Okay, first things first: I am back! And I am very, very sorry about how incredibly long this has taken. Rest assured, I have not given up on this fic and I will not. I was just feeling a little uninspired, and I had an English speech and a science project. So there's my apology. Hopefully updates will return to my normal weekly uploads.
And in this chapter: Harry is angry and confused, Voldemort is angry, Neville is torn, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are worried, and Ashton and his family are trying to cope. That's about everything. A little action in this chapter, but no epic fight scenes, sorry. Maybe in a few chapters. I will have to think about it.
So here it is, chapter eleven.
A Stolen Childhood
Chapter Eleven: Over the Threshold
Harry picked up a rock from the bank, tossed it into the river and scowled. He was irritated and - though he loathed to admit it - perplexed. Wild explanations ran circles in his head, but none of them could help him make sense as to why he had suddenly felt so much pain in his scar that he'd tried to claw it off with his fingers.
The river curled three-quarters of the way around the Lair, and beyond it lay the woods Harry had practiced stealth in just yesterday. It did not feel as though only a day had passed since he'd trained with Greyback. Greyback was prowling the woods now, for what reason Harry did not know, and he found, for the first time, that he did not care.
Greyback was barely a Death Eater anyway - he'd only received the mark a year ago, because Voldemort had not wanted to mark a half-breed. He'd never told Harry exactly what had changed his mind, though Harry imagined it was probably rather gruesome. But that wasn't why he didn't care what the werewolf was doing. He had other things on his mind.
He'd managed to distract himself while Pansy, Draco, and Neville were around - but now Pansy and Draco had gone home, and Neville was practicing legilimency with their father. He was alone with his thoughts now, as even Tenebris had gone to hunt down his own supper for once.
I do not care for him, he told himself, as the image of his biological brother slipped unbidden into his mind. I do not feel anything towards him. Even that wasn't right. He was supposed to hate Potter. Harry had been able to for years, until he met him again and saw the pain in his eyes.
Hating James and Lily Potter, and the ever-manipulative Albus Dumbledore, was easier. They didn't care for him. If they had they wouldn't have accepted his death; they would have searched everywhere for him. But they were too wrapped up with their precious Chosen One to consider the possibility that he was alive. They hadn't delved deep into the magic to make sense of it - they'd made an assumption and presented it as fact. They were not happy he was alive; they would never accept who he was now. The son they had - maybe - loved had truly died that night almost ten years ago.
But Ashton was different. He had been five. How would he have known Harry was not dead? Wouldn't he have just believed whatever he was told, like the stupid, naive Gryffindor he was? All the same, he did give up on me, thought Harry, trying to re-kindle the old hatred. He didn't really care either. None of them did. Neville is my brother now. Voldemort is my father. He's been more of a father than they could be. He helped me reach my potential.
So caught up in his musings was he that he didn't notice Regulus had come to sit next to him on the riverbank. He didn't start when Black spoke, thanks to years of training his instincts, but he hadn't known Regulus was there. That in itself was inexcusable. He'd allowed someone to sneak up on him.
"Your father thinks you're training."
Harry scowled again and threw another rock into the river. "I was. I couldn't focus."
"Why not?" Regulus asked.
The Dark Heir didn't answer. He might be close to Regulus, but he was not about to tell him about the pains in his scar, or the silvery light, or the confusion in his mind. Admitting a weakness was not in his nature, and had not been for many years.
Once, back when he was with his biological family, he had behaved as a child. He had cried when he was hurt, complained when things didn't go his way, yelped when he was startled. But he was not a child not. He had not been a child for nine years and he was not about to revert to childhood now.
Regulus picked up a stone and threw it, and it didn't land as far as either of Harry's had gone. "You're thinking about your brother. Your biological brother, I mean, not Neville."
Again Harry didn't say anything, but his silence was answer enough.
"I was, too," Regulus admitted. "After years of telling myself what an awful person he was, finally I had to acknowledge I'd exaggerated a bit. He wasn't like I'd convinced myself he was."
"Potter lived up to my expectations," said Harry quietly. "Pitifully untalented, manipulated, over-emotional, easy to break." He cast another stone into the water. "That's what I thought he'd be, and that's what he was."
"You thought he didn't care about you," Regulus said, "but it was obvious he did."
"He never missed me. He missed his twin brother, the boy who died in Godric's Hollow ten years ago. I'm not the same anymore, Black. And of course he thought very little of me. Potter thought he could convince me to abandon my father." He let out a short laugh before sobering. "Just an idiotic Gryffindor like the rest of them."
Regulus sighed. "Maybe you're partly right. But I think he did miss you - any you, no matter how different you are from the boy he knew. He was just afraid of what he thought had been done to you."
"Nothing was 'done to me'!" snarled Harry angrily. Regulus raised his arms in defence.
"That's not what I said; that's what he probably thought." Regulus paused, and then said, "You can't pretend you don't still care about him, at least a little. I know you do."
Harry's breath hitched. "You're wrong. You think I still care for him? He's the light's golden boy, their so-called 'Chosen One'! He's right there in the heart of the light with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix!"
"And you're upset that he's there and you wish he wasn't being manipulated by the light," said Regulus.
Harry opened his mouth, and closed it.
"You hate his ideals and what he stands for, Harry. You don't hate him. You care for him," said Regulus. "You don't want him involved in this war. You don't want him to die.
"I don't care for him! If Father told me to kill him, I'd do it without hesitating!" snapped Harry.
"Of course you would. That doesn't mean you wouldn't feel saddened by his death," said Regulus.
"If I was sorry for him dying I wouldn't kill him, and since I would I can say I wouldn't be sorry! I don't care about him!"
"I didn't say you'd be sorry. You wouldn't regret following your father's orders," said Regulus. "You'd be saddened that he had to die, not that he you had killed him. There is a difference, Harry. You can't say you don't care."
"I don't," Harry stated shortly, his temper rising.
"You do, Harry," said Regulus. "You do. He's your brother after all."
Harry snapped. He let his anger take hold of him and he wandlessly blasted Regulus across the river, slamming him onto the bank on the other side. Harry watched as the man lay there winded, feeling his own temper rising around him. How dare he? How dare he!
"He is not my brother!" Harry yelled, slamming Regulus into the bank again. Black groaned in pain, his head lolling to one side. "He is not my brother and he never will be!" He dropped Regulus into the raging river water and lifted him out again, gasping, a few seconds later. He then repeated this, sending him under again and again.
"I don't care about him! I hate him! And now I hate you!" he yelled, though he was sure by now Regulus must be unconscious. With an effort, he pulled himself together and deposited Regulus on the far side of the river, breathing heavily. He felt betrayed. How could he suggest something like that? He'd trusted Regulus.
Harry turned his back and walked away from the river. He did not feel guilty. He had been trained not to feel guilt - to never show remorse or regret something he'd done. But other feelings were rising inside him. Though he tried to push the feelings away, they pressed back harder - the horrifying fear that Regulus could be right, and the heart-breaking sense of being betrayed.
"Let's try it once again, Neville," said Voldemort. The boy nodded, trying to clear his mind again and put up his shields. "Legilimens!"
Neville gasped at the ferocity of the attack. A probe went straight through his shields and he fought it back, trying to remove any stray thoughts from his mind. He'd been slightly distracted today, because of his worry about Harry - something Voldemort had been quick to notice and act on. As a result, Neville had to work doubly hard to keep his father out.
He felt his father's mental probe latch on to a chain of memories. Panicking, he tried to fight him off, even as the memories flashed by. Training with Rabastan, and perfecting his shield... Voldemort giving him and Harry the horcruxes... Sanguine returning from a journey, the mangled remains of an animal in his beak... the battle of the Department of Mysteries, spells flying everywhere, Harry drawing Ashton away to confront him...
He wrenched himself away from the memories, shoving the probe back, but it quickly returned in full force, heading deeper into the forays of his mind. He saw Harry confronting him about his guilt after they had murdered Doge... an earlier memory, of an eleven-year-old Harry torturing a Death Eater for tripping up in the long corridors of the Lair and knocking Neville over... Neville, Harry, and Voldemort, duelling against each other in a three-way battle...
Neville tried to clear his mind, to bury the memories so deep his father couldn't reach them. He succeeded, to a point, for a couple of minutes, but he could not force Voldemort's probe away, and eventually it caught on yet more of his thoughts and memories. His eighth birthday: his last but one before he came to Lord Voldemort... a childhood memory of Ron, Ashton, Harry, and Neville, playing together in the backyard of the Burrow... and then suddenly, the probe delved so deep, and brought out a memory he was anxious to hide. Harry, thrashing on his bed, screaming in pain from his scar... performing legilimency on him and seeing his confusion... his promise not to tell anyone, not even Father...
Voldemort pulled his probe out, leaving Neville gasping for breath on his knees. He got to his feet quickly, and tried not to look his father in the eye, knowing what he had seen and that he was not going to be pleased.
"Neville," said Voldemort, so dangerously calm it sent shivers down his spine, "what was that last memory?"
Neville fought not to flinch. Flinching, he knew, was beneath him. It showed fear, and he had nothing to fear. Except perhaps his father in a temper, which would describe the situation quite well. "It wasn't... anything important, father," he said.
"Don't lie to me, Neville," said Voldemort, still dangerously calm. "What was that memory?"
Trying not to show how petrified he was, he only shook his head, caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't betray Harry's trust, but he couldn't lie to father either. He didn't know what to do, and he could only shake his head, and keep silent.
Lord Voldemort looked angry, and Neville had to fight his natural instinct to step back. I have no reason to be afraid. He will not hurt me. He is my father. Fear is beneath me, as I have been taught. Lessons take a while to stick, though, and Neville knew he was still frightened, sometimes. He wasn't like Harry, who always acted and behaved perfectly, with every lesson implanted so deep in his mind it was part of him. Neville was still learning, much as it irritated him.
"Do you know what Regulus and Harry were working on the other day, Neville?" said Voldemort softly. Neville shook his head again, wondering where this was going. "Spell crafting. Making their own spells. They decided not to make a combat spell the other day, Neville. Instead, they made this one. Contar segredo!"
Neville felt a part of his mind twist, duplicate, and leave him. He could do nothing to prevent it, and he could only watch as his father's eyes widened for a second, before narrowing in rage. He could not hold in his flinch this time. Lord Voldemort seemed to be working to keep his anger under control, and when he spoke, his voice was deadlier than Neville had ever heard it.
"Why did you not tell me?"
"Because Harry didn't want me to," said Neville quietly. "Because I promised. And I didn't want to lose his trust."
Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed further. His pupils were slits. "So you decided to keep from everyone that Harry was in pain? That he was confused, and unable to hide a weakness the light could easily exploit?"
"I - I -" Neville started, but he couldn't say anything against what his father had said. Put that way, and it sounded like he had been hurting Harry more by not telling. "I'm sorry, father," he said instead. "But... you can see why I did it?"
The Dark Lord paced from one end of the room to the other. When he swung around to face his son again, he seemed a little calmer, but not much. It didn't help ease Neville's nerves very much. He wasn't often scared of his own father, but at times like this, if he wasn't, he would be insane. That or a Gryffindor. He was not sure which would be worse.
"Yes, I can," said Voldemort. "But that doesn't mean I'm not angry at you. You betrayed my trust, Neville, and decided not to help your brother. I am disappointed in you."
Neville lowered his eyes, studying the smooth floor. Red-hot shame was washing over him, and he tried to push it behind his occlumency shields without much success. "I know you are," he murmured. "I'm sorry."
"You should be," said Voldemort, in the same deadly voice that sent shivers to Neville's heart. "But I will talk about that with you later. What I want to know is what you intended to do about it."
"I was..." began Neville, but he stopped, again lost for words. He didn't have any idea what he was going to do. "Well, I was going to stop him hurting himself," he said. "And do whatever else I could, too."
His father nodded. "There is something you can do I know would help him, Neville," he said. "Help him sort through his confusion, and work out what he truly thinks."
"What is it?" asked Neville immediately. "I'll do it."
"Give him the locket."
He hadn't expected that. "W-what?"
"The locket, Neville. For a week, let him wear it. It will help. Then you will get it back, don't worry." Lord Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smirk. That will be long enough. Being in the proximity of two horcruxes for a week will strengthen the darkness in him.
"How will it help?" Neville wanted to know, though he felt he was pushing it, with how angry his father had been before.
"Suffice to say it will," said his father sharply. Neville nodded, expecting that, and lifted the locket from around his neck.
This is for you, Harry. I hope it helps.
"Hermione, have you seen my scales?" Ginny asked, trying to cram her robes into her trunk. It was the last day of August and it was still sweltering hot - perfect Quidditch weather - but Mrs Weasley had insisted they all pack early. Fred, George, Ginny, and Ron had all grumbled and complained, of course. Hermione didn't seem to mind, and Ashton... well, Ashton had merely nodded and said nothing.
Ginny was worried about him. They all were.
The bushy-haired muggleborn glanced up from sorting her books. "Didn't Ron borrow them for something?"
"Borrow them? I never lent them to him!" said Ginny heatedly.
"Stole them, then," said Hermione, "because I distinctly remember seeing them on the ground by his wardrobe. He probably needed them for our Potions assignment."
"What's wrong with his scales?" huffed Ginny, glowering. Trust Ron to 'borrow without asking'. "And why hasn't he returned them? We're leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow!"
"I know," said Hermione. "Just go ask him for them, for Merlin's sake."
"Have you ever gone into Ron and Ash's room when they're packing?" asked Ginny, raising an eyebrow incredulously. "It's chaos. Stuff strewn everywhere, and they're running round trying to find everything."
"No, I haven't," said Hermione. "But I don't think..." She faltered. "I don't think Ash's going to be running around."
Ginny's eyes darkened, and she knew Hermione was thinking similar thoughts to her. "No. Probably not," she agreed softly, thinking of his sad, dead eyes and permanently downcast expression.
"This is a nightmare," muttered Hermione, more to herself than to Ginny. "An absolute nightmare. And I'd never met Neville or Harry. This muist be so much worse for Ash."
"Yeah, well," said Ginny, cynically. "Nothing anyone can do, really. They're with You-Know-Who. They know who they are; they haven't been tricked. I don't think they're going to be turning around and coming back to our side."
"Don't let Ash hear you say that," said Hermione. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so broken."
The red-head nodded in agreement. Ashton had barely spoken since they'd found him in the attic, and even then only in short, clipped sentences. From what Ron had said, he'd also not been sleeping well because of nightmares, and kept clutching his scar.
"I... I'd better get my scales," said Ginny, wanting to move away from painful topics.
"Yeah," murmured Hermione, turning back to her books. Ginny thought she saw her brush a tear away, but she couldn't tell.
The Weasley turned away and left the room, intending to speak to her dear brother about kidnapping her possessions.
Somehow everything had been kept quiet. Every morning the newspaper was combed through by at least five different people, but the only thing that was said about the Battle of the Department of Mysteries was that there had been a security breach on Level Nine, which had been dealt with. That was all.
Ashton wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful for that. He didn't want the pitying looks his friends kept shooting him when they thought he wasn't looking, and he knew it would be many times worse if everyone knew that the younger of the Potter twins was... was alive, but on the wrong side. But it also showed just how much the Daily Prophet was being controlled by the Ministry. Which meant, judging by the article that had been printed several days ago, that the Ministry of Magic expected him to be their saviour and defeat Voldemort.
The promise of private lessons with Professor Dumbledore helped keep Ashton's mind off his brother. However, there wasn't much to think on. He kept trying to come up with things Dumbledore could teach him, but all he - and the others - could come up with was advanced defensive magic, or about some secret weapon. No one could come up with what this secret weapon might be.
His parents, Remus, and Sirius seemed to be the only ones who understood how he felt. James was throwing himself into his work to keep his mind from straying to painful thoughts, while Lily spent more time cleaning the headquarters than anything else. Ashton had never seen the place so lacking in dirt and dust, and neither had anyone else.
Sirius was coping by drinking a lot and Remus by trying to get him to stop. Mrs Weasley, who normally would have scolded Sirius for drinking so much, simply turned away when he got out a bottle. She knew Harry, thought Ashton grimly. We all did. That just makes it harder.
They went to visit Luna after they had packed for Hogwarts, and Ashton had told her about what had happened at the ministry. Luna had been more understanding than anyone. She nodded when he had finished telling her, gave him a small smile, and changed the subject. Luna seemed to know he didn't want to think about it, and she even managed to get him to laugh, which he hadn't done in days. It was something about Luna - she was so perceptive, and always seemed to know how you felt and what you wanted.
The next morning was September the 1st. Since they had all packed - mostly - the night before, and Ginny had gotten her scales back from Ron, it was a simple matter of loading everything into the ministry cars. No one questioned why they were getting them. Voldemort was back, and Ashton was leaving the protection of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
It would be a relief to get away to Hogwarts. He knew classes and Quidditch were going to occupy his mind, and that was what he wanted most - a distraction. He distracted himself in the car by having an animated discussion with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about who the new DADA professor would be.
"No one wants the job," Hermione told them. "Because of, you know, everything that happened to the previous defence professors."
"Yeah," said Ginny. "There was Quirrell, who had a nervous breakdown - that git Lockhart, who lost his memory -"
"Professor Lupin was cool," said Ron. "Stupid Snape. Who cares if he's a werewolf?"
"The rest of the wizarding world, apparently," said Ashton.
"And then we had Moody, who got fired by the school board for casting Unforgivables on us," finished Ginny.
"That was stupid, too" said Ron. "We were perfectly safe. He asked us, didn't he? And he was teaching us to fight it."
"We know, Ron," said Hermione. "But you have to see it from the board's point of view -"
"No, I don't," snapped Ron. "They used to have Lucius Malfoy on the board, so why should we listen to them?"
"He was sacked in second year, Ron," Ashton reminded him. "I wonder who our new professor will be?"
"The ministry said if Dumbledore couldn't find someone, they'd send someone in," said Ginny.
"Oh, Merlin, no," swore Ron. "A ministry wizard? They'd do everything by the book. Can you imagine how boring DADA will be if we get a ministry wizard?"
"We'll be copying out of textbooks, if that's what happens," said Ashton. "I hope Professor Dumbledore does find someone. Didn't he say something about getting an old colleague out of retirement?"
"Not sure how that'll work out," said Ginny. "We're at war. Who'd want to come out of retirement?"
"I think you're underestimating Dumbledore," said Hermione. "He'll find someone to teach us. I mean, Defence is the most important subject now, with - with - you know, everything that's happened."
Ashton nodded as the cars pulled into the station. Everything that's happened. A funny way of putting it. With everything that had happened to him and his family recently, he doubted things would ever be the same again.
And he wasn't sure he wanted them to be.
Again - I am very sorry about lateness. Please drop me a review, they really inspire me to keep going. I stayed up until twenty-five past ten typing the end of this chapter up.
-Jaffaninja-
