Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

Sorry for a later update than normal, but later start than normal + longer chapter than normal not a good combination.

This chapter is dark, and Dark, and has some seeds in it that are going to take a while to blossom. That's the way it's meant to be.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Open Unto Me

Minerva closed her eyes and bowed her head. It was the only weakness she would allow herself, these five minutes alone in her office, before she had to stand and go down to face the students in the Great Hall on a Saturday morning near the end of October.

The days of the week and the names of the months had—not mattered to her so much lately. Oh, she had taught the right lesson plans on the right days and known when school started. She had to give herself that much credit. She hadn't been so distracted that she couldn't concentrate.

But things had been disordered ever since three of her pureblood, seventh-year Gryffindors had come to her and confessed that their families were being "recruited" by Fenrir Greyback.

Minerva brushed her hair wearily out of her eyes and stood. The five minutes were almost gone. She could afford to relax now, in one sense, because her students' friends had come flying to her that morning with the news that each one of them was missing from his or her bed. They had brought the notes pinned to their pillows, each addressed to her.

All of them were the same.

I'm sorry.

She had failed—failed to convince them to stay, failed to convince them to bring their families to the sanctuary of Hogwarts, failed to convince them not to retreat and "stay neutral." Voldemort had slaughtered the supposedly neutral pureblood families in the last war. It was a path that would only lead them to darkness in the end.

She had told them that, and they had seemed to consider it. Minerva had been sure that she was winning all of them slowly back towards the Light, to some consideration beyond what might happen to their families at the next full moon after their first open gesture of defiance.

And now they were gone, and she had failed.

Minerva shook her head and left her office, her steps brisk. Yes, she had failed, just as she had she had all those years ago when Sirius Black tried to kill Severus. And she would deal with it now as she had then: growing over the wound and going on. There was nothing else to be done. When the music played, she must dance the dance that it signaled, not the one that played in her head.

She had told Albus of her failure already, before going to her office to grieve in private. He had sighed, and patted her head, and murmured some platitude about it not being her fault.

Minerva did not believe that. She was their Head of House, and yet she could not wake them enough from the blind haze of fear that they would see reality

Yet, while she could blame herself and grieve, she saw no point in brooding on it for long. She would face the consequences, and one of them was tightening her watch over her remaining students. If one of them was in trouble, she intended to notice it before it reached the point where they would flee home in sudden cowardice.

She paused when she heard brisk footsteps coming through Hogwarts's front doors. They were too light to be Hagrid's or Sprout's, and there was no one else who had reason to be outside this early. Minerva could feel the temptation to arch her back as she would when she was a cat.

Do they dare to come into Hogwarts itself?

She drew her wand and stepped around the last turn of the stairs, holding it so it was clearly visible before her. Any friend deserved to have the warning, and any enemy would receive a hex full in the face.

A tall, blonde woman halted where she stood, staring at Minerva as if she were a troll. It took Minerva a moment to place where she had seen that smooth, haughty face before.

"Mrs. Malfoy," she said calmly, never lowering her wand. "I believe that the Headmaster asked to be informed when any parent visited school grounds, whether they had come to visit their children or to remove them from Hogwarts." She stepped off the last stair, not letting her eyes stray, either. She remembered Narcissa as an indifferent student of Transfiguration, but there was no telling what she might have learned in the years since she left school, and she had been proficient in Dark Arts, as most Slytherins of that time were.

"Professor McGonagall." Narcissa's voice was also calm, and if she felt the temptation to draw her own wand, it did not show in the way she held herself. "No, I am not here to see Draco, nor to take him home. As a matter of fact, I have suggested a visit to one of my family's properties to Mr. Potter, and he has accepted."

Minerva only narrowed her eyes. "What do you want with Harry?" she asked softly. He was another student she had not paid enough attention to in the past few weeks, involved and bound as she had been in the lives of her three hopeless cases.

"That is none of your concern, surely." Narcissa's eyebrows rose in an expression of polite disbelief. "He is not of your House, and I was not aware that he had formally asked you to ally with him."

"I need not fulfill either of those circumstances to feel concern about him." Minerva held a stinging curse just behind her lips. It was true that Narcissa Malfoy had never borne the Dark Mark, never been among the accused Death Eaters, and was, on the few other occasions that Minerva met her after she left Hogwarts, a loving and devoted mother to her son. And it was true that people changed, and her husband was still Lucius Malfoy. "I am a professor, and he is my student. Tell me why you are really here. Now."

"It's the reason I explained," said Narcissa. "No more than that." She lifted her hands slightly, holding them away from her sides. "When Harry comes to meet me, ask him. It's the best way to dispel your suspicions."

Minerva was almost inclined to believe her then, since it would take a lot to get Harry to leave the ground with a former Death Eater's wife, but she kept her wand steady anyway. With her grief barely behind her, it felt good to have a possible villain in front of her.

"Thank you for the invitation," she said. "I think I will wait for Harry."

Narcissa went still in that way only Slytherins had, as if her body had turned to nothing more than a rock casing for her brain. Minerva didn't mind. Severus had often tried that trick with her. It hadn't worked then, and he was better at it than Narcissa was.

Severus. His arrest was a bitter injustice, and now that she was free of that one overwhelming concern, Minerva thought she could spare some attention to it. Really, Albus should have done so already. The Prophet had reported that the Wizengamot would cast a vote to determine if they still had confidence in Fudge's government in a few weeks. That alone should have suggested to Albus that the Minister might have a less than good reason to file charges against Severus.

They waited several minutes, until a pair of light footsteps came up the stairs from the Slytherin dungeons. Harry paused when he reached the top of the steps, and blinked a bit, pushing his glasses off his nose.

"Professor?" he asked. "Mrs. Malfoy? What's the matter?"

"Mrs. Malfoy said she'd come to take you to a family property," said Minerva, seeing no reason to mince words. "And since it's unusual enough for a parent to visit Hogwarts grounds to see their own children, let alone to take or remove a child who is not theirs to care for—"

"Tell me," Narcissa whispered, lowly enough that Minerva doubted Harry heard. "Who has been taking care of him?"

"—I thought I should make sure that you really did want to go with her," said Minerva, seeing no reason to show that she'd heard, either. "Do you, Harry?"

Harry only blinked again, as if he could not fathom why it would be a matter of concern to anyone. "Of course, Professor." He gave her a faint smile. "Thank you for looking out for me."

Minerva simply nodded and turned to Narcissa before she put her wand away. "If he is not back by this evening," she said, "I will find you."

Narcissa was recovered from that Slytherin stillness now, shaking her head slightly. The smile on her lips was not a sneer only because it was too faint. "Oh, Professor," she said. "And what would you do if you could find me?"

Minerva raised a brow. Well, perhaps she needs a reminder of what a Gryffindor is in battle. "The same thing I did to Samson Flint," she said. "I understand they could never Transfigure him back at all."

That wiped Narcissa's mouth and face clean in a most satisfactory manner. Minerva turned and stalked towards the Great Hall.

She felt few qualms in letting Harry go, in truth. His magic was massive, and it was probable that Narcissa meant what she said, since she was the mother of Harry's best friend.

And, if Harry did not return by this evening, then Minerva knew where she was going.

Move forward. There is little use in looking back.

Narcissa stared after Minerva, more unnerved than she liked to admit. She was the one who turned Samson Flint into that—thing? His wife finally had to smother it in its sleep one night. Narcissa permitted herself one delicate shudder, which did not bounce her bandaged arm. I shall be careful of her, then.

She turned to welcome Harry, cocking her head slightly so that she could study his face behind the glasses. The dark circles under his eyes were pronounced, but his lack of expression would make most people look past that. His hair hung forward—not coincidentally, Narcissa thought, blocking a view of the lightning bolt scar on his brow. His green eyes were far warier and more closed than they had been since the last time she saw him, at the end of August.

Who has been taking care of you, child? she thought, the sarcasm she had bounced at Minerva coming back to haunt her. Draco's letters have been normal, but that does not mean he has been. And with Severus gone…

"Hello, Harry," was what she allowed herself to say aloud. "I thought we would visit Number Twelve Grimmauld Place today, given that it is the main house, and the place where Sirius discovered the locket that possessed him."

Harry winced and looked over his shoulder as though he thought someone was there to hear them, but faced her with a small smile and an inclination of his head. "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "I'd like that." He paused, his gaze grown suddenly sharper. "Have you hurt yourself?"

Narcissa wondered what should unnerve her more: that he had apparently seen through the cloth of her robe to the wound on her arm, or that he had sensed a change in her magic that alerted him that way. She would only make it worse if she pretended nothing had happened, though. Merlin knows that Harry needs people willing to be honest with him.

She drew back the robe so he could see the tied-off bandage. "A few of the people I tried to dance with proved rougher partners than I had anticipated," she said lightly.

Harry's eyes widened, and then came back to her face. Narcissa was unprepared for the self-blame that she saw there. "Perhaps you shouldn't do any more dances, Mrs. Malfoy," he whispered. "I couldn't live with myself if you lost yourself on one of the floors one night."

Oh, no, you don't. "I enjoy all the dances," said Narcissa. "The stately waltz and the pavane, of course, but also the ones where I must suddenly change partners, or where I stumble and take someone's sharp foot on mine. It keeps me busy, and it serves the purposes that I feel must be served. I would feel much worse if I always sat at home or lingered along the wall and never did any dancing."

Harry's face went blank, but Narcissa knew him well enough to realize he was conducting an inner debate with himself: whether he should ask her to refrain from helping him, in the face of her pointed refusal. She also knew what she was going to say, so she contented herself with studying him again. She was sure that the circles under his eyes came from exhaustion, and his posture had subtly changed since that meeting at the end of August, as had the feeling of his magic. He was more resigned, more closed-in than before, where he had radiated hope and courage. It was something that Draco's letters had never mentioned. Of course, Draco had been obsessed with his "special surprise" lately, something that he said his parents would understand better after Halloween night, but it wasn't like him to miss an alteration in Harry so complete. Perhaps it was a kind not visible to someone who lived with him day-to-day, though.

I was right. No one else has been taking care of him at all.

She decided that she might as well start. "I am not desisting from my dancing, Harry," she said. "If I ever get weary of it, be assured I will let you know at once."

Harry studied her intently for a moment more, then nodded. "Please do tell me when it happens, Mrs. Malfoy."

When, not if. The boy does not seem to trust anyone to stand by him. Narcissa tucked the tidbit away for later, and sidestepped right into bluntness. It was a move that Harry would not expect, after their guarded conversation of before. "How have you been, Harry?"

Harry blinked a few times, then sighed and rubbed at his face. Narcissa relaxed minutely. If he would confide in her, then she would be less worried about him. He had tried desperately to hide his gaping emotional wounds when he had come to the Manor last Christmas. Letting fresh air and sunlight fall on them would mean that he was past that state.

"I'm really worried about Draco, Mrs. Malfoy," he whispered. "He's been researching a certain potion lately. I don't know if he would want me to tell you all the details, but he hasn't been sleeping that much, and he's hinging all his happiness on the potion working. I don't know what will happen to him if it doesn't." Harry stared at his hands, as if he held a vision of the future there, and it wasn't a pretty one.

Narcissa swallowed. Draco's letters had been odd, yes, but she had not imagined they hid something this serious. "What is the potion?" she asked. Harry gave her a considering glance. "Harry, I am his mother, and I deserve to know."

Harry let out a windy sigh. "He really wants to become a magical heir to the Malfoy family, and he thinks he's found a potion that can help him achieve that. I don't know the formal name. And I don't know if the potion's going to work, either. It's pretty complicated. I've been helping him, but I'm half-afraid that he's setting himself up for a disappointment."

Narcissa closed her eyes .She remembered a few other times her son had been so caught up in a grand project: learning to fly over the house, making a gift for his father's birthday, making absolutely sure he was Sorted into Slytherin. When everything played itself out the way he wanted, he was happy. When it did not, then he was devastated.

Granted, for the last few years his obsession had been Harry Potter, and the final outcome of that project was more difficult to predict. Narcissa had been doing what she could to help, to make sure her son got what he wanted. But could she help with the potion?

"I'd like to talk to him, Harry, if you don't mind," she said. "Just for a few minuets before we leave."

Harry nodded to her. "Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. I hope you might be able to talk some sense into him. He's in the library already." He did her the courtesy of leading her up the stairs, though she remembered perfectly well from her years here where the Hogwarts library was.

Narcissa found her son surrounded by books and parchments, and with the look that she recognized on his face. She spoke with him, and he gave her all the expected answers, after a few fierce glares at Harry for giving the game away. No, he didn't want to tell her all the ramifications of the potion yet. Yes, he was sure it would work. Yes, Harry had been helping him.

No, he would not use it on Halloween night if she really didn't want him to.

He sulked all through that part of the promise, but Narcissa flattered herself that she knew him better than anyone in the world, and she knew when he finally muttered the words and threw his quill down on the table that he meant what he said. She kissed his forehead and left the school with Harry to Apparate them to London, secure in her mind about her son again.

Something did niggle at her in the back of her mind, though, and went on wearing and bothering her until that evening, when she had come back from Grimmauld Place shaken, and had leisure to figure it out.

Harry had rather deftly turned the conversation away from himself, got her to worry about Draco, and prevented her from asking more extensive questions about how he had been, all in one go.

"I don't know how we're going to get through the wards," said Narcissa softly. "You're absolutely sure that Regulus has not contacted you since the evening when he vanished?"

Harry nodded, and returned to studying the house in front of them. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place looked little different from all the other houses, really, Harry thought: broken windows, grimy walls, a knocker on the door. He had to squint sideways to see the shimmer of the silver wards, thick and unbroken, around those walls and windows, and that the knocker was made of silver and in the shape of a serpent coiled back on itself.

"If Regulus is dead, finally and forever," Narcissa whispered, "then the ownership has fallen to Bellatrix." She grimaced and slipped her wand into her palm. "I would prefer not to run into her."

"I would, too," said Harry. "She'd probably want her hand back, and she has a new wand."

He didn't realize what he was saying until Narcissa turned and gave him a sharp glance. "And how do you know that, Mr. Potter?" she whispered.

Harry shrugged. "Well, I was the one who cut off her hand," he said, playing for time. That had been in the Daily Prophet, too. Narcissa's stare only sharpened. Harry reached for and found a plausible lie, since the visions were no one's business but his own. "And Professor Moody said that she would get a new wand as soon as she could, even though she left her old one at Hogwarts. A Death Eater and a Dark witch wouldn't go long without a wand, he said."

Narcissa sighed, but seemed to accept his story, to Harry's vast relief. "A pity the Aurors did not think to watch Ollivander's," she murmured, and then stepped forward. "My name is Narcissa Black Malfoy," she said. She had not raised her voice far, but it carried well. Harry glanced at the Muggle houses, and hoped their owners were away for the morning, or still asleep. "I have visited this house as a child and an adult, both. I am friendly to the current heir, Regulus Black. I ask for permission to enter." She extended her wand towards the wards.

The wards waited until Narcissa's fingers were only a few inches from them, and then formed a silvery pair of jaws and lunged at her. Narcissa pulled her hand away, her mouth thinning. Harry thought that only good manners kept her from trying to hex the house, even as the wards fell back into place and gave a little snarl. She glanced at Harry and shook her head slightly.

"I cannot tell what that means," she said. "Either Regulus has not had time to lower the wards, or he is dead and the current heir does not wish me to enter the house."

Harry nodded. He decided that it was worth a try for him. Regulus had trusted him more than Narcissa. Perhaps he had keyed the wards to fall in the last extremity, if something happened to snatch him out of Harry's head.

Harry drew his own cypress wand from his pocket and took a few steps in front of Narcissa. "My name is Harry Potter," he told the wards, and the house, and whatever else was listening. "I am no relation by blood, but I am friendly with Regulus Black, and I was Sirius Black's godson." It was a risk mentioning Sirius, but he had worked spells that had convinced the house and even its house elf to accept him as true master. "Has Regulus left any message within you?"

The wards surged, then flowed out and over him, encasing him in a silvery skin before Harry could do more than blink. He heard Narcissa's startled cry, and then he heard nothing but—

Music.

The song moved around him, slow and thick and sluggish at first, but becoming faster as the wards flickered over his body. Harry held still and tried to breathe as shallowly as he could. The sensation was rather like being underwater, save that it affected his mind, too. His thoughts quickened, until they seemed to race around his head, and he heard the song coming from several hundred frenzied throats at once.

The wards must have found whatever it was they were looking for. They gave a final loud note, a twitch, and a twist, and fell away, leaving a hole just large enough for him to enter, and Narcissa if she ducked.

Harry swallowed and looked back at her. "I—I don't know what I did, but I think we're invited inside," he said, a bit lamely.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes, and she nodded. "Regulus must have left a hole for you," she said, edging nearer as if she expected the wards to attack any moment. They did not, only humming to themselves. Narcissa ducked through swiftly anyway, then shook her head and glanced back at Harry. "Come on," she said. "They may not permit us inside for long. If necessary, I can use a Portkey to take us back to Malfoy Manor from within the house, but we must open the front door first."

Harry nodded, and hastily followed her down the half-broken walkway. The black door opened as they approached it, and Harry heard a deep, distant thrill of music again.

"Why do the wards sing, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked.

She glanced back at him in surprise, tearing her eyes from whatever inside the house had occupied her attention. "I have never been aware of them doing so, Harry."

Harry swallowed and decided to ignore the teasing little thread of song that followed him as he stepped inside the house. Regulus probably did have something to do with this. Narcissa had said that the wards were tight enough to prevent anyone from entering the house whom the true Black heir did not want in here. How else could they have fallen, if Regulus hadn't told them to allow Harry in?

That doesn't explain the singing, or why Narcissa could come with you.

Harry ignored the thought, and took in the sight in front of him. The entrance hall had most definitely seen better days. The wallpaper yearned in curling strips towards the floor, itself covered with a carpet which had stronger cousins in spiderwebs. Gas lamps flickered here and there, and filled the hall with as much shadow as light. There was a candelabra made as a serpent—a sight that Harry ordinarily wouldn't have minded, since, after all, he carried a snake on his arm, but this one had been shaped, by some art to the head and the neck, to look as malevolent as possible.

Portraits hung on the walls, all of them of past Blacks. A pair of curtains hid what Harry knew would be a portrait of Sirius's and Regulus's mother. Sirius had mentioned her a time or two, always with a bitter twist to his lips when he spoke. Knowing, now, how she had abused Sirius, Harry wasn't surprised.

"Move quietly," Narcissa breathed. "Aunt Capella tends to scream about blood traitors in the house, whether there actually are or—"

"FILTH! BLOOD TRAITORS!" came from behind the curtains.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sirius told me about her," he said dryly. He glanced at the curtains, and wondered if it was worth the effort of opening them. Probably not, he thought. They could cast a Silencio and hold it there, and then she wouldn't disturb them or cover any cry for help that Regulus might make.

He aimed his wand and started to concentrate on the incantation, but almost at once, Capella Black's screams ceased. Harry stared, and blinked. He glanced at Narcissa, who looked as mystified as he had.

Then the portrait's voice started again, low and sly and sounding as if she were talking to herself. "Of course, I should have known. Dark magic, sweet and powerful. They would not have sent someone into the house who did not smell of Dark magic, powerful and sweet."

Harry swallowed. He didn't want to think of what that might mean, that he had used so much Dark magic that a witch who sympathized with the Death Eaters thought he smelled good.

Narcissa patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she whispered. "Aunt Capella was mad before the end. Let's just be grateful that she's not disturbing us, and get on with the work." She turned towards the looming staircase. "I know the place to go first, which should tell us whether or not Regulus is still alive."

Harry nodded and followed her, though a time or two he glanced back towards the portrait. Capella Black was laughing.

Harry heard a trill of music again, deep and self-satisfied as the laughter.

He shuddered, then tried not to worry about it.

"Yes," said Narcissa softly, stepping away from the tapestry and gesturing for Harry to move closer so that he could see for himself. "He is still alive."

Harry felt the breath rush out of him as he gazed at the tapestry. It displayed the names of the Black descendants in a twining tree, with the motto Toujours pur at the top. Under Capella and Canopus lay the names of Sirius and Regulus. Sirius's name was in faded thread, Regulus's in brilliant silver.

He glanced at the other side of the cloth, and nodded when he saw that the names of Bellatrix Black Lestrange and Narcissa Black Malfoy were also silver, as were the names of Lucius and Draco. In between Bellatrix and Narcissa was what looked like a blasted bit of cloth. Harry raised his eyebrows at Narcissa.

Narcissa's smile was small and tight. "Aunt Capella didn't approve of Andromeda marrying Ted Tonks," she murmured. "And, really, Sirius shouldn't have been on this tapestry, either. It was only the magic he worked that made the house consider him as heir." She shook her head and turned away. "We know that Regulus is alive now, but I don't suppose you have any idea on how to find him, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "He always told me his body was somewhere small and dark, and that he felt shut in. He had preservation spells cast on him, probably, to prevent him from feeling hunger and thirst, and he'd been through a lot of pain."

Narcissa half-closed her eyes. "I know most of the hiding places in this house," she said, and drew a piece of parchment from her robes, along with a quill. She scribed several dozen lines down on the parchment, then tore it in half and gave the lower part to Harry. "We'll have to split up," she explained, "or we'll never get through all the hiding places. And I don't know if the wards will ever let us in again, so it makes sense to do all our searching at once."

Harry nodded. It did make sense. Merlin knew that he wanted to find Regulus, now that he knew he was still alive. "There are Dark creatures living in here, aren't there?" he asked.

"Yes. But I suspect you can handle them, Harry, or I would insist on accompanying you to each hiding place." Narcissa smiled slightly, her eyes fastened on him. "Now that Kreacher is dead, none of them are so fanatically devoted to protecting our house and effects. Doxies, boggarts, ghouls…nothing worse." She shook her head. "They should let me alone, since I'm of the Black blood, and the security measures wouldn't permit anything very dangerous inside."

"We can bite anything that threatens you," the Many volunteered from his arm. "Tell her that."

Harry just shook his head, because the Many wanted to bite everything sooner or later, and studied his list. Second closet from the top of the staircase on the uppermost floor, secret door under the bookshelves in the library, compartment under the turning chair in the library…

"Call for help, of course, Harry, if you find something you can't handle," Narcissa continued, drawing his attention back to her. "And I will do the same thing."

Harry relaxed a bit. She was evidently trusting him to act like an adult. That made him happy, since it meant she was less likely to question him about things he didn't want her to question him about on the assumption that he couldn't take care of himself.

"I will, Mrs. Malfoy," he agreed, and went to go hunt out the library, as five of the hiding places on his list concerned it.

Harry shook his head and pulled out of the compartment in the floor. The turning chair settled back into place over it with a small grinding noise the moment Harry stood up again. It would have made an excellent hiding place for Regulus, Harry reflected, if Regulus were no more than six inches long and five wide. Narcissa had been good to her word about listing all the small and secret places in the house, though.

Harry looked thoughtfully around the room. Maybe I've gone about this wrong. I'm not surprised that Regulus can't answer us when we call, and I'm not finding anything by peering into every hidden corner. Maybe I can sense his magic.

He concentrated, and then staggered back and sat down hard in the chair. The library was blazing with Dark magic of every stripe, several dozen nasty spells and curses waiting for anyone who tried to remove a book from the room, dirty the chair cushions, enter when they were Muggleborn, or tear pages.

Harry was even more uneasy about the blaze of spells that he didn't recognize.

He stood up, swiping dust from his robes, and then paused, turning his head. The music was back again, and this time it came from a different direction, beyond the library door. Harry moved towards it, stepping carefully over the low-running vines and stripes of curses.

The music increased in pitch and volume, as if the singer could feel him coming. Beyond the library was another staircase upward, barely lit at all. Harry remembered that he needed to check out the second closet from the top of it on the uppermost floor, anyway, and climbed. His feet hardly seemed to make a sound. The singing vibrated in his bones and curled around his waist like a cord, tugging him forward. He did remember to whisper a Lumos charm so that he could see where he was going.

The melody come from the second closet from the top of the staircase. Harry experienced a brief moment of amusement, and then one of hope. Perhaps Regulus was making the sound, and that was why the wards had sung when they fell in front of him. Harry had not dared hope that finding him would be this easy.

Then the music picked up again, and Harry felt those concerns torn from him as though they were clouds in a windy sky. The song was quite beautiful enough on its own, ringing again and again with the tones of struck silver. It sobbed and warbled and dipped, and Harry could hear intense sorrow in it, as well as the coaxing beauty.

He laid a hand on the closet door. The lines of many spells crisscrossed it. They were all binding spells. Of course they were, Harry thought, somewhere hazily, beyond the song, in the part of his brain not consumed with it. Some Black in the past had really, really not wanted this door to be opened.

Or perhaps it was Voldemort. Regulus could still be in there.

A noise clashed with the song, mingled with it, and welled into his ears. Harry could hear a soft clicking sound from beyond the door. He concentrated, and decided that it came from many pairs of legs.

The song fell away, and left a voice behind.

Let me out.

Harry blinked. Well, he could do it, couldn't he? Of course he could. He was the vates, and this sounded like a confined magical creature. And though the binding spells on the door were quite complex, he could release a blast of magic, or even draw on the magic of the spells around him, and release them that way.

The voice whispered, tense and excited.

Not that way. It must be Dark magic or nothing.

Harry blinked again, then nodded. Of course it must be. This was a Dark creature of some kind, imprisoned in a Dark house. And Capella Black had stopped screaming when she sensed Harry's Dark power. It only made sense.

He stepped away from the door. The creature gave a low, eager bubbling sound, and then started singing again.

"Harry, stop!"

Harry had jumped and turned to face Narcissa before he realized what he was doing. She held up her hands at once, even dropping her own wand to the floor with a flick. Her blue eyes were wide, looking like smudged pale shadows in her equally pale face.

"Don't," she whispered. "I should not have written that hiding place down, Harry. It was in use during my childhood, but Uncle Canopus confined something there the year that Sirius ran away. He died from the wounds it gave him, in the end. Do not undo the binding spells. I do not think that anything could stop it once it was released."

"I'm a powerful wizard," said Harry. The song was in his mind, and it made everything make sense. "It's confined, and it would be grateful for its freedom, anyway. It wouldn't hurt me."

Narcissa shook her head. "Uncle Canopus confined it only because he was magically average, Harry," she said, slowly, softly, taking soft and slow steps towards him. "It fed on the powerful wizards it found before him. That's why it can get to you, Harry. It's not singing at me. It doesn't want me."

Let me out, the voice said, and the music fell away.

The creature had misjudged, Harry knew a moment later. The sudden loss of the song combined with Narcissa's words to tear his mind out of the confining fog it had been in. He took a step back, his breathing loud and harsh in the silence. He shuddered.

Well, that's the first time a magical creature has tried to compel me into breaking its web.

And I am not a blind vates. I cannot charge into freeing this thing until I know what it is, and what it would cost to have it free.

"What are you?" he asked aloud.

It does not matter. Let me out.

Harry shook his head. "I think it matters," he muttered. He could not believe how stupid he had almost been. He looked at Narcissa. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "Where else should we look for Regulus?"

Narcissa sighed. "I've cast all the spells I can think of, Harry, spells that should have revealed the presence of human flesh and blood anywhere in the house. It only showed me and you. Regulus isn't here. At least, his body isn't here."

"But we have to find him," said Harry. "If we don't—"

Narcissa gently closed a hand on his shoulder. "There are other Black estates."

"But we don't know if the wards will let us into them." Harry couldn't understand why Narcissa kept holding his shoulder and looking at him with such concern in her eyes. "At least we're inside this house now, and we can look other places. Maybe Voldemort laid a spell to confound the ones you used."

Narcissa smiled thinly. "I used several that only the Black family knows," she said. "The Dark Lord is powerful, was powerful, but even he is limited by his knowledge."

"Regulus could have betrayed them to him. Just let me open this door—"

"Harry." Narcissa's hand pressed down firmly. "The creature's song is starting to snare you again."

Harry gave a guilty start, and winced when he realized what he had said. "You want to get me away from here," he said quietly.

Narcissa nodded, and glared at the door. Harry didn't look himself, too afraid it would turn into a longing stare. "I do not believe, now, that the Dark Lord brought Regulus's body here, in any case," she said. "The creature would have tried to feed on him in turn."

"Maybe he was strong enough to escape."

Narcissa shook her head. "The stronger you are, the mightier a hold the creature has on you," she said.

"Maybe some of his Death Eaters rescued him."

Narcissa knelt down in front of Harry, clasping his shoulders. "I want you out of here, and now," she said. "It is not quite evening, but we can look again later, Harry. The wards will probably let us in again, now that they have once. And even if they don't," she added, anticipating Harry's next response, "I would still rather have you safe than Regulus found immediately. You can't sense him, and he is alive. That might mean he is not in pain, that the Dark Lord has simply blocked him from reaching you somehow."

Harry closed his eyes and fought down the compulsion to stay. When he looked, he could feel the subtle strands of the song wound about him, and he plucked and tore them from him with disgust.

He might have stepped from full darkness into full sunshine. Abruptly, he wanted nothing so much as to be outside the walls of the house. He shivered, opened his eyes, and nodded to Narcissa.

"Let's go."

Narcissa smiled at him and escorted him away from the closet door, which Harry resolutely didn't look back at again. They passed Capella Black's portrait, and Harry heard her laugh. He winced, expecting an outburst of shouting, but she merely sniffed, as if drawing in a deep breath.

"You smell so good, child," she whispered. "So strongly of the Dark."

Harry heard a chiming trickle of music slide past his ears, as if in complement to the chuckle.

He let Narcissa take him outside and back through the hole in the wards, which mended itself seamlessly behind them. As they arranged themselves for Side Along Apparition, Harry resolutely did not look back.

I can't just go around freeing everything the moment it asks me to do so. I'll study and learn more about what that creature is if I can, but just unleashing it wouldn't make me responsible, either. I have to remember that my magic is in service to many people, not just one.

He ignored the sound of song in his ears even after they had landed at Hogwarts, but he didn't mention that to Narcissa. The tugging at his temple told him that Draco needed him, and he hurried off, grateful for a task that he could fling himself into.

Move forward. There is little use in looking back.