Chapter 10: Complications

Captivity

May 5, 2009

The worst part of being captive, Draco thought, was that he had no wand. He was stuck with food the temperature that it came. If it was too hot, he had to wait for it to cool, and if it was too cool, there was not a thing he could do about it. His hair, made difficult by the stupid shop-bought cleaning potions provided, had to be combed. He couldn't use the hair smoothing charm that he had created specifically for his hair texture. His clothes were wrinkled. Yes, he hung them every night, but he was unable to use the charm his father had taught him to make them completely wrinkle-free, so he would look every inch the Malfoy scion his father had raised him to be. Surely, he would feel more himself if he could only dress the part.

Aside from personal grooming, there was the issue of silence. Rather, the lack thereof. He was going to go mad if he had to put up with one more day of his mother's soft murmurs to his father. No wand meant no silencing charms. This, in turn, meant no privacy. He knew his parents loved each other, but he did not need to be privy to the soft sounds of their affection, not that they were in any way indiscreet.

But the sound of kissing in these small quarters was louder than it had any right to be.

Worse, he could not be indiscreet. He was feeling healthier, despite the plebeian food and the lack of exercise, than he had all year under the—under Voldemort's tender oversight. All of last year, every time he went home to the Manor, he knew that either he would be writhing under Voldemort's wand, or his parents would be.

Hogwarts became an escape from pain, as neither the Carrows nor Snape inflicted the Cruciatus on the loyal. There had been plenty of other students that warranted their wrath. Even so, Draco was just now getting the full use of his muscles back, without the phantom pain that had shivered up Cruciatus-touched nerves. His wanted to enjoy some of that health, and he had a hand even if he had no wand, but he was not about to do so with his parents in the same room. There was such a thing as decorum. And the D—Vol—that stupid half-blooded bastard had not destroyed that in the Malfoy family.

Only, to look at his father, staring blankly as his mother murmured to him, Draco had to wonder. Shortly after their conversation the day before, his father had retreated into himself. The only time he seemed to come out of himself was to respond to Narcissa's murmuring. Sometimes.

His mother had seen Draco's bleak expression before he closed off his face. After settling Lucius on their bed and speaking quietly with him for a few moments, she came over to sit next to him at the table.

"Is he ill?" Draco turned to his mother.

"When the Dark Lord took Lucius' wand, he took his power, Draco. We are wizards. All of your father's intelligence, all of his cunning, it did him little good if he could not act on it. And without a wand, he could not protect himself."

"We have other wands, in the vault…"

"The Dark Lord forbade it. He said that as Lucius could not be out doing his will, there was no need for him to carry a wand. He made one available for Lucius to use for raids, but for the rest of the time, The Dark Lord found … other uses for him."

"Not—"

"No. Not that. We provided a base for him, and Lucius gave counsel as often as the Dark Lord would listen. But otherwise, Lucius became the target of his anger, more often than not."

"And you?"

"As well. Not as often. I still had use as the hostess of the Manor. But Lucius… he has always been the force behind events. His strength was negotiating in the ministry, finding just the right place to apply pressure to accomplish his goals. He has always been vibrant, powerful, driven. Confinement was difficult for him, but it was even more difficult when he was not permitted to take action."

Draco gazed over to the curtain-shrouded bed. "How long has this been happening? I never saw him like this."

"He never wanted you to see him as less than strong. He focussed all his will to appear as you would expect when you came home on holidays. He did not want you to carry his burdens. Your father has more strength than any man I know. At his height he used it to succeed. This past year, he used it to endure. For it all to come to nothing… to have damaged our name to this extent… He is all too aware of his failings." She stopped and reached out to take Draco's hands, looking him directly in the eye. Her eyes were not exactly pleading, but he could feel how much she wanted him to understand.

"He needs me, Draco. More than he ever has. I do not intend to ignore you. If there is anything you need, you may come to us. You know that."

She had taken a breath, and as if the air was filled with a revitalizing potion, her face took on more intensity than he had seen in it. Ever. "You are the most important thing in my life, Draco. You are my son. Ever since you were born, you have always been in my mind, influencing each decision. You can rely on that knowledge, and rest knowing that you will come first for me." Her grip on his hands was tight, almost painful. She looked down at her hands.

"Lucius… he is aware what his decisions have cost us. That alone hurts him more than anything the Dark Lord could have done.

"I have always supported him in his decisions, and will always support him in my heart. It is likely he will be imprisoned, possibly even … executed." Her voice was quiet and controlled as she said that, but Draco understood what she was holding back. "Once legal proceedings begin, it is unlikely I will be allowed to see him again, whether I am imprisoned or not. There is hope for you. Your actions while in school, and at home before that, the responsibility for them can be argued to rest with Lucius – by law.

"Right now, Draco, he needs me. This may be our last time together. You do understand?"

Suddenly, Draco could not object to the sound of her murmurs, or his father's all too infrequent replies, or the soft wet sound of their kissing. He could not object to the quietly intense sounds he heard late at night, when they thought he was asleep. He could not object to any of it. This time, however long there was of it, might be the last time for them together as a family.

So, he made sure they ate meals together at the small wooden table. One of them always had to sit in the chair that was too short, but they ate together, and there was conversation, and sometimes Lucius rose to the task and participated. Draco looked for signs of alertness in his father's face, grasping those moments to converse. But mostly, he left his parents to their time with each other.

Instead, Draco spent his time planning.

Plans

Draco knocked on the door to the hallway. There was no answer. He considered writing a note and sliding it under the door, but decided that between the wards on the door and the Auror's unresponsiveness, he doubted it would go anywhere. Besides, he had no writing materials. The next time the house elf came, to remove breakfast dishes, Draco requested parchment and quill. He returned to the chair by the table to wait. He did need to write a note… two notes. One to the person in charge, most likely McGonagall, he thought, and the other to Madame Pomfrey. The house elf brought the implements requested with lunch. Apparently, the thought of Draco attacking the Auror at the door with a quill was not weighed as a serious risk. He took the quill and wrote.

Professor McGonagall:

I would like the opportunity to meet with you. I will abide by whatever security measures you feel are necessary.

Draco Malfoy

He considered what she might require in the way of security, but he knew she had the power in this situation. He would have to abide by her requirements to make any progress in his plan. If the Malfoys had any power at present, he would not need to abase himself at all. Circumstances dictated action. He played with the idea of addressing it to the Headmaster or Headmistress, but discarded that. Better to deal with the known than the unknown. Addressing to her by name gave him at least the strength of familiarity and history. Such as it was. If she wasn't Headmistress, she was still a person of power in this context.

And now, for the next, equally brief missive.

Madame Pomfrey

This note is to inquire as to the well-being and current situation of the person I brought to your attention. I would be grateful for an update.

Draco Malfoy.

He wished he could see Snape himself. He wished he could talk with him. He hoped he was all right. He hoped that he had been in time, that he had done the right thing to bring him to Madame Pomfrey's attention. But wishes did not accomplish what planning did. He set aside his fears, his anxiety for Snape, the pain of the knowledge of what would happen to his family if he did not succeed, and also of the knowledge of what would happen to his family, to his father, if he did.

When the Hogwarts house elf brought dinner, Draco was waiting by the door. The Auror standing guard gave him a dark look, but did not interfere. Draco knew she was listening to every word that was said, but that actually worked in his favour. If the elf didn't carry the message, perhaps Auror gossip would do his work for him.

Madame Pomfrey's reply came quickly. Draco was surprised. He had expected her to be too busy to reply immediately. He was glad for it nonetheless.

Mr Malfoy

The Healing is not complete. He lives.

Madame Pomfrey

That was not nearly enough information.

Draco waited. Draco planned.

He did not hear back from McGonagall.

The next day, he sent another message.

Professor McGonagall

I hear and see that Hogwarts is being repaired. I wonder if I could be of assistance?

Draco Malfoy

Not Dead Yet

May 5, 1998

Severus Snape awoke. Where was he? Hadn't there been a battle? Albus would be wondering—no, not Albus. He was sure of that. There was no one he cared to report to just then. No one he wanted to report to ever again. He spared a moment to hope the boy succeeded. Hope, however, had no place in his life. The Potter brat had traipsed across the countryside doing who knows what, while the Dark Lord grew stronger: in followers too unobservant to realize what they were following, in political power in the Ministry. The battle could have gone either way, even with all Albus' planning, all his own sacrifices. And there was no way to discover the outcome, except to open his eyes and discover for himself.

The rush of thoughts left him with an unaccustomed vertigo.

Carefully, slowly, he opened his eyes, surprised that he could do so. And then, he was surprised to find himself in his own quarters. Lying on the sofa in the sitting room. He had thought, he had sight, he must still be alive.

He was not in that damned shack of Lupin's, and he was not dead. He did not even seem to be in more pain than normal. He turned his head, tentatively. An excruciating pain pounded through him, starting at his head but not leaving any limb untouched.

Perhaps he was in more pain than normal. He rested for a moment, then pulled himself upward, using the back of the sofa for leverage. By the time he was standing, his head throbbed. He moved toward his potions store. The door was open. What's more, his special cabinet was open.

He scanned the room, looking for something out of place. On the table, between the sofa and one upholstered chair, sat four bottles. He recognized them by the shape and colour of the bottles alone.

Oh.

Draco.

There was no one else that would know how to get access, and would have a clue how to use them. And care to do so. Once, Lucius might have cared. Recently, Lucius would have been happy to see him dead, Snape thought.

So Draco had brought him here, had broken into his locked Potions stores, and then left him alone. He would have to have a serious talk with his godson.

He found a potion for pain that would not interact with the four in his system. Swallowing a double dose, he stood very still until the ache receded. He still hurt, but he could function. Probably.

First, he needed to find out what was transpiring outside of his rooms. He looked around for his wand. He searched his robes, and the tables, in his Potions closet, and under the sofa cushions. And then he did a more thorough search. He found it where it had rolled, under the sofa on which he had been lying. He recalled a slight clatter just as he reached consciousness. His hands were certainly stiff enough to have been holding his wand all this time. He stretched each one until the knuckles popped.

He needed to find Draco. He needed to find out what had happened. He put on his cloak, lifted the hood over his head, flicked his wand at the smouldering embers and tossed Floo powder into the reawakened fire. He could have done without the spinning, even for that short distance.

Even when he had become headmaster, Severus had maintained his own quarters in the Dungeons. Slughorn had found another room more to his liking, and there was no need for Snape to vacate the quarters he had lived in for over 18 years, let alone move into Dumbledore's room. It had been difficult enough, taking over the old man's office. It had never become his office in his mind. The office belonged to the position.

It had been disturbed since he was last here. Parchments were stacked in relatively neat piles on the desk. He glanced at the top one. It was a funeral list. From the names, it was clear that the Dark Lord was not in control of the castle. But Potter was not on the list. Had the Dark Lord survived, then? Snape searched the room until he found it. The Pensieve.

The cabinet with the Pensieve in it was locked. After all he had done, had the brat not even bothered to look at his memories? He certainly had no compunction about it a few years ago. With a quick wand movement, the cabinet door clicked open, and Snape saw, with some relief, that it swirled with silvery fluid, and he could almost see a blur of Lily's hair. He wanted to plunge in and see the memories, to see Lily in the clarity of the Pensieve, but there were other more pressing issues. The glimpse had proved they were his own memories.

So the brat had—in all probability—viewed them. Had he followed through? Potter was not dead. Had it all been wasted? Snape could not imagine going through this again in another ten years. He wasn't sure he could imagine surviving another ten years. He looked again at the Pensieve. Fragments of his life, all leading to one place. A fury rose in him. All his choices. Every moment sacrificed, every Cruciatus endured, every time he crawled before that creature, every regret, every penance, laid out before the Potter spawn, to waste or use. And the brat was alive.

He was not sure he could have made Albus' choices, to raise the boy for slaughter. Albus seemed genuinely to care for the brat. Severus had learned early on never to care for those you must use. You take care of your tools, but you never let yourself get emotionally attached. He knew Albus had done both. He knew Albus had come to care for him, as well, yet he used him as needed, throwing him back to the Dark Lord, asking him to endure, to commit unbearable acts, to bear them anyway. And he had.

Snape was not so minded to compare which sacrifice was worse: that which Albus had asked of himself, or that which he had asked of Potter. To sacrifice your honour or to sacrifice yourself. The sight of those memories, swirling in Albus' Pensieve, brought both choices together in Severus' mind. He did not want to consider it. It was a waste of time, when he still did not know the full outcome of the battle.

Severus considered taking the memories back. For the moment, while he could remember them, they did not stab at him. They didn't press at him with urgency, nor with bile at the results of his choices. He was able to think more clearly, about things he had not let himself acknowledge. Maybe he would leave them there. For the moment. With only some of the important answers resolved, he needed his strength, but at the moment he could feel it draining away. He stumbled to the chair in the corner and collapsed into it. Just to consider where to go next.

In the Hospital Wing

May 5, 1998

Madame Pomfrey had never been so busy.

One of the volunteers had fallen from the wall he was working on, and despite the cushioning charm the crew leader had cast, the volunteer had ended up with a broken ankle. An Immobulus charm and a dose of Skele-Gro later, the ankle was tender but healing. Poppy did not have the luxury of making the volunteer rest in a bed, much as she might want to. Wizard space interfered with healing, especially with some kinds of spell damage, so she was limited by available space, and there just wasn't enough. She sent the volunteer off with instructions to rest for the remainder of the day, and headed back to her office.

As busy as the Hospital Wing had been since the battle, she didn't dare let the medical records lapse. Every potion given, every cure applied had to be noted, in case of later complications. Each potion had a duration-of-effect, and some needed specific timing for the next dose. It was also critical to avoid certain potion interactions. She had seen enough crises from that during her apprenticeship at St Mungo's in the critical spell damage ward that she was very careful with those under her care. And while the transfer Mediwitches and Mediwizards from St Mungo's kept their own records for the patients under their care, it was still her ward, and she checked the records of each patient in it.

As soon as she reached the door to her office, the insistent ring of an alert chime derailed her intentions.

She quickly moved to quiet it and gather some supplies. The reintegration spell she had cast to reunify Snape's chaotic magical field could be disrupted by physical disturbance or interfering magical field. Prohibited from checking in on him by the nature of the spell, she had woven the alert that had just sounded into the reintegration spell, blending the magic of each spell into the other. As soon as she had set the spell, she activated a healer's ward on Snape's rooms, carefully balanced so its magical field was all on the outside of the shield, and sealed the room. She had not been back since, although she had been tempted several times. As powerful as this last-ditch spell was, she hated using it, if only for the fact that she could not check on her patient until it had run its course.

Gathering sanitized cloths, bandages, her notes, and some potion vials—her lips twitching at the irony of bringing potions back to the Potions Master's rooms but not wanting to risk searching through his personal stores—she headed toward the dungeons.

"Madame Pomfrey!"

She turned to see one of the construction mages guiding a young wizard through the doors. He was covered in bleeding sores, and had his hand over his mouth as if he were trying to keep from vomiting. She remembered him… a recent graduate, from perhaps two or three years ago. He had been to the infirmary only rarely. Ravenclaw, if she recalled correctly.

"What happened?"

"He was helping shift debris in the classrooms on the main floor. He was doing fine, and I went to check on Alyce, who was dealing with an intricate load balancing issue. When I came back, he was on the ground, and was like this."

"Come, let's get you settled over here." She guided him to a bed that had recently been vacated and reset. "Now, can you tell me what you were doing at the time?"

The wizard – Poppy tried to remember his name – took his hand from his mouth and tried to speak, only to spasm.

Poppy conjured a basin for him, and waited until he raised his head again. "Evanesco." Poppy removed the liquid from the basin, but left the basin, just in case. "I'm sorry." She told him. "I don't dare give you potion to relieve your nausea until I know what you've been exposed to. Can you describe what you were doing when this started?"

"Wasn't doing anything. Just moving the rock and dust, like he showed me." The wizard gestured to his guide. "I started to feel a bit dizzy. I was almost done with the room—" he clapped his hand over his mouth again and heaved.

Poppy cast a few diagnostic charms. His magic was blotched with dark taint. She had seen this with particularly dark curses, but she could find no evidence of a curse. It looked as if the darkness infecting his magic was causing his flesh to decompose in places.

First, do no harm, she thought to herself. It was clearly painful, but not immediately life-threatening. Much as she wanted to relieve the pain, she first needed to know what ailed him. "What's your name?"

The tight clenching of his stomach released him after a few moments, enough for him to draw breath. "Angus Thelbren."

"Yes, I remember you now. Ravenclaw, weren't you?" He nodded. Well, Mr Thelbren, I'm going to ask you to lie down. I know it will hurt a bit, but I am going to cast a charm to slow down what's happening to you. It will cause you to sleep, and you don't want to fall."

He gingerly leaned back in the bed, and she helped him put his feet up, carefully avoiding any open sores.

With a carefully controlled wave of her wand, Poppy muttered a charm that would slow both his magic and his body processes. She needed to find out what this was. Who would know? Once she would have asked Severus—glancing down, she noticed the supplies she had let fall when she had been called over. Severus!

Gathering the supplies back to hand, Madame Pomfrey called one of the hospital ward volunteers to her. "I need you to keep an eye on Angus Thelbren here. If there is any change, any change at all, I want you to call for Minky to come get me. Understood?" A quick nod reassured her. "I'll be back shortly."

Just as she was leaving the ward, she heard a voice from her office—"Poppy? Are you there?"

Setting down her supplies again, Poppy returned to her office, hoping the Floo-call would be brief.

Discovered

May 5, 1998

Minerva McGonagall climbed the stairs to the Headmistress' office. She was tired. There was just so much to be done. First and foremost, as headmistress she was in charge of organizing the rebuilding. Filch had been a gift in that regard. He had taken over coordinating the floods of volunteers and ensured that the various tasks got prioritized and done. Somehow, this catastrophe had brought out the best in him. He had not been overtly cold or sneering toward the volunteers, so far. She had caught him stroking one of the walls, murmuring to the castle, and the sneer on his face had been replaced by a faintly wounded look if he thought he was alone, but she could not fault his organization skills. So for the most part she could turn that over to him, but it was still her responsibility to oversee.

In addition, the next school year needed to be planned. She needed to start searches for new teachers to replace the ones who had died or were imprisoned. She needed a new Muggle Studies teacher, a new Potions professor, as Horace had told her quite vehemently that he had had enough, and that his retirement was not to be interrupted again. She also needed a new Defence teacher, she needed to replace herself for Transfiguration, and Bathsheda in Ancient Runes had let her know she was sending her curriculum vitae elsewhere. She doubted that Dumbledore in all his years as Headmaster had ever had to replace so many Hogwarts instructors in one go. Inquiries had gone out but she was not satisfied with the quality of what she had seen so far for Transfiguration or Potions, and they were core subjects. She didn't know whether she would be able to find someone competent for Defence, either.

In addition, she needed to spend time with the existing teachers, as the curriculum needed to be redeveloped both to clear it from Death Eater propaganda and change the focus away from wartime planning (which she had to admit had become the focus more and more as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named grew in power). And the Hogwarts letters for the coming year needed to be rechecked, as well as those from the previous year, as she had discovered that the letters for Muggleborn students for that year had not gone out, although she had been sure the process was supposed to be initiated by the Book.

It was only May, and she was already feeling behind. She hoped she would get it all done in time.

It felt as if she shouldn't be focussing on these everyday things when such terrible things had happened only a few days before. But if she didn't do them, then Hogwarts might not start on time. She couldn't let that happen. He Who Must Not Be Named had already caused too much chaos, without letting his reach extend still further.

When she opened the door at the top of the stairs, her heart faltered. A large, black clad body lay sprawled in her chair. Severus Snape. He appeared to be either dead or unconscious. How had he gotten there? There was fresh ash on the hearth… she had forgotten to change the wards on the Floo connection.

She carefully stepped over to him, wand out, and cast a quick spell. He was alive. Just to be sure, she cast a binding spell on him, not trusting that a stunning spell wouldn't kill him. She needed answers more than she needed his corpse. How was he still alive? Harry had said he was dead as he left the shack. Trust Severus Snape to survive. That is what he was best at.

With Snape safely secured, she turned to the fireplace and muttered a quick Incendio to reawaken the flames, then tossing in a bit of Floo powder. "Poppy? Are you there?" There was a long pause.

"Minerva, what do you need?"

"I have Severus Snape in my office, unconscious, I believe. Could you come through?"

"Oh! Certainly. He should not have been able to walk that far! Coming through."

With a flare of green, Poppy was in her office. She cast several diagnostics on Snape, then turned to Minerva. "Was it strictly necessary to bind him?"

"Until I know for certain where his allegiances lie, I am taking no chances."

"He's unconscious. How much danger can he be at the moment? If I am to treat him, I'll need you to remove the binding."

"Let's get him to the infirmary first."

Poppy cast a diagnostic charm Minerva recognized from years of bringing students to the Hospital wing before casting Mobilicorpus. Her spell, gentle from years of use on patients, lifted the body from the chair, and straightened him out. Minerva transfigured a chair cushion into a blanket to lay atop him, covering even his face.

They couldn't fit his hovering body through the floo, so Poppy released the spell, catching the man on her shoulder, his head draped onto her back in a grim parody of an embrace. Minerva helped her settle him so that Poppy could carry him. The binding helped keep stray appendages in. "He would hate this." Poppy commented.

"I truly do not care."

With one last glance to make sure nothing was hanging out, Poppy Disillusioned the body, then preceded Minerva through the floo into her office. She settled him into a chair for a moment to catch her breath.

Minerva cast a stern look at her. "You knew about this. You knew he was alive."

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me." Minerva kept her voice calm and without judgement.

"Patient confidentiality."

"You know that doesn't apply. He—"

"Minerva McGonagall, I did not hear you say that. I did not hear you suggest that I let my principles slide, just because you don't approve of Severus Snape."

Again casting Mobilicorpus, Poppy resettled the blanket over him. "I assume word of his survival should remain between us for now?"

"For now. I need to know a few things first. How did he survive?"

"Draco Malfoy found him. He said that the He Who Must Not Be Named killed him, using that snake Mr Longbottom killed."

Poppy turned and guided the Disillusioned body carefully across the short distance to the private ward reserved for teachers and contagious students. After settling him in the bed, she raised the alert that signified contagion. That would keep people out. It would still need to be locked.

"Harry said the same thing." Minerva commented. "It still doesn't mean that Severus didn't truly follow You Know Who. If he did… I'll not hesitate to turn him over to the Aurors for a good long stay in Azkaban. And nothing will diminish the fact that he killed Albus, or that he allowed those—those people into the school."

"What would you have had him do?"

"He should not have killed Albus!"

Poppy nodded. "That does seem the telling point. He will need to answer for that crime. However, I meant this past year."

"He was the Headmaster. If he really was working against them, he should have done something. Albus would have."

"Severus Snape was not Albus."

"No, he was not." Minerva's words meant something quite different than Poppy's.

A Meeting with Andromeda

May 5, 1998

An owl came to Harry at breakfast. During the vacations, owls seemed to come all the time. They didn't bother the volunteers while working, but all three meals showed a flock of owls to the tables.

Harry untied the message from the small brown owl's leg. It still hurt to use any owl but Hedwig. She had been with him through so much.

The message was from Andromeda Tonks, replying to his request to meet with her. She had suggested that he come by that morning at nine, and let him know the floo address. He scrawled an affirmative and sent the owl back.

Harry used the Floo in McGonagall's office. He never liked travelling by Floo. The only form of magical travel he enjoyed was flying. Floo travel left him dirty and dizzy, Apparating left him faintly nauseous, and Portkeys had too many memories. But brooms had a limitation on how far one could reasonably travel, and the Tonks family lived closer to London than Scotland, from what he recalled. He had only been there the one time, and wasn't sure he could find it again by broom. It was in a mostly Muggle area, he remembered.

He spun out of the floo and found himself in the Tonks' parlour. Putting a quick hand to catch his balance until the dizzy spell subsided, he left a sooty smudge on the mantelpiece. Embarrassed, Harry cast a quick Scourgify to remove the ash he'd brought with him from his robes, trousers, the carpet beneath him and the mantle. One day he would understand how to floo. One day, he would get his Apparition license. Or maybe he should just hope that someone invented a better way to travel. He thought of the Wizarding World, and doubted it would happen any time soon. Perhaps he should ask the twins. The thought made his heart clench. It was so automatic, thinking of them as a set. They were creative, inventive; they would have come up with something. It might have turned everybody into a parakeet on the other side, but it would have worked without the discomfort of existing forms of magical travel.

The house was modestly sized, from what Harry could see. It wasn't overtly magical, not odd like the Burrow or Luna's house, and it was elegant, not huge and cold like Malfoy's house, but even Harry could see that things went together well, that the owners were people of note. Petunia Dursley would cheerfully commit murder to have her house show such natural style. He hadn't remembered noticing the last time he was here, but then, he'd had other things on his mind.

It was probably more Mrs Tonks' bearing than the house itself, but Harry felt under-dressed in his robes, a bit too long for him—borrowed as they were from Terry Boot, who was volunteering at Hogwarts as well—and his trousers from the Weasley hand-me-down cupboard. He would have to check again with Hermione to see if she had managed to find the beaded bag, which had somehow gotten lost in the course of the battle. When he thought of all that was in there, he certainly hoped they found it. He was sure they would. Not to find it would be unthinkable. He turned to greet Andromeda Tonks, who smiled warmly and gave welcome.

A whimper came from the cradle next to her, and Mrs. Tonks lifted the squirming bundle out of it and into her lap. "Harry Potter, allow me to introduce Teddy Lupin."

Harry was amazed. Teddy was tiny, although Harry wasn't sure how big babies were supposed to be. Teddy couldn't be more than a month old, Harry thought, maybe less. And he was an orphan, just like him. Suddenly, Harry felt a surge of protectiveness toward the tiny human. He wondered if this is what Sirius had felt for him: the sudden desire that Teddy never feel unloved. That he always had someone to turn to, to ask questions of, and to show his childish drawings to. That he had someone with whom he could share all the little events in his life. And something more. Harry wanted to make sure that Teddy grew up in a world without the fear he had known. There would be no Dark Lords in Teddy's future. Harry didn't know how he could accomplish that, but he resolved to do so.

She arched an eyebrow at his expression. "Would you like to hold him?"

At Harry's nod, she gently placed the baby in his arms. Teddy smiled, gurgling at him, his short crop of hair changing colours from green to purple to red and back to green. Harry grasped him into a hug, thinking of Remus, and Tonks, and Sirius, and all the people that he would have liked to be there for his godson. Harry rocked the small form, and hoped he and the woman before him, who he barely knew, would be enough.

When Harry looked up at Mrs. Tonks, his eyes were suspiciously bright. She nodded, and offered him a biscuit, saying "You'll do, Harry. We have a great many things to discuss."

"We do." Harry was learning to listen, and Mrs, Tonks apparently had some things to say. He took a bite of the biscuit off the plate sitting next to the tea set on the low table in front of him, and chewed it thoroughly.

"I want to talk to you about responsibilities."

Harry gulped. This was not what he'd wanted to talk about. He was just getting out from under a task that had weighed him down since he first heard the prophesy. But, looking down at Teddy, he couldn't but feel that this might just be something he'd be willing to take on. A little piece of Remus, and of Tonks, and someone that would grow up to be entirely himself.

"Responsibilities?"

"Yes, dear. It is my task to see to the funerals, and I need your consent."

And as suddenly as the weight was placed, it was gone. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "What do you need my consent to do?"

"You are the Black heir. Sirius left everything to you, including the responsibilities he himself ignored. I'm sorry, Harry, to have to ask you this, but do you intend to force me to inter Nymphadora with the Blacks?"

"What? NO! She'd have hated that!" Harry paused, mustering up the courage to ask what he had come to ask.

"But... I wanted to ask you something. About the funeral..." He paused again. "I didn't know about all the werewolf laws. And, Remus was the only one left of the ones who ... would've taken care of me if they could, when I was little. My parents died before I could remember, and there was never a body for my godfather. So, even if there isn't a body... I was wondering if we could remember him too. Remus, I mean. Along with Tonks."

"That's very generous of you, Harry. Are you thinking with your head, or your heart?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know, Harry, what it means to be the head of a magical family? I ask, only because you may not know, raised as you were." The older woman set down her teacup suddenly. "Good gracious, you're head of two magical families!"

"I am?"

"Yes, Harry. You are Heir to the Blacks and Head of the Potters. You have a very important role to fill there."

"Wait. You say I am Heir to the Blacks? I know Sirius left me his house and personal possessions, but—"

"Do you mean to tell me that you were never informed of what that meant?"

"Dumbledore came to me after Sirius' will was discovered. He told me that Sirius had left me everything. He listed money added to my Gringotts vault, and personal possessions. We went through those at Gr—his house." The habits of the past few years were hard to break, even now that he was one of the twenty-odd secret keepers for the Order's erstwhile Headquarters.

Mrs. Tonks' lips twitched. "I know where you mean Harry."

"We tested whether the house was indeed mine, but Kreacher had to obey me, so we knew it was. Dumbledore said that meant that Sirius had done the will correctly."

"He was right. You would not have been able to inherit that house unless you had been accepted by Black as an Heir. That would have been some fancy spellwork on his part to open Black to you, all things considered."

"Because I'm not a Black?"

"Oh, that part was not so difficult. Your great grandmother was born a Black. He would only have had to lay out the bloodline to have that accepted so that you could be his adopted heir. No, the difficult part would have been your mother. The Black family enchantments were woven with the Black motto in mind."

"Toujours Pur."

"Exactly. But, as the house allowed you to inherit, Sirius must have rewoven the family enchantments."

Harry imagined Sirius, sitting alone at Grimmauld Place, researching how to turn the enchantments on his family line from their original purpose, just so that he could inherit. It was something he knew Sirius would have taken delight in, aligning his heritage with his own choices, and sticking it to his mother at the same time. Had he done that then, or even earlier, when Harry was still a baby, and his parents were still alive? But then wouldn't Mrs Black have noticed? She would've been alive. He remembered the screeching woman in the portrait, and felt sure that she would have found out about the attempt to change the magics, if she had been alive at the time.

"Dumbledore ought to have known that for you to inherit the house, meant you also were eligible to inherit the House. He said nothing?"

It took a moment for Harry to parse the difference between house and House, but there was something in her tone that made the meaning come clear. "I guess he had other things on his mind. Voldemort was just getting going, since he had been revealed, and everyone was scrambling."

"We'll leave that aside for the moment. Done is done. The fact is, that you are now, or will be as soon as you accept your responsibilities, the head of two magical families. What do you intend to do about it?"

Harry had never thought about it. He was always aware of the Malfoys as a magical family, because Malfoy made such a big deal about it. And everyone had made a big deal about him, but that was because of the whole Voldemort vs. Boy Who Lived thing. But he was just Harry. He never noticed Arthur Weasley as having a special role other than being father to the Weasley children and doing his job in the Ministry and with the Order.

"What does a head of the family do?"

"As relates to our discussion, you could demand that Nymphadora be interred in the Black mausoleum, for the benefit of the family's magics. The head of the family makes policy for the entire family. So, should you allow Nymphadora's service to be elsewhere, the whole family will have to abide by your wishes. You have the right to command any living Black on any matters relating to family honour and magic."

"I don't understand."

"When wizards die, Harry, they are buried or interred with their families. Surely you knew that?"

This whole conversation was going so far afield from what he had originally intended. "Well, I suppose. But my parents are buried in Godric's Hollow. I don't think that was a Wizards-only cemetery. And Dumbledore was interred at Hogwarts. That was the only funeral I've ever been to, Muggle or magical."

"Dumbledore was different, Harry. Over the years, he channelled his family magics into Hogwarts. Abeforth doesn't believe in the old ways, so he didn't mind."

"I'm going to need help with this, aren't I? Nothing of this was taught at Hogwarts."

"Your aunt never told you?"

"My aunt told me that my parents died in a car crash. I first found out about the wizarding world when I got my Hogwarts letter."

"She told you—" A spark of fury lit in Mrs Tonks' eyes. "Were you even told you were the Head of a Family?"

"Well, I knew that my parents were dead, and that I had no other relatives or the Dursleys wouldn't have had to take me in. But—nothing like what you are implying."

"We will arrange for you to get the information you need."

"From where?"

"I'll have to ask a few people. Don't worry, I'll be discrete. I have been out of touch with the Black family, for obvious reasons, and I would not want to ask most of them. Narcissa might know..."

Harry looked up at the name. "Malfoy? No!"

"She is my sister. And although she is Lucius' responsibility now, she is and has always been a Black. That never changes."

Harry suddenly remembered Narcissa Malfoy lying to Voldemort for him, desperate for word of her son. Perhaps she was not as cold as he had always assumed.

Andromeda got a thoughtful look on her face. "She will have to be invited to the funeral. Not that I think she'd come, the way things are."

"Wait. Tonks was cast out, or disowned, or something, from the Black family. Right? Like Sirius? Oh! I'm sorry. You were too."

Harry tried to remember the Black tapestry, feeling horrible for bringing it up.

"Yes, well, my aunt was quite mad, Harry, but family traditions resonate deeply."

Harry took a deep breath. "Do you want to be part of the Black family again? Could I do that? If you wanted?"

Mrs Tonks voice was suddenly soft. "Oh, yes, Harry. You could do that."

"Do you want me to?"

"Let me first tell you what I would like for Nymphadora. Then you can tell me what you would allow. Then, I will explain how the wizarding world will look at all sides, and then, you can make an educated choice. Agreed?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"As to whether I want to re-join the Black family or not, first let's see what you decide to do with regard to these other matters."

Harry was feeling like he was being pulled in five different directions. He wasn't ready for any of this. He had just come here because Remus needed a memorial—because Harry needed a memorial for Remus, as a symbol of everything he had lost. He only wanted to go to a memorial for someone that he cared about. He wasn't ready for this level of responsibility. Suddenly he was a godfather, and the head of two families, with responsibilities that he had no knowledge of.

Harry took a deep breath. "That sounds like a good idea. One thing at a time, then. What would you like for Tonks?"

"Not the mausoleum." Andromeda stated, her voice flat. "She was afraid of it her entire life."

"I can see that. Even living in—" Harry paused, then realized it was somewhat idiotic to keep referring to the house obliquely, especially as it was no longer being used as Headquarters, and Voldemort was dead, and he owned it, and he either had to trust Tonks' mother or not. "This is silly. The address of Sirius' house is number twelve Grimmauld Place." He continued more formally. "And even living there was no picnic."

Mrs Black raised a quizzical brow at the phrase.

"The place was... unpleasant."

"I can imagine. But besides that place, there is the Black family estate. I can't imagine that is in much better repair than the place I remember in town must be, after all this time. The Mausoleum is on the estate." She stopped, considered for a moment, and then set her teacup down on the table.

"She chose Remus, Harry." Mrs Tonks continued. "Let her go to ash with him."

"She won't be able to be with Remus' ashes... The Ministry destroyed them."

"Oh dear," said Mrs Tonks. "I did not think those measures would be used. Why didn't you stop them, Harry?"

"No one told me until it was already done."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "They should not have dared. Harry, you will have to take my word for some things, and put your mind to learning others. That should never have happened."

She gazed at Harry, until he began to feel very uncomfortable.

"McGonagall said it was Ministry law."

"Family magic takes precedence, and the old cat knows it." She paused.

"Do you," she drawled, "care to make a point?"

Harry thought about it. The thought of that was... satisfying, although probably not for the reason she was imagining. Everything he heard about the werewolf laws was horrible. "I think I would." He could hear a matching, satisfied drawl in his voice, and wondered how he sounded so... conniving all of a sudden. He felt like he should twirl his moustache. He didn't think he could deal with one thing more at present, though, as lovely as the thought was.

"I think that might have to wait until after the funeral… Won't it?" Suddenly, Harry was unsure. The methodical pace of the Hogwarts clean-up had been very relaxing, and he was not ready for the furore and conflicting priorities of real life.

"No, I think you can make a point with the funeral itself, Harry. If you decide to do this, it will be a very powerful message."

She sketched out for him a scenario in which Nymphadora and Remus would have the full wizarding funeral rites despite the absence of Remus' body, but rather than Black family vault internment, she could be placed in a new, smaller vault on the grounds, with a plaque to commemorate Remus.

"With that action, Harry, you say 'The Black Family takes care of its own.' You will have paid full respect to the old ways, honoured a brave man, a hero of the war against Voldemort, and poked the Ministry in the eye."

Her gaze softened. "Dora would have liked that."

Harry thought about it. Sirius had been one of Remus' best friends. And Tonks was his wife. But the Blacks had not taken care of Sirius, or Tonks. "Before I do that, thought, I think the Black family should welcome Tonks home. And Sirius. Can I do that after the fact? I mean, after ... you know…"

Harry was feeling like he had stuck his foot in his mouth... again.

"Sirius can't give his magic to the family, Harry. Not past the Veil."

Harry's stomach clenched at the reminder that Sirius was lost to him. He wondered if he would ever be able to think of the man without the wash of grief and guilt.

"But to remember him with a marker," Mrs Tonks continued, "and as Head, to say all is forgiven? That would be appropriate."

"I just think, it doesn't seem right to inter them on Black land unless they are welcomed back. Because then the family, the ones already dead, would not be ... oh this sounds stupid... kind to them." Harry remembered how important it was to have his family following him when he went to face Voldemort.

"So, if I welcome them back, will that let the land or the family, or whatever, know to – Merlin!" He interrupted himself in frustration. "This is all so esoteric, and I don't know what I'm talking about, but I have started to realize that the dead are still part of us, and we of them. In more ways than Muggles think. I just want for them both to be content."

Harry flushed, embarrassed at his confused outburst.

"Harry, the Blacks are a proud and ancient House, and my aunt was a very determined woman, but I assure you, my gran would have been delighted to dandle Teddy on her knee, motto or no. That you are beginning to understand some things makes me feel a great deal of relief."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to feel. He still did not understand anything, but it felt like something had been decided, if he could only figure out what.

"So, are we agreed? I will undertake to have the tapestry repaired, if you can find a way to get it to me. You will allow us to honour the memory of Sirius, and the lives of Dora and Remus. The Black family will follow all the forms." She paused, then gave a definitive nod. "You have your answer, young man; the Black family, with you at the Head, is one to which I would very much like to return."

Harry did not expect that to feel as good as it did. He had offered because it was the right thing to do, but from the way she said it, her acceptance was an acceptance of him.

"That being said, there are a few other things we should settle. First, we should go see the Black family land, and inspect the small mausoleum. It has been a long time since I have been there, and I suspect it has also been a while since anyone has been there. It may not be in the best condition. We'll have to see whether we can get it into a condition to bring Dora to. Also, you need to decide whether you will allow outsiders onto the grounds to attend the funeral. At one time, the Black family was large enough that there would be enough witches and wizards within the family to complete the rite. Now..."

"I would like to invite my friends Ron and Hermione. And the rest of the Weasleys, if they want to attend. There might be some others who want to remember Remus."

"Yes, in that Order of Albus'." She paused, then quirked her lips. "Weasleys at a Black funeral on the Black estate. There will be some rolling about in the Mausoleum on that day." Andromeda Tonks smiled, and for a second, he saw a family resemblance to Sirius.

"Once you officially accept us back into the family, I will be able to enter, and Narcissa and her son will already have that right. Others will be by your permission only. I will see to a guest list, and you should consider who you would like to invite. The invitations can be charmed to allow entry, or even charmed as Portkeys.

Harry grimaced at the thought.

"Yes, I have heard of your unfortunate experience with a Portkey. We can charm them with a phrase, keyed to the name of the recipient and a particular time, so that only upon saying the phrase, within a particular span of time, can the person on the invitation activate the Portkey. Will that be satisfactory?"

Harry nodded, grateful that she understood.

"Well then. The next thing for it, is for you to accept the Black family."

"What do I have to do?"

"We'll need the will. Either it contains the enchantments within the parchment, or it will give you a clue as to how to go about activating them."

"Where would it be? I know Dumbledore saw it. Do you think he'd have put a copy in the Headmaster's office?"

"If it is like most family wills, a copy would be filed at the Ministry, by Ministry law, and a copy would be filed at the family estate. The writer would put the original in a safe place. My guess is that Dumbledore may have seen the Ministry copy, or possibly found the original."

"If Sirius wrote it after escaping from Azkaban, he would have been either on the run or locked up at Grimmauld Place."

"If he was on the run, he could have put it anywhere. But he spent quite a bit of time at Grimmauld Place. I think that would be a good place to start looking."

Harry hesitated. "While Hermione, Ron and I were out looking for what was needed to defeat Voldemort, we had to stop at Grimmauld Place. We searched it quite thoroughly. As did someone before us." Harry remembered the fragments of a letter that he had found there. Snape had gotten in. And Snape had been in love with his mother. Suddenly he wished he had stayed at the Burrow, weeding with Percy. Life had seemed so much simpler. He wanted a chance to finally be a child, or … just Harry, and here he was expected to take on yet another adult responsibility. Sirius had never done these things. Harry had never even known that Sirius was Head of the Black family, not really. So why did he need to do them? All he had wanted was a chance to say goodbye to Remus. A chance to have a funeral for someone he could pretend was family. Why did he need to become the Head of House for not only the Potter family but also the Blacks, only one of which he loved well enough to even call family?

But he had seen the wistful look in Mrs Tonks eyes, when he mentioned welcoming her, and her daughter, back into the Black family. It seemed such a little thing to do to give Mrs Tonks a measure of peace. She had lost her husband, and her daughter, and had been disowned from her own family. Besides, welcoming the two of them back would create yet another link with his godson, and in a way with Remus. Welcoming them into the Black family would give him back a family of sorts as well. And there was very little he would not do for that.

He didn't suppose it was such a big thing to become Head of a family, since there were so few people in the family. In the Potter family, it was only himself. And in the Black family, it would be Mrs Tonks, who was more than competent enough to look after herself, and Teddy, who he was responsible for anyway.

So, for Remus, for Tonks, for Mrs Tonks, for little Teddy, and to help Sirius play one last prank on the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Harry would do what was required.

"Okay, first to Grimmauld Place, then if it isn't there, to the Headmaster's office. Why not just ask at the Ministry?"

"Have you been paying attention to what is happening at the Ministry these days?" Mrs Tonks asked him with a wry quirk to her lips.

"Oh. I suppose I'd just as soon let them get on with it," Harry said, remembering the chaos Hermione described. "Grimmauld Place it is, then."

Author's Notes:

Thanks to IvyInGarden and Rosskpr who beta-read this chapter, and made it better.

This chapter was originally posted with only half of its content. As of 2/20/2016, it now had the entire chapter! (Oops)

Reviews keep me writing. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his friends, enemies, and the lovely world they live in all belong to J.K. Rowling.