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Chapter Forty-Four—Revenge and Reverie
Lucius tears through his house, his hands shaking, his eyes wide. Now that he looks for it, evidence of his wife's treachery is everywhere. He doesn't know how he managed to ignore it so thoroughly before.
She drugged you.
Lucius grits his teeth. Yes, that is it. He has been careless and allowed Narcissa to influence him when he should have been influencing her. And she has taken his son and run away from him.
She will regret it when I catch up with her, Lucius thinks as he stalks into the kitchen. The house-elves there crouch when they see him and stay absolutely silent. Lucius stares around with narrowed eyes and then turns abruptly and faces the lead house-elf, who he vaguely remembers is named Pobby.
"Did my wife mandate that any potions be added to my food?" he demands.
"Not since shes be leaving, Master Malfoy."
"And she did before that?" Lucius draws his wand, and all the elves watch it, but he manages to control himself. He will not destroy a valuable servant that his wife managed to trick. He will need the house-elves for the future. "Why did you do it?"
"She—she was saying that you were not taking yours nutrition potions," Pobby whispers. He trembles and wrings his ears for a minute. Or is this particular elf female? It occurs to Lucius that he never bothered to find out.
Then he sneers and dismisses the thought. It scarcely matters now how he thinks of this elf.
"It does not matter," he says. "But you will punish yourself for conspiracy and treachery against me when I leave this room, Pobby. And in the future, you will never obey anyone but me, do you understand that?"
"Young Master Malfoy is being—"
"Not him." Not until Lucius finds out how much Draco knew about how his mother was behaving, and whether he went along with her willingly or not. But Lucius thinks that it was probably willing, or Draco would have sent him an indignant owl or two by now. Lucius will bring his son back into the fold, but he will not trust him until that is done. Perhaps keeping him under the Imperius Curse for a time would work best.
"Yes, Master Malfoy," Pobby whispers, bowing. He picks up a large iron pot and holds it. Lucius assumes that he's going to hit himself in the face with it once Lucius leaves, or perhaps he's going to fill it with boiling water and duck his head in it. Or perhaps it's even just an implement for dinner and he'll shut his ears in the oven like the old house-elf Dobby did.
Lucius hardly cares. He reiterates, "You understand? You will never obey anyone but me again, unless I tell you otherwise."
"Yes, Master Malfoy," Pobby says, and this time, he's echoed by every elf in the kitchens.
Lucius nods and strides out again. He hears a resounding clang and a wail behind him, and smiles.
His punishment of Narcissa when he catches up with her will be less noisy, but perhaps more painful to the woman involved.
Tarquinius lets his hand rest on Lindanora's swollen belly, smiling. They have gone to a Healer now, the first time that Tarquinius thought it necessary to see one since he impregnated his young wife, and the man has confirmed the best news. "Twins, then? You're certain? And both sons?"
"Yes, Mr. Nott." The Healer looks up from his chart and directly into Lindanora's eyes, speaking slowly and distinctly, as if he thinks she might have trouble understanding. Tarquinius doesn't think she does, though. She has trouble understanding a few things, like who is in control of their relationship, but she's a quick study. "Two children, both sons, as healthy as they can be."
"That's excellent news," Lindanora says, and then flinches a little and looks up at Tarquinius with wide eyes. "It—is, isn't it? You're pleased?"
"Of course I am, dearest one." And Tarquinius is more pleased than he can share in a Healer's office. There is always the chance that the same weakness that haunted Theodore might haunt one of his other sons, but if he has two, then he can give one up and work on the other one if necessary. He strokes Lindanora's hair. "Would you like to write to your stepson and tell him?"
"If you think it proper." Lindanora casts her eyes down, and the Healer blinks, as if he has been silently coveting Tarquinius's wife. Tarquinius stares at the man with narrowed eyes, sending the silent message: wishing that Lindanora was his is proper, but taking steps to make it so will not be tolerated.
The Healer blanches and goes back to studying his chart. Tarquinius nods to Lindanora. "I think it entirely proper. He should get used to calling you mother."
In the short time he will have to do so. Oh, my stubborn son, you did not think of all eventualities.
Albus closes his eyes and lets his hand rest for a moment on the long wooden pipe that he has had to carve himself. He will only get one chance at this, lest he need to start the whole ritual all over.
Then he picks up the pipe and begins to blow through it.
The bowl glows for a second, before colored smoke rings begin to fly from it. The rings are blue and green and scarlet and yellow. One color for each of the four Hogwarts Houses, Albus thinks, though he knows that's only fancy. This ritual is older than Hogwarts.
The smoke rings dance for a moment near the ceiling of the old Dumbledore house. Then they abruptly collapse together, and the thing they made falls to the floor. Albus hurries over to retrieve it. He sighs in relief when he picks up a small, solid black stone that seems to weigh far more for its size than it should.
He has only completed half the ritual, despite the delicacy of this step and how he might have messed it up. Now he needs to find a way to persuade Harry to accept the black stone that lies in the middle of his palm, glowing with power.
Albus opens his hand and stares at the stone again.
There seems to be a carving on it. When he twists it around, he sees that it looks like the Potter crest that appeared on young James's trunk and some of his other possessions when he was a student at Hogwarts.
Albus breathes out slowly. That's confirmation, not that he really needed it, that he is indeed giving the gift correctly.
He leans back and sets his remarkable mind to work on ways that will persuade Harry to accept the stone instead of distrust him.
"Did you know that they're building a maze out near the Quidditch pitch?" Ron asks Harry during one of the times that Harry is visiting the Gryffindor table rather than sitting at the Slytherin one.
Harry shrugs a little. He's dropping bits of meat into Chaos's mouth and watching her critically. Ron supposes he's still worried that she doesn't seem inclined to fly. Even Charlie can't figure that one out. Usually dragons are literally dying to get into the air, Charlie has told him. "I don't really care. I'm not going to participate in the Third Task."
"I just thought you might be interested," says Ron, a little injured. Honestly, Harry practically has a line of Slytherins filing past him each morning to give him "reports," and he listens to all of them. What does it take for him to give Ron the same courtesy?
Maybe Harry hears a hint of that in his voice, because he looks at Ron and makes an apologetic motion with one hand. "Sorry, Ron. But I really—I really don't care about the Tasks. People keep trying to get me to care, and then they get upset about the natural consequences." He pets Chaos with a long stroke down her back.
Ron smiles a little. "Just don't come out of the hedge maze with another dragon, mate, that's all I ask."
"I don't intend to come out of the hedge maze with anything at all, because I won't be walking into it," Harry says, and smiles at him before he wanders back towards the Slytherin table.
Ron sits back and catches Hermione's gaze. She snorts. "I could have told you that he doesn't care about the Tournament and he won't want to hear about any news that involves it," she says, and stuffs a forkful of eggs into her mouth while she turns a page of her book.
"You tell him your news, and I'll tell him mine," Ron says. "And by the way, I still beat you at chess yesterday."
Hermione scowls at him over the top of her book, but only briefly. Then she sniffs and turns the book towards him, and Ron realizes that it's one about chess moves. "I'm going to win someday," she says. "I'm smart enough to understand how the pieces move."
"Yes, you are," Ron says, and just grins when she studies him suspiciously.
Blaise tenses up when he sees the wings of his mother's owl cutting through the air of the Great Hall towards the Slytherin table. He doesn't think she would try anything as obvious as poison or a Portkey, but he still has a trembling dread in his stomach as he stretches out a hand to receive the letter.
Someone snatches it away before he can get there. Blaise stares blankly at Harry as he winks and takes the letter himself in an unguarded hand that both Theo and Draco are frowning at.
"You didn't really think you would have to face her alone, did you?" Harry asks, as he tears the letter open.
"I didn't," Blaise says, and then lets it trail off, because it's better than trying to explain exactly how he thought and felt. He watches as Harry reads the letter, and his face grows as still as a stone. Chaos rises on her hind legs and puts her forepaws on the edge of the bench behind Harry, her head raised alertly.
"What is it?" Blaise demands. Enough time has gone by since Harry opened the letter that he should be able to tell Blaise what it contains. He should also know Blaise well enough by now to realize that Blaise won't faint like a maiden or something.
"It's a threat," Harry says quietly. "That she'll destroy every possession you have left in her house if you don't return to her."
Blaise shuts his eyes. He has mementoes of his father there, and gifts that the few of his stepfathers that liked him gave him, and a shell he picked up walking one evening on the beaches of Spain when he still believed that his mother loved him. But he can't allow any of those to matter, not really.
"She's welcome to them," he whispers. "I'm not going to back to rescue them."
"But don't you want them?" Harry lowers the letter to stare at him incredulously.
"Everything I really need is here," Blaise says truthfully. That includes his life. He glances away and shakes his head. "Let her do it. She can't—she can't control me with those kinds of threats anymore."
Harry studies him in utter silence, his face grave and perplexed. Then he nods slowly. "If you're absolutely sure that this is something you want, Blaise."
Blaise holds Harry's eyes, frowning to himself. For some reason, this feels a lot more momentous than a small decision made because his mother forced it on him. But he says, "I am. They're objects. I—treasured them once, but there's no reason that anyone should risk their lives to get them back. My mother was just trying to goad me. I won't let her win."
After a series of long, silent seconds, Harry reaches out to grip his shoulder. "If you're certain," he says gently.
"Yes." Blaise waits a beat, then adds, "I have treasures my mother will never know."
It's worth it, to see the warmth that floods Harry's face with his smile.
"I am displeased that you reached out and took the letter that had come to young Mr. Zabini this morning."
It takes Harry a long moment to remember what Professor Snape is talking about. He was engaged in a mediation that's supposed to work on his dreams about Voldemort, and improve his Occlumency. He blinks at his guardian, knowing he looks stupid, and then suddenly remembers and shrugs. "Oh. Well, I knew that it wouldn't contain anything that would be harmful to me."
"There is no way that you could have determined that in the short time you had to scan the letter!" Professor Snape is staring at him with one hand clenched. He sits back and unclenches it when Harry glances at it, because he does emphasize the importance of calm in these sessions. His voice is still low with anger, though. "You don't know what kind of poisons you might expose yourself to."
"Um, sir—"
"Severus."
"Severus, I do," Harry say. The name still tastes strange in his mouth, but he's trying to get used to it, because he can see how much it matters to Snape. "I can sense danger around me all the time. That includes the kind of poison that someone might put on letters. And I have this." He touches the pendant around his neck that Daphne gave him. "It protects me against poisonous potions, remember?"
"A poison used on a letter might not be a potion," Snape says, but Harry has the feeling that he's said it automatically. His eyes are wide and dark and suspicious—well, more suspicious than normal. "What do you mean, you can sense danger?"
"It's something I've been working on for a while in the study group," Harry says. "Having a passive field of magic that extends around me and can sense danger to me. I think it's working."
"You think it's working, and you dared to touch a letter like that?"
"Well, I wasn't going to let Blaise touch it." Harry says when Professor Snape continues to stare at him, and doesn't look pleased by Harry's attempts at teasing. "Severus, I'm not really sure what you want me to say. Yes, I took a risk. But I have been working hard on this passive field. The books that mention it are fascinating, and I did read them really closely."
"What books are those?" Snape subsides again, but his eyes have retained their suspicion. "I can't remember having heard of them."
"Oh, they don't talk about it in any detail," Harry says, shrugging, and seeing the way that Professor Snape tenses again. "What they do is mention that people can sense things that come near them before they touch them—you know? Like when you're walking across a room in the darkness and you sense a wall before you touch it?"
"I do know what you are talking about, yes." Professor Snape's foot taps once. "I would like to see them, and hear the outlines of your theory."
"All right," Harry agrees. He relaxes a little. For once, he hasn't made a mistake that Professor Snape has to scold him with. That means he can stop flinching from anticipation of the next scolding. He thinks that he can show all the books to Snape and even write down the outlines of the theory if he wants to hear them.
"Do I scare you so much, Harry?"
Startled, Harry looks up and finds Snape bending down towards him, his eyes brilliant. There's something tired and old in his face, though, and he sighs as though he's taken a wound to the heart. He also hesitates, and then reaches out and puts a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"I don't want to frighten you," Snape whispers. "I don't want to force you to call me by a name that you obviously don't want to use. But I do wish I knew what to tell you so that you would be comfortable around me."
Harry licks his lips and seeks for something to say. He finally manages to lurch out, "I'm—not scared of you, sir. But I'm scared of disappointing you." He blinks. He didn't know he would phrase it that way until he did.
Professor Snape takes a deep breath and blinks as though he didn't expect the words. Then he nods carefully. "I understand that," he murmurs. "What would help you to be less frightened?"
Harry hesitates. Then he says, "If you could say—more often—that you're proud of me and you don't mind if I disappoint you sometimes." He wants to say more, but the words are sticking in his throat as it is. He still fears to expose his inner wounds in front of someone like Professor Snape, no matter how good a guardian he is.
Professor Snape's hand tightens for a moment. Then he pulls it back and says, "I am proud of you. Forgive me for not saying it before."
Harry eyes him, but Professor Snape's face is calm, and Harry doesn't get the impression that he's saying it just because Harry told him he would like to hear it. Harry manages to relax and nod. "Okay, sir. That—helps."
"And can you call me Severus?"
"I think so. I'll try to remember it from now on."
"That is all I ask," Professor Snape says.
And there's a quiet moment before they go back to practicing Occlumency, and Harry wonders how he never noticed before that Professor Snape's eyes were so silent and had such a deep yearning in them.