Chapter 7: Love's Weapon
Dumbledore walked down a long, dark, wood-paneled corridor to a door at its far end. A small, brass plaque on the door identified it as the office of Iphigenia Fox, Head of the Spell Damage ward. He did not pause, but pushed straight through the door and into the room beyond.
Two women turned at the sound of his entrance. One was small, thin and sharp-faced, looking like a cross between Minerva McGonagall and Petunia Dursley. The other was tall, regal in bearing, with sweeping blonde hair and a haughty expression on her lovely face. She held a small bundle of dark fabric in her arms, half hidden against her black robe.
Dumbledore checked in surprise on the threshold, then he stepped into the room and very deliberately closed the door.
"Narcissa," he said, wary eyes fixed on the blonde woman's face, "what an unexpected pleasure."
Madam Fox waved a hand in Narcissa's direction and said, "This is why I sent for you, Albus."
"So I gathered." He moved closer to Narcissa, his wand in his hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She instinctively stepped back and tightened her grip on the object she held. Dumbledore couldn't be quite sure, difficult as it was to see its contours, but it seemed to him that the bundle moved. "What can I do for you, Narcissa?"
Mrs. Malfoy seemed to struggle with herself, as if regretting the impulse that had brought her here. After a tense moment, she spoke, her voice harsh with strain and her words clipped short. "My son is the prisoner of the Dark Lord."
Dumbledore nodded. "He and several others."
Another brief struggle and she ground out, "You promised to protect him. When you… took him from me, humiliated me in front of the Wizengamot, forced me into hiding…"
"Saved him from Lord Voldemort's vengeance?"
"You promised to protect him."
"I tried. I am still trying, but your master has other plans for him."
"I know all about his plans," she snarled, her lips drawn back in a grimace of mingled pain and rage. "That's why I'm here. I want you to stop him—stop the Dark Lord once and for all—and bring my son home."
Silver brows rose over cold, sceptical, blue eyes. "Home to Hogwarts? Or home to you?"
She swallowed audibly and lifted her chin another proud notch. "Both."
"That is not possible, my dear."
"It is, if you take me with you to Hogwarts."
His brows rose even higher, and a disbelieving smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "Why would I do anything so patently foolish?"
"You offered your protection to anyone who asks for it. Well, I am asking, Dumbledore. Will you deny me what you've given to half of Wizarding Britain, simply because you despise my husband and son?"
"I will deny you, because you forfeited all right to my help when you betrayed Draco."
"I did not!" she cried, tears starting in her eyes. "I only wanted…"
"To get him away from me and Harry Potter at any cost," Dumbledore finished for her, his voice hard as adamant. He let those words lie between them for a long moment, then went on in a calmer, less accusatory tone, "The last time you had to choose between your son and your master, you chose Voldemort. What's changed?"
"The Dark Lord is destroying him!" Narcissa sobbed. "My beautiful son! He is using him, torturing him, all to strike at you and Potter! I can't watch it anymore! I can't…" She clenched her eyes tightly shut against the tears that now seeped through her lashes and said, fiercely, "All any of you want is to use him. I want to save him. I want to save him!"
Dumbledore's voice was infinitely sad when he replied, "I wish I could believe that, Narcissa. You have no idea how much."
"I'll prove it to you. I'll give you the Dark Lord's greatest weapon, the thing he treasures above all else. I'll give you the power to destroy him."
"In exchange for refuge at Hogwarts?" She gave a jerky nod. "Show me this weapon."
Under Dumbledore's frowning eyes, she shifted her hold on the bundle she held, freeing one hand, and pulled back a loop of fabric to expose, quite literally, the last thing he had expected to see. It was a face—tiny and flawless—the face of an infant with porcelain white skin, a sheen of silver-gilt hair forming an elegant widow's peak in the center of its forehead, nearly colorless brows arched above closed eyes, and crystalline lashes resting on smooth, pale cheeks.
Dumbledore found himself looking at a perfect copy of Draco Malfoy lying in his mother's arms. His mouth sagged open in shock, and for once in his long, brilliant career, he was completely bereft of words.
"A child?" he asked, finally finding his voice. "Voldemort's weapon is a child?"
"Draco's child. And Harry Potter's. Her name is Lily." Naricissa held her out toward him, as if pleading with him to believe. "That's what Draco called her."
"Lily Potter," Dumbledore breathed, his eyes never leaving the tiny face. "Harry's daughter."
Madam Fox made a sour noise in her throat, breaking the magic of the moment. "It's all very well and good to name her after Potter's mum, but it doesn't change the facts. There is no way that Harry Potter fathered that child, because there is no way that Draco gave birth to her. She's Draco's daughter, right enough—any fool can see that—but who's the mother I'd like to know? And what has your master done with her, Narcissa?"
"Draco is her mother!" Narcissa snarled, pulling Lily close again. "If carrying a child in your body and giving birth to it in blood and pain makes you a mother, then Draco is Lily's mother! I watched it happen, watched as the Dark Lord tortured my son and planted another man's child in his body, all so he could fashion a sword to hold at the throat of the Wizarding world—a sword made of the blood and bone of her greatest hero. That is all Draco is to any of you! A thing to be used and discarded, a way to tighten your hold on Harry Potter! But he's not some old sack, to be cut open then tossed aside! He's my son!"
Narcissa broke off and took a moment to master herself, while Dumbledore watched her in thoughtful silence. When she had swallowed her rage and schooled her features into their usual cold, disdainful expression, she went on, "The Dark Lord gave me the task of caring for his fragile, new weapon. He charged me to keep her safe, so that is what I'm doing. I'm giving her to you, Dumbledore. I want you to protect her, as you once swore to protect her mother."
The last word was a challenge, a gauntlet flung at Dumbledore's feet. He considered it, and the woman who had delivered, it for a long moment. Then he said, his tone unexpectedly cold, "Of course I will protect her, but first I need the truth. Why give her to me?"
"It's what Draco would want."
The old wizard showed no sign of softening at this. "I'm sure he would, but not so long ago, you were ready to let Draco die—or worse—to keep him away from me. Now you offer me his daughter? Why?"
Narcissa stared at him, while pain went through her in visible waves and tears rose in her eyes. After a brief struggle, she said, in a ghostly whisper, "He lied."
"Voldemort?"
"Draco. He lied to the Dark Lord. He… called himself the whore of Hogwarts and said he'd given himself to so many boys that there was no telling whose child would come from his body." The tears were coursing steadily down her cheeks, but she wept silently, refusing to acknowledge her grief. "My beautiful son told this ugly, degrading, dangerous lie to protect Harry Potter. That's when I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That what you told the Wizengamot was true and there was no magic holding him. His hand was gone. You and Potter were far away. He was free to choose his own loyalties. But he looked straight into the Dark Lord's eyes and told a lie that would cost him his life, if anyone believed it… for Harry Potter."
"I'm glad you finally understand, my dear."
"I understand that you're his only hope. Take me and the baby to Hogwarts!" she demanded fiercely. "Shield us from the Dark Lord's wrath! Then go get my son and bring him home!"
Dumbledore exchanged a thoughtful glance with Madam Fox, then asked, abruptly, "Where is he?"
"Azkaban. They're all in Azkaban."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
He pondered her words for another minute, then held out his hands. "Give me the child."
Narcissa obeyed with barely a moment's hesitation. Dumbledore accepted the swaddled bundle, gazed down at the sleeping face framed in black fabric, then handed it to Madam Fox. The Healer took the baby and tucked it expertly into the crook of her arm, a smile flickering over her lined face for a moment before being replaced with a professional scowl.
"I'll have to examine her to be sure, but she seems healthy enough."
"Not here. You can come with us to Hogwarts."
"'Us'? You're taking my niece with you?"
"I am." He shot Narcissa a sharp look from beneath his lashes and held out a hand. "But not armed."
She promptly laid her wand across his palm, then, to Dumbledore's surprise, reached into her robe again and brought out yet another black bundle. Without a word, she thrust it out to him.
Dumbledore's brows lifted as he took it from her and flipped back the wrapping to expose its contents. Candlelight struck an object that shone and glittered against the black fabric like a huge diamond, cut and polished into the shape of a human hand. Unutterably beautiful and, without the power to make it live, completely alien. Draco's adamant hand.
The Headmaster gazed down at it, his features etched in lines of sadness. After a long moment, he freed one hand from the wrappings to touch the piece of magical sculpture he held, sliding his fingers over the flawless surface in a kind of caress, then he curved them around the wrist and lifted it from its wrappings.
Madam Fox stepped closer to examine it. "That's certainly my nephew's." She touched a smear of red-brown near the truncated end. "Is that, as well?"
"I'm sure it is." Dumbledore turned it to get a better look at something clinging to the smooth crystal and grimaced in distaste. "Whoever removed it was not gentle."
"My sister," Narcissa said in a ragged whisper, "Bellatrix. She cut it off. The Weasley boy tried to clean it, but…"
"Ron Weasley had Draco's hand?"
"I don't know where he got it, but I caught him with it, out of his cage. He was trying to use it as a wand to free Draco." Tears spilled from her eyes again, painting bright streaks down her face.
"And instead of helping him, you… what?" Madam Fox demanded angrily. "Put him back in his cage? Took the hand? Took the child? Ran away and left my nephew, your son, in the hands of You-Know-Who? By all that's holy, Narcissa! What's the matter with you?!"
"I couldn't bring them with me!" the younger woman wailed. "I didn't want to leave them there, but Draco was so weak… I was afraid he'd die without the Dark Lord's power to sustain him! He couldn't walk, and Weasley had no wand, and I knew we'd only get caught and there would be no one left to find you. To bring you back for them. Take the hand, Dumbledore, and when you have Draco safe again, put it back. Make him whole. Give him to Potter, if that's what he wants! Only save him and let him be with his child!"
Dumbledore gazed straight into her glazed, tear-drenched eyes for a long, burning moment, while Madam Fox shifted restlessly from one foot to the other and Narcissa gulped back her sobs. Finally, he reached over to cover her hand with his own, and his lined face softened.
"I will do my best, my dear."
"Don't be a fool, Albus," Madam Fox growled. "You can't trust her."
Dumbledore gave her a swift smile and turned for the door, his hand now holding Narcissa by the elbow. "Come, Iphigenia. We must get back to Hogwarts and begin mustering our forces. Can I rely on you to get word to our supporters here at St. Mungo's? We need every willing wand we can get."
"You're going after those children?" He nodded. "This is a terrible gamble. What if it's a trap and Narcissa's timely gifts are the bait?"
Dumbledore paused with his hand on the door latch and turned a quizzical look on her. "What if it is? Would you have me abandon those children to Voldemort?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"That's what I thought. He opened the door and guided Narcissa through it, shooting another smile over his shoulder at the scowling healer. "We'd best get on with it, hadn't we? Come."
The door closed firmly behind them.
"Where is she?!" Lord Voldemort towered over his cringing servants, blood-red eyes blazing and wand raised threateningly. "Where is the child?!"
"Narcissa took her," Bellatrix whispered, flinching when his gaze touched her. "She took her at your command, Lord."
"Took her where?!"
"I do not know, my Lord. I haven't seen her."
"Where is the boy? Is he still in his cell?"
Wormtail ducked toward the door, his arms up to shield his head and face from the impending explosion, and whined, "I will go and see, Master. I will double the guard on him… Triple the locking spells…"
"Begone, vermin!" Voldemort slashed with his wand, sending a jet of red light burning over Wormtail's head to splash against the wall. Stone flew from the point of impact, and Wormtail cried out in pain, as a fragment sliced across his cheek.
Wormtail disappeared into the dark passage, but the other Death Eaters crowded into the room had no excuse to run, and Voldemort was quickly working himself up into a killing rage. Some of them cowered against the walls, while others flattened themselves on the floor. Only Bellatrix stayed close to her master, but she was poised, ready to duck and run in an instant.
"If your carelessness has lost me both the child and the boy, I will torture you all into madness! I will bring this prison down upon your heads! I will tear your guts from your bodies and burn them to ash before your eyes! Why did you not watch her?" he snarled, rounding on Bellatrix. "Why did you not perceive her treachery?"
"I trusted her, Lord. We all trusted her! She has been loyal to you, I swear it!" Bellatrix looked shiftily about at the other Death Eaters. "Perhaps it wasn't Narcissa. Perhaps someone else tempted her… or forced her…"
Voldemort uttered a blood-curdling scream of rage and sent power gushing recklessly from his wand to fill the chamber with bloody light. The bodies huddled all around it cringed and ducked, some edging toward the door, only to have the Dark Lord fire a bolt at the threshold and block the opening with flames. Voices cried out in fear and uttered fervent promises that they had done nothing to aid the traitor, nothing to undermine their master's plans.
In the middle of this chaos, Wormtail returned. He stood outside the door, calling through the wall of flame, "He is here, Master! The Malfoy boy is in his cell!"
Voldemort instantly stopped raging. He banished the flames and gestured for Wormtail to approach. "That has saved you for the moment, but Lord Voldemort will not forget your cowardice and carelessness. Who saw Narcissa last? And Where?"
"She took the child from the dungeon," Rodolphus called, from his place on the floor. "I saw her on the stairs."
"I saw her bathing the child," another black-robed figure said.
"And then?" Voldemort demanded. "Then?" No one answered, and he lifted his wand again. "I will find her and the child. I will not allow one weak-minded woman to destroy all my plans. But in the meantime, we must assume that she has betrayed us and Potter is coming. Up! All of you, up!"
The Death Eaters scrambled to their feet and edged toward the door, away from Voldemort's wand.
"We have little time. Bellatrix, make sure that your nephew is still alive and well-guarded. Without the child, he is our best weapon against Potter, and I must have him. His life is your responsibility."
"Yes, Lord!" she cried, eyes alight with pride and devotion. "I will not fail you!"
"The rest of you, bring the children I selected to the graveyard. Wormtail, you fetch the Mudblood. Go! Now!"
They scattered, pushing through the door, grateful to be spared the Dark Lord's wrath for the present and anxious to do his bidding. Voldemort strode out last, his snake-like face impassive, but a potent mixture of rage and anticipation rolling off of him in waves. Potter was coming, the stars were aligned, and victory would soon be his.
Harry gazed down at the child cradled inexpertly in his arms, then up at Dumbledore, his face a mask of befuddlement. If he'd bothered to look at the adults crowded into the hospital wing with him, he'd have seen that they all appeared as stunned and disbelieving as he felt, but his attention was fixed on the man he trusted to explain this shattering new development to him.
"I don't understand."
Dumbledore quirked half a smile at him. "Neither do I, entirely. But I think it's safe to say that this is Draco Malfoy's child."
"Well, obviously," Harry said, his exasperation putting an edge on his voice, "but how? And when? Even I know it takes nine months to make a baby, and nine months ago, Draco was in this castle with me, not off fathering children for Voldemort to steal! Are you telling me he got a Hogwarts student pregnant and none of us knew about it?"
"No." Dumbledore now looked positively uncomfortable, as if this man who could face down the likes of Grindelwald at the height of his powers balked at the idea of explaining how a child was conceived. "Nothing of the kind."
"Then where did it come from?"
"She. It's a girl, and her name is Lily." His gaze sharpened, pinning Harry with it's familiar blade-like intensity. "Lily Potter."
"What?!"
"Of course, we only have Narcissa Malfoy's word on the name he chose, but I have no trouble believing that Draco would name your daughter Lily."
"Narcissa Malfoy?!" Harry bellowed in outrage, then glanced down anxiously to make sure he hadn't woken the baby. In a fierce whisper, he hissed, "Where is she?! Is she here?!"
"Yes, under close guard. She brought the child to Madam Fox," he nodded toward the old healer, who lurked at Harry's elbow, as if afraid that he'd drop the baby at any moment, "as the person best fitted to intercede for her."
"Which I didn't," Madam Fox snapped, "but I agree with Albus that the child belongs here with you. At least until we rescue my nephew and get to the bottom of this mess."
"You… you don't believe it's his," Harry ventured.
"Oh, she's his, all right. What I don't believe is that she's yours. No offense, Potter, but even you couldn't pull off this one."
"Pull off what? Would someone," he looked from Madam Fox, to Dumbledore, and then up at the row of eyes fixed on him, "please explain to me what in bleeding hell is going on?"
It was Snape who answered him. Perhaps his deep-seated disdain for Harry and general dislike of children as a concept gave him enough distance on the matter to speak without embarrassment or circumlocution. Or perhaps he simply relished the opportunity to make Harry squirm. Either way, he was refreshingly blunt.
"Narcissa claims that Voldemort used a Fecundus Charm to impregnate Malfoy with your child. This is certainly possible, if you and Malfoy were engaging in your usual fun and games shortly before he went missing, but it is virtually impossible that he survived the experience. No wizard ever has. Nor any child, that we know of. However, she also claims that he tampered with the charm, using his considerable power to form the child in a matter of days, instead of months. This might have allowed Malfoy to give birth to a living child and live through it, himself.
"While this all sounds a bit fanciful, there's no arguing with the fact that we have a living child on our hands, who looks exactly like Malfoy and is only hours old. It had to come from somewhere, but we're not yet ready to accept Narcissa's explanation wholesale."
"So," Harry swallowed his own embarrassment and tried to reply in the same businesslike tone that Snape had used, "if Mrs. Malfoy is telling the truth, this baby is mine, and Voldemort made her."
"Yours and Malfoy's."
"Mostly Malfoy's, from the look of her." He gazed down at the child again, trying to believe that she was real—and really his—but feeling only a vague bafflement. "Does she say that Draco is alive?"
"He was a few hours ago."
Harry looked up to meet his hard, black eyes. "Do you believe her?"
"I don't know. I want to, but I'm too well acquainted with the Dark Lord's stratagems not to suspect a trick."
Harry nodded his understanding. "He's using Mrs. Malfoy and the baby to bring us running to the rescue."
"Possibly. It's also possible that Narcissa defied him, stole Draco's child, and brought her here to protect her from the Dark Lord." At Harry's sceptical look, he smirked. "You may not like her, Potter, but she is the boy's mother."
"Nice of her to suddenly remember that."
At that moment, the little creature in his arms stirred. She kicked against the fabric swaddling her, yawned, and stretched one arm out to grab blindly at nothing. Her fingers opened and closed like the petals of a flower, then curled into a plump fist and settled against her parted lips. Her eyes opened. They gazed up at Harry without seeing him.
"She's got blue eyes!" Harry exclaimed. "Shouldn't they be grey?"
Madam Fox clucked in an amused way and reached for the baby. "They'll turn grey soon enough. Or green."
"Grey," Harry insisted. He instinctively turned to block her move, holding the baby a little more tightly. "They have to be grey."
"We'll see. Give her to me, now, Potter. She'll want feeding soon, and I need to check her over."
"No, she's m— she's Draco's. He'd want me to look after her for him."
"Be that as it may, you don't have the first idea how to care for a baby, and you have other things to worry about right now."
At a glance from Dumbledore, Harry reluctantly handed over the baby to Madam Fox and watched her carry her farther down the ward, Madam Pomfrey in tow.
"Do you believe Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked the Headmaster, his gaze still dwelling on the two women.
"I do, but underneath my cynical exterior, I'm a hopeless romantic." Harry shot him a startled look, and the old wizard smiled wistfully at him. "I honestly don't know if Draco gave birth to that beautiful child, but if he didn't, I'm at a loss to explain where she came from. The only way to know for sure is to ask him."
"Then, you believe he's still alive."
"I hope so." Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and went on, quietly, "Harry, my boy, you must be prepared for what we may find when we reach Draco. If Lily actually is your child, and he actually gave birth to her, he almost certainly died doing it."
Harry swallowed painfully and looked away. "I understand."
"I considered not telling you any of this—not letting you see Lily at all—until after the coming battle. I wanted you fully present and focused on the business at hand, not distracted by fears for Draco or his daughter. But in light of our agreement, I could not keep such a secret from you."
"I needed to know. Even if it turns out she isn't mine, she's Draco's, and that makes her part of me." He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, and asked, "Is that why you told me? So I'd accept her as my daughter and come back for her, even if I lose Draco? Is she your way of forcing my hand?"
"Now, Harry, do you really think I'm that devious?"
"Yes."
The blue eyes twinkled at him, but Dumbledore's expression was a touch hurt. "If Draco dies, I devoutly hope that you'll choose to stay with Lily instead of going with him. But no, I did not tell you for that reason. I promised not to manipulate you and, whatever my other failings, I am a man of my word. I would, however, point out—strictly in the spirit of full disclosure and not to pressure you—that Draco himself named her Lily Potter, committing her to your love and care. If you reject that burden and go where she cannot follow, you will be failing him, as well as his daughter."
"Not that you want to pressure me, or anything," Harry said dryly. Then, in a weary tone, he added, "I have to believe that none of this will matter. We'll find Draco alive, he and I will be together, and we'll both take care of his child."
He turned to gaze down the ward once more, at the screen that hid the Healers and their tiny patient—Draco's daughter. His daughter. Lily Potter.
"Not Lily Potter," he suddenly blurted out, "Lily Potter Malfoy."
A pleased smile lightened Dumbledore's face. "Of course."
"Draco said he was the last Malfoy, but he's wrong." Harry turned to look at the old wizard, his face blazing with hope and certainty. "Whatever else Lily is, no matter where she came from, she's Draco's daughter and that makes her a Malfoy."
"Draco will be pleased."
"Actually, he'll pitch a fit, but I don't care." Harry grinned at the Headmaster with unfeigned delight. "I'm Perfect Bloody Potter, and I always get what I want."
"Well then, my boy, it's time go get what you want." He clapped Harry on the shoulder and turned, briskly, for the door, motioning for everyone to follow him.
"We assault the island in two hours with whatever forces we can muster by then. Our supporters are arriving in Hogsmeade now. I've alerted my brother at the Hog's Head that we're using it as a command center. It's more convenient than the castle, with our wards and Anti-Apparition charms in place."
"Who will remain to organize the defense of the castle?" Snape asked, as he flapped along at Dumbledore's side.
"Professor Flitwick, I think. He won't thank me for it, but it is a position of the utmost importance. I can't leave Hogwarts in less skilled hands."
"Professor," Harry ventured, as they started down the stairs to the entry hall, "some of the Seventh Year students have asked to go with us. Seamus and Dean want to help rescue our friends, and I'm sure there are others, from the other Houses. Vincent Crabbe, at least, ought to be allowed."
"Huh," Snape grunted, "Crabbe would be more of a liability than a help."
"He's better at defensive charms, now. He's been practicing."
Snape shot him a narrow look. "You've been letting Crabbe in on your private study sessions?"
Harry's brows rose. "Of course. He's Draco's friend."
"Any student seventeen or older may join us," Dumbledore cut in, silencing their exchange. "I'll need the Heads of House to collect all students in the Great Hall in ten minutes. Go now. We have no time to lose."
McGonagall and Snape headed off in different directions, McGonagall pausing only long enough to send two Patronuses flying from the end of her wand. The misty, silver cats bounded through the walls and disappeared.
"Come, Harry." Dumbledore drew him into the Great Hall and up toward the dais. "You belong up here, with me, today."
"Professor, how are we going to get to Azkaban?"
"Apparate. I'll take you with me, if you're not confident in your skills, yet."
"It's not that. I was just wondering… aren't there spells protecting the island? Anti-Apparition charms, like the ones here?"
"Not quite. Security on the island is quite complicated. Some day, I'll explain it to you at length, but for the present, all you need to know is that I've sent Professor Moody ahead to infiltrate the island and break the charms. That's why we're on such a tight schedule. We have to coordinate our attack with his covert actions, or Voldemort will know we're coming and ambush us as we appear."
Harry swallowed nervously. "Okay."
The first students were streaming into the Hall, muttering among themselves, then falling silent as they spotted Dumbledore and Harry at the high table. Harry watched their faces close up and their eyes turn suspicious. To his right, the door to the antechamber opened, and three teachers bustled through it.
"One more thing, Professor," Harry murmured.
"Yes?"
"You said your brother was at the Hog's Head…"
"Ah, yes. Aberforth. He's the barman there."
"Why didn't you ever tell me your brother was in Hogsmeade?"
"My brother prefers not to advertise the relationship. He is an entirely admirable person with a finely-honed sense of honor, and he has little patience with me." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled irrepressibly over the tops of his spectacles. "I applaud his good sense."
Harry shut his mouth, at a loss for a response. It was too late for questions, anyway. The Hall was filling fast, and it was time to put everything out of his mind besides the battle to come.
To be continued…
