The Savior & the Sword

by forevertheone

The prophecy of the Boy-Who-Lived isn't the only one involving Harry Potter. Unknown, there is another one concerning him and an unknown girl, tying their worlds together. The girl, upon discovering said prophecy, pursues it. While she finds out what her true role in this truly world is, Harry struggles between what is truly good and bad. And how people are not what they seem.

3. Chapter 3: Like Father, Like Son

Chapter 3

Like Father, Like Son

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"In wherein desperation leads to recklessness, the loss of a loved one to anger, and anger to the tendency of hurting others." - Anonymous

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It was late morning when Harry woke up at the Burrow.

He was awakened by what sounded like cannon fire as the door burst open. Sitting bolt upright, he heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back: The dazzling morning sunlight seemed to poke him hard in both eyes as he looked up, suddenly remembering where he was. Shielding them with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other.

"Wuzzgoinon?"

"Harry! We didn't know you were here already!" said a loud an excited voice, and he received a sharp blow to the head.

"Ron, don't hit him!" said a girl's voice reproachfully.

Harry's hand found his glasses and he shoved them on, though the light was so bright he could hardly see anything. A long, looming shadow quivered in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.

"All right?"

"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto the pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

"About one o'clock this morning."

"Were the Muggles alright? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of the bed, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinizing Harry as though he was sickening for something. He thought he knew what was behind this, and as he had no wish to discuss Sirius's death or any other miserable subject at the moment, he said, "What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?"

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He was wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought - "

Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed.

" - we thought it'd be something like that!"

"You did?" asked Harry, amused.

"Yeah. . .yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said Harry. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry, "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the doorway. Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable. ""Hi, Harry."

"What's up with you?" Ron asked.

"It's her," said Ginny, plonking herself down on Harry's bed. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me - you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

Harry, confused as to whether they were talking about Mrs. Weasley or some other someone he'd not heard of, coughed suddenly. Ron stopped mid-sentence. He, Hermione, and Ginny looked up at him in surprise. "I - er, I need to talk to your mum, Ron."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Last I checked, she was downstairs with her. I wouldn't suggest going there right now. She's driving mum completely nuts." She grimaced.

"Yeah. uh, thanks for the warning." said Harry, who had no idea who "her" was, as he fought to untangle himself from the bed sheets, ignoring Ron's snicker. He finally managed to land on solid ground and he darted for his trainers, eager to get downstairs and talk to Mrs. Weasley.

But before he could so much as put on one of his shoes, the bedroom door flew open and, startled, Harry crashed into Hermione, causing the both of them to land in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Apologizing, Harry got hastily to his feet and helped Hermione up. They sat back down quickly. Harry looked up.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair, and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

"'Arry, she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, looking rather cross.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry's knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek: He felt the places where her mouth had touched him burn. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh . . . is she here too?" Harry croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, 'I meant next summer, when we - but do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We haven't gotten around to telling him yet."

Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Harry blankly. He could not help noticing how Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze. "Wow. Er - congratulations!"

She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working 'ery hard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my English, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you were coming - zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well - enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!"

With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mrs. Weasley made a noise that sounded like "tchah!"

"Mum hates her!" said Ginny quietly.

"I do not hate her!" said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people thinking they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center - "

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry quickly, upon seeing Ginny open her mouth.

"Yes, Harry, dear? Do you need something?" Mrs. Weasley turned to him with a warm smile, Fleur all but forgotten.

Clearing his throat, Harry said awkwardly, "I was wondering if I could - Could I talk to you in private for a moment, please?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded her head almost immediately, an alarmed expression settling on her features, undoubtly beginning to think of the worst. "Yes, yes, of course." she said, turning toward the door, beckoning sharply for Harry to follow her. Hermione looked at Harry keenly as he set aside the tray and stood, her eyes full of suspicion. Ron looked worried, Ginny curious. "Come along this way, Harry. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, stay put while I talk to Harry. And no eavesdropping!"

Everyone was silent as Harry and Mrs. Weasley walked out of the room, Harry's wand placed safely in his back pocket, but he could feel their eyes on him as he closed the door. No doubt they'd start whispering as soon as they were sure Harry was far away enough.

He trailed after Mrs. Weasley as she walked down the flight of stairs, walked quickly past a humming Fleur, and out the front door. Mrs. Weasley stopped there. It was only once the door was closed firmly behind them and a privacy ward set up that Ron's mum turned to him with a sickly look on her face. "What is it you wanted to talk about, Harry? Is something wrong?" she asked concernedly.

"It's not that. It's just. . ." Harry met Mrs. Weasley's anxious gaze. "I was wondering if it were possible for me to visit Gringotts sometime soon?"

The tension melted almost instantly from Mrs. Weasley's face. She laughed, obviously relieved that Harry hadn't told her anything disastrously serious. "Oh, of course you can! We'll be going there, well to Diagon Alley, really, the week before term begins to get all of this year's school supplies."

"But the thing is, Mrs. Weasley, that I'm not planning to go to purchase school supplies. You see, Sirius left me his belongings, Professor Dumbledore informed me yesterday, and I wanted to see how soon I can in. . .um, inherit them."

"I'm sorry?" Mrs. Weasley looked shocked, almost as if Harry had personally told her he wanted to leave Hogwarts.

"I don't care about the money," said Harry hastily, worried that that might be the reason for the stunned look on her face. His neck and ears turned red, and he looked down, mumbling the next words that left his mouth. "My parents left me enough money to last me until I graduate from Hogwarts, so no, money is not what I need. But in the beginning of fifth year, S-Sirius told me about - some artifacts - he said he wanted to show them to me but then - well he never got to, so, er, I wanted to see what they were, and since Hermione said that that's one way to officially and legally inherit someone's belongings - "

"Oh." whispered Mrs. Weasley faintly.

Harry glanced at her nervously. "Please, it probably won't take that long, I'm sure of it! I'll Floo there, take extra caution, whatever." He couldn't possibly tell her how much it meant for him to go to Gringotts as soon as possible, no matter how sick he felt underneath his eagerness at the thought of touching the things that'd belonged to Sirius. She couldn't possibly understand.

Now looking both agitated and still slightly surprised, Mrs. Weasley began wringing her hands, glancing between Harry and the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then, the front door opened. Trying to not scream his irritation at having been interrupted, Harry turned to see Fleur poking her head out the door. When she saw Harry standing out on the front porch with Mrs. Weasley, both of them in clear tension, a curious look flitted across her pretty face.

"'Arry! What are you doing out 'ere?" she exclaimed in surprise, stepping out onto the porch. The door fell open the rest of the way as she let go of it and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were revealed, all three of them crouching on the second landing, their faces pressed against the stair expectantly. Harry's eyed narrowed. Had they been trying to overhear his conversation with Mrs. Weasley? Hermione and Ginny blushed a bright red, and stood up jerkily. They began to scold an aghast and furious Ron for spying on Harry.

"I - you two -you two were with me!" sputtered Ron angrily, his whole face equally as red as his hair; Harry turned his attention back to Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, I was talking to Mrs. Weasley," Harry told Fleur, then to Mrs. Weasley, "Please, Mrs. Weasley? It would mean a lot to me if I could go."

"Go, go where?" Ginny demanded, walking down the stairs towards them with her arms crossed over her chest and a serious look on her face. Hermione, then a grumpy-looking Ron, followed her a second later.

Harry avoided looking at them, desperately hoping Ron's mum would say yes. Otherwise, he wasn't allowed to go out of the Burrow without an adult, and he knew no other adult that would be willing to let him go. Wait. He looked sideways at Fleur, watching them with wide blue eyes as she ran a finger through her long silvery hair, seemingly untangling it, though Harry was sure not a single hair was out of place. When Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything for a long moment, Harry turned to the half-veela. "Fleur," said Harry determinedly. "You work at Gringotts, right?"

Fleur nodded.

"Could you, do you think you could take me there? I won't be long, I promise, but I have something I need to do there, and it's very important."

A smile broke out across Fleur's face. "Of course! Eet will be no trouble at all. Eet is 'ery boring 'ere, honestly. I will be glad to take you to Gringotts! When do you wish to leave, 'Arry?"

Harry grinned back at her, immensely pleased. His stomach growled at that very moment, drawing his attention back to the fact that he'd not had a single bite of food so far. "Great. Can we leave after I eat some breakfast? I didn't really eat anything since I was talking to Mrs. Weasley." he said, pretending to not notice the horrified look on Hermione and Ginny's faces, the furious one on Mrs. Weasley's, and the envious one on Ron's.

"Now wait just a moment!" cried Mrs. Weasley at the same time Fleur said, "You can eet some of the food I'm making for lunch in ze kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley spun on Fleur, a vein ticking in her neck, her smile forced. "No, no, no, don't you worry about taking Harry anywhere. I will do that, of course, I have some things to buy anyways. Yes, thank you anyways, you can go back inside the kitchen." Ginny smirked, and batted her eyelashes in a crude but impressive imitation of Fleur behind the half-veela's turned back. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry silently.

Fleur shrugged. "Whatever. Bye, 'Arry." She turned and glided back inside the house, looking annoyed.

"Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, go get your things. We're going to Diagon Alley today, it seems; you can eat here before we go, Harry. You have ten minutes, no more. All of you meet me down her in no less than fifteen minutes, or you're staying behind. Now, I need to go make a call. Or several. . ." And with that, Mrs. Weasley spun on her heel and stormed back inside the house, muttering angrily to herself under her breath about impulsive teenagers, no common sense, and staggering amounts of chores.

"Well, you certainly played your cards well, Harry," said Ginny brightly, turning to smile at him.

But Harry simply nodded distractedly to her as he himself made his way inside the Burrow and up the stairs, not noticing the looks his friends exchanged behind his back. He was too busy thinking, given this rare opportunity to go to Diagon Alley so early, if he needed anything while he was there. A box of Chocolate Frogs and other sweets from Honeydukes for sure, he was running low on candy. More ink as well, he was planning to, unfortunately, write a lot this summer. Then a journal as well . . . Yes, he would need a journal.

"So, Harry, what was all of that about?" asked Hermione. She watched as he sat down on his unmade bed, absently picking up the tray of food now gone cold. Ron joined her side, looking for all the world like he'd been given an early Christmas present.

"Hermione, what's that spell for heating up food again?"

"Callesco. But Harry, that's not the point, so don't try to change the subject. Why do you need to go to Gringotts now, what is so important in there that it can't wait?"

Pointing his wand at his food, Harry muttered, "Callesco." There was a flash of light and a tendril of steam rose from the tray. He looked up at Hermione as he shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth forkful by forkful. She gave him a disgusted stare, never having liked the way he or Ron ate. "Sirius," he said through a mouthful of toast.

"Sirius? What's Sirius got to do with you going down to Gringotts?" said Ron, as he snatched a piece of Harry's toast. He sat down next to him, shaking his head. "Did he ask you to do something for him?"

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding as Harry flinched.

"No, Ron! Harry's going to Gringotts to officially claim inheritance of the Black properties and belongings since Sirius named him Heir to the Black possessions if something ever happened to him, aren't you, Harry?" breathed Hermione, looking both awed and confused. Harry said nothing. Ron's eyes widened.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he exclaimed.

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore told me just yesterday at the Dursleys. I didn't know either, until then." He didn't mention the purposeful look Dumbledore'd given him.

Looking suspicious, Hermione eyed him through narrowed eyes. Harry tried not to show any signs of guilt. "What I don't get," she said at last, "is why right now? I'd have thought you wouldn't want anything belonging to the Blacks. You hate them!"

"Sirius was a Black," said Harry quietly.

Hermione groaned. "You know what I mean, Harry, so why are you so eager to come into your . . . inheritance? And I thought you couldn't inherit the whole of a house name until you came of age? You don't turn seventeen until next year."

Ron, looking pale, spoke up. "Actually," he said slowly, eyeing Harry, who was now avoiding his gaze and looking at the wall as if it held the secret to some old treasure, "there is one way for Harry to come into his inheritance, even if he's not seventeen."

"How?" demanded Hermione instantly. She hadn't heard of such a thing in any of the books about wizarding affairs and politics.

"For that to be possible, the Patriarch, also known as the Head, of the family would have to be murdered," Harry said softly. The air was suddenly still, not a sound heard. Hermione's mouth snapped shut. "If the heir is not of age already, but close to it, possibly fifteen or sixteen years of age, it can be arranged for him or her to take over as the Head of the family. There'll be a test with the bond to the family heirlooms, a blood test as well, in some cases, to see if that person truly is the heir. Also to see if you're accepted. If you pass, you'll sign some paperwork and administer any changes. Then you're officially deemed the Head of the Family. If not well . . ."

"Oh." Hermione looked sorry she'd ever asked in the first place.

Nobody else said anything.

"Dumbledore's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry after a long moment, as a way of easing the tension now hanging palpably in the air.

Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.

"I only just remembered," said Harry honestly. "He told me last night in your broom shed." And like that, all thoughts of Sirius and Harry inheriting the Black valuables vanished.

"Blimey . . . private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. I wonder why he's . . . ?"

His voice faded away. Harry saw him and Hermione exchange looks. Harry picked up his half-empty tray and set it on the table, not feeling at all hungry anymore. He turned to face his friends, his best friends. Dumbledore said he could do it . . . Why not now? They had a few more minutes if he was correct, plenty of time to tell them. He locked his gaze on his trainers as he shoved his feet inside and bent down to tie them, keeping his eyes fixed pointedly on his shoelaces as he said, "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but it must be because of the prophecy."

Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke. Harry had the impression that both had frozen. He continued, still speaking to his shoelaces, "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says - " began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking at them both with a great effort; Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort . . . At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

The three of them gazed at each other for a moment in utter silence. Harry had the impression time had frozen, everything was so still. Then the door opened and in barged Ginny, dressed in a ridiculously long red shirt with a moving broom on the front, Quidditch written at the top in bold, blocky letters that fluttered as if by an invisible wind, and casual blue jeans.

"You lot better get downstairs soon," chirped Ginny happily, oblivious to the shock and unease in the air or the words Harry had just spoken.

"Right," agreed Harry, straightening. He grabbed his vault key, made sure his wand was in his pocket, and started walking downstairs with Ginny, purposefully keeping his face forward. He reckoned Ron and Hermione needed a little time to think over what Harry'd told them, and decide if they still wanted to be his friends. He wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Who'd want to be friends with someone who was always getting in trouble and had death and chaos following them everywhere they went?

"Are you okay? You look a bit pale." said Ginny as Harry looked back up at the still opened door. Hermione and Ron were still in there. He turned back round, trying to convince himself that their non-immediate arrival was nothing.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine." he muttered, walking faster.

"You sure? You're looking like you're coming on with the flu or something. We could always go to Gringotts another day, if that happened."

"I said I'm fine, Ginny!" snapped Harry. Guilt surged when he looked at Ginny's hurt and angry face. But he was too riled up at the thought that Ron and Hermione might not want anything to do with him ever again to care. They were the only two people he really considered his friends, the ones he truly trusted with his secrets. The thought of losing them made his insides twist and shrivel up.

He hurried down the last steps quickly, suddenly breathless.

At the bottom, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley talking to a group of people, their backs turned to him as they conversed heatedly. He couldn't see who they were, but then one of the persons turned to respond to something someone else said, and he saw the face of someone all too familiar. "Tonks?"

Spinning around, a witch with mousy brown hair and a pale heart-shaped face looked back at him, surprised. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, attempting a smile. Harry thought she looked rather sick. Her face was derived of its usual cheeriness, instead now lined with a sort of wariness and anger.

"Hi, are you coming with to Diagon Alley?"

Tonks shrugged, nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Have to," she said glumly. Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

"What do you mean you have to?" he asked.

Tonks looked at him in mild surprise. "You don't know?" she whispered, aghast. "You-Know-Who raided several town yesterday, early this morning as well, Harry, it's been headline news for several hours. The whole wizarding world is in terrible panic."

Harry felt his blood go cold. "What?" he said. "Voldemort attacked more Muggle towns?"

Now Tonks' eyes were definitely wide.

Before she could answer, Mrs. Weasley came shuffling over, her face holding one of who'd just heard their dog was dead. Her smile was forced and totally unconvincing. "Are you ready, dear? We have to go quickly if we're going to go today, not a lot of time - so much to do - Fred and George, oh Merlin - oh no worry, I'll see them soon, I will. Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Upstairs. They'll be down soon. Mrs. Weasley where did - where did Voldemort attack yesterday?"

Mrs. Weasley froze. Her eyes drifted to Tonks, who shrugged and glared back at her with a hint of her usual unrestrained fierceness. Obviously, she didn't like it that Harry had, once again, been left in the dark about things. Mrs. Weasley's shoulders sagged, her smile wilting away. "We didn't want to upset you so soon after coming here with news like that, Harry, but well, I guess it was inevitable. Thank you for informing Harry so kindly of the attacks, Tonks." said Mrs. Weasley. She turned misty eyes toward Harry.

"The Dark Lord attacked eleven wizarding cities yesterday. Fourteen, Harry! He also attacked three Muggle ones, totaling the attacks to fourteen towns and cities. Four of the wizarding towns, they are now completely bare of all Muggle-borns - The attacks started at nine in the night yesterday and ended at three in the morning today. I wanted to go help - but Dumbledore strictly told Arthur and me to stay home." She seemed to try very hard not to cry. Harry stared at her silently, shocked. Voldemort had gotten rid of all the Muggle-borns in four cities? And he'd killed people in fourteen cities? He leaned against the railing as anger and horror filled him. How? Dumbledore would've said something if he'd known!

"Mum, is everything all right? What's this Ginny says about a squad of Aurors and the Order being down in the front hall?" shouted Ron. He came running down the stairs, two steps at a time, anxious to see with his own eyes the amount of Aurors downstairs. Harry heard him come to an abrupt halt as he took in the grim faces, Mrs. Weasley on the verge of tears, and Harry gripping the railing tightly. "What's going on? Mum, what happened?"

When no one said anything, Tonks said, very meekly, "You-Know-Who struck once again, Ron. Fourteen towns and cities in total. Four wizarding ones were stripped of all Muggle-borns."

"What?" squealed Hermione's voice.

Harry looked up to see her standing next to Ron, Ginny behind them both, a dark look on her face. Seeing his face, Hermione came running down the stairs. Harry expected her to blame him, tell him they were no longer friends, or something equally horrible, so he was completely thrown off guard when Hermione threw her arms around Harry and hugged him tight. For a moment, he stared wide-eyed at Ron, stunned, who looked quite surprised as well, and then Ron, too, was hugging them both.

"Get that silly look off your face, we'll always be by your side, mate, there's nothing getting rid of us two." mumbled Ron, grinning at the immensely relieved look on Harry's face.

"You didn't honestly think I, Ron and I, I mean, were going to leave you just because of that, did you?" whispered Hermione incredulously. She took a look at Harry's face and pulled back to give him a sharp blow over the head. "Harry!" She lowered her voice. "We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry . . . Obviously, we didn't say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this . . . Oh, Harry . . . Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," said Harry. "When I first heard it, I was . . . but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd face him in the end . . ."

"We'll never leave you, Harry, ever," said Hermione fiercely, and Ron nodded in agreement.

He smiled at her. Ron and Hermione's decision to not leave him meant more to him then he could've imagined, so much he nearly forgot about the situation at hand. But then he looked at Mrs. Weasley and his smile faded. "What will happen now then, with Voldemort having killed again?"

Smiling shakily at him, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, we'll talk about this later. No use discussing that right now, now is there? Right now, dear, you need to decide if you still want to go to Gringotts. I can't assure you it won't be hard to get into, for I'm sure it will, but if you still want to go - Well, really, the choice is up to you."

Harry looked at the faces of the people around him, waiting for his decision. If he didn't go, no one would get hurt, he could talk to Ron and Hermione about what he'd learned safely up in his room. But that would also be hiding, something Harry was sick of doing. And if they went, someone might get hurt, Voldemort might attack. He looked at Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny. He knew they were eager to see Fred and George to check if the twins were okay, as did Harry himself. But were the Weasleys' concerns enough to let Harry risk one of them getting hurt? Harry hesitated, then clenched his jaw. To hell with it all.

"How do we get there?" said Harry at last, eyeing the dozen or so people inside the Burrow. Somehow he doubted Floo would be it, not with what Sirius had told him about the Death Eaters keeping a careful eye on the Floo networks.

A dark-skinned wizard that Harry recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped up. "We'll be traveling by Apparation today, Potter. Safer option than Floo or Portkey right now. Weasleys, go with Tonks and Lupin" - Harry stiffened. Remus was here? Sure enough, a second later, a ragged-looking man walked forward from behind a thicker, taller wizard with shaggy blonde hair. Remus didn't even glance at him as he headed for Ginny, who - "Granger, you're with Molly, Potter, you're with me. The rest of you, you know the formation!" barked Shacklebolt.

"Are we Apparating outside of the Leaky Cauldron or directly in Diagon Alley?" asked Harry as he grabbed on to Shacklebolt's arm, tearing his eyes away from Remus forcibly. He watched blankly as the remaining Aurors and Order members positioned themselves around the four pair so they were encircled by witches and wizards on all sides. In the end, it ended up looking like a diamond of some sort, with Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt near the front.

"Diagon Alley, it's too dangerous to be spotted outside the Leaky Cauldron nowadays. Well, enough chitchat, we've no time for that. Potter, hold on tight to my arm."

Harry felt Kingsley's arm twist away from him a second later and tightened his grip on the other wizard's arm; the next thing he knew, everything went pitch-black. He was being pressed very hard from all directions, he was being suffocated, he couldn't breathe. someone had tightened gotten hold of his heart and was squeezing hard; his eyeballs were being pushed back, back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then -

Harry was gasping in great lungfuls of fresh, cool air and he opened his streaming eyes. It felt as if he'd been forced through a very tight rubber tube. Looking up, he realized that the Burrow was gone to be replaced by shops and rough stone streets.

He stared.

Diagon Alley had changed. The color appeared to have been drained from the atmosphere, they were still there but they looked unrealistic and faded now next to the dozens of Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over the front windows of shops. A majority of the purple-colored posters held the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets, but there were others showing moving black-and-white pictures of Death Eaters known to be free and with Voldemort. He dropped his eyes, hatred prickling underneath his skin when he saw the sneering face of Bellatrix Lestrange on the window of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, which like other shops around it, was boarded up. Kingsley grunted at the shabby-looking stalls set up around the street.

"No more decent shops what with those damn Death Eaters on the loose," he grumbled, slapping Harry's hand away sharply as Harry reached for a serving of pumpkin juice from a woman holding out a long, thin black tray to passerby. "Mind your hands, Potter! It won't do any of us any good if you were to suddenly drop dead in the middle of the street, now would it?"

"I wasn't going to drink it!" he protested angrily, putting away the Galleon that'd been in his hand. Why was it that whenever tried to do something, people always assumed he was doing something wrong or dangerous? He glowered at Kingsley's back as they kept on walking, completely aware of the whispers floating across the streets.

" . . . dead before we know it. Never going to last another day . . . "

"Eleven wizarding towns! You-Know-Who, he'll never stop, will he? Should've moved to France with Berrybet when I had the chance, I should've. . . "

"When will this all end? I've got me kids at home, promised them I'd return, not die - "

" . . . That Harry Potter, he's our only hope now. I really do hope he's as good as they say, otherwise we're goners for sure . . . "

"'The Chosen One' they call him now. You reckon it's true? I sure hope it is, then - "

Harry tuned them all out. What good would it do, listening to the voices that wondered at their own deaths as he sat by calmly, having no clue how he was going to defeat the darkest wizard in the world?

"Hey, cheer up, lass," said the wizard in front of him, brushing back black dreadlocks. Harry looked at him blankly and he chuckled gaily. "I know it must be hard for ye, them all saying yer the 'Chosen One', but we were all given our roles in life fer a reason, 'right? Don't ye worry 'bout it. Destiny will take its course, ain't nothing that gonna stop that, no matter how hard ye try. It always do in the end, it always do."

"What?" said Harry, confused. What the hell did that mean, 'destiny would take its course' and 'we were all given our roles in life fer a reason'? Was this guy trying to mess around him him?

"Leave him alone, Pontyr." boomed Kingsley. He nudged Harry. "Don't pay attention to him, Harry. He talks like this sometimes. He has it in mind that while are lives are ours, they're not, or some rubbish like that. Nothing more than a side effect from falling twenty-five feet to the ground, I assure you. But he's still good at fighting, no worries there."

"Okay, yeah," said Harry, edging away from Pontyr, who gave him a knowing smile that he didn't like at all.

"You okay, mate?" Ron came up, a silent Tonks behind him, her hand clutching her wand tightly. He fell into step besides Harry, looking tense. Harry raised his eyebrows and Ron grinned sheepishly. "It's not about you know what - just, d'you reckon Fred and George are alright? Mum's on the verge of having a meltdown, she's so worried, talking Ginny and Hermione's ear off over in the back. I don't think I can handle anymore of her babbling if it turns out they're not alright, she'll drive me madder than a hatter." He laughed, but Harry could easily detect the worry in his voice.

"I'm sure they'll be alright, Ron, they're clever and talented wizards. They can hold their own against the Death Eaters," said Harry firmly. But he wasn't so sure. The Weasley brothers truthfully were very clever and good at spells, but would they be enough against five Death Eaters? Ten? A whole group? He'd seen what Lucius and his little friends could do back at the Ministry.

Ron, however, seemed to believe Harry (or he was trying to anyways) because he said, slightly more cheerfully, "Yeah, you're probably right. They're fine."

"We're here."

Kingsley's voice made Ron and Harry look up eagerly. Harry, for one, had no desire to linger outside any more than he had to. He could feel the crowd of people trying to confirm their suspicions to see if Harry Potter really was in the midst of heavily armed Aurors, or it was just some rich, paranoid pure-blood.

"Good, I can't wait to get this over with." he muttered, walking up the white stone steps, Ron and Hermione (she'd ran up to them as they began climbing) next to him. They walked through the bronze door, then the silver one, and out into a vast marble hall.

Harry wasn't at all surprised that the security had increased. More than a dozen guards, both wizards and a few goblins, lined the entrance, and a scanner had been set up near the door. A guard eyed them suspiciously as they passed by, his hand on his wand, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. More than a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling furiously in ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. The same as usual then. Harry shouldn't really have been surprised. The goblins kept on working and running their businesses, paying apparently no mind to the wizarding wars and chaos going on around them. It wasn't their problem, so they weren't overly concerned. Harry began walking towards the counter.

"Hello," he said politely to the nearest free goblin. It was never wise to anger a goblin, everyone knew that. "I've come to talk to the Black Family goblin, please."

"Black? Who are you, I ask, sir?" asked the goblin, peering down at Harry as if he didn't already know the answer.

Harry said, quite awkwardly, "Harry Potter, sir, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. S-Sirius Orion Black, my godfather that is, Lord Black - he. . .died recently."

"And you are here to inherit that of which Lord Black left to you?" said the goblin, looking slightly pleased at Harry's chosen words.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." he said, steeling his long fingers on top of each other. "I will have someone take you to the Black Family goblin, Fang. Griphook!"

A short, ugly goblin in a curious maroon suit came ambling forward, his swarthy, clever face knowing. "Follow me this way, if you may, Mr. Potter." He turned and walked off without bothering to see if they followed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed him quickly as he passed through door after closed door, surnames spelled out in gold letters on the front. Harry squinted at them as they passed by. Lovegood. Walker. Parkinson. Fallierr. Yaxley. Greengrass.

They finally stopped in front of a black door with Black written out on the front in tall, elegant letters. Griphook knocked once. "Come in." Opening the door, Griphook bowed to Harry, much to Harry's horror and humiliation.

"In you go, Mr. Potter." He tsked at Hermione as she made to walk in, one finger jabbed up at her disapprovingly. "Not you. Only family members and heirs are allowed inside. Are you a Black?"

"No," stammered Hermione who flushed a deep red. She stepped back, bowing her head apologetically, looking extremely embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Wait," said Harry as the goblin gestured inside once more. He turned to look at the several faces in the hall, desperately seeking one with a pale heart-shaped face. "Tonks, she can come right? She has Black blood running through her veins, she's a family member. Tonks, where are you?"

There was a silence, then, very slowly, a woman pushed her way through. "I can't," Tonks said, looking at Harry blankly. "My mum got disowned by the Blacks ages ago, Harry, which means since she's not part of the family, neither am I. Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all.

"Nonsense," said Harry fiercely. "You're still a Black, you got the blood. You'll be good enough. Come on. I'm not going in without you."

Tonks hesitated, glancing at the goblin wearily, waiting for him to say she couldn't because she wasn't a true Black, but Griphook didn't object. Her face fell. Harry bit back a smile. "Go," Kingsley urged, nodding towards the door. "Harry won't go in otherwise, I'm sure. You know he's stubborn, that one."

The last of Tonks' protest crashed underneath Kingsley and Harry's insistent stares. "Fine, I'll go, I'll go." Looking sick to her stomach, Tonks slipped inside the quiet room, looking dejectedly at Harry as she did so. Smiling bravely at the rest - Ron nodded encouragingly and gave him the thumbs up, and Hermione smiled wanly - Harry murmured his thanks to Griphook and walked inside the room too. He flinched as the door slammed shut behind him almost ominously.

"Ah, the famous Harry Potter." A formal, clipped voice had Harry spinning around and immediately expecting the worst, and then stopping at the weird sight before him. A goblin a pressed black suit and dark wine-red tie sat behind a long, dark desk drinking from a bright blue cup the size of his head. Beady black eyes sunk into an emaciated, pointy face assessed him shrewdly, looking for a weakness. "How very nice of you to grace someone such as myself with your presence."

"Hello and thank you, sir, the honour is mine." said Harry in what he hoped was a formal, calm voice. The goblin's thin lips pulled up.

"Yes," murmured the goblin. He cut his eyes to a stiff Tonks, eyes narrowing slightly. "Please do take a seat, both of you. We have much to discuss today."

With a short nod, Harry and Tonks sat down in one of the softest materials Harry'd ever felt. To his surprise, the armchair didn't swallow him under the soft weight, but supported him as if it were made of hardened wood. He smiled blithely at the goblin's raised brow.

"So, down to business now. I've been informed that you, Mr. Potter, wish to inherit what Lord Sirius Black left to you before his unfortunate death, as his heir?"

"Yes, that is the plan." Harry paused. "Sir, may I ask what your name is?"

Looking pleased that Harry'd finally caught on to the otherwise-postponed introductions, the goblin said, "My name is Fang, Mr. Potter. I am the Black family goblin, and have been serving as such for decades."

"Nice to meet you, er, Fang." He paused. "About the inheritance . . . I know my visit was unexpected, so before I say anything else, do you happen to have Sirius's will? He did leave one, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Opening out a thick folder set beside his drink, he pulled out a tightly furled piece of parchment. How the parchment was still perfectly rolled up after spending who knew how long in a perfectly flat folder, Harry had no idea. Fang unfolded the parchment carefully, breaking the seal of wax on it. He smoothed the paper out flat and looked up slowly, assessing. "Would you like to read it yourself, Mr. Potter, or would you prefer that I read it you aloud?"

Harry hesitated. He glanced at Tonks, whose face was one of blankness. "I don't want to read it," she said without looking at him.

Harry turned to nod at Fang. "Right. Could you read it aloud then?"

Fang sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat, then, in a clear, crisp voice, he read:

"I, Sirius Orion Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, of sound body and mind (this not being completely true but alas) do hereby announce that all of what is here on this parchment is to be my official and only valid will. Filed on April 26, 1996. To those who are in attendance, I say hello and goodbye. Mourn not for me but for those who have fates worse than I, for I assume I died a dramatic death. I love you (names shall not be stated, for those know whether or not I speak of them) and please do not blame yourselves for my death. That will be pointless, and should I still be alive, will only result in causing me pain and anger. I died how I died, and that is no one's fault but my own. Besides, look on the bright side, I won't be alone in death! James Potter (everyone has heard of him, I'm sure), my best friend, would never let me be more bored than necessary.

Now, to start with, I would like to ask that the goblin overseeing this, preferably Fang, give each of the Weasleys 10, 000 Galleons with the exception of Percy Weasley. Thank you, all of you, for being there for Harry as his family during all these years I couldn't be there. No, this is not charity, Molly, Arthur, this is a gift of my gratitude, so please consider it as such. To Hermione Granger, please give her 5, 000 Galleons and free enrollment into the Witches' Book Club. Thank you for being such a loyal, good friend towards Harry, Hermione. You forever have my thanks and respect.

For Remus Lupin, my old friend, I leave you 5 million Galleons. Friend of mine, brother, please don't refuse it. The money I give to you out of love. Buy all that you might need, party, do whatever you want with it. It's yours. I'll always miss you, Moony. You've been one of the greatest friends the world has ever seen. May we meet again later on. . .

To Albus Dumbledore. . .Albus, I allow you to keep using you-know-what for as long as necessary, so long as Harry remains Keeper. I believe you capable of looking out for Harry, he trusts you, so please do. Don't let any harm come to him. That is all I ask of you. Thank you.

To Nymphadora Tonks: I lament that we didn't get a chance to ever get to know each other well, Dora. I imagine we would've gotten along quiet nicely. Nevertheless, I leave the Tonks family 10.5 million Galleons, Merlin forbid you should ever have to work again. And, as a farewell gift, I welcome Nymphadora and Andromeda Tonks back into the family as Blacks, as they should've been from the start. In the process, I also renounce Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy from the family - Draco Malfoy, no matter how spiteful you may be, or how arrogant, you have no fault for your parents' actions, so you will remain part of the family, if you so wish. (Know that you are to treat Harry with respect if you choose to remain part of the family Black, and that you are not to harm a hair on his body, especially not hand him over to the Dark Lord. You would be foolish to even attempt so. Also, you are to ask permission if you wish to enter certain Black properties) If not, well. . .there is nothing I can do about that. Don't make the same mistakes as your parents and aunt, Draco. That is all I have to say.

And last but not least, Harry James Potter. Harry, you are my godson, so you should know that my love for you is immense, I would never let you get hurt, not while I was still alive at least. You'll never know how bad I felt knowing that my time with you was limited - Yes, Harry, I knew something would soon happen that would remove me from you all, though I know not what exactly. At any rate, I want to let you know this: be happy, fall in love. I don't care with whom, dark or light, pure-blood or not, girl or boy, human or animal. Just open up your heart and let the people who love you in, don't push them away. Please. And, shocking myself most at what I'm about to do, I ask for you to talk to Snape. Tell him that I'm sorry for all that I did to him. I'd never get the courage to it myself. He isn't such a horrible man, Snape, sure he can be a git but - never mind. Ignore the ramblings of an old man. Just do as I ask, it's important he knows I'm sorry.

I leave to you, Harry, everything that I own, all my properties, money (Muggle and Wizard), stocks, everything. All of the Blacks is now yours. You, and how I can imagine the look on your face at this, I leave all of the Black vaults and title of 'Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'. By doing so, I am letting you tap into adulthood one year early, so you will, from this day onward, now officially be an adult. I can imagine this will be shocking for you, but it'll open up several opportunities for you as well, Harry, think closely about it. Enjoy your life, and do try to stay alive. I don't want to see you in the afterlife anytime soon, you hear?

Once again, for those who cared for me as I cared for you, do not grieve over my death for long. I'd much prefer it if you threw party instead of a funeral, we must remain happy during hard times so as to not give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing us scared. As someone always said, there is light in even the darkest of places if one just remembers to turn on the light. And, oh yes, a personal favourite of mine, "Stars cannot shine without darkness." Do well in remembering that, friends of mine."

By the time Fang was done reading the will aloud, both Tonks and Harry were an emotional mess. Tonks had a look of disbelief crossed with pain and guilt on her face, as she stared ahead unblinkingly, her hair now a duller, gloomier brown than before. Harry stared down at his lap to hide the tears in his eyes, and the pain that would've shown clearly on his face should he have been looking up. His throat was tight, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. Although Harry himself hadn't known Sirius that long, he'd grown close to his godfather, the only family he'd had left. Sirius had slowly began filling in the space that even his friends nor the Weasleys ever could, slowly making Harry truly happy, letting him catch a glimpse of what it was he'd been missing for years . . . and then he'd been murdered. The flame in his heart was snuffed out and coldness steadily seeped back in.

Harry cleared his throat, wiping his eyes hastily. There was no reason to look weaker than he already did. Forcing in slow, deep breaths through his nose, he looked up as calmly as he could. "Is that all that Sirius wrote in his will?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter." said Fang evenly, studying Harry closely. "But he did ask that I give you something he thought you should have personally." He snapped his fingers, and with a pop, a black box came rocketing from underneath the desk, likely from one of the drawers. Without Fang lifting a finger, the top of the box snapped open, letting out a faint hiss much like sizzling metal, and Fang pushed the box toward Harry silently.

Tonks sucked in a sharp breath.

Harry stared down at the box's contents wordlessly. Nestled in between a bed of deep green velvet, winking gently against the light of the room, lay a ring. But not just any ring, Harry knew. No, this ring was made of what appeared to be sterling silver, a very thin band of gold weaving throughout the band intricately, almost like leaves but not quite. Directly in the middle, there was what Harry assumed to be a raven and a hand clutching a wand, the raven made of brilliant gold and the hand-with-the-wand of rubies. There were two other ravens on each side of the band in the middle, their tails spread lavishly, fashioned not of onyx or rubies but out of emeralds.

"What is it?" asked Harry, tearing his eyes away from the ring to look suspiciously at Fang. No one needed to tell him the ring was very important, he could see that by the ridiculous expensiveness and obvious oldness of the ring, which seemed to emanate endless torrents of power and wealth.

Smiling an amused, eerie sort of smile, Fang said, in as much of a smooth voice as he could manage, "Why that is the Black ring of course, the one which all the Heads or Patriarch of the family wear, to show that they are in control and hold all of the power."

"Sirius, he was supposed to wear it as the rightful Lord after Regulus died, but he refused," explained Tonks, still eyeing the ring with an expression of melancholic awe.

Harry stared at her uncertainly. "So, do I have to, er, wear it?" he said nervously. He glanced at the ring. He had no doubt that if he did wear it, the ring would be in ruins by the end of the month. Harry had no specialty in taking care of things, especially not old, costly rings.

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. The ring was spelled to protect against ruin, remain spotless no matter how dirty a state you may be, and to remain on your hand until death. Not a soul would be able to pry the Black ring off your finger by any means, Muggle or magic."

"Oh." said Harry. But he still made no move to grab the ring.

"Just take it, Harry, go on," said Tonks, pushing the box into Harry's hands.

A sudden idea struck Harry like a bolt of lightning.

"No," he said firmly. Fang raised an eyebrow indignantly and Tonks stared incredulously. "I won't put on the ring unless you decide to join the Blacks, your mum too. I know you don't want to, but please. Sirius wants, wanted, you to."

Tonks didn't say anything but her face hardened. For a moment, Harry thought she would jinx him, the look on her face was so angry, but then the anger vanished so suddenly Harry blinked. Had he imagined it? "Alright then," she said, smiling faintly. She extended her hand. "You have got yourself a deal, Harry James Potter."

"You're not going to argue or say no?" said Harry, shocked.

Tonks' mouth twitched and a trace of warmth filled her eyes. "'Course not, Harry. You're my Head now, ain't no arguing with you lest you blast me off the family tree." Harry's mouth fell open. Had Tonks, so serious and pale lately, just made a joke?

Dazedly, and feeling as if he'd somehow been tricked himself, he grabbed the box and carefully lifted the ring off its bed of green velvet. "Uh - where does the ring go?" stammered Harry, cheeks flushing.

"Family rings such as the one for the family Black go on your index finger, but it may also go on your nuptial finger, if you are unmarried. Whichever you prefer." sang Fang, looking highly amused at the fact that Harry didn't know on which finger to put family rings on.

Harry scowled, resisting the urge to jinx the smirk off the goblin's face (that would only succeed in making an enemy out of someone he couldn't afford to, not with the war so close) as he slid the ring - which was surprisingly light - onto his second finger. Suddenly, almost scaring the living daylights out of Harry, a bright, vivid blue light burst from the ring on his finger and a loud crack filled the air. Harry stiffened as a rush of warmth unexpectedly coursed through his body, which felt intensely as if he were being cocooned in warm silk. A faint humming filled his ears, and then it was gone, leaving no traces whatsoever of what'd just happened. "What was that - the light, the warmth?"

"That was, I believe, the transfer of power from one Head to the other. You are now, officially, the Head of Black. Welcome, Lord Potter-Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." And then, to Harry's complete mortification, Fang proceeded to stand up on his chair, grinning darkly, and bowed low at the waist.

"Is that all? Am I allowed to leave now?" said Harry quickly, his neck and ears flaming red as Tonks snickered and Fang sat down again.

"Yes, I believe so, Mr. Potter-Black." Fang slid out a key from inside the will folder, his face once again deathly serious. He placed a gold, flat card in Harry's hand. "That will be the key to the Black vaults there. I'll have a copy of Sirius Black's will send to Black Manor within a few hours, which you'll find you'll be able to reach by the translation to French, unless you'd prefer the original for personal safekeeping?"

"No. No, I'll take the copy, thank you." He never knew the Blacks had their own manor. Sirius had never mentioned it before. Probably because he hated his family as much as the Dursleys hate you, a small voice whispered. Harry ignored it.

"And, would you, Mr. Potter-Black, like for the others mentioned within the will to come inside and be informed of their part, or would you prefer to tell them yourselves?"

Without missing a beat, Harry said, "I'll inform them, Fang, thank you. Oh, but please inform the Malfoys of their part. . . Right now, I'm not . . . I'm not on speaking terms with them, and I'm sure they'd prefer your company to mine. And please leave the Black vault untouched, I want the Potter and Black vaults separate."

Fang nodded shortly as Harry and Tonks stood up. "As you wish, Mr. Potter. I shall have Griphook escort you back to the main hall."

As if he'd been waiting outside the whole time, the door opened at that very moment, and there stood Griphook in his ugly little suit. "Thank you, Fang. May your gold prosper and your enemies die a very painful death." Harry told Fang, his voice polite once more. Fang bared his sharp, pointy teeth in a twisted echo of a smile. Harry turned and exit from the room with Tonks, placing the gold cart inside his pocket.

Outside in the hallway, he stopped, blinked at the sudden change of light.

"So, what happened in there, anything interesting?" demanded Hermione, coming up to Harry as soon as the door was closed.

Harry shrugged, startled. "Nothing really interesting. Fang, the family goblin, that is, read the will aloud and I was officially named Head of the Black family."

"Nothing?" exclaimed Ron loudly. "Mate, you were in there for an hour! What d'you mean 'nothing interesting' happened?"

Tonks was suddenly besides Harry, glaring angrily at Ron. "Bugger off, Ron. If Harry doesn't want to talk about it, don't push it."

Ron stared back at her accusingly. "So what, now you're back to your old self, no more acting like Moaning Myrtle, all mopey and feeling sorry for yourself?" he said scornfully, ears red. He hated being admonished by an adult, especially a female. Tonks whipped out her wand, her face suddenly pale. Harry quickly got in front of Ron, uneasy on behalf of his best friend, daft as he was at that time. He didn't doubt that if pushed too far, Tonks would curse Ron into being sorry he'd ever opened his mouth.

"It's okay, Tonks, really, don't curse his mouth off. He's just curious, is all." Tonks nodded slowly, very reluctantly lowering her wand with a glare at Ron, who swallowed tightly. With a pat on Harry's arm, she turned briskly on her heel to go talk to Mrs. Weasley, who had a look of burning curiosity on her face. Sighing, Harry turned to an annoyed Hermione and green Ron. "Look, when we went in there, Tonks wasn't really in a happy mood, she didn't want to hear any part of Sirius's will, it looked like she was a piece of wood, she was so stiff and quiet. But then - the deal is, in his will, Sirius welcome her and her mum back into the family. I think this, that Sirius considered them his family, made her feel less guilty about. . .Well, it made her less guilty somehow, because she's okay now. She's okay." He didn't know how he knew but he did. Tonks was no longer blaming herself for Sirius's death. Or at least not quite so much.

"Harry," said Ron in a low, serious voice, catching the look on his best friend's face, "did anything else happen in there?"

Harry nodded, opening his mouth to tell him and Hermione what had been written in the will, but then paused when he saw that Pontyr was listening in closely. "I'll tell you back at the Burrow." he said at last, continuing to walk at a slow pace. He looked up as a looming black shadow obscured half his vision.

"Alright there, Harry?" Kingsley clapped Harry on the back once, almost sending him crashing to the floor by the force behind it.

"Yeah," muttered Harry distractedly, having spotted Remus up ahead, who was talking amiably with a laughing Ginny whilst Tonks stared, an extremely odd look on her face. He glanced at Ron, Hermione, Tonks, then Remus once more. "Look. I was wondering, would it be okay if I talked to a goblin about what my parents left me before we left to visit Fred and George?"

"That can easily be arranged," said Griphook eagerly, clearly confident he'd be the goblin to talk to.

"Good, thank you. I also need to stop by the Black vaults afterwards. There's something I need in there."

---

Many miles away from Diagon Alley, halfway in the middle of nowhere, lay Malfoy Manor. A forest consisting of thick, green foliage and paranormal, inhuman creatures roaming freely, unafraid of humans - of Muggles - surrounded high stone walls, which stretched across for several miles in all directions to form a large, wide circle. Nevertheless, clusters of trees from within hid the walls from prying eyes, for inside the walls, amongst neatly trimmed hedges, a gleaming blue lake, a round field meant for sport-playing, and elaborate gardens worthy of royalty on the other, including a fountain, was Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy Manor, named so because of its ridiculously wealthy inhabitants, appeared, to one's eyes, to be more of a castle than a mansion. Indeed, made of polished, smooth, white marble, it stretched six stories high, quite a few steel spires rising from the top of the manor house. The downstairs windows were diamond-paneled and stylishly made. Intricate ivory columns supported the Manor's heavy structure. Overall, the manor house was very handsome but terrifying in size, giving off the strong impression of wealth and influence.

But even more impressive than the Manor were the Manor residents themselves. Dripping in gold, with power that, while diminishing, made most people feel small and unimportant and know that they were not ones to be taken lightly, they were the Malfoys. The Malfoys were a pure-blood wizarding family - this meant that they didn't have Muggle (the term for non-magic people) or creature (werewolves, Veela, goblins, faeries, etc.) blood running through their veins, only that of ones who were of magical blood. There was the Head of family, Lucius Malfoy; then his wife, Narcissa Malfoy (née Black); and then the Malfoy heir, Draco Lucius Malfoy, the only son to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The Malfoys, simply put, were very adamant in their beliefs that the Wizarding World shouldn't interact or allow anyone not born to parents with magical blood to enter their world. Such a thing was an abomination and ought to be illegal, they believed. Half-Bloods, ones who had magical and non-magical parents, and Muggleborns (witches or wizards born to Muggles), were impure and had no right to be allowed to co-exist with the true witches and wizards.

This belief, and several more, were what made the pure-blooded wizard, Lucius Malfoy, join sides with another wizard, Lord Voldemort, whose goal was to eliminate the Wizarding World of all Muggleborns and Half-Bloods. But the only major result this had for Lucius was guarantee him a lifetime spot in the wizard prison, Azkaban. And to throw his son's whole life off balance.

From the vintage point of the windows of one of his several rooms on the third landing of Malfoy manor, stood Draco Malfoy, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the crystalized window below. A sneer curled his lips as he watched one of the household peacocks that his parents were so proud of glare at another of its companions before turning away haughtily.

"What are you doing now?" said a sudden exasperated voice from behind, startling Draco into whipping out his wand as he whirled round, pointing it at the intruder.

"Mother!" gasped Draco, upon seeing the pale, fine-looking face of one Narcissa Malfoy staring at him with appalled surprise. He lowered his wand hastily, which'd been pointed at his mother's face threateningly. "I, what are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"Can I not visit my own son now, then, without being questioned for the motives behind? Has your father really affected us this much that we now mistrust each other?" snapped Narcissa Malfoy, her eyes straying toward her son's wand. Her face softened considerably when Draco looked at her, face stricken. "Draco, dear, I apologize. You know I didn't mean that, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Mother." His mother, he knew, was suffering more than he. "I should be the one apologizing, pointing my wand at you. That was my mistake, and I have no excuse for it." Draco paused, looked down, then back up, peering at the exhaustion lining his mother's face as she stood there, shivering despite the fire crackling in the hearth. "Still, has something happened? You look horribly tired."

"It's those reporters," began Narcissa angrily, "hounding after us day and night, waiting for a sign of vulnerability to pounce on, to tear us to shreds. One would think they have nothing else to talk about, the amount of letters we get!"

"Yes, Merlin's beard, they are unsupportable. Gotten tired of talking about the 'Chosen One' and the Dark Lord, have they? Even when they have more recent news to gossip about?"

"Draco, careful with the words you speak. One could always be listening!" gasped Narcissa, looking over her shoulder fearfully as if expecting the Dark Lord to be standing behind her, wand in hand. Draco bowed his head, face paling.

"Of course, you're right, I'm sorry, Mother," he said. He glanced suspiciously at the partially opened doorway. She was right. The Ministry was determined to cave them in, and after his father's imprisonment at the Ministry, they were bent more than ever on seeing the Malfoys broke and behind bars. With a flick of Draco's wand, the door swung shut. Narcissa looked behind her once more, but let out a relieved sigh when she realized that it'd only been the door closing.

"Draco," she whispered, hands shaking as she looked out the window "We must be careful, we can't trust anyone any longer, not after your father's capture and imprisonment. Everyone now distrusts us, we're being watched from every side, every corner, every shadow, do you hear me? Now isn't the time to slip up. That's what they're all waiting for, a reason to put us down. . ."

"I know."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. I'll be bringing the Malfoys back to the top in no time with the Dark Lord's task."

"No. You have no idea what lies in store, foolish boy!" cried Narcissa before Draco even finished speaking, looking up. Tears pooled in her eyes. "Draco, the Dark Lord, he's bent on punishing you for your father's mistake! This is him getting his vengeance! You're only sixteen, a child still! How could you accomplish what the Dark Lord himself failed to do, the Dark Lord being more powerful than any other wizard?" She drew in a ragged breath. "It's a death mission; He knows it is as well as any other wizard, that's why you were given the task in place of several others who've had much more experience than you have, don't you see? He's looking for you to get killed!"

Draco swallowed. He didn't want to believe her, he wanted to believe that he'd been given the task because he was deemed worthy, not because of some form of revenge from the Dark Lord at his father's mistake. "No. You're wrong. You're wrong, Mother. The Dark Lord - he believes I can carry out what he instructed me with. And I will. I'll do it and afterwards, everything will be okay. Glory will be brought to the family, Father will be freed, we'll all be happy!"

Narcissa gave a loud sob and threw herself against the window, clearly wretched at the steely determination and excitement in Draco's voice. Draco watched his mother, fighting back irritation. But no. The Dark Lord trusted him to carry it out, and he would, he'd bring pride and glory to the Malfoy name. He'd prove he was strong enough, good enough, to carry out the job.

"My son. . .my only son. . ." she whispered, and began crying in earnest, gazing at the portrait of Lucius, Draco, and herself hanging from the wall all the while.

"Mother, please, don't cry," said Draco heavily. He couldn't stand seeing his mother in so much pain and fear, thinking of what she thought to certainly be his demise. But he knew, no matter how much he tried to console or convince her otherwise, that she was certain that she was now going to lose her son, so soon after losing her husband to Azkaban. Her fear went too deep, her doubts ran too far, but for naught. Draco was going to survive.

This was all damned Potter's fault, thought Draco viciously. If he'd only died in the Tournament along with Diggory, none of this would be happening. Potter would be dead but his family would be safe and happy. His father wouldn't be imprisoned in Azkaban, and they'd still be in the Dark Lord's good graces.

But his stomach twisted at the thought of another death, of Potter's death, and Draco scowled out the window, annoyed. No matter how much he hated Potter, he didn't want him dead, not really. Hurt, yes, but not dead. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud. He would get skinned alive, tortured, if he ever acknowledged out loud that he didn't necessarily like the idea of the Dark Lord killing Harry Potter, that it made him feel nauseous at the mere thought.

Draco might've been a Slytherin with a family who was on the Dark side of things, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy watching people being murdered. Draco didn't think he'd quite gotten to the point where he didn't care if someone died or not, much less took pleasure in it. Maybe he never would, he'd probably always be partially like his mother, who detested watching people die, except maybe Muggles. Narcissa Malfoy was not someone to likely ever like Muggles, not with the fierce hatred she had for them. She'd rather gouge out her own eyes.

"Your father," said Narcissa, startling Draco out his thoughts, "what would your father say, Draco? Do you think he would approve of the Dark Lord's plans for you?"

"Father wouldn't dare question the Dark Lord, Mother," said Draco tightly. "He knows best, I'm sure he would agree wholeheartedly with the Him." The words were cold, treacherous.

Narcissa's look of misery was replaced by one of stunned disbelief. She got to her feet, her face extremely pale. "Do you honestly truly believe your father would be glad to watch you march to your own death?"

Draco didn't say anything. He turned to look at the picture his mother had looked at just moments ago.

"If that is what you think, child, then you are dearly mistaken," said Narcissa, gripping the windowpane tightly. "Your father would never allow you to risk your life on a mission that is bound to fail, be it the Dark Lord's bidding or not! You're his son, our son! How could you even think of such a thing?"

"He wouldn't want me to die because I'm the Malfoy heir," said Draco scathingly. "Who else would carry on the family name if I were to die, when I have no brother or sister, eh? That's right, no one! I'm the only one able to carry on the Malfoy lineage! Only me! I'm all that's left of the Malfoys."

His mother didn't look like she knew what to say next. She simply stared at him, her face stricken, blue eyes still over spilling with tears. She looked incredibly lost in her over expensive black dress and coat, as if she didn't know how they'd gotten there, the blues and purples of her alexandrite necklace glinting mockingly.

Guilt surged in Draco's stomach, horrible and strong. He hadn't meant any of that, but he was extremely frustrated and confused now. For, usually, when Narcissa Malfoy decided on something (on when it was best to travel to France, what new law was going to be passed by the Ministry, how the Light side might next react) it turned out to be awfully true. What about if one of these times was now, and, he, Draco would soon be nothing but a memory? A mere whisper here and now to be forgotten after a year or so?

Just as Draco opened his mouth to apologize, or to yell, he didn't know which, once again, there was a loud crack, then a loud, startled squeak. Annoyed, Draco turned to see one of the family elves lying sprawled on the ground, its legs sticking up in the air. As he watched disdainfully, his mother hastily wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, the elf stumbled onto its legs.

"Young Master Malfoy, Mistress Malfoy," stammered the elf, edging forward timidly. It bowed low, ridiculously low. Draco eyed the envelope in its thin, long hands.

"What is that?" he demanded sharply, pointing at the envelope. Narcissa straightened as she too saw the crisp white envelope.

"A-A paper, Master Draco," squeaked the elf. "Bloomy be cleaning the library, sir, just as Master said to, when the fire spit and crackled, and out came a envelope in white. Oh, how scared Bloomy was, sir, but Bloomy be brave and come here to deliver your mail to the Mistress Malfoy and Master Draco."

"Who sent it, elf?" snapped Narcissa, peering out the window anxiously. The Malfoys' mail usually arrived by owlpost, not by fire.

"I is not knowing, very sorry, Mistress Malfoy. This paper just came, but. . .it say it from Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Do that help?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Interesting, I never knew we'd been to Gringotts recently, Mother. Bloomy, give that here. Now."

"Yes, sir."

Trembling, Bloomy scurried forward and handed the envelope to Draco, who snatched it out of her trembling hands. She looked down, her huge green ears drooping as Draco looked at the letters written in cursive handwriting.

For a moment, he didn't move. His eyes were glued to the two words that interested him the most, "Black Family" and "will". Then, hands trembling, he tore past the Gringotts seal on the front of the envelope to reveal the folded piece of creamy white parchment he knew would be inside. His mother watched him, a curious look on her face, no doubt wondering why Gringotts had sent a letter.

"Mother," said Draco. "Listen to this.

To Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy and Lady Narcissa Malfoy,

Please accept my apologies for sending this through fire-messaging, but it appears that heavy wards have been set up around Malfoy Manor to prevent any unknown person or creature from being permitted entrance to set foot inside the manor grounds. This was an alternative to that.

It has recently come to my notice that Lord Sirius Orion Black of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black has recently passed away. Thus, it is now time for the deceased Lord Black's will to be read aloud to any family members or persons mentioned within the will, as clearly stated in the Codes of Family Inheritance at Gringotts, Chapter 4.

My apologies are offered for the delay.

I have made an arrangement to meet with you at three o'clock this evening. Simply ask for the Black family goblin, and you will be led to me.

Thank you,

Fang, family goblin to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black

Gringotts Wizarding Bank UK"

Narcissa laughed coldly. "Oh, Sirius has mentioned us in his will, has he?" she spat. Her eyes, bloodshot, gleamed darkly. "I, for one, can't help wondering why that is."

"Maybe he's left us more gold," said Draco, uncertain. He reread the letter carefully, looking for any clues to why they were included when Sirius Black had hated them so strongly but found none.

"Are we to go, or do we refuse?" asked Draco, still staring suspiciously at the letter in his hands.

"Well, we haven't got much of a choice. If we were to decline the meeting with the Black goblin, not only would I be offending the goblins but the house of my fathers. And, trivial as it may seem, the Blacks really are still part of my family, no matter that I am now a Malfoy. Besides, Draco, sweetie, don't you want to know what it is that your blood traitor of an uncle left you?"

"Not really, no. I am positive Black left everything to Potter, Dumbledore, or that stupid Metamorphmagus cousin of his. But . . . Alright, it couldn't hurt, I guess."

His mother merely nodded.

"Bloomy, arrange for lunch with Severus Snape and Lord Nott's son. I'll be expecting them soon." said Narcissa distantly, gliding past the nervous house-elf (Bloomy jumped to the side to avoid getting trampled) on her way to the door. Draco was positive she'd go for a stroll through the gardens, write to whoever it was she wrote to, and then dress. It was what she always did lately. "Don't make any apricot pies, Severus is not fond of them in the slightest. Or the mushroom soup, Theodore Nott simply hates the savor. And make sure you keep out any sweet drinks or desserts for me, I can't stomach them these days, only elf-made wine."

"Yes, Mistress, Bloomy will be good, she will not make apricot pies or soup of mushrooms. And she will get Mistress her elf-made wine, she will, the oldest, tastiest one." squeaked Bloomy. Narcissa nodded once then left for the gardens. The house-elf turned huge, round blue misty eyes to Draco. "Does Master Draco require anything, sir?"

"Yes, actually. Bring up a serving of bouillabaisse, I find I'm suddenly craving some. And butterbeer."

"Yes, sir!" Bloomy bowed ridiculously low, looked at Draco nervously, squeaked, and then disappeared with a loud crack.

Draco smirked.

He didn't treat the house-elves as badly as his father, he wasn't that cruel, but all the same, they knew that he wasn't someone to be crossed, not at the manor. Really, it was amazing. All he had to do was look at them for a few seconds, and they would start trembling in fear, even though he didn't once touch them. His father had really taught the house-elves well, he always thought, if they'd start beating themselves if they thought that Draco or his mother were even the slightest bit unhappy with their job. Just two days ago, after returning home from Hogwarts, he'd had to keep one of the servants, Teal, from strangling himself to death after dropping Draco's suitcase by knocking the choking creature unconscious. (Well, he did so anyways after his mother lifted the nasty hexes Potter and his stupid little friends' placed on him on the train back to London.)

With a snort, Draco headed once more for the long, warm bath simply beckoning him, mindless of the sudden screech resonating from the gardens. Or the heavy silence that settled afterwards.

Five minutes to noon, Draco left his bedroom in a considerably happier spirit, his pale blonde hair still somewhat damp, and smelling strongly of cologne and bath salts. He'd dressed in a freshly ironed, pressed black suit of the finest silk available to wizard kind. For a few minutes, Draco mulled over wearing a tie or not for a few minutes but then, deciding that it wasn't worth the trouble, decided not to. He cast a critical eye around his bedroom then swept out the door. His wand was tucked safely inside his front pocket, and Draco occasionally reached inside to make sure it was still there. Not that he was worried that someone would steal his wand. No one at Malfoy Manor would dare try to steal a Malfoy's belongings, the punishment would be too horrible to pay.

He hummed faintly as he made his way down the stairs to the dining room (there were four in reality, including one on 'his' floor, but the central one was on the main floor), feeling strangely . . . pleased at the thought that he'd been included in Sirius Black's will. He stared at his reflection in the gilded mirror on top of the steps as he passed by.

Draco's hatred for Sirius Black at the knowledge that he meddled with Potter and his lot while alive had only been strengthened by the fact that Sirius Black was his uncle, they were related, and yet he hadn't cared. He'd befriended James Potter, enemy of the Dark Lord, and agreed to be Harry Potter's godfather, also enemy of the Dark Lord. He was a disgrace to the pure-bloods, to the family Black. But he was dead now, and Draco found that he felt just the slightest bit sorry for what Sirius Black could've been, who could've saved himself by swearing his loyalty to the Dark Lord instead of the Potters and Dumbledore. Instead, Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's aunt and Black's cousin, had been forced to kill him. Though Draco knew quite well that Aunt Bella enjoyed being the one to have killed her traitorous cousin.

Whenever Draco saw her now, Aunt Bella recounted the story with unrestrained glee, laughing happily at the torment she knew Black's death caused for Harry Potter.

Potter's face was one of shocked horror, then one of anguish when he realized Black was dead, she said. He tried to torture her after realizing that Black wasn't ever going to come back, but he couldn't, he was too weak, too full of righteous anger. Draco had to hand it to Potter, he really was bold. He wouldn't dare attempt attack a Death Eater, much less a ruthless, deranged one who happened to be the Dark Lord's most loyal follower.

"Stop sulking and stand straight, boy," snapped one of the Malfoy ancestors from within his silver-famed portrait. Draco sneered as he recognized the rude Malfoy as his great-great-great-great uncle Petyr Malfoy. How dare he talk to him like that? He was the Malfoy heir! And Petyr Malfoy was one to talk, the back of his pale head was standing on end!

"Go back to slumbering, yeah, and leave me alone," he snapped irritably, raising one eyebrow at Uncle Petyr's indignant glare.

"All the Malfoys in shame, disgraced, the family fallen from the high ranks of society, now no more than an average pure-blood family, and this arrogant brat giving me orders," grumbled Petyr Malfoy as Draco continued on, purposefully slouching a bit. He didn't respond at the curse his dead uncle shouted at him, pretending instead to ignore him. Maybe he'd stop talking like that. "I was the greatest politician of the time, I was, pure-bloods in awe of me, Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns bending to my every will. This, the world overrun with filthy Half-Breeds and Muggle-borns, never would've happened in my time! They'd all be tortured and killed!"

Draco bristled.

Ignoring his deranged uncle's rambling about torturing Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, he walked past several more portraits, and was glad that no one else attempted to insult him. He rolled his eyes. Then again, Petyr Malfoy's mother had been a Bulstrode, what was to be expected? They were all a bunch of nutters, really, the whole lot of them. Millicent Bulstrode included. Especially her, the stupid girl.

Once Draco got to the first landing, he took a deep breath and straightened his back the way his father had taught him, setting his face into one of impenetrable aloofness, exactly like his father's. A Malfoy never showed emotion in public. Emotions suggested feelings, feelings suggested weakness, and a Malfoy never showed weakness. Draco then proceeded to walk briskly down the wide corridor, sneering at one house-elf standing atop a three-legged stool, furiously scrubbing the diamond-paned windows to gleaming perfection as he passed by. The ugly little thing squealed and rubbed even more furiously at the windows.

When he reached the heavy, double doors leading inside to the dining hall, Draco ran a shrewd eye over his attire, re-checking for any signs of weakness or flaws. Finding none, he nodded to himself and reached forward, touching the double doors lightly with his fingers. It instantly swung open beneath his touch, recognizing him as its master. Silently, feeling wary about the whole luncheon as a whole, Draco stepped inside the room and stood there as the doors closed once more behind him.

His mother looked up from the far corner of the room, where she was busy snapping orders to a terrified-looking house-elf. "Draco," she said, turning towards him. She shot the house-elf a cold look over her shoulder. "Bette, go do what I asked of you. And do make sure there are no . . . accidents this time or it'll be clothes for you. Well, what are you waiting for?"

Looking positively terrified at the thought of receiving clothes, and thus freedom, Bette nodded hastily and disappeared, a suspiciously red rag clutched in one tiny fist.

"What was that about, Mother?" asked Draco, still gazing at where Bette'd stood just a second ago. Concerned, he cut his eyes to his mother's face, thinking that maybe something had happened to her out in the gardens. There really was no one that they could trust now. But aside from looking mildly irritated, Narcissa Malfoy was the picture of calmness. Or she did on the outside anyways. Draco knew his mother well enough to know something was wrong with her, aside from the usual these days. But he looked at her thin smile and distant eyes and knew instantly it was better to stay silent because it was all too obvious she wasn't going to tell him anything.

"Nothing. Draco, don't worry about it," said Narcissa Malfoy a split second later, proving Draco correct. He frowned inwardly.

"Has Severus arrived?" he said, changing tacks instead of demanding an answer, as he actually wanted. He knew he shouldn't push his mother too much when it came to whatever she was hiding these days. She would never do anything to hurt him.

Narcissa winced almost imperceptibly. "No, he hasn't. But he'll be along soon, I'm sure." she said quietly, trailing one thin finger over the dark blue of her dress in a distracted manner, her pale blue eyes surveying the dark marble of the dining table. Draco's eyes narrowed, having caught the slight hesitation in his mother's voice when he asked if his godfather had arrived yet. What was going on that he was so obviously missing?

Before he could answer though, there was a sudden bang from down the hall followed almost instantly by all-too familiar loud cursing. Narcissa's eyes widened as she, too, recognized the voice to be that of Severus Snape's and hurried out of the room so fast Draco thought that her heels were on fire, long blonde hair trailing behind her. Draco stared after her, watching his mother turn the corner and disappear from sight, baffled and completely bewildered. Since when had Narcissa Malfoy ever been so eager to see one Severus Snape before? Usually, she allowed Draco to be the one to greet his godfather, offering her greetings only after several minutes had passed and both Draco and Lucius had welcomed Severus into their home.

What does she know? he thought. Has - Did something happen?

Snapping back to reality, he cleared his throat and, after glancing warily at the extravagantly set-up table, he swept out the door towards his mother and godfather.

"- Severus, please, he can't know!"

Draco froze outside the dining room at his mother's voice, thick with fear and urgency. His sense of foreboding increased when Severus whispered something back in harsh tones. The fact that he sounded aggravated only increased said feeling. Cautiously, feeling it would be best if he wasn't spotted, he crept forward with his back against the smooth white walls and peered over the curve of the majestic walls.

Narcissa Malfoy stood at the far end of the foyer, her head bent close to Severus Snape's. But even from his position at the other end of the room, Draco could see that his mother's face was wet. His stomach sank. Was she crying again? Why? Was it about him, Draco? No. It couldn't be. It was probably about his father, yes. He gripped the wall tightly with one hand as his mother wiped hastily at her face, which, it turned out, was actually streaked with tears.

"Draco deserves to know," hissed Severus.

So it was about him after all.

Draco mentally cursed every magical being on earth as he leaned forward, forcefully ignoring the fast thudding of his heart and the blood roaring in his ears. Now was not the time to panic. That could wait for later when he was confined in the safety of his room.

"He can't," whispered Narcissa, and it wasn't lost on Draco that although her face was one of bitter anguish, there was also determination. As if she had it in mind that her son would be kept in the dark and under the belief of promised safety for as long as possible, no matter that she'd told Draco just an hour ago that he wasn't safe. Draco laughed quietly at the irony. "It's all too much, Severus. Why can't you see reason?"

Snape's face twisted with fury. "Narcissa," he said in a low, soft voice, "this is Draco we're talking about here not some dirty, unexperienced Muggleborn. You think he can't take care of himself? That he hasn't got the wits to accomplish the unaccomplished, to do what he knows to be best? Do you, perhaps, think him to be . . . weak?"

Exactly! Draco smirked, despite himself. Even Severus, harsh and cold as he was to most, admitted that Draco was fully capable of taking care of himself and doing what needed to be done. Even if that something was something most people would flinch at, Draco, admittedly, included. But what mattered was that he could, he could do it. Do what needed to be done.

"Yes!" exclaimed Narcissa vehemently, firing up at once. Draco startled out of his thoughts to stare at her, stricken. She rushed on, the color high in her cheeks. "I know my son, Severus, and he isn't one capable of such a . . . a horrible deed. As unpleasant as he may sometimes be towards some, as thoroughly Slytherin as he is, he doesn't have it in him to hurt someone. He's too soft, too weak! Have you ever seen him harm someone to such a degree for it to be irreversible? Of course not. And most importantly, which you seemed to have forgotten, as you have countless other times, Draco isn't like his father!"

Snape stared at her.

"He can't know," whispered Narcissa again, tilting up her chin.

For a long moment, Severus stared at Narcissa Malfoy silently, his expression of one who'd been hit with a Bludger and then told it was Christmas. Draco could almost see the cogs in his brain turning. Tell Draco the horrible truth and prepare him for what was to happen or not say a thing and watch him suffer. Severus's mouth thinned, and Draco was sure that was it. He was going to refuse to keep him in the dark, stumbling along without any light or guidance. But then Severus exhaled a heavy breath and said, in a detached voice, "And so he won't. Not from me, anyhow."

Narcissa's eyes widened a fraction in shock. Evidently, she couldn't believe Snape would agree to keeping her son in the dark. Not when he himself detested lies and secrets. But then she nodded sharply when Severus's face tightened, suspecting what she was currently thinking, relief clear on her smooth, pale face. She reached out and grabbed Severus's hand tightly. "Thank you, Severus, thank you."

"I do not do this for you," said Severus coldly, sneering down at Narcissa as he smoothly slid out of her grasp, "but for Draco."

Draco stared at him, partially amazed and then wholly enraged. How dare his godfather keep news so important it made his mother cry away from him? He had a right to know! This was his future they were talking about, not the one of an animal to be used and carelessly thrown away as soon as its use was done! His neck prickled with rage and he had half a mind to storm up to his mother and demand that she tell him the whole truth about his assignment, because clearly he was being kept in the dark, even after everything had supposedly been explained to him. Supposedly. He resisted the urge to hurt someone.

"I know and that's why it means all the much more. With Lucius gone . . . He trusts you completely. You're his favourite person, the one he admires most . . . He'll listen to you."

Snape snarled. "I get it, I get it. You don't owe me anything, Narcissa. Merlin forbid should - "

He was interrupted by the sudden whooshing of the fireplace. Narcissa stiffened. She wiped a hand across her face hastily and went to stand a respectable distance away from Severus, her face settling into the calm façade Draco saw her wear in the dining room. One that, he was now sure of, was a valiant front in which she meant to hide her fear.

As the fireplace crackled and fanned out, Draco straightened his spine.

He strolled forward confidently as out of the fire came two tall, dark figures, the tallest one first. Draco smiled at the taller of the two, momentarily paying no attention to the ash now covering the pristine white marble floor, the boy standing rigidly behind the taller of the two, or the suspicious look on his godfather's face.

"Theo," said Draco politely, inclining his head slightly in respect. However, he sneered in the inside, hating that he had to come face-to-face with the son of the man who'd helped in his father's capture and imprisonment by the Ministry. "How very nice of you to join us."

Theodore Nott, however, seemed to have no such hostile feelings for his fellow classmate. He grinned crookedly as he shook hands with his fellow classmate. "Draco, very nice to see you as well. How are you?"

"Who's that?" Draco jerked his head to the stiff, reticent boy behind Theo, eyes downcast but face held up proudly. That gesture alone made Draco instantly dislike him.

"Oh," Theo's lips curled slightly as if in contempt or disgust, "that's Terrence Vaughn, son of one of my father's clientele and my childhood sitter. Father thought it fit that Terrence here look after me if something were ever to happen to him, see. Thought he was smarter and more coherent than the others. So here he is, my . . . companion."

"Is he a pure-blood, at least?" scoffed Draco, glaring distastefully at the other bloke's somewhat decent trainers. He wouldn't have a Mudblood dirtying Malfoy floors. Not if he could help it. Theo's little servant flushed angrily but didn't look up.

Theo did laugh this time, a nasty little laugh, evidently amused. "Of course," he said. "Father wouldn't have it any other way now, would he?"

Draco sniffed. "Of course not. That would be utterly disgraceful."

"Yeah, well he's only proven slightly useful." Theo sneered at Vaughn condescendingly, dislike dripping from every word. "Most of the time he's as clueless as an Obliviated person. Just the other day, he dropped my father's - my father's, mind you - gold bauble of my mum on the floor, the stupid prat. No amount of polishing will erase the scratch on it."

"How dreadful."

"Draco," interrupted Severus as Theo opened his mouth once more, fury in his eyes. He grabbed his godson's arm firmly and pulled him back. "Don't you think it is now time to lead the way to the dining hall? Lingering in these difficult times would be unwise."

What he really meant, Draco knew, was to relieve his mother from standing there dying from boredom. And to relieve the slightly upset look on Vaughn's face, possibly, who looked like he wanted to cry. Pathetic. All because a few little words? What was he, a bloody Hufflepuff?

"You're right, Severus, of course." said Draco coolly, turning away. He knew how much his godfather hated weaklings, especially people who cried. It drove him mad. Draco couldn't blame him. Seeing someone cry made him strangely irritated, like a bee buzzing around him in hopes for honey. "Let us proceed to the dining room, Theo, Severus, Mother."

Severus's mouth curled into a cold smile. Apparently he'd caught Draco's deliberate non-mention of Theo's new caretaker. Draco stared hard at him, attempting to see any flicker of remorse at what his godfather was hiding behind those cold eyes. But all he said was, "Lead the way, Draco." His eyes gleamed with the promise of torturing Vaughn as he inclined his head in an indication for Draco to walk first. And so Draco did. He led his mother, who'd been studying Theo's companion as if he were an interesting new-found vermin, away, her arm linked elegantly with his.

"Be careful around that one," whispered Narcissa as they walked towards the gleaming double doors, and though her posture was relaxed her voice was stiff. "He has the desperate look of someone willing to kill and cheat in order to achieve any means held within mind. He can't be trusted."

Draco snorted. "Don't worry, Mother. Vaughn couldn't be a Slytherin if his life depended on it. He's too soft, one can easily tell just by looking at him. No. I would say he's not a threat in the least."

Narcissa said no more on the matter, but her gaze remained cold and distrustful as they entered the dining room. She sat down in her usual chair near the front only after Draco had taken a seat at the head of the table in the one his father customarily occupied, the one meant for the Head of Family. Severus sat next to her while Theo and Vaughn took the places opposite them, the latter looking around at the expensive and tasteful silverware with a touch of undisguised amazement. He'd obviously never experienced near endless wealth or the luxuries that came with it. Draco stared at Vaugh, having half the mind to ask what Theo had shown him of the Nott Manor. Certainly even Theo would have shown Vaughn the handsome room where the Notts dined, the music room Theo's mother had, according to Theo's father, so adored?

"Hermes," he called out stiffly, still gazing at Theo's companion with a calculating look. Maybe his mother was right. Vaughn did have a certain desperation around him, one that showed how much he yearned to not only be in the presence of the well-off and powerful but to be one of them. He had very high hopes, big dreams. His eyes showed that well enough. Dreams that, decided Draco, could be manipulated into helping Draco, into serving a purpose. He watched Vaughn eye the diamond-panelled windows longingly. Yes, Vaughn would perhaps prove to be useful.

"You be calling for Hermes, Master Draco?"

Rousing himself from his racing thoughts, Draco turned to glare at the nervous house-elf before him. "Yes, of course I did, you stupid little creature. I wasn't very well speaking to myself now was I?" Hermes cowered under Draco's irritation but didn't make a sound. He knew better than that, all the house-elves did. They'd been trained to be well-mannered and silent until spoken to. Or most of them, he thought bitterly. "Right. Go bring the first two courses, you and Bette. Have Nettie bring firewhiskey for Severus, and tell her to not forget the goblin-made goblets, the elf-made ones aren't quite as . . . plentiful."

"Of course, Master. I will do what Master says, oh yes!" Beaming at him, Hermes disappeared only to reappear a second later, his small arms laden with plates. A particularly large one rested atop his head.

"So," began Theo as Hermes set a steaming plate of glazed dumplings, stuffed apricots, and wild rice in front of him, "how ever did you manage to get those filthy hexes that Potter and his blood traitor followers put on you?"

"Potter cursed you?" Severus's voice could've cut through steel.

"Yes." He glared at Theo, still embarrassed at having been cursed by Potter's stupid friends, especially a Hufflepuff. A bloody Hufflepuff! Could the shame be any worse? "Those stupid members from the D.A. attacked me out near the Slytherin compartment, unprovoked. How'd you come to hear that, Theo?"

Theo smirked as he helped himself to a healthy serving of plum-and-ableroot dressing. He was obviously enjoying Draco's discomfort way too much. "Crabbe," he said smugly. "His mum had a fit when he arrived home looking quite unusually like a slug. She came Flooing right as I was headed out to meet with someone, demanding I turn her son back into an ordinary state. Almost gave me a heart attack too." He snarled.

"Of course! He never did know when to keep his mouth shut." Draco looked distastefully at his plate. "Bette, get rid of this. I don't much fancy it. I want fried filet instead."

Bette wrung her hands nervously as she slowly made her way to him. "But w-we be having no filet, Master Draco," she whispered morosely, clearly displeased at not having what her Master wanted.

"Well then you best go find some, you stupid elf!"

Vaughn watched Draco order the house-elf around with cold ruthlessness with unabashed wonder, of which Draco was all too aware of. This was it. He mentally prepared himself for what he was going to say next. It had to be said in just the correct way in order to more easily persuade Vaughn into working for him.

"And if you can't find some and have it cooked and set before me in twenty minute's time, Bette, it'll be ironed hands and no sleep for you."

Bette gave a small squeal of panic. She bowed hastily, muttered, "Yes, Master Draco, sir," to which Theo laughed at before vanishing with a loud crack.

There was a moment's silence where Narcissa looked blankly at her son and Severus frowned slightly. Draco instantly knew why. He'd never asked an elf to punish themselves before, no matter how angry or annoyed he was. He'd left that for his father to do, instead opting to insult the house-elves in any ways possible, sometimes, at the most extreme, doubling the amount of things they were supposed to do until the tasks were near impossible to complete. Always did they all know that Draco wasn't a man for violence or punishment, he wasn't cruel. Mean, yes, sometimes, but not cruel.

"Do they honestly listen to you?" murmured Vaughn suddenly, almost to himself, drawing everyone's attention to him. Theo's face filled instantly with an odd kind of fury that made Narcissa's eyebrows arch slightly.

"Shut your mouth, prat!" he hissed, clenching the hand wrapped around his fork tightly.

To Draco's amusement and surprise, Vaughn's eyes instantly dropped to his lap as his face paled. The look that slid onto his face was one of utter misery. Almost discreetly, he scooted away from the enraged Slytherin.

"Mister Nott," snapped Severus. "Do refrain from trivial actions of anger while eating. It is unbecoming of a Slytherin as you should very well know. Am I, perhaps, mistaken in my assumption?"

"No, Professor," said Theo stiffly.

But he continued to glower at Vaughn.

"Oh, calm down, Theo, Vaughn here was probably just curious" said Draco, who was actually quite perplexed at his classmate's sudden anger issues, something that'd never occurred before. In fact, Theo'd never been much of an angry person. So this new unexplainable emotion didn't make sense, especially since Draco knew for a fact that Theo had never been chummy with his father except say the occasional polite, indifference conversation. Now the question was: What was going on with Theo?

When Theo turned to him, Draco blinked. The other guy's eyes were shadowed and full of confused bitterness. Hmm. Well, yes, something definitely was wrong then.

"Right as always, Draco," he said distantly. He looked down at his plate and smiled suddenly. "Beautiful day today, isn't it?"

For a moment, Draco didn't know whether he should laugh or making a biting remark. Honestly, one would think Theo's domestic had been run over, he was so glum. And what was all of this about, suddenly acting like a madman? But then he remembered what needed to be done and sighed inwardly. "Theo, may I borrow your - companion for a moment? I need to drill into him some basic rules of discipline and respect which he seems to greatly be lacking."

"Does it really matter?" muttered Theo. But he nodded nonetheless.

With a withering look at the smaller boy, Draco stood up, resolutely ignoring his mother's scandalized expression and Severus's of polite curiosity. Now was not the time for explanations. That could wait. He had much more pressing matters now than simple manners.

Without looking back, Draco walked out, leaving his uneaten food and untouched goblet behind along with a deathly silence, Vaughn scurrying after him with no idea of what was to happen next.