Chapter 26: Insight

Disclaimer: Ms. Rowling? Can your characters come out to play? … Nope, I won't claim I'm their mother. Just play with them for a while.

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A/N: Well, I'm exhausted. My charity work (for Barnardos, on a playscheme for severely disabled children) started this week, and as fate would have it I'm on the scheme on Thursdays and Fridays, the exact two days when I want to be polishing off the chapter (and massive thanks to my reviewers, the thought of whom kept my awake on Thursday as I busily polished away. Cheers.)

I also had much exhausting fun on the playscheme (including burying one of the other volunteers in the ball pool…) I'm on it for the next three weeks too, except for Thursday 26th, when I'm getting my GCSE results… very nervous. If I vanish mysteriously after that date, then I've either been killed by my parents or taken the path of noble suicide :P I hopefully won't vanish. Hopefully.

On to happier things: the chapter. Enjoy!

If one is master of one thing and understands one thing well, one has, at the same time, insight into and understanding of many things.

Vincent van Gogh, 1853-1890

'He's one of us. A half-Fallen.'

There was a certain odd sensation Hermione recalled from moments like this; like the split second after she'd seen the reflected Basilisk stalking towards her before the Petrification had taken effect, or the time the Dementors had shown up to the Quidditch match in third year and sent Harry plummeting to the ground.

She could never really describe it: perhaps it could be compared to blunted pins and needles all over her skin, or a haze of grey fog clogging up her head, or all her thoughts slowed down and muted in favour of a single clear thread, repeating the most expressive swear word she knew over and over again. But none of those could really define what it felt like to have your entire mind taken over by pure and simple shock for heartbeat after heartbeat…

'Hermione?'

Draco was looking at her oddly, a slight frown on his face, and she realised that this might be a good time to get her vocal cords to work.

'… Oh,' she said eventually, a very quiet sound, but sufficient enough to snap her back to reality. Voldemort? Half-Fallen? Even as her mind tried to protest against it, to say that it was not true, could not be true, it made an awful kind of sense.

Maybe Draco was mistaken, or had been lied to, or…

'But he hates Harry,' Hermione protested dumbly, 'and half-Fallens don't…'

'I hated Harry,' Draco pointed out. 'Or at least pretended that I did. You never knew the difference, did you?'

'No,' Hermione admitted, flushing as she realised that she really, really ought to have spotted that.

'So you wouldn't know Voldemort was pretending either. We keep ourselves very, very hidden. I wouldn't imagine that more than half a dozen of the Death Eaters, at the very most, knows about us…'

Hermione nodded distantly, still trying to get her head around the concept. Logically, she knew that this made very little difference – they'd always known that Voldemort was out for power, out to kill people, and learning that he was half-Fallen changed nothing but his motivations. But it was more frightening to know that they were fighting an enemy with no emotions, no feelings, nothing but logic and an instinct to harm. It made him more inhuman, more of a monster; the very stuff of childhood nightmares made flesh.

Her mind ranged back to all Harry's close encounters with Voldemort, revisiting them, testing this new knowledge against them. She remembered Ginny, talking about the diary-version of Tom – he was perfect, Hermione, everything he did and said and pretended was perfectly done, and I was too silly to realise that it was too perfect – and that fitted, because all of a half-Fallen's life was spent acting, spent pretending. Other things either supported the idea or were neutral to it: Harry fighting Quirrel in first year, Harry duelling Voldemort in the graveyard, Harry's scar…

Wait.

'You can't be right,' Hermione said, looking up from the tabletop with a surprisingly strong swell of glee rising inside her. 'He can't be a half-Fallen!'

Draco frowned. 'I've seen proof with my own eyes,' he said simply. 'Why do you think…?'

'Because,' Hermione said triumphantly, 'Harry's scar acts like a connection to Voldemort, and Harry has felt Voldemort's emotions!'

She settled back into her chair, grinning widely, but Draco merely frowned a little in consideration.

'So Potter's linked to Voldemort?' he asked. 'That's… hmm,' He considered for a moment. 'Creepy, I think, or unsettling. Something like that.'

'The link isn't the point,' Hermione said, 'the point is that Voldemort has emotions, ergo, he isn't half-Fallen.'

Draco regarded her for a minute. 'Do you know anything about Legilimency?' he asked, and Hermione twitched in surprise at the question. She mustn't let Draco know about Harry's Occlumency lessons.

'Yes,' she said, guardedly, and quickly added, 'I read about it once when I was researching for a Charms essay.'

Thankfully he didn't ask what the topic of the invented Charm essay had been. 'Some of the notes in my mother's archive said that when a human tried Legilimency on a half-Fallen, the difference between the two types of mind caused… oddities.'

'What kinds of oddities?'

'Sometimes the human couldn't sense anything at all,' Draco said. 'Sometimes it felt like an animal's mind would feel. And sometimes the human perceived it as an ordinary human mind – complete with emotions. The archives seemed to think that the human mind translated the Fallen mind into something it could understand. The emotions were generally the ones that the half-Fallen would have felt, were they human. So if the half-Fallen were having a heated discussion, the human would sense anger; if he were in danger, the human would perceive fear…

'So you think Harry's scar works like that?' Hermione asked, already feeling he initial rush of joy dying rapidly.

'It would make sense.'

Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to that. Part of her wanted to run up to Gryffindor tower that instant and tell Harry everything; the other part knew that would mean betraying Draco's secret. But then, what if the knowledge was vital? What if Harry ended up fighting Voldemort again, as he so often did, and the knowledge of Voldemort's true nature helped him in a life-or-death situation…?

'Don't tell Potter,' Draco said suddenly, as if he knew what she was thinking.

'How did you…?'

He smirked, casually leaning back in his chair. 'I've had many years' experience in reading people,' he pointed out. 'You looked conflicted. Logically,' he always seemed to put a wry twist on that word now, 'it followed that you were worrying over whether to tell Potter or not, since we all know that the Boy-Who-Lived has run into him… how many times now?'

'Five,' said Hermione automatically. 'I just thought it might be important…'

'And if it were vitally important for Potter to know, Dumbledore would have told him,' Draco pointed out firmly. 'End of discussion.'

Hermione frowned for a moment, unsure what to say, before she realised Draco was probably right. He seemed to take her silence as submission; he gave one short nod and glanced away, leaving her to muse over the implications of Voldemort being half-Fallen…

'You said there were only three of you in Britain?' Hermione asked distractedly, to which Draco gave an affirmative mmm. 'What happened to Voldemort's parents then? One of his parents must have been half-Fallen for him to inherit it, and I know his mother died… didn't he kill his father?' She looked up sharply, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. 'And his father was Muggle, so it must have been his mother who was half-Fallen, which means you can have female half-Fallens, I was wondering about that…'

Draco was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. 'Are you planning on breathing any time soon?' he asked.

She ignored him. 'So why did a half-Fallen have a child by a Muggle, and how did Voldemort's mother die, anyway? How hard is it to kill a half-Fallen? Was that why he survived the Killing Curse, because he's half-Fallen? And-'

'Hermione,' Draco cut in, 'could you try to ask one question at once?'

She flushed. 'Oh. Sorry, I was sort of… thinking aloud.'

He waved a hand dismissively. 'It's fine. Just don't blame me if I miss a question out. Now…' He leaned forwards, eyebrows furrowing reflectively. 'You were right in your assumption that it was Voldemort's mother who was the half-Fallen. And yes, women can be half-Fallen, though it's much less common. Part of the potion to make sure a child is half-Fallen also requires that you specify gender, and males were generally chosen over females. Mainly because that would ensure the half-Fallen genes stayed within a few family lines, rather than being spread through most of the pureblood families. In order to keep it secret, you understand.'

Hermione nodded, fascination creeping over her. 'And Voldemort's mother was one of the few females that were produced?'

'Yes,' Draco replied simply. 'Half-Fallens are dying out, and the original family lines have dwindled in number. I believe it was decided by her family that they should produce female children and marry them into other wizarding families, to bolster the number of half-Fallen bloodlines. Male children would also have led to half-Fallen births, but all within the same family,' he explained.

'So how did she end up with a Muggle?'

A smug smile appeared on Draco's face; for a moment he looked exactly like his old self. 'That is something my family is very fortunate to know,' he said. 'Voldemort's mother was - before me - the most recent half-Fallen whose personalities switched.' He paused for a moment to survey Hermione's expression, before continuing. 'Of course, the experience was unpleasant, to say the least. We only know anything about this because of a journal she started about a month after her change, which she sent by owl to my grandmother – the human partner of my half-Fallen grandfather, and thus the best person to have care of it – shortly before she died.'

Hermione was listening in rapt attention. 'And? What did the journal say?'

'To put it simply? She ran away from the wizarding world completely, as she knew that the other half-Fallens would seek to switch her personalities back. She took shelter with Tom Riddle, and the journal gets a little confused from then on… not unsurprisingly for someone just learning emotions.' He sighed. 'Anyway, one thing led to another and she ended up pregnant with Lord Voldemort.'

'Without using that potion?' Hermione frowned.

'Yes, without the potion. I told you before: there's an equal chance of having a half-Fallen birth whether you use the potion or not. The reason the potion is used is because it saves messing around with the other fifty percent of the time. Where was I? Ah yes,' he carried on without waiting for an answer, 'she was pregnant. Then her Fallen side began to fight back, to struggle for dominance again…'

Hermione's head snapped up. 'What?' she asked. 'It can do that?'

'The Fallen side is naturally stronger,' Draco shrugged. 'Which is why it usually stays in control. Some Fallens-turned-human never change back, some do in less than a year. It's complicated, and no one really knows why. Personality seems to be the most common theory… Anyway, shortly after giving birth, she knew she was about to change back. She didn't want to unleash that kind of malice on the world again. So she left the baby at a Muggle orphanage, not knowing whether it was human or Fallen, sent her journal to my grandmother, and committed suicide.'

There was a short, sharp silence.

'Oh,' said Hermione rather shakily. 'She… killed herself?'

'That is the general definition of 'suicide'.' Draco replied simply. 'Did I answer all the questions?'

'Erm…' Hermione forced herself to think, 'I asked about how easy it was to kill half-Fallens, and whether that was why Voldemort survived the Killing Curse…'

'Half-Fallens die as easily as any human would,' Draco shrugged. 'Full Fallens, however, appear to be less easily killed… the Killing Curse would probably weaken or injure them severely, but not kill them. Of course, we don't know, because the Killing Curse hadn't been invented in their day. It's hypothesis. The reason Voldemort survived is… did I ever tell you about separation?'

'Separation?' Hermione echoed, frowning. 'I don't think so…'

He leant back, preparing himself for another explanation. 'The half-Fallen and human minds, different though they are, need each other to survive. Experimentations were done to separate the two halves, producing one full Fallen and a normal human. The full Fallen had immense power, but both halves would die within an hour or so. And the instant one half died, the other half died too. What Voldemort would dearly love is to separate out the human part of himself and leave himself fully Fallen, unconquerable…'

Hermione's eyes grew wide. 'He isn't going to succeed, is he?'

'Who knows?' Draco shrugged. 'What he has succeeded in doing is weakening the human side and strengthening the Fallen side, so he's more a three-quarter Fallen then a half-Fallen. That's probably why he survived the Killing Curse; he had just little enough human in him to live…'

Hermione shuddered at that; Draco paused a moment before asking, 'Was that all the questions?'

'All the ones I asked before,' she said, 'but I have another one, I'm afraid. You know how you said that Voldemort's mother's Fallen side almost took control of her again?'

'Yes…' Draco said slowly.

'Could… could that happen to you?'

Draco's face was pale; his eyes a strangely dark shade of grey. 'I don't know.'

'Lavender! Is that Witch Weekly? Why didn't you call me when it came, you know I've been dying to read the second part of that article on cosmetic charms!'

Harry closed his eyes. The red and gold of the Gryffindor common room, usually cosy and welcoming, were garish and far too bright today. And the room was packed with students, adding even more jarring colours with schoolbags and favourite quills, jewellery and inkpots and even the familiar Weasley-red hair.

He only wished he could close his ears too, and block out all the laughter and chatter and why did Lavender and Parvati have to squeal so loudly over that bloody magazine?

There was only one reason why he didn't crawl upstairs to a blissfully quiet dormitory and fall asleep; he had to act normal, if not for his own sake then at least for his friends. Hermione had already looked awfully worried when she came in, skin white and eyes wide, and she'd only got more anxious as she sat down beside them and gave Harry a rather weak smile. Ron was worried too, and that wasn't like him.

The only one who wasn't worrying – or at least, was acting very well if she were – was Ginny, who had managed to keep up a constant stream of cheerful, bright chatter. He was grateful to her from that: it kept the air of anxiety swirling around their corner from growing too dense, too heavy; and it meant he didn't feel so awkward about how to act after Occlumency.

'So erubesce dries your lips out? And I've been using it all this time and I never knew?' That was Parvati, loud and shrill, and for an instant Harry wanted to hit them both with as powerful a silencing charm as he could muster. No, he told himself firmly. He had to act normally, to stay calm, even if all he really wanted was to curl up somewhere quiet and spend all of his concentration on trying not to think…

'Harry?' Ginny, this time. 'Have you ever had one of those Murdering Marshmallows that Fred and George made?'

He shook his head, forcing himself not to follow the line of association from murdering to death to Sirius, and as an added measure said, 'No, what are they like?'

'Really fun, actually. They look like normal marshmallows, but as soon as you try to eat one they attempt to murder you. Some of them grow massive teeth and try to bite you, some jump down your throat to choke you, I had one turn into acid and try to burn me…'

'Isn't that a little… dangerous?' Hermione asked, frowning.

'Oh, no, they don't really murder you.' Ginny assured her. 'The biting ones always miss, the choking ones shrink, and the acid one wasn't actually acid. Don't know what it was, but it didn't do anything dangerous…'

Hermione still looked disapproving, but didn't comment further.

'Hang on, Parvati, I was reading that article!'

The shrill voices of the girls cut into the conversation again. 'What, the one on Muggle beauty treatments?'

'No, no, the one on Hestia Bennett-Edmonds. Now let me read…'

And Ginny spoke again: 'They should do something with quills,' she was musing. 'I mean, Sugar Quills are nice, but they aren't very exciting. And they make my teeth ache…'

She was cut off by the sudden appearance of Dean Thomas, who had crept up behind her and pecked her quickly on the cheek, making her jump. Harry, facing Ginny, should have seen him coming; but he hadn't even noticed. I will pay attention, he thought to himself, swearing that he wouldn't drift off into thoughts of his godfather…

Dean settled himself in the seat next to Ginny, curling an arm around her shoulders. 'What makes your teeth ache?' he asked.

'What? Oh, Sugar Quills.' Ginny replied. 'Which is annoying, because I love them, but…' She shrugged. 'How's your football team doing? West… er…' She bit her lip. 'It had something to do with pigs. Not West Pork…'

'West Ham,' Dean said, his tone somewhere between amusement and annoyance. 'And it's doing okay, I guess…'

Harry wondered whether 'doing okay' meant Dean's favourite football team really was doing fine, or whether he was using it in the same way Harry seemed to use it these days – a hair's breadth away from an outright lie, meant to stop the questioner asking rather than to really provide an answer.

He would be fine. He told himself that firmly. As soon as he got to bed and had a good night's sleep, a proper night's sleep, he'd be fine, and he could get up tomorrow and he would be better then, and the echoes of all those memories would have faded away, and he'd be able to say doing okay without lying.

Just get through today, and tomorrow would be better…

'Harry?' Ginny again. 'Did you ever play football?'

'What? Er… no,' he said. 'Well, once or twice, at school…' He noticed Dean glaring at him, and stopped talking. He hadn't played much football mainly because Dudley played football, and if Harry joined in he tended to get an 'accidental' kick or punch from his gang.

Dean was talking again. 'Shall we go for a walk,' he asked Ginny, raising a significant eyebrow which highlighted that the word 'walk' was in fact a synonym for 'walk to the nearest broom closet or abandoned classroom.' Ron scowled, and opened his mouth, but a dark glare from Hermione stopped him saying anything.

'Couldn't we stay here?' Ginny asked, looking pleadingly at Dean. 'I'm kind of tired…'

'From what?' Dean's voice had taken on a surprisingly sharp edge. 'It's the weekend, you haven't done anything but homework…'

'It's my OWL year, the teachers are giving us tons…' Ginny protested.

'You don't look tired,' Dean accused, then threw a nasty look at roughly the space between Ron and Harry. 'Can't we just go for one walk?'

She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to placate him. 'Maybe later… I just want to rest right now. Hermione, have you heard about…'

'Fine!' Dean seemed to explode suddenly, a small, tightly-packed burst of anger. 'Stay here and talk to your friends, I'm going for a walk by myself.'

And with that, he stood up and stormed out of the portrait hole.

'Well,' Hermione said, after a moment's surprised pause, 'I wonder what's upset him so much?'

'I haven't a clue,' Harry said, as Lavender and Parvati began to chatter about Hestia's latest Muggle charity work project.

A/N: 'Erubesce' means 'redden'.

Now, as for reviews… you know you want to…

Whispers: Draco? Draco, I know you're good at Dark Arts…just one Unforgivable? For me?

Mysterious Blond And Ferrety Voice From Off Stage: Fine. Imperio!

Mwhahahaha… You didn't see that. Now review!