Black Truth

Chapter Thirty-Four: Black Marble, White Marble, and Gold

Ron was just finishing the last of his History of Magic essay when Hermione excitedly pulled him over to an abandoned corner of the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I finished!" she said excitedly as she pushed him down into a chair and sat down in the opposite one.

"Finished what?"

"My plan for revenge on Rita Skeeter."

Now Ron was interested. "I'm in."

"You don't even know what it is yet."

"Doesn't matter. What are we doing?"

Hermione smiled and outlined the plan. "Well, first I wanted to go after her personally and practice some spells on her, but I couldn't do that until vacation and by that time it would be to late for this plan. What I want to do is discourage her from ever writing about Harry ever again."

"Sounds good. How do we do it?"

"Well, the only reason she gets to write the articles on Harry is because she uses her animagus form to snoop around for information. She then has something that no other reporter has, inside information on Harry Potter. But what if we took that away?" Hermione's eyes glittered with triumph. "What if we gave the Prophet another reporter, closer to Harry Potter than Rita Skeeter could ever be? Someone like those who really know him?"

"People like us!"

"Exactly. And since you're willing to help, and if we can get Ginny to help too, we can have one reporter for all the major journalism outposts."

"But will Harry go with it though?" Ron looked skeptical. "I mean, it would kinda be like spying on our own friend."

"But he'll get to decide what gets printed. He knows we wouldn't print anything bad or untrue and he knows that if he wanted something kept secret we could keep it. So why wouldn't he?"

"Good point. We'll ask him first before we go through with it though."

"Of course. But going on the idea that he will. You, Ginny, and I will write to the Prophet, the Quibbler, and Witch Weekly. We'll offer to write articles about any of the newsworthy actions of Harry Potter. What they won't know is that we'll shuffle all the information between the three, so each publication will have some details that the others won't. Therefore, they'll see our input as priceless. Other than a stipend for our articles, we'll demand that in return no other writer can be allowed to write an article exclusively about Harry Potter or those connected to him."

Ron's grin was akin to that of the grins normally seen on the faces of his two brothers, Fred and George. "Let's go ask Ginny if she wants to help."

All the next day, Draco refused to let himself think about the trial, or Harry, or Harry's… idea of how to win the trial. The funeral the next day, he reasoned, took precedence. The very fact that he was putting off thinking of what Harry had said did not enter his mind, although on some level he knew he was doing it.

Harry seemed to have realized that Draco did not wish to discuss what he had brought up and kept his distance. But Draco could feel the weight of his stare whenever they were in the same room together, even though he ignored it.

He wouldn't allow himself to think about anything regarding the trial until his father's funeral was over.

The day of the funeral dawned bright and sunny, and as warm as the weather can be in the third week of February. Dumbledore himself had given his consent for Harry and Draco to miss both Friday and Saturday, on the condition that they had to come to his office immediately after they arrived back at Hogwarts Sunday night. He presented them with four tickets for the Hogwarts Express, two to go back to London that morning, and two to come back Saturday afternoon. Harry was secretly relieved that Dumbledore did not ask if they'd rather travel by floo powder. He didn't think either he or Draco would have been able to do that yet.

The idea of a chaperone was not broached by anyone, and Harry thought that there had to be some rule that they were breaking. As the train was pulling away from Hogsmead Harry asked Draco if that was true.

Draco thought for a moment. "That sort of thing is done when students are leaving the Hogwarts grounds and Hogwarts is still responsible for them. So if anything happens than it the school that is blamed. We are actually leaving the school and going home, like on Christmas vacation, so if we get hurt its our fault and not the school's. That's why we have to report back on Saturday. We're not part of the student body at the moment."

"Oh."

Draco studied Harry for a moment as the boy across from him looked out the window at the passing scenery. "Why aren't you wearing your family colors?"

"I don't know what they are." Harry replied truthfully. The only color on Harry's clothes other than black was the dark red cuffs (that Hermione had colored with a spell that morning).

"We'll have to find that out some time." Draco spoke thoughtfully, as his own gaze turned to the window.

Nothing more was said until they arrived at Kings Cross.

The same limo-that-was-actually-a-carriage that had greeted them during Christmas vacation waited for them outside the station and they rode in silence to the Manor. Ever so often Harry would look over at Draco and, as the carriage got closer and closer to his home, the blond paled just a little more. Harry didn't have to guess to know what he was thinking, or rather remembering.

The Manor itself didn't look like it had changed from the last time they'd seen it. Outwardly, one could almost believe nothing had happened. Such delusions were shattered when Draco was presented with a list of what artifacts had been broken beyond repair by a shivering House Elf as they walked in the door.

"But we is fixing everything other than those, Master Draco sir," it said hurriedly.

"I'm sure," Draco cut the creature off abruptly but with no malice in his voice.

The House Elf's eyes fell sullenly to the floor. "Master Lucius is out on the terrace Master Draco, sir."

Draco nodded and the House Elf disappeared. Together, Harry and Draco walked through the first floor to the back gardens. A casket of white marble, covered in a clear film which hummed of magic, levitated there and Harry almost couldn't look at the former Malfoy patriarch.

The Death Eaters had left Lucius's body untouched, except for his wings which were broken beyond even the repair of skilled House Elf magic. The tattered black wings, still in their steel form from when he'd died, had been arranged around his body, which was dressed in what Draco knew had been his favorite outfit. At his feet lay the familiar snake-head cane.

Harry had done his own research to know how to properly act during the funeral, and stepped up to the casket as Draco did. When Draco placed both hands on the foot of the casket, Harry placed one of his on Draco's shoulder. Together they walked slowly over the snow-covered land towards the very back of the land owned by the Malfoy family.

The Malfoy's owned a mausoleum, which had been built in the style of ancient Greek architecture. It was tucked away in a heavily forested area, all gleaming white stone in contrast to the dark stone of Malfoy Manor itself. The doors had been opened at dawn by the House Elves, doors that were only to be opened when a body was to be placed inside. Wizarding mausoleums, while rare in this day, had long ago been built to expand as more members of the family were added, so as to never run out of room. When a family built a mausoleum, they would never have to build another. What had fascinated Harry, in a grotesque manner, was that no body ever placed in a wizarding mausoleum ever decayed. The magic inside the mausoleum kept them looking as they did when the body was first placed there. Husband and wife, or husband and husband, or wife and wife, were placed together - to forever sleep next to each other.

Personally, Harry was glad that Draco's father was going to sleep alone for eternity, rather than sleep with Narcissa Black when she died. He was sure that Lucius himself would have preferred it.

In the doorway Harry stopped and let Draco continue into the room alone, his hand falling to his side as the young Malfoy patriarch walked into the room. It was ornately carved, and Harry couldn't help looking around from the doorway. There was one grave per section of wall, so that no Malfoy was buried above another Malfoy. Instead there were carvings of that Malfoy couple's life carved both above and below the bodies on the wall. There was only one spot in the room without a body, and Draco gently pushed Lucius's casket towards it. He lined the casket up with the open alcove in the wall and for a moment stood in contemplative silence, his eyes looking over the ornate carvings of his father's life. He then looked to his father and spoke three words, "Pax vobiscum, Pater." Peace be with you, father. And then he pushed the casket gently into the wall. The white marble of the casket melded to that of the wall until Harry could not tell what had been casket and what had been wall in the first place, and all that was left was Lucius's body lying in the alcove immortalized by magic for eternity.

Draco turned and began to walk towards Harry, slowing to a stop at one of the bodies lying closer to the entrance of the mausoleum. Harry could see the black wings that cradled the two bodies lying there as if in sleep, one of them the only other Veriae that had existed in the Malfoy family. Draco looked at his ancestor for only a moment before again heading for the doorway.

Draco slowly disentangled himself from Harry and carefully left the room leaving the other boy still sleeping. He couldn't sleep any more tonight if he'd tried. There were too many things whirling around in his mind to allow him the solace of sleep.

Draco meandered past the sleeping pictures as he walked towards what had been his father's rooms. He needed a place to think, and his feet guided him towards one room as if by their own will.

He entered his father's study slowly, walking over to the fireplace and calling on a small current of magic to heat the logs that had been placed there. In the light of the flames the first piece of jewelry that he would ever wear glittered like molten gold. The Malfoy signet ring, one that had been made to fit his own finger. The same ring that still adorned a hand of every single Malfoy patriarch that he had seen in the mausoleum today. Now it was his turn to begin wearing the mark that told the world of his heritage.

Wearing it though, brought his mind back to the trial and, inevitably, back to Harry. Almost on a whim, Draco summoned a House Elf and asked for it to bring him the Malfoy matrimonial bands. Two rings that had been passed down for generations upon generations.

The House Elf quickly appeared with a small wooden box made of cedar. Draco thanked it before dismissing it and returning his attention to the box itself, as if maybe the object in question could give him the answer he sought.

Wedding rings were always unique to the pair that were to be married. For the Malfoy family, this meant that the pair were one of a kind jeweled masterpieces created once and never copied. But engagement rings were passed down through the heirs of the family. Anyone who had ever married a Malfoy would have worn one of these rings during the engagement time period. His mother had worn one of them.

But Harry wouldn't be like her. He wouldn't use something like engagement for his own means, of that Draco was positive. It wasn't something a Gryffindor would do… it wasn't something Harry would do. Harry had to be doing another self-sacrificing thing, he just had to be. Somehow, he'd gotten it into his head that the only way for Draco to retain his inheritance was to become legal by wizarding standards. But what in Merlin's name was his motive? He had to have a motive, even if it wasn't one of self gain. But this kind of thing was not something you'd do for a… well… a friend. Even if engagements could be broken and had been many times before, it was still not something done frivolously. If that was the case, whenever teenagers wanted to be perceived as adults for any small reason, they'd just become engaged to someone and break it when they wanted to! And no one did that; it was a mockery to the marriage rite to do that. Harry would know that, so why was he suggesting it? Draco doubted that such a thing would be done even by people who had crushes on each other… but that took out any motive Harry might have had. Unless... well, unless Harry's feelings ran deeper than that, but they couldn't. But if they did…

No, he just wouldn't even start going down that direction of thought. His own feelings for Harry were confusing as they were, he wasn't going to add that into the mess. Sighing, he closed the small box's lid and let it drop into his pocket, Harry's words coming back into his mind.

"If I were to say any vows, they would be real."

Real? Real, true engagement vows would hold until the marriage vows when the bonds of matrimony were made. Draco had seen such vows, even those as sacred as the marriage vows, broken, even if they had been real when made. His own parents had done that. Reasons being good or bad, the marriage vows had been broken. But with Harry… Draco couldn't do that with Harry. Harry was his Veriae bonded. Were he to propose engagement to Harry, it would be more than real, it would be binding. Completely and utterly binding, never to be broken.

It scared him, those kinds of bonds. It wasn't the loss of freedom. He'd already "lost" that by becoming Veriae bound to Harry. No, what scared Draco was how easy it would be to make such a proposal, how little restraint he had, and how quickly that little restraint was crumbling.

Harry woke late that night to an empty bed. Slowly, he stretched and headed out of Draco's wing. He knew where he would have gone if he were Draco.

The door to what had been Lucius's study was closed, but light crept under the doorway as Harry neared it.

Draco didn't look up as Harry entered the room and quietly padded over to where he stood, looking at the fireplace.

"I was thinking about removing it," Draco whispered. "So that I never have to see it again. But I don't think I will." He turned molten silver eyes to Harry's own. "I think it would be better to see it in real life than in nightmares."

Harry nodded. Now that he was here, he wasn't really sure what to do. He watched as Draco crossed to his father's desk, sitting in what had been his father's chair. It reminded Harry of a throne, but Draco didn't look much like a king sitting in it. More like a lost prince who has been forced to come home and take control of a kingdom plagued by war.

"Are you going to make this your study?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. It's rather far to walk to from my room."

Harry smiled. Draco would make this his own study, no matter if he had to cross the entire manor to get to it, he was positive of it.

"Well then why don't you check it out?" Harry asked. "Look and see what's here before you decide." He crossed to Draco and leaned over the blond to open a drawer in the desk. "For instance, what's in this drawer?"

"That would be the quills, ink, and paper drawer." Draco drawled, pushing the center drawer back. "I know that much, Harry."

"How about the others?" Harry asked, sitting on the arm of the chair. "There certainly are a lot of them."

Draco smirked and pointed to the left side of the desk. "Official documents and records are on that side."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, pulling the three drawers open and then shutting them. Draco was right, they were all full of documents.

"That side would always be open when I would sneak in here to see my father."

"Oh. What about the other side?"

Draco frowned. "I don't know. It was never opened when I was in here."

The blond leaned over and pulled at the top drawer handle. All three drawers pulled out together to reveal that it was only one drawer but three drawers deep.

"Whoa." Harry blinked at what was stored in that drawer.

It was undoubtedly a pensive. Golden and decorated with diamond gems, but a pensive nonetheless. Draco pulled it out and set it upon the desk and they both could see the ornate writing carved at the base of the large chalice-like holder of memories. Lucius Sergius Malfoy

Draco and Harry looked at it for a moment. "This wasn't mentioned in the inventory in father's will," he said at last.

"I wonder why," Harry pondered. "What could be in it that would make him not mention it?"

"I don't know."

"Shall we see?"

Draco looked at Harry in disbelief. "What? We can't do that!"

"Why?"

"Because-" Draco cut himself off. There was no reason not to anymore. His father was dead, there was no such thing as invasion of privacy where his father was concerned anymore.

The two boys landed in the foyer of the manor, right next to a slight younger looking Lucius who was pacing back and forth on the carpeted floor of the stairs.

Both jumped as a shriek echoed through the manor but Lucius merely paused in his walking before beginning again. A cry and another passed, but Lucius kept walking, ignoring the sounds.

There was a small pop to the left of the boys and they recognized the house elf as Diddy. "Mistress Narcissa is demanding your presence now, Master Lucius, sir."

Lucius nodded curtly to the House Elf before walking up the stairs in a rushed, yet dignified, gait. Harry and Draco followed him through the halls to Narcissa's former wing. When they entered her bedroom they saw her lying on a mess of crumpled sheets, covered in sweat. She was holding a small bundle in her arms as if in distaste.

"Take him out of my sight, Lucius. After thirteen hours of labor I don't want to see him!" she nearly shrieked at the man, and a frightened wail came from the bundle.

Lucius wasted no time in walking around the bed and taking the bundle of white silk from Narcissa's grip, the wailing stopping immediately as it changed hands. He left without so much as a word, Draco and Harry trailing along behind him.

As he left Narcissa's wing, Lucius's walk slowed and he began to talk to the bundle cradled in his arms.

"I waited five years and fifteen hours for you, my son."

He walked through the manor, heading towards the wing that would be Draco's own.

"Your mother wanted a girl. She told me that over and over. She wanted a daughter to make just like herself. But the fates instead smiled upon my wishes, Draco Lucius Malfoy, though I doubt you'll ever use the middle name until you are grown and I am no longer here."

The baby cooed at him as Lucius stopped at the doorway to Draco's wing.

"This is where you will grow up, my son. The House Elves just finished it yesterday while your mother was screaming.

Baby Draco giggled as Lucius swung open the door and walked inside.

Draco's rooms hadn't changed over the years. More things had been added as Draco had obtained more possessions, but the skeleton of what Draco would live in now was there, even down to the same color sheets on the bed.

"Your crib is in my rooms at the moment, but when you grow out of it this is where you will sleep."

Lucius walked around the room and stopped at the long ceiling-to-floor window that looked out over the land surrounding Malfoy manor.

"And this, my son, will someday belong to you and whomever is outstanding enough to be deemed worthy of your life partner. I'm sure Narcissa will press for another child, a daughter most likely, but you can be assured, my son, that when I die there will be no one to stand against your claim to what you are entitled. You are my heir and my joy."

The hand that was not holding the baby moved to touch the baby Draco's cheek. Baby Draco giggled loudly and grabbed Lucius's ring finger in both hands. The little hands found the Malfoy signet ring and pulled it off Lucius's finger. It immediately went into baby Draco's mouth and he bit down as hard as he could with his toothless gums.

Lucius chuckled at Draco as he took back the ring. "That too, will be yours."

The memory shifted to Lucius sitting alone in his study writing something. It looked like a letter. But before either of the boys could see what it was the door to the study swung open and a five-year-old Draco walked into the room with a loud, "Father!"

Lucius looked up at Draco. "What is it Draco?"

"Mother says I have to wait until I'm eleven to learn to fly on a broom like everyone else!"

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"And I want to learn now!"

"And you shall." The elder Malfoy placed his quill down on the desk and walked over to where Draco stood with an ecstatic smile on his face. "I will teach you."

"Yay!" Draco let out a happy cry and hugged his father before hurrying him out of the room.

Again the memory shifted, jumping foreword six more years, by the look of Draco. The eleven year old who Harry had met in Diagon Ally was seated in bed pouting. Lucius and Narcissa stood in the doorway.

"I don't know what to do with the boy," Narcissa spoke, annoyance dripping in her tone. "He refuses to go to sleep as if he thinks that if he doesn't sleep he won't have to go to school tomorrow!"

A wry smile played about Lucius's lips as he closed the door with a "Go to bed yourself, Narcissa. You look like you could use the sleep," and approached the bed.

"Now why are you giving your mother a hard time, Draco?" Lucius asked in a mock-angry voice.

"I don't want to go to school," Draco stated.

Lucius motioned for Draco to move over on the bed and he slid in next to Draco. "School is a necessary evil that we all have to go through, son."

"But I don't want to. Why can't I go where you wanted me to go? It sounds much better than this place,"

"I could not agree more, but your mother insisted."

"I don't care what mother insisted."

"Draco you should not say such things of your mother."

"I'm sorry, father."

"It is quite alright, Draco. Now you should get to sleep."

Draco pouted but it was a look of one who knew he'd lost the original argument. Lucius got out of the bed as Draco snuggled down into the covers. Lucius turned down the light of the room with a wave of his hand and moved to the door as if to leave.

"Father?"

He stopped and turned to the boy in the bed. "Yes Draco?"

"The House Elves said that when I was really little you would sing to me when I was crying and I would stop. I don't remember what song you sang."

"That doesn't surprise me. I stopped needing to sing to you when you were very little."

"Would you sing now?"

Lucius nodded his consent and conjured a chair next to Draco's bed. Draco's eyes fluttered closed as a low baritone began to fill the room.

"Tell me why you're crying my son,
I know you're frightened like everyone,
Is it the thunder in the distance you fear?
Will it help if I say very near?
I am here."

It became obvious that Draco was fighting sleep to listen to the rest of the song, but in the middle of the chorus a second time his breathing changed into the breathing of one asleep. Lucius began the third and last verse and chorus in a quieter voice, so as not to awaken Draco.


"Tell me why you're smiling my son.
Is there a secret you can't tell anyone?
Do you know more than men that are wise?
Can you see what we all must disguise
through your loving eyes?

And if you take my hand my son,
All will be well when the day is done.
And if you take my hand my son my son,
All will be well when the day is done."

Harry and Draco found themselves back in the study, the fire dimming to cold embers. Harry looked over at Draco to see one tear make its way down his face.

Harry leaned over and wiped it off with his thumb, his other arm curling around Draco's waist. "I think I know why your father put those particular memories in the pensive," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Voldemort is a Legimens, and a very good one. Those memories are ones that your father considered so precious to him, he couldn't bear the thought of Voldemort knowing them. So he kept them safe."

The train ride back to Hogwarts was more silent than the one leaving the school, with both Harry and Draco back in the normal Hogwarts uniform. Draco gazed out the window as the train took them closer and closer to the school. After he'd checked in with Dumbledore, he would have to begin his school work. He had the rest of today and all of tomorrow to finish all the assignments that he'd missed Friday and all that he would miss on Monday. He would not let the trial inconvenience him as Narcissa so obviously was trying to do.

This was such a mess. He had to gain his inheritance, he had to. It wasn't just Malfoy Manor, or the money, or knowing that he had won over Narcissa Black. His father had promised him everything. He didn't remember it himself, but seeing the memory in the pensive… loosing to Narcissa, loosing his inheritance, he would loose his father's promise. In essence, he would be throwing that away. And he would not do that… he could not do that. But if it came down to it, would he allow himself to go the route of engagement just for that?

Draco's eyes closed as he immersed himself deep in thought. He'd have to win. Not only for himself, not only for his father. If he didn't win his inheritance, then he would have nothing, would have to stay with his godfather. And Harry would have to stay with him, the Veriae bond would make that happen. But for Harry to stay that close to Snape would make him vulnerable. Voldemort would order Harry brought to him.

Draco respected his godfather, maybe even loved him at times if that were possible, but he did not know where his godfather's loyalties lay in the approaching war. He could not risk Harry's life if his godfather was given no choice but to obey Voldemort. And he could not risk his godfather's life were his godfather to defy Voldemort. No, the only way to protect both of them was to keep his inheritance.

But engagement? Even as a… last resort? Engagement shouldn't be used in such a careless way. If he were to propose to Harry… or anyone really, he'd want it to be real. Heart and soul included… whatever heart and soul he possessed. Would Harry realize that if he were to go through with it? Would he understand what it was? Or would he treat it as another duty that he had to do, throwing it away when Draco turned seventeen?

Draco's thoughts returned to the two bands of gold that had sat comfortably on their silken pillow when he'd looked at them the night before. I finally realize what you meant Father, when you said that. 'If I choose to"… I could keep my contact with Harry to a minimum if I choose to. I didn't choose that route then, Father… but I'm not sure when it shifted. What would you think, Father, if I were to ask you for permission to propose engagement to Harry Potter? Would you laugh? I think you would. You saw it coming. Even back then… yes, even when I was eleven years old and you encouraged me to become friends with him… you knew even that long ago. But you never told me. You never pushed me into it. You let me deal with it, not minding that I never once asked you for advice. Now I wish for your council and you aren't there to give it to me. If I choose to… It was always my choice, wasn't it? It just took me this long to realize it. I'm going to ask my godfather for permission in your place. He won't tell the Dark Lord, will he? I don't think he will. You would not have taken him into your confidence if he was untrustworthy. It would be too dangerous for Harry to live under his roof, but it will not be a disaster for him to play your role in this, I think. Unless, of course, he does not give me permission. But we shall see what happens, won't we?

And as Draco drifted off to sleep, lulled by the movement of the train, his hand reached to touch the two shrunken items in his pocket: his father's pensive, and the box that held the Malfoy engagement rings.

Oh, slight disclaimer! The song Lucius sings is not mine. The title is "Day is Done" and when I first heard it, it was sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary (yes, it's a group, not random people I know). I would invest in hearing it as you read that pensive memory... I did and I was crying the whole time...