We're actually nearly at the end of this fic. I was going back through the notes and realized I had a bunch of extraneous subplot that really was unnecessary for continuing (and finishing) the story. So, like 2 or 3 more chapters after this and this fic will finally be complete :)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Vulnerability

Former Crown Prince of Godric's Hollow Harry James Potter did not like Malfoy Manor. He didn't like the grounds, he didn't like the look of the place. He did not like the high, vaulted ceilings, the spacious rooms or the posh fineries.

And he most assuredly did not like the grand estate's owners.

Hermione continued to stay close to him as he climbed out of the carriage, despite that he was once more shielded from sight of any potential witnesses by the house elf's magic. The ride here had been abysmal—tense and awkward and silent. No one had quite seemed to know what to say to settle anyone's nerves. There was the constant worry that any moment their charade would be discovered and Voldemort's forces would give chase, snatch them all up, and chuck the lot of them into dungeons cells.

That perhaps James and Lily would be punished for the ruse, as well, simply to appease Voldemort's outrage at the deception.

That Hermione might face a worse fate, entirely, that involved not bars on windows, but shackled limbs and a bolted bedroom door.

Once inside the Manor with the doors shut securely behind them, the elf dispelled his magic. Rather than toddling off into the depths of the house to tend other duties from which this rescue mission might've kept him, the little thing tugged at Harry's tattered sleeve with its long, thin fingers.

When Harry dropped his gaze to meet the creature's, it nodded. "The prince will follow Dobby. This way."

Harry was immediately wary. He didn't imagine the elf had any plans to do him harm, but he didn't trust the elf's masters as far as he could throw the palace.

Smiling gently, Hermione touched a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "It's okay, My P—" Lord, she hadn't addressed him directly in so long that it was easy to forget he currently did not have that title. "It's okay, Harry. You've been living as a prisoner. You need to get cleaned up and into fresh clothes, and then a good nights rest." She turned her attention from Harry to Dobby. "Perhaps with a warm meal in his belly, hmm?"

Harry wasn't certain what to make of it that Hermione—their pet—had just given instruction to the Malfoy's house elf. Possibly stranger, neither of the Malfoys seemed to find this out of place it, nor did Dobby, himself.

He'd expected the Malfoys—of all nobility in Godric's Hollow—to be harsh enforcers of rank and station.

The house elf merely nodded with a serene grin before he started hopping up the stairs toward the second floor. "Of course, Miss."

Once more, Harry turned an uncertain look on the young woman. She appeared . . . different, somehow. He wasn't sure quite how, either; he couldn't seem to put his finger on what had changed about her.

That gentle smile curved her lips still as she jutted her chin toward the staircase. "Just go, please. Dobby will take care of whatever you need."

"That'd be why bathing is first on the list," Draco chimed in, clearly unable to help himself, as he crinkled the bridge of his nose.

Hermione turned a murderous glare on the younger of her masters. Draco looked from her to his father, who mirrored her expression, and back.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Her shoulders drooping, she then turned her attention to Lucius Malfoy expectantly.

Lucius held her gaze for a few seconds before offering a languid shrug. "He's not wrong. The young man has been living in squalor for the last few months; bathing is high on the priority list, I'm afraid."

A sigh erupted from her. "Still, it was rude."

All three turned back to face the former prince. Harry . . . had no idea what to make of the entire interaction, though he did have to force himself to refrain from lifting an arm to try to catch a whiff of himself.

Regaining her poised composure, she said, "Everything will be all right, Harry. For now, what you need—after everything you've been through—is to see to your health a bit, yeah? That means cleaning up, eating, resting. In that order, so go."

Getting the distinct sense that arguing wasn't an option, and that he probably was quite ripe under the circumstances, he obediently trailed the elf up the staircase to the second floor.

"You seem troubled."

Hermione turned on her heel to face the door of the library. There Master Draco stood, one shoulder leaned against the doorjamb and his arms folded across his chest.

She let out a sigh, holding tight to the books between her hands. "I suppose I am?"

Frowning, he pushed off from the jamb and strolled across the floor to stand before her. "Why? Everything's worked out well so far."

Dinner had come and gone, along with their usual nighttime routine, all the while with Harry upstairs. Washed up, dressed in fresh, comfortable nightclothes, fed as much as his belly could hold without making him feel ill, and put to bed in their finest guest room. She'd peeked in on him to find him sleeping more deeply than she'd ever witnessed while she'd been his.

But she couldn't sleep, herself. She should've realized Master Draco would come looking for her—it was his night, after all. There was just something . . . strangely off about it not simply being her and the Malfoys in the house. Oh, the servants, certainly, but she was accustomed to the elves and Mr. Goyle had his own residence in a smaller house on the grounds.

Most often, it was only Hermione and her Malfoys.

She shrugged, acquiescing as he held out his hands for her most recently selected reading material. As he hefted the volumes beneath one arm, she circled her hand around his opposite elbow and allowed him to walk her out of the library.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "That's actually what has me concerned."

His brow furrowed, nodding sympathetically. "You're worried things could still go wrong."

"Of course I am," she answered in a whisper, aware most of the house was asleep. "Things have gone smoothly thus far, and we don't know if Harry will even have any useful information to help us unseat Voldemort. This all hinges on hope and chance . . . and a little on me, so that's sort of unsettling, as well."

He laughed quietly, gesturing for her to walk through the open doorway of his bedroom ahead of him. She let slip her fingers from his arm as she obeyed. Following, he set down her books on the bedside table and then turned to shut the door.

Already she was undressing, and he smiled at the whisper of fabric dropping to the floor. Facing her that smile widened, a wicked gleam lighting his slate eyes. Stepping up before her, he slid an arm around her hips and pulled her close.

"How is it that you can be so sure anything will work out?" she asked, unable to meet his gaze just now, aware she was completely contradicting the earlier confidence with which she'd assured Harry that everything would be all right.

He let his shoulder move in that possibly hereditary languid Malfoy shrug. "Because," he started, crooking one finger beneath her chin and lifting her head so she met his gaze, "I have faith."

Hermione's lips pursed as she considered that. "Can it really be so simple?"

Chuckling warmly, he dragged his finger from her chin, tracing along the line of her jaw to her ear as he spoke. "You don't have any perspective other than your own, so I'm not really certain I should be surprised you don't understand, but . . . everything has changed since you. The moment my father brought you into this house, the moment you became part of our lives, everything—everything—became better. We didn't see the difference between right and wrong very clearly—we knew, we simply didn't care very much if it prevented us from getting what we wanted. And yet, somehow, you made us better."

A half-smile plucked at the corner of her mouth. "I think you give me far too much credit, Master Draco."

"No, I don't. I know what we were before and I know what we are now, and the only thing to explain the difference is you." He nodded. "You have magic? Maybe, but I think it would be more fitting to say . . . you are magic."

She couldn't help but laugh, despite that his words did make her eyes well, just a bit. "That is . . . absolutely dripping with sap, sir!"

He gave a laugh of his own as he nodded again. "Maybe it was a bit more syrupy than the things I normally say," he conceded, "but I mean every word."

Slipping out of his embrace, she laced her fingers through his and started to backpedal, pulling him toward the bed with her.

Harry didn't see the human residents of Malfoy Manor until the following afternoon. It was a bit of an adjustment, going from royalty and all the rigid scheduling of palace life, to a prisoner with literally nothing better to do than stare at the walls, to suddenly having breakfast served to him in a possibly too-comfy bed. Jarring, actually.

After eating his fill, the ever-helpful Dobby took away the tray and ushered the former prince to the washroom. Afterward, the creature had informed him that he was welcome to wander the grounds as he liked, but could not leave—which Harry already knew, and he glowered silently at the reminder, but it wasn't the elf's fault he'd been tasked with making sure their its masters' guest remembered. He would be summoned to the dining room for lunch.

What he wanted was to find Hermione, to talk to her—they hadn't had any true chance to speak in how fast everything had happened yesterday. He'd never imagined she would be at the heart of a rescue operation, let alone that she somehow would've gotten the Malfoys to help her in some mad plan to quietly overthrow the usurper.

He wasn't even sure unseating a megalomaniac quietly was possible.

Wandering the manor had only kept him occupied for so long before he felt restless. His concern for the continued wellbeing of his parents was paramount, and the longer he was away from them, the more chance their trickery would be discovered. Yes, he'd only been apart from them for less than 24 hours, but the minutes dragged on, feeling more like days.

Peering out one of the large windows that overlooked the gardens, he spotted Hermione. Lounging on the ledge of a fountain, she had her head down and a book open in her lap. He snickered and shook his head—Hermione and books. At least some things were still the same.

"So, you've really taken to life outside the palace, I see."

Hermione lifted her gaze from her reading, one hand up to shield her eyes against the late morning sun. A smile spread across her face, natural and bright. "Good . . . well, I suppose it's nearly noon, isn't it? Good almost-noon, then, Harry. How are you feeling?"

He settled beside her and closed his eyes, enjoying the simple warmth of the sun on his skin for a few moments before speaking. "Worried, for obvious reasons, but much better. Thank you."

"I know." She nodded, a solemn expression flickering across her features for the barest second before she apparently made the decision to remain cheery. "Your parents will be fine. Neville seems a good sort who was just dealt a bad hand, as the saying goes. He won't let on anything that would endanger them."

"I realize that." He looked about their surroundings and laughed softly. "This is just so bizarre, all of it."

"I know," she repeated.

Harry realized what seemed different about her in that moment. She was unguarded here, lighter, somehow. Perhaps even . . . his heart hurt a little to think it, but freer. He always thought he'd permitted her plenty of freedom, but then it wasn't freedom if it was with someone else's permission, was it? Freedom simply was.

The realization soured his stomach a little. He'd wanted to think of her as a friend, but all along she'd only been a pet to him, after all. And if she'd changed since coming here . . . .

"How are they treating you? The Malfoys?"

Her smile brightened even as it narrowed a little in thought. "Very well. You see the pattern in the flowerbed?"

Harry turned his head, following the direction of her gaze. The color of the blossoms whirled in a colorful array, creating a circular rainbow of pastel shades.

"I planted those, myself!"

The pride in her voice was impossible to ignore. Harry forgot himself for a moment as he took one of her hands in his and examined her fingers. "They're making you do gardening?" He was absolutely aghast at the sight of her shortened nails—clean, manicured, but short—not at all like he remembered.

"Making me?" Her brow furrowed, clearly confused by his palpable irritation. "No, Harry. I wanted to do this. They asked me how I wanted to spend my days."

Those familiar, long-unseen green eyes widened.

"I help Tully with the gardening. I read my fill whenever I like. I shop with my own money. I sometimes spend the afternoon designing new dresses to make—which is typically what I shop for, fabrics and such, I mean—with Dobby's kind assistance as to what to do with my hair."

"So they simply . . . let you do whatever you want?"

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose they do."

It was something to grapple with, this revelation about her life. Harry lowered his gaze to the stones beneath their feet. He had always thought he'd been so generous with her . . . he'd been blind to what generosity and freedom were and neither of them had even realized.

He wasn't sure what to say, and she didn't seem as though she was dwelling. In truth, it didn't seem as though it even crossed her mind that palace life hadn't been the blessing so many imagined for one in her station.

But he was spared from finding anything to say by the chime of a bell sounding across the grounds.

"Ooh!" Hermione closed her book and hopped up to her feet. "Lunch! C'mon, I'll show you the way to the dining room."

The meal was a decidedly awkward affair, taking far longer than Harry would've liked. There was tension in the air, to be certain, and he was beginning to understand that it was because he was Hermione's original owner. That once his family was restored to power, he could reclaim her if he so wished.

He shoved that concern aside for the time being, taking a page from Hermione's book and choosing not to dwell. "So," he said, dapping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin and then setting it aside, "what is it you need from me?"

"We need to know anything you've observed in the times Voldemort has deigned to make your family his guests for tea that could be used against him. Any weaknesses that he might guard from outsiders? Even the most minute-seeming thing might be of importance," Lucius said, waving for Dobby to refill Harry's glass before their guest could ask.

Harry took a long, draining drink of fresh cider before he answered. "I wish there was. Honestly. but I can't think of anything that . . . . Wait . . . ." He held up a finger in the air as he thought. "There is one thing he would be hobbled, possibly even powerless without."

"Well?" Draco asked, trying not to demand, since 'former prince,' and all.

Harry shrugged, immediately cognizant that they'd have realized sooner, themselves, had they not been so close to the situation in such an unusual way. "Dame Bellatrix."

Hermione and her Malfoys appeared dumbstruck by those two words.

His gaze moving to each of them in turn, Harry nodded, his eyes wide for emphasis. "He doesn't make a decision without her. She's so powerful, yet she's at his beck and call because she's so ridiculously besotted with him."

Hermione let loose a high, tight laugh, the sound a little disconcerting for the near-hysterical edge it held. "We're so stupid! He's right. It was in front of us all along. She's completely paranoid about the security of her place at his side! She doesn't care about the throne at all!"

Lucius hated that he knew what she was thinking. "We could convince her to take charge of Voldemort by reintroducing a threat to her position."

Face falling, Draco groaned. "You know she can literally turn us into frogs if she thinks we're trying to trick her."

"She won't," Hermione said, her eyes bright with calculation. "We'll move fast. We'll act as soon as possible. She won't have time to question the need to take action if the threat is more than a threat."

His shoulders slumping, Lucius glared at her. "You can't mean—"

"I can and I do, Master Lucius." Her voice was firm and while his posture had drooped, hers had stiffened in reflection of her resolve. "It means while you're talking sense into the most powerful sorceress of our time, I'll be with Voldemort, distracting him from interrupting your meeting with her, and—with the right timing—seeming to jeopardize her place at his side."

"Aunt Bella believes Father has plans to marry you to block Voldemort from trying to reclaim you."

Hermione puffed out her cheeks as she tried to think around that. Master Lucius came to her rescue. "You said yourself she doesn't know much in regard to legal matters. We simply tell her it turned out to not be that simple. And when she's worked up into a froth, we ask if she's seen our pet, who has conspicuously turned up missing."

"She'll have a fit, she won't be thinking straight. If we keep her anger directed solely at Voldemort, we impress upon her that Hermione doesn't want to be at his side . . . ." Draco nodded. "It's got a very real chance of working."

"This could be wildly dangerous for you," Harry said, flabbergasted by who quickly they'd pulled this insane plan together.

"I'm all right with that if it brings this madness to an end, Harry." Hermione offered him an encouraging smile that didn't seem to encourage the former prince in the slightest. She turned her attention on Lucius and nodded decisively. "Master Lucius, this is our only option. Write a missive to Voldemort informing him you'll bring me to him at his soonest convenience. He simply needs to tell you when."