A/N: Hi! I'm back! Sorry about the wait. And sorry this chapter isn't longer.
PLEASE READ THIS NOTE: I didn't make it clear last chapter, but the Malfoys WERE NOT AT THE WILL-READING. Thus, they had zero say in what happened to their inheritance. I got a question about that and realized it wasn't clear before. (I made a slight alteration to the chapter that I hope explains it.)
Also, to answer a few questions: There will be no Horcruxes in this story. (This chapter declares Horcruxes null and void by giving an alternate explanation for the scar. Enjoy.) There will be no Deathly Hallows (unless Harry does something weird between now and the end of this story). And this is the last chapter that will follow the plot of HBP. After this, the story gets legs of its own (and uses them to kick HBP away like a soccer star scoring the winning point… wow, I have no idea where that came from. But I like it).
Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling.
On with the ficcie!
--
"Report."
The voice was high and cold as ever, the red eyes pitiless as their master leveled them upon his kneeling servant.
"My Lord, I have positively identified him." Harry recognized the voice.
Bellatrix, he thought as the cold voice responded.
"And?" Voldemort asked impatiently.
"My Lord, it's the boy… Harry Potter."
"That's impossible." The Dark Lord had grown very still. Harry could feel him searching for the golden boy in his mind and threw up a shield of Liar's Palace persona. He wasn't leaving yet; the most he could do was reinforce Voldemort's belief that it couldn't be him.
"My Lord, I am sure of it." Bellatrix's voice was soft, but strong. "I traced him to a Muggle street and I found wards. They matched my sense of the green fire the Malfoy boy described. Whether I trace the wards or the fire, it comes to the same thing."
"Harry Potter…" the Dark Lord said softly. Louder he said, "Plan an attack. Take the boy by whatever means necessary. My decision has not changed. Either this new threat joins us, or he dies."
"Yes, My Lord."
"You are dismissed." Bellatrix stood, bowed, and left.
Harry's eyes flew open. His nails were digging into his forehead as though trying to tear it away from his skull, and his scar felt like someone was cutting it open with a red-hot knife. It took him a moment to remember why he was staring up at the canopy of his bed.
Oh, right, he remembered. He'd meditated lying down so if anyone opened the curtains, they wouldn't flip out when he didn't look like he was asleep.
That problem solved, he realized that his scar really was hurting, especially with his nails drawing blood. He pulled his nails out of his skin, but kept his hand over the area, as though it would hurt less if the scar wasn't exposed to air.
Sitting up and breathing slowly, Harry asked his magic softly what he was supposed to do about this. It hurt so badly he could barely see, even with his essence vision unfiltered. Following the first thought he had, he stood and headed to the Gryffindor boys' restroom.
His vision was slowly starting to clear by the time he got through the door, enough to see where the lamp was and turn it on. He flinched from the sudden light, but headed to the mirror as his vision continued adjusting. His head didn't hurt so much anymore. Actually, it was really kind of an itch…
He reached the mirror and removed his hand from his face. Eyes that had turned a flickering, shifting, wavering green widened.
After spending a summer away from food, he was even thinner than he'd been before, and the fact that no one had noticed (except maybe Hermione) stunned him. His eyes were no longer a single color green; now the color ranged from Killing Curse green to emerald to jade, flickering like the lightning his magic so often took. His skin had grown so pale it almost matched the Dark Lord's; but the most noticeable difference was his scar.
Or, to be more specific, the lack thereof.
His scar was no longer on his face. Slowly he became aware, through the insistent itching of his right hand, what had happened to it.
Almost dreading what he would see, he raised his hand and looked at his palm.
There was a lightning bolt there, sure enough—but it wasn't a scar. It was more like a cut, like someone had cut into his hand and kept it from ever healing. The skin around the edges appeared to have healed, and it seemed that this 'cut' had not even bled. There was only blackness in the space between the edges of his skin. As he watched, too stunned to move, green light flickered in that blackness, in time with the beating of his heart.
He sat down hard on the floor. Looking at his relocated scar, he could see the magic in his blood… What the hell was going on?
His magic explained.
When Voldemort had tried to kill Harry, the failed curse had opened a crude doorway to his magic in the form of his famous lightning-bolt scar. That open door to his magic had been what allowed the impossibly strong connection between Harry and Voldemort to form; and the fact that it had been created by wizardry—failed wizardry, at that—was what had allowed Voldemort to manage the link easily while Harry had no control at all. Now, his magic had fixed it, moving the door to his hand (which was more convenient, as it would allow them to fake using a wand easily) and altering it so the fabric of it was mage-made. Harry could feel the triumph emanating from his magic as it informed him that this was the greatest aid to his magic he had gained thus far, including his entire stock of books from Knockturn Alley.
Feeling somewhat dazed, Harry stood and headed back to bed. There was no reason to stay up anymore.
--
Harry got up before any of his year-mates the next day. He needed the time to get ready—or, if you wanted to be blunt (as his magic always did), disguised.
The first problems were his weight (his cheekbones now stood out prominently) and his skin. His magic told him it had been disguising his figure, skin and eyes, but that unfortunately, moving the doorway to his magic required him to redo the glamours. When his scar had been on his face, his magic could apply as much of a glamour as it wanted without a problem, but now…
Harry dressed quickly and went to the restroom. He didn't really know how glamours worked; none of the books he'd read had gone into detail on the process of constructing them; but he was going to figure it out. His magic could help him.
Harry looked into the mirror. There was no way to change the appearance of his eyes without constructing an illusion that would make him blind as long as he wore it; but, using essentially the same technique that had filtered his essence vision, he could change the way other people saw his eyes.
Taking off his glasses, Harry held his right hand over the frames and called on his magic. Threads of emerald-green lightning jumped down from his hand to the glasses. That they may see what they expect to see, nothing more, nothing less, his magic whispered to the illusion in its wordless language.
When the green web sank into the glasses and vanished from view, Harry set them down on the counter and looked into the mirror. What could he do about his skin color and sudden lack of a scar? How did a glamour like that work?
Before he could even decide how to begin, his magic began instructing him. He raised his right hand and put his palm against his forehead, lining up the new doorway with where the old scar used to be. When he took his hand away, there was a perfect image of the famous lightning-bolt scar.
His skin was only a bit more complex. Harry put his hands together and let his magic spread from the point of contact, across his skin, along his arms, until it coated his body in a thin illusion that faded from view to show his normal, tanned skin.
Perfect, he decided, smiling to himself and heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Breakfast today provoked only slightly less insanity than the feast the night before had done. Harry was, once again, relieved by the distraction that was provided this time by the arrival of the post.
Hedwig was not among the owls flying down with letters clutched in their beaks, but a barn owl bearing an official-looking scroll landed in front of him and held out its leg with an imperious hoot.
Harry took the letter, trying and failing to read the convolutedly twisting letters that apparently addressed it to him. As the barn owl left, he slid a finger under the wax and broke it, opening the scroll.
Mr. Potter, the note read in script that detangled itself once he opened the scroll,
It was included in Sirius Orion Black's will that if Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were unable or unwilling to attend, this message was to be delivered to you on the first day that there was a reasonable chance you would encounter one or both of them.
The rest of the letter was in Sirius' handwriting.
Prongslet,
I know it must have surprised you to learn that I included the Malfoys in my will, but I need you to listen.
A few months ago, Narcissa came to me, begging me to forbid her as Lord Black from allowing Draco to become a Death Eater. As I (in my admittedly Gryffindor-tinged mind) understood it, the perversion of Slytherin house has frustrated her and driven her to the decision that Voldemort's path is not the one she wants for her son.
Make no mistake—if the truth were known, Narcissa would be in Azkaban; and she has no regrets or desire to leave Voldemort. But you know Draco better than I do, almost as well as Narcissa does; and you know that he is no killer. Accepting the Mark would be suicide for him. Narcissa can stall Voldemort at least until Draco comes of age, but by that time there must be something stopping him from becoming a Death Eater, something besides Narcissa's behind-the-scenes coaching.
I had no real power to issue such a command during my life—Voldemort would ask how I even knew Draco was considering taking the Mark—but wizard etiquette dictates that no one may question a wizard's last will, with the only exceptions being in the case of suspicion that said wizard may have been forced to write it.
This is the will that was given to Narcissa: protection for Draco, should he need it; and as my final act as Lord Black, an injunction forbidding Draco from becoming a Death Eater unless the new Lord Black should decide otherwise.
I'm sorry I couldn't stick around longer, Prongslet.
Love,
Sirius
Harry read the note twice and then folded it tightly and slid it into his pocket. Draco was no killer; that was most certainly true. But that was not the phrase that stood out in his mind.
The perversion of Slytherin house…
Just like the Sorting Hat, Narcissa believed that the Slytherins had been categorized into a group they did not belong in. What were Slytherins, according to the Hat?
Ambitious.
Ruthless.
Cunning.
But "ruthless" did not mean "purebloods first"; "cunning" did not mean "pro-Voldemort"… and "ambition" was certainly not intended to group people together whose greatest ambition was to lie down and take orders from a man who was more snake than human.
The perversion… When and how had it started? Had it been so since Salazar himself had left the school, or had Voldemort made the House the way it was?
Harry's head was starting to hurt. He put the thoughts away and returned his focus to the world around him.
McGonagall was coming down the table handing out schedules. Harry barely listened to her praise of his marks and the classes he was taking, merely waiting until she handed him the schedule and heading off to his first class—Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Severus Snape.
Snape had completely redecorated the classroom. The pictures on the walls depicted all manner of horrors, some of which Harry found surprising wizardry could produce. Certainly wizards never made the Dementors, and the Patronus Charm was eerily close to magecraft for wizards to get. The Dementors… How did they happen? Harry asked the question of his magic, but didn't get an answer before Snape came in and everyone (including Harry) sat down.
Harry heard part of the talk, the part that compared the Dark Arts to the hydra of Greek mythology; but for the most part, he enjoyed observing the pictures on the walls until the topic of Inferi was brought up by some genius in the back row.
"Potter," Snape said. Harry's eyes flicked over to his teacher; he made some attempt to look attentive. "What is the difference between a ghost and an Inferius?"
Harry hesitated a moment. What the hell was an Inferius, anyway? But before he could even open his mouth to say "I don't know", his magic had supplied him with the answer.
"Essence," he said. "Ghosts… are essence. Inferi have none."
Snape looked unnerved by something in Harry's gaze, but he kept his composure. "Essence is an overused word that lacks meaning for the spread of meanings one can find," he said. "Now, if someone has a more useful answer—"
"Aura." Harry couldn't let this go, even when Snape's gaze took a turn toward murderous. "Imprint," he continued. "Atman. Magical fingerprint. That is what is meant by essence." Harry raised his eyes to his teacher's, a clear challenge in them.
"Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting," Snape snapped before moving on to a talk about wordless spells.
Harry had to try very hard to stop himself from laughing at the idea of being taught wordless magic at this point in his self-education, but he managed. When Snape told them to pair off, he waited until Ron asked him to join him and partnered with him.
"You are to attempt to jinx your partner without words," Snape explained, "and your partner will attempt to block your jinx, also without words. I will tell you when to switch roles. Begin."
Harry watched Ron, waiting for the redhead to give up and mutter his jinx; but Ron was determined this time, either to impress Hermione or to succeed at magic; it didn't matter. He refused to say a word, so Harry was left waiting for a spell that would never come.
"Here," Snape said after several minutes of this had passed, pushing Ron out of the way, "I'll do it." He pointed his wand at Harry; Harry could see the magic rush down from his aura to his wand and launch itself at him—
"NO!" Harry yelled. A fiery green barrier sprung up between him and Snape; Snape's spell vanished harmlessly into the fire. The barrier had dissolved back into Harry before Harry realized why everyone was staring at him.
His wand was down at his side. What should have been an invisible Shield Charm had become a mage-crafted wall of fire that had swallowed Snape's curse. And he had managed an essentially wordless spell less than ten minutes into the lesson, before even Hermione had.
Snape was the first to snap himself out of his daze. "What did I say about wordless spells, Mr. Potter?"
"I didn't say the incantation," Harry replied, staring at the air a few inches in front of his professor's face. Relenting, he added, "Sir."
Snape's eyes had turned dangerous. Behind him, Harry could see Hermione staring at him, eyes wide with fear.
--
After the rest of class, which passed without any more incidents, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to lunch.
They were stopped, on the way, by Jack Sloper.
"Hey," he said, grabbing Harry's arm after almost passing him. "I've got a note for you from Snape."
Harry took the tightly furled scroll and opened it. It was the date and time for his first Occlumency lesson of the year—that night, immediately after dinner, in Snape's office.
"What is it?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Harry told him, stuffing it in his pocket. "Let's go to lunch."
He hung back a moment as they headed off without him. The thought of Occlumency lessons that night, combined with the revelations of that morning, had shaken him. Would his glamour hold up even when he wasn't the one in control? Would Snape's intrusions into his mind shatter his ability to hold his illusion in place?
He couldn't deal with Hermione and Ron's bickering right now. He leaned against the railing and closed his eyes. Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor I go, he chanted silently, praying his glamour would hold.
"Harry! What are you waiting for? Let's go!" Ron's voice broke into 'Harry's' thoughts. The Golden Boy opened his eyes and looked down at his best friend.
"Right," he said with a smile. "Sorry. Just thinking about Defense." Which was true, for him.
'Harry' spent lunch chatting with his friends, apparently unaware of how much more he had eaten than he was actually hungry for. Harry watched the boy intently from his shelter in their mind, waiting for him to slip. He wanted any mistakes to happen now, and not when Snape was digging through their mind.
"So Harry," Hermione asked at one point, and Harry tensed in his hidden room; he knew what she was going to ask and wasn't sure 'Harry' would even know what she was talking about. "What was that shield you used in Defense?"
Harry watched. If he had been in control of their body he wouldn't have been breathing. He should have provided the Golden Boy with that memory and an explanation.
But the Golden Boy shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess maybe I'm finally starting to live up to everyone's expectations for me."
But you don't even remember that, Harry protested, stopping his thought at the door of his observation room. How can you answer at all? Then, as the Golden Boy's fear trickled through into the room, he realized, and almost burst out laughing. 'Harry' remembered his conversation with Ginny from the previous year. He was afraid, again, that he was being possessed and was a weapon.
All right, 'Harry', Harry laughed in their mind. That works for me.
--
'Harry' remained worried through the free period that came after lunch, and was still worried when he entered Slughorn's Potions class for the first time.
Harry had been in control through DADA, but he decided let the Golden Boy lead them through this class. He wouldn't have time after dinner to provide 'Harry' with falsified memories of this day; it would be easier just to let him take over and form at least some memories for himself.
His resolution held through Slughorn's explanation of the potions on his desk, and of the contest over Felix Felicis he was holding that class. He let the Golden Boy find the page in the book he didn't remember buying, get the ingredients they'd gotten at stores he wouldn't have gone into on his own, and set up the fire without any magecraft interference. But when 'Harry' started actually making the potion, Harry found himself incapable of staying out of it.
'Harry's' first difficulty was in cutting the sopophorous bean. The bean was slippery and tough, and cutting seemed only to make it shrivel and refuse to release any juice. Finally giving up, Harry rolled his mental eyes and sent out a shiver of magic through the door of his observation room, toward the bean.
'Harry' blinked and his eyes widened as the shiver, the magical equivalent of asking politely, caused the bean to pour juice from the cuts the Golden Boy had already made. Looking around as though afraid someone might have noticed his unexpected success, 'Harry' scooped the bean juice into the cauldron. His glamoured eyes widened when the potion turned the exact shade of lilac described in the book.
Harry grinned, safe in his hidden room. This was going to be fun.
--
Forty minutes and one reward of Felix Felicis later, 'Harry' headed down to dinner. In his mind he was mildly panicked over what had happened in Potions, but aloud he only said that he'd "gotten lucky". What else could he say? It hadn't been his skills that had gotten him the bottle of potion that now rested in the pocket of his robes? Because that would go over wonderfully.
Speaking of which, Harry didn't want the bottle to be crushed if (when) they fell again in Occlumency. When their arm swung in front of the pocket that held the potion, he sent out a tiny tendril of magic from their relocated scar and moved the potion to their schoolbag. Let the Golden Boy panic. That potion might come in handy one day—like if hell ever froze over.
When they reached the Gryffindor table, they were stopped by a call of "Harry"! 'Harry' turned. Seeing Katie Bell running toward them, and noticing the scarlet Quaffle pin on her robes, Harry stepped out of his shelter and took over again.
"Harry, glad I caught you," Katie said. She looked out of breath; Harry wondered how long she'd been trying to catch up to him. "I wanted to tell you. Quidditch tryouts are this Friday, and I want you to be there to—"
"No," Harry interrupted.
Katie blinked. "What?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, trying to sound sincere. "But I won't be playing Quidditch this year."
He could see Ron and Hermione staring at him. Katie looked so far in shock he wondered if she was going to throw up.
"What?" Katie finally managed to whisper. "Why not? You're the best there is."
But Harry had come up with an explanation (excuse, his magic would have said) weeks ago, in his Liar's Palace. "Voldemort's back," he said. "Even the Ministry's finally admitted it. And everyone is—has been, my whole life—looking to me to lead the charge. Under the circumstances, I think there are more important things I could be doing than playing Quidditch."
Katie's mouth opened and closed several times, looking like someone trying to figure out how to chew gum. "Oh," she finally said in a voice even softer than the one she'd used before, and turned and left.
Ron was protesting, and Hermione was suspicious, but Harry ignored them both, sitting down at the Gryffindor table and starting to put food on his plate. He expertly slid the memory of the past few minutes into its proper place in his Liar's Palace, carefully adjusting it so the emotions would read as real to any prying eyes; then he faded back and let the Golden Boy take over again.
After that, the only thing he had to do was make sure everything in the Liar's Palace was running smoothly before they had to head to Occlumency.
--
A/N: There's a poll on my profile, just FYI. I'm trying to devote most of my attention to original stories (original stories? What's that?), so I won't be updating as much. Ergo, there is a poll on my profile to determine which stories I work on. (It's not the only factor. Inspiration and interest are two very important others. And what my onee-chan bugs me about doesn't hurt either.)
ALSO on my profile is the full summary for this story. It is surrounded by spoiler warnings and won't be put up as the official summary until chapter 15 FOR A REASON! But if you want to know what I'm planning and don't mind spoilers, you go right ahead.
Edit: I lied. It will be put up chapter 14. What was planned to be chapter 12 turned out to be very short, so I'm combining it with what was planned to be 13 and moving the schedule up one chapter.
And I've decided something about the pairing. I've decided to let Harry decide, since he's done so well so far. (He may even decide not to choose anyone.) Although since I've decided I don't like the idea of "sharing" a person, and since I got no objection from Harry, Harry/many is off the table.
Feedback is belovely-loved! (Yes, I made that word up. Yes, I can do that.)