Chapter 8: Truth and Lies

"That is…" Dean began before he trailed off into silence.

"Fucked up?" Seamus supplied. Dean nodded.

"Seriously fucked up."

"Wait, I'm confused," said Ron. "I thought Malfoy was You-Know-Who's biggest enemy?"

Harry shrugged, still not really sure of just what to think when it came to Iana. "Might be. He thinks she is, anyway. The bloody prophecy seems to think it's going to be me that actually beats him though."

They were sitting in an out-of-the-way classroom. If the covering of dust was to be believed, not even House Elves had given it a look-in in years. Hopefully it was a safe enough place to talk about such sensitive topics. Harry had even roped Effie in to watch the corridor for them, concealed beneath his dad's old invisibility cloak.

"What was all that other stuff about?" Neville asked, breaking his silence. "What's the sign that was lost meant to mean?"

"Buggered if I know," said Harry. "I don't think I asked, and Dumbledore hasn't said anything about it."

"I guess you've had more important things on your mind," said Ron with a worried grin. "It does seem like it could be important, though."

Neville nodded, and added, "All the rest of it is really just identifying you. That line, 'his hand, her heart' seems to be the really important bit, though."

"How's that meant to work, though?" asked Seamus, looking every bit as confused as he sounded. "Isn't it just saying you have to kill him?"

Despite nods from Ron and Dean, Neville didn't look convinced. "But what does it mean by 'her heart', then?

"Sounds like the usual crap they always put in there to make it sound good," said Ron with all the authority of someone who'd dozed through dozens of Divination lessons. "Probably just means she has the hots for you, so you fight him to save her or something."

A flash of anger caused Harry to growl. "Can you lot leave off about Malfoy for once?"

Ron actually looked abashed. "Sorry," he said.

"Anyway, the really important thing is that we try to find the leftover Horcruxes," said Harry, hoping to pull them back on track.

"Isn't Dumbledore still looking for them?" Dean asked, looking every bit as reluctant as Harry felt about trying to hunt something like that down.

"If he told Harry about it, he clearly thinks there's a chance of him failing," Neville pointed out with unwelcome insight. "And I guess it's possible we might at least be able to help, right?"

"Could try asking Luna," said Ron with a shrug. "She's always going on about stuff like that."

While there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Luna was a couple of chasers short of a team, he wasn't going to argue if Ron wanted to ask her. Even if she did say something, no one would believe her anyway.

"You guys don't need to do anything," said Harry, looking from one worried face to the next. "But Dumbledore said I should tell you."

"Harry, if you think we're just going to sit around now that we know that… You-Know-Who is back, you've got another thing coming," said Neville forcefully. He looked around at everyone else. "Right?"

Their reactions were a little less enthusiastic, but each of them nodded nonetheless.

"Thanks, guys," said Harry.

"So… what now?" asked Ron, only to be met with an awkward silence.

"Well, I've been reading over Hogwarts: A History," said Harry eventually. That drew a groan from the others.

"Is that the thing that Granger is always quoting whenever she has the chance?" Ron's expression looked dubious at best. "Why not just ask her instead?"

"We can't just go around asking everyone," said Seamus, beating Harry to the punch. "This is meant to be a secret, yeah?"

Ron shrugged. "Who's Granger going to tell?"

"She tutors a bunch of the lower years," Neville pointed out.

"Yeah, but they don't count."

"Including Effie and Ginny," said Harry pointedly. "How do you think Ginny would take the news?"

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. "Honestly? She'd probably want to get in on whatever it is we're going to be doing, but I get your point."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Even if Dumbledore had convinced him to tell his friends, there was no way he was going to get his sister any more wrapped up in it all than she already was. Unlike him, she'd be able to stay safely ensconced in Hogwarts for a while longer yet.

"Like I said, I'm going to be heading to the library to try and work out what thing of Ravenclaw's might have been turned into a Horcrux, but you don't need to join me." Harry stood up, and brushed the dust off his robes. "If you have free time, though, I'd appreciate the help."

"We've got Divination this evening," said Dean as he pointed to Seamus and Ron.

"I'm clear though," said Neville with a lazy shrug. "Guess I can join you."

"We'll take a look tomorrow," said Seamus. For a moment it looked like Ron wanted to object, but in the end he simply accepted the fact that he'd been volunteered to spend time in the library, something which he typically avoided with some tenacity.

Harry couldn't help the grin which spread across his face as he looked over them. They were worried, of course. Maybe they were even a bit scared; that wouldn't be unreasonable. They were every bit as out of their depth as Harry felt, but they were sticking by him.

"Thanks guys."

o-o

They were as good as their word, for a few weeks at least. Neville spent nearly as much time in the library poring over old accounts of the Founders as Harry did, and while the others didn't really have the attention span needed to spend hours focused on the task, they still made time to help, and would talk over Harry and Neville's findings each evening before bed.

Iana had clearly not been overjoyed by the new additions to Harry's study group, but after Harry had reigned in a few of the more barbed remarks aimed in her direction by the others, the rate at which she released conspicuously loud sighs decreased back to normal levels.

A couple of weeks later, as the cold weather and heavy rainstorms that often battered Hogwarts in the winter abated at last in time for spring to arrive, it had very nearly become normal.

"Found anything yet?" she asked him one afternoon.

Neville had just left for a study club, which left Harry and Iana alone again at their table.

"Well, yes and no," said Harry as he flipped another book, this one a slim tome bound in leather so old and cracked that it looked about ready to fall apart. "Everyone and their Granny seems to have some old relic that once belonged to one of the founders. It could be any of them."

He frowned. Wait, he hadn't even told her what he was looking for. His head shot up to find her looking at him with a satisfied grin.

"So, why are you looking for relics of the founders?"

A couple of things went through his mind at that point. First, didn't she already know about the Horcruxes? Surely her father would have mentioned something to her? Second, would it be so bad if he told her what he was looking for, even if she didn't? Then again, why didn't she know? She was meant to be the Girl-Who-Lived!

"Just interested," Harry replied. Maybe Dumbledore had a reason for not involving her? "No other reason."

The look she gave him then neatly communicated just how little she believed him. Despite that, she shrugged and returned to her own reading. It was some kind of treatise on the naming conventions in Ancient Rome.

After a few minutes, Harry's own curiosity got the better of him. "What about you?" he asked. He pointed at her book. "That's not got much to do with magic. What are you looking for?"

She stared at him humourlessly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

It was clear that he'd have to give her some kind of answer to her own questions if he wanted her to answer his. After a few seconds of consideration, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and leaned forward.

"What do you know about what your dad was doing to fight Voldemort?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "If this is you—"

"No, no!" Harry tried to reinforce his innocence by raising his hands. He realised he'd let his voice rise above a whisper and lowered it again. "I just thought that if anyone knew what was going on, it'd be you, right?"

Had Harry not been present, he might never have believed it, but she snorted in an incredibly unladylike fashion. "What gave you that idea?" she asked acerbically.

"Your dad didn't tell you anything?"

"Yours did?"

Realising that he'd managed to tread on precariously thin ice, Harry retreated back to his side of the desk and behind his book once more. Just as well, too, as Madam Pince chose that moment to poke her nose around the corner of the shelves to look at them both with naked suspicion.

After nearly a minute of watching them study in silence, she stalked away again. It wasn't long after that that Iana spoke again, the anger gone from her voice. "Father didn't tell me anything," she said quietly.

"The first I knew of anything was when we were kidnapped from the Ministry Halloween Ball." She scowled at the memory. "One minute I was enjoying myself, and the next I was in a graveyard somewhere. That was the first I even knew of the Dark Lord still being alive."

She lapsed into silence again, clearly thinking about what had happened that night. Suddenly, she chuckled. It wasn't a happy sound. "Not that he told me anything else either," she said bitterly. "Even my name is a lie, apparently."

"What? How's that possible?"

The snort that served as Iana's response neatly communicated her agreement. Suddenly, it made her seeming fixation of wizarding genealogy make a bit more sense.

"So is that why you're looking through all those books?" he asked. "You reckon your real name is something to do with one of your ancestors?"

Iana snapped the book shut. "Might be. Who knows?"

Harry thought about it for a second, frowning as he did so. "But why does it matter?" He shrugged. "You're called Iana."

"It matters," she snapped. "That bastard kept everything from me. I just want this one thing."

Hadn't Harry's own parents done the same thing? "He was probably trying to protect you," he said in a pointed whisper.

Getting his point, she lowered her voice again. "Protect me?" she hissed. "He was always just out for himself."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. Lucius Malfoy had been a bigot of the first order, and was responsible for the law which had seen Remus chased out the previous summer. It was strange to see Iana so resentful, though.

"Oh, don't give me that stupid look, Potter," she said with a scowl. "I know what you want to say, so don't bother. My father was a self-serving arsehole."

"Well, yeah," said Harry. He had to concede the obvious. Still didn't explain why she was so pissed at him. It had suited her just fine until recently. "What did he do to you, though?"

"Apart from raising me on a lie?" she asked with a mirthless smile. "Oh, I don't know. How about trying to sacrifice me so he could save his own pathetic skin?"

"What!"

Harry realised that had come out far louder than he intended. His head whipped around to make sure Pince wasn't anywhere nearby, about to descend upon them. "He what?"

Iana looked away for a moment. Perhaps she was as surprised as Harry by her outburst. After a moment, she stood up and started walking away. As she went, she turned back to him. "Not here." Then she made a tiny gesture with her head, and disappeared around the corner.

Leaving his book open and forgotten on the table, Harry wasted no time in following her. They passed Madam Pince who, from the pinched look on her face, was indeed about to give them both a stern talking to, but she was stymied when Iana and Harry bypassed her and stepped out of the Library. Iana then led him into one of the less-used corridors, and slipped into a disused classroom without a backwards glance.

After a quick glance to make sure they weren't being watched, an unlikely occurrence in any event, Harry followed her. As soon as the door clicked shut, she shot a couple of spells at it. Harry recognised them as locking and silencing charms. He turned back to her, and gave her a look which he hoped would prompt some kind of explanation.

"You look like you've wet yourself," she said as she dropped heavily onto the end of a dusty bench.

"What's this about, Malfoy?"

She rubbed her face tiredly, and her expression suggested she really wasn't sure about whatever it was she was going to tell him. Eventually, though, she sighed and started speaking.

"What did Dumbledore tell you about what happened at Christmas?" she asked him.

"Absolutely nothing." It was true, too. Iana herself had told him some of it, and Harry had his guesses, of course, but none of what he knew had come from Dumbledore.

"The Dark Lord broke into our Manor," she said simply, as if Harry wouldn't have been able to work that out. She'd even told him so on the night.

"I know what you're thinking," Iana continued. "That shouldn't have been possible, right?"

Harry wasn't thinking that. If he remembered correctly, it was Crabbe's father who had let Voldemort in.

Taking his silence for tacit agreement, she shook her head. "Well it turns out it's entirely possible when half of the people my father invited round that evening were working for him."

Harry nodded. "Crabbe."

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. "How did you know that? I thought you said Dumbledore didn't tell you anything?"

"Dumbledore didn't," said Harry. "You did. Don't you remember?"

That prompted a worried frown. "When?"

"That night, when you turned up. You were in a right state."

Naked suspicion rose up in her eyes. "I don't remember that."

"I think you were in shock," said Harry with a shrug. It sounded good at least.

"Maybe…" she muttered, trailing off before she snapped back to reality. "What else did I say?"

"Nothing!" said Harry, opting to leave the hug out of it. It didn't really matter, anyway. "Just that. Orontius Crabbe, right?"

The suspicious look lingered for a while longer, but in the end her shoulders slumped again. "Yes. It was him and a couple of others. We didn't stand a chance."

"What happened to everyone else?" Harry asked. She'd mentioned there being more than just Crabbe around.

"Obliviated I guess. Maybe Imperiused," she shrugged as if it didn't really matter which. "They were useless, anyway. The Dark Lord swept them aside like they were nothing."

"So how'd you get away?" Harry asked. That had been the thing he'd really wanted to know. She'd managed to escape from right under Voldemort's nose.

"As soon as Father felt the Dark Lord bypass the Manor's protections, we tried to run but Orontius tried to stop us. After Father killed him, we ran to the Floo and tried to escape that way but someone had already removed us from the network.

"By the time we realised, the Dark Lord was already there. We tried to fight back, but he's—" she paused, considering her words "— it's like I was back to my first day holding a wand, and trying to fight an Auror or something. He didn't even need to try. He just found it funny, I think.

"He said he'd offered my father a choice before, and he'd taken it. He told him it would be easiest if he stood by his word then. He told him to step aside, as he did before."

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused. "I assume he didn't, though?" He'd ended up dead, after all.

"Oh he did," said Iana bitterly. "He turned to look at me, as if he was sorry about it, and just stepped aside." A cruel smile flitted across her features. "Didn't help him. As soon as he lowered his wand, the Dark Lord hit him with some spell. I don't know what it was, but the Dark Lord said it was mercy."

"So how'd you get out?"

"Our House Elf," she said simply, prompting Harry to blink in surprise. "He's always been off his rocker, really. More even than most House Elves. But when Father was hit by that spell he popped in out of nowhere, grabbed us, and apparated us away again. Didn't do him much good though. The Dark Lord cursed him as we were leaving, and next I knew I was at Hogwarts with a dead House Elf, and my dying father.

"It was some kind of withering curse. I don't think he even really knew I was there. He grabbed my hand and told me he was sorry, that he should have stopped me." She shook her head and rubbed at her eyes angrily. "I told him it was okay, but that I didn't understand what he meant."

"Then he called me Narcissa, my mother's name, and said they could always have another child together." She looked up. "Even said he'd hope for a boy this time. Wanted to call him Draco."

Her knuckles were white as they gripped the edge of the bench on which she was sitting with the kind of furious strength Harry remembered when he'd tried to comfort her on Christmas day.

"I dropped him and backed away, but he just called out to my mother again. Said they'd done everything they could to save the girl, me, but it was a lost cause. He said no matter how they tried to hide my name from him, even from themselves, the Dark Lord couldn't be denied. Then he died."

The flat way she said it had Harry a little worried. It was as if she was describing the weather or something by the time she got to the end. "I don't understand, though. What does any of that mean?"

"It means he tried to give me up before too," she said bitterly and finally her eyes started to fill with tears. "I dream about it sometimes. I just thought it was a dream. I can hear a voice, I think it's my mother, pleading with someone to let me live, and I can hear my father trying to get her to step aside. Then there's a flash of green light, and I wake up. The bastard tried to trade me for his own life when I was a baby, and then he did it again!"

Then, suddenly, she was crying. It wasn't the same as Christmas when it had seemed like she was barely even aware of her surroundings. Every tear that fell was brushed away with angry swipes of her hands, but the flow did not stop. Harry knew that another hug was probably a bad idea. She'd been in shock last time, and hadn't even really known who it was. That was not the case this time. Nonetheless, he moved to sit beside her. Close enough that he was nearby, but not so close that he was infringing on her personal space.

Whether it helped or not, Harry wasn't sure, but she gradually got the tears under control.

Gently, unsure if he was about to set her off again, Harry said, "I still don't understand why the name is so important. Your father was dying, he clearly didn't know where he was or who he was talking to. Maybe he meant something else?"

"Ooh no," said Iana with absolute certainty. "I thought so too at first, but Snape" — she spat the name with enough ire that it might have come from Sirius himself — "made sure to clarify it for me."

"Okay then," said Harry mildly. He had to be careful. With her mood as it was it wouldn't take much for her to blow up in his face. "So… why did they do it? What does changing your name even achieve?"

She glanced away for a moment. "No idea," she said. "But that was the very first thing he took away from me. I can't get mother back. I can't get my childhood back. I can't get my Merlin-be-damned friends" — she spat that word too — "back. But I can get the name my mother gave me back."

If he was being honest with himself, Harry really didn't understand why she was so fixated on the name, but then if it really had been given to her by her dead mother, maybe it wasn't so strange.

"Well, how about I see if I can help?" he said. It was really a bit of an empty gesture, as he didn't have the first idea of where to even start, but he was rewarded with a wan smile nonetheless.

"And I can have a look around to see if I can find anything that might relate to Rowena Ravenclaw," she replied.

Harry smiled. "Sounds like a deal."

A/N: I should thank anyone who's stuck with the story despite it not being to their tastes. I know some have fallen off, as I absolutely expected. Sadly, not every story I write can appeal to everyone. So if you gave this story a look in and decided it wasn't for you? Thank you (though you're probably not reading this). If you've given this story a look in and found yourself enjoying it despite yourself? Also thank you.

If you've given this story a look in and decided you don't like it, but are continuing to read it? Why? You don't owe me anything, go find something more enjoyable to read! But still, thank you for giving it a go. That's all a writer can ever ask.