made this afternoon."

Lucius nodded solemnly, understanding set to twist in the depths of a wise gaze, "Then we shall speak of these instead."

Before Harry, on the decorated wooden table, Lucius carefully placed several scrolls. Then, removing his wand from his cane, he tapped each one. "These are detailed records of your accounts, dating back to before your parents were removed from this world."

Lucius paused to make sure Harry followed, and once he gave a nod to continue, the older man said, "This is their will."

That had Harry sitting a bit straighter and he leaned over with open palm and held back expectation. Lucius gave him the heavy scroll, with its runic symbols and heavy stench of magic. It wriggled across his flesh, waiting… waiting…

"Open."

At Harry's command the decorative ribbon that held it sealed split down the center and the scroll began to unfold. Whatever magic had held it closed wasn't finished however, for soon enough, as it unraveled, a small box plopped out onto the table.

For now, Harry ignored it, more interested in the perfect script than the object that pulsed familiarity and power.

Lucius, the perfect gentlemen, remained quiet as he read. He instead positioned the book-Stability, Security, & Accounting: Volume I-beside the other, more mundane, pieces of parchment that decorated the table.

"Heartfelt," Harry whispered, keeping words of private affirmations of love to himself and himself alone but allowing Lucius to know that, though he felt impacted, he was not one for theatrics. Not anymore. Not after Him. "But, there is something interesting here."

"Is there?" Lucius drawled, as if he'd already suspected what Harry had known.

"Is it unheard of for the relations of pure-blood wizards to remain intact?"

Lucius quirked a brow, perhaps misunderstanding the question.

"Ah, what I mean to say is. Is it unusual for a proposed Light wizard to leave the guardianship of their son to a wizard that might have been Dark, no matter their previous relationship in school or otherwise?"

"Pure-blood circles are very small and interchangeable." Lucius began, "No matter your supposed alliance in term of magical management most of us attend the same revels, the same festivities, and of course the same Wizengamot sessions."

Lucius paused for a moment and licked his lips, thoughtful, but continued when Harry was no more forthcoming with information, "It is not unheard of for enemies to deposit their children with strong or politically capable wizards or witches to ensure their continued existence. I believe that… yes, I believe that even Madam Bones was estranged from her sister and yet she still cares for the child as if it were her own."

"Then," Harry said slowly, "it is not suspicious that someone unexpected is on this list?"

"Is it the Muggles?" Lucius spat, suddenly oozing so much venom that Harry had to glance up from the parchment.

"Oh! No, no." Harry said, hoping to ease the wild snap of Lucius magic. Though the man was very still, Harry could still taste the emotions that slipped from his being. Like soft whispers against his mentality, incoherent and yet still understandable, he could tell that his caretaker was appalled by the notion-good. He wondered, idly, if that was due to his connection with Him and The Mark that pulsed upon Lucius skin like some living thing.

Lucius cleared his throat, "There is also the matter that some pure-blood families will choose the closest kin, if need be as well. Blood is blood and, when invoked-"

"It can create a strong nurturing bond between the party and the child, nearly subconscious in nature and yet almost undeniable. Still, very natural. They suppose."

For a moment, Lucius seemed surprised, but his smile was quick to come, "Ah, you've been reading peculiar books again."

"Blood curses are fascinating," Harry chirped, "and it explains a great deal."

"Oh?" Lucius clasped his hands together, "So then, who is on the list, Harry? If it is not your Muggle relatives?"

Harry set the will down and turned it over, careful to only give emphasis toward the list of names, the persons that were meant to provide him with care, "You'll be glad to know they aren't on it. In fact, I was never supposed to be there."

But Lucius had no immediate response, his gaze was glued to the list.

"And you'll also be fascinated to know that I was meant to go to a Sirius Black, my appointed godfather. Do you know of him?"

"Yes," Lucius croaked, but his gaze was still upon the parchment.

"Thereafter, Professor Snape," For a moment Harry was quiet. He searched for the normal sensation of irritation he'd once felt, if only a year ago, at his potions professor. Yet, since his arrival to the manor something had changed in Snape's demeanor. Maybe it was the fact that he currently lived under the roof of his good friend, or perhaps it was the breakdown of fabricated suspicions that the Headmaster had done nothing to shift or change. Their awkward, if not strengthening, relationship was something Harry found delightful… and his reveal had seemed to lift some great burden off Snape's mentality.

Harry wondered what it was.

"There's also an Alice and Frank Longbottom, another set of godparents," but Harry knew what had happened to them… "And a Remus Lupin."

For a while Harry allowed silence to reign between them while he remained thoughtful, curious. He flexed his hand, toying with the concept of magic as he felt invisible tendrils lick across his fingertips and palm.

"And, I understand that, many of those figures wouldn't have had the means to care for a child. Yet, there is one name on the list that made me wonder…"

Lucius finally looked up, but his pale almost shocked expression was gone, replaced by a glimmer of elation and an eagerness barely contained, "Harry. Do you know… what this means?"

"I suspect it means several things, the oddest of which being that my mother might have been somewhat close to Madam Malfoy. The other, being that, perhaps, somewhere in my tree Madam Malfoy and I are related."

Harry, of course, knew the answer to the latter. Dorea Potter connected them on a level that went beyond blood and simplicity. He now had some answer to the fondness he felt for Narcissa, a fondness he didn't much mind but could certainly blame on the Black madness that no doubt dwelled within his family line, a madness that could also translate into a cursemeant to create bonds that lasted lifetimes.

Bonds and obedience to certain particulars…

"And you weren't sent to any of us, affiliation or otherwise." Lucius said, the wonder in his tone perhaps due to the abhorrent misuse of power that managed to keep the wishes of the will from being realized, "A grievous error or a purposeful mistake aside, this is incredibly helpful information."

"Of course," Harry said, his attention now captured by the book he'd been brought and other, less obvious, topics.

However.

"The box."

"Hm?" Harry said, fingertips set to caress the binding of the book, "The box?"

Lucius smile was gentle, the discoveries of his will carefully tucked under Lucius arm, "Open it."

He'd nearly forgotten about the box among the intrigue of his past but once it was back to the front of his mind he could feel the familiar thump of its magic and the cry of its allure. With cautious grip, he moved to pick it up, only to set it on his lap as Lucius slid to the edge of his seat and leaned over. He seemed more than a little eager, but in that moment, he seemed real and human. Interested. Invested.

"Harry," Lucius said, breaking the collected silence, "Once upon a time, I revealed a box like this to my son. While I am no fan of James Potter, I am a slave to propriety. You have been robbed of a great many things, but you will not be robbed of this."

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand to rest it lightly upon the back of Harry's own, an action that wasn't surprising and yet still rare in its act. "I do this, not because I have been made to, but because it is right to. I am not your…"

Here Lucius almost stumbled, brow pinched, before he spoke again with a shake of his head, "I am not your father, I am not James nor Him, but I am here and I take my duties to our pure-blood children with the utmost seriousness."

There was a sense of formality about them, something that stirred the dormant magic in the room and made the wards that decorated the ceiling glisten, "When you return to school, it will be with the right sort of guardian. There will be no more summers of Muggle depravity or a barely functional tenure of school recklessness. Though you may be wont for very little, I will give should you need me to.

"Advice, education, or otherwise."

Harry remained attentive, his gaze of curse-green set to shine with slight bafflement. He had never, not even from the Headmaster himself, received such attention and focus. Such a speech of dedication. Of security. Of care. It was almost overwhelming in its intensity, lacking the childish passion of Draco's devotion and yet still so powerful and genuine in its own right. While he had no need for Lucius or his offerings, Harry found himself greedy for them. In just this summer this family had become a part of him, belonged to him, more so than any other. I was different than his immature friendship with Weasley and Granger. Different still, from the awed looks of wizards and witches who saw little more than a cardboard image to blindly worship and puppet.

He wanted more of that. More devotion. More closeness to consume, and manipulate, and possess.

And he wondered, briefly, if Lucius could see that within his gaze. Could see that hunger that curled throughout him like so much magic…

But the Malfoy lord continued, unaware or perhaps, completely enthralled by Harry's presence and by the duties he shouldered with honest effort. "Harry. Within that box, you will find the first tool to assist with your transformation. It is yours and no one else's. Yours by blood. Yours by birthright and magic as old as the tide."

Lucius stood up then and walked around to the other end of the table. "By the power of the Olde Ways," and here Lucius motioned to the box, "I shall witness the gifting, from one heir turned lord to the birth of another, of a house of ancient prestige and noble backing."

Lucius gave a nod and Harry opened the box, his breath held as he moved his fingertips over the ring it held. There, at its center, cushioned so quaintly, were twisting bands of brilliant color. Green, amber, and soft pale yellow greeted him in lifted gems on enchanted grooved metal, but the magic welcomed him home.

"Slytherin, by right, through blood and conquering. Peverell, by blood and initial fatherhood of the line that bore you. And Potter, by blood and power, your proper right, your strongest house, your line to this world."

Harry felt frozen, gripped by a momentous moment, swaddled in a cluster of emotion that he hadn't felt for some time. There was an ache within him, some monstrous twisted gratitude for the moment and the rings that he had known of but had assumed lost to time-lost to the will, in this instance. When he looked back to Lucius, to his smiling face and proud stance, he felt…

Like he would need to completely own this family, forever more.

"There is another," Lucius whispered, "One that your accountant hinted at, but it is difficult to currently get to. I suspect Albus has… done something that has made it difficult to claim your last house through blood and inheritance, but I will get it for you, little lord."

Harry had never had a father, had never had a figure in his life to be proud of his accomplishments or present him with a mantle of magic and might, but in that moment-despite his fierce and unchanging loyalty to Him-he felt it was adequate to admit that Lucius could be on his way to earning such a title.

"Harry James Potter," Lucius said, "You are now, and forever more, until the passing of your spirit into the Summerlands, the Heir Apparent of House Potter and all the holdings that currently entails. You are Lord and Head. Master and Servant." Then, with a heavy clasp of Harry's shoulder within his heavy hand, he whispered, "Welcome to the Circle."

Of those who held power and coveted it.