Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! Er. Chapterlet.
The lines Rosier speaks are from Shelley's "Adonais."
Chapter Thirty-Five: A Deep and Tangled Tale
Harry dreamed.
"Evan." Voldemort's voice was unmistakable by now, and Harry didn't feel as though he'd just been hearing it in his dreams. It seemed as though it ran all through his life, threading through his dreams and binding them to his visions and his pain and his training, binding his whole existence to the night when the Dark Lord had come to Godric's Hollow and changed things for him and Connor.
"My lord." Evan Rosier dipped his head and sat down on the floor in front of Voldemort. They were in an ancient house, Harry knew that much, with a fire burning in a hearth and throwing back muffled shadows from a dusty mantle and fire irons. Voldemort sat in a high-backed chair, facing the fire, so that Harry still couldn't see him. That was all right. He didn't want to see him, not really. Nagini lay sleeping on the floor beside his chair. "I have been to the giants. They did not seem interested in what I had to say. They did not even appear to recognize the name of vates. They merely stared and grunted, until I spoke in their own language. Then they roared and chased me away."
"You have failed me, then, Evan?" Voldemort did not sound pleased.
"Yes, my lord." Rosier did not sound overly concerned. Harry flattened himself to the floor, grateful he was in the smaller furry shape—whatever it was—that would permit him to do that, as he heard footsteps pounding up a hall behind him. He thought he could feel a swirl of robes as Bellatrix slipped past him and into the room.
"My lord?" she asked, her voice trembling with excitement. It was a girlish voice, Harry thought. Like Umbridge's. "You called for me?"
"Evan does not take his duties seriously even now," Voldemort hissed. "Punish him for me!"
"Yes, do punish me, Bellatrix." Rosier winked at her. "But use something other than Crucio this time, would you? I'm getting awfully tired of it." He lay down on the floor. "Here, I'll even put myself in a convulsive posture first, so that you can have the satisfaction of seeing me like that. Maybe then you'll use something else." He twisted his head to the side, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue.
Voldemort made an indescribable noise of anger, and Nagini swayed back and forth, echoing her master with a hiss that Harry recognized as the closest a snake could come to a curse. Harry shivered for a moment, and wondered why in the world Voldemort put up with Rosier.
Because he has no one else, he thought abruptly. If Bellatrix and Rosier are the only two Death Eaters attending him for some reason, then he doesn't have much choice about not killing them.
Bellatrix, predictably, chose to put Rosier under the Cruciatus Curse. As he had before, Rosier laughed throughout it, and Bellatrix lifted the Curse on orders from the Dark Lord, in disgust. Her right wrist was folded in her sleeve this time, and Harry could not see what it might look like.
"Very well, Evan," said Voldemort, when Rosier's laughter had faded and he lay there, looking up at his Lord with a smile. "Then you will assist me in another endeavor. We are attempting to compile a list of traitors to our cause, the cowards and crawling worms who have turned their backs on me."
"Well, Severus, of course," said Rosier at once. "He attacked us in May when we tried to follow Rodolphus onto Hogwarts grounds."
Harry felt something twitch in his paw, and looked down to see that claws had shot out of it, as though he were about to scratch someone's face off in defense of Snape. Voldemort only made that sound of anger again, and said, "Yes, Bellatrix had informed me of him. Who else?"
"Hawthorn Parkinson," said Rosier. "She refused to assist us in the process of your most glorious return last year, and Fenrir Greyback bit her. For all that, I do not believe she has changed her allegiance back to us. In fact, I have uncovered evidence that she follows the Potter boy."
"It will not go well with her, should we meet again," Voldemort murmured. "Who else?"
"Adalrico Bulstrode, my lord," Bellatrix broke in, sounding as if she resented being ignored. "Walden told me that he came to the Ministry the day that Potter was abducted. It seems likely that he was attending that meeting rumored to take place in the Head Auror's office."
Voldemort was silent a moment. Harry waited to hear him swear vengeance against Adalrico, but he said only, "And Wormtail?"
"We do not know, my lord," Bellatrix said respectfully. "He broke out of Azkaban last year, and there were rumors that he intended to go after the Potter boy. He even sneaked onto Hogwarts grounds. But we do not know where he is now."
"I would win him back, if we can," said Voldemort. "Send word abroad. We will find him." A longer pause, this time, and Harry waited and worried. At least I was able to hear this. "And Lucius?" Voldemort asked at last, and Harry felt fur lift, bristling, all along his spine.
"Another unknown, my lord," said Rosier. His voice sounded more even now, balanced, but also bored. "You said that he had obeyed Sirius Black's command to retrieve a Dark artifact three years ago, but past that, we know nothing of his actions in favor of your cause. Greyback and Macnair said that they did not believe he was loyal any longer, but Macnair has always been jealous of Lucius, and Greyback is—not stable. He appears simply to be watching and waiting, rather than committing himself to one side or another. He attended the meeting in the Ministry the day Potter was abducted, but that could have been to please his wife and son, who are Potter's known allies."
"Waiting and watching would be like Lucius," said Voldemort. "Before I lost contact with Sirius Black's mind last year, I know that he was dithering, most unacceptably." Another pause, and then he said, his voice decisive, "Lucius must not allow family loyalties to stand in the way of his commitments. Evan. Go to him, tonight, and question him about the Dark artifact that he retrieved for me. I would know what became of it."
The diary, Harry thought, feeling his scar burn in brief, hot pulses. They're talking about the diary. They must be.
"And if he can give no satisfactory account of it?" Rosier asked, his voice soft and eager.
"End him," said Voldemort. "I give this kill to you, my faithful servant."
Rosier bowed, stood, and strode from the room, his hands almost twitching. Harry tried to follow him, but found the hall running out in front of him and darkening as he traveled further from Voldemort's chair. Apparently his dream centered on the Dark Lord, and he could not move much away from him. He swung back around, reluctant to wait, but wondering if he would hear anything else useful.
"Why did you want a final accounting of the traitors, my lord?" Bellatrix whispered, kneeling beside his chair. "I thought you had known already who was loyal to you and who was not."
"I would have my known enemies marked, Bella, and those who might be persuaded back to my side left alone for now," said Voldemort. "We must wait. The sun is rising."
They both started laughing, and Nagini swayed back and forth, and Harry conceded that he was going to learn nothing else useful. He turned and sprang up towards the surface of the dream, clawing it down, forcing himself to wake up.
I have to open my eyes. This is only a vision, but Rosier is moving outside it, going to Malfoy Manor. He may have Apparated there already. Wake up!
Harry opened his eyes, gasping, and then had to blink hard as blood cascaded down from his forehead and blinded him for a moment. He wiped it away, and heard the Many snake on his arm hiss, partly in excitement at the nearness of the blood and partly in concern.
Harry tumbled out of bed, caught his foot in the hem of the skirt, and tripped. He heard sleepy grumbles from Blaise and Vince, but he couldn't pause to either reassure them or cast a sleeping charm on them. His whole attention was fixed on the bed beside his, and Draco lying under the covers.
He drove himself to his feet again, tugged the curtains open, and hissed, "Draco!"
His friend stirred and rolled over to him, slowly blinking his eyes open. The half-smile on his lips melted when he saw who it was. He'd been intolerable the past few days, since Harry had agreed to go with Luna to the Yule Ball.
At the moment, Harry didn't care. This was more important than whoever Draco's crush might be or might not be.
"Get up!" he said. "I need you to firecall your parents, right now! Or—" Another idea abruptly came to him. "If you're sure that serpent you gave me will work as a Portkey for both of us, we'll take that. Evan Rosier is on his way to question your father about Tom Riddle's diary."
He didn't know how much of that Draco had actually understood, but he was scrambling out of bed, reaching for the set of school robes he'd draped on his trunk for the next day, and that was all Harry wanted from him. He hurried back to his own trunk and shrugged on his robes over his pyjamas. Blaise poked his head out of his curtains.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, irritation and weariness roughening his voice. "Some people need to sleep, you know!"
"We're going somewhere," Harry snapped, even as he opened his trunk and searched for the glass snake that Draco had given him for his birthday last summer, the one that showed Draco's emotions for him and would also act as an emergency Portkey to Malfoy Manor. Harry hadn't used it for a long time. He didn't know why he needed to, when Draco himself had told Harry that he loved him like a friend. So long as Draco said what he was feeling, Harry didn't require any extra reassurance. "None of your damn business."
Blaise laughed.
Harry shook his head and found the serpent, snatching it up. He snorted when he saw it roiling with purple and red—anger and protectiveness, no surprise. Draco had been feeling a mixture of both of them for him lately. He turned, his arm already extended, and Draco clasped his wrist with one hand and the serpent with the other.
"Portus," Harry whispered.
He felt the magic surge forward and claim them, and heard Blaise's startled shout, in the moment before they vanished. Harry gritted his teeth and held on tight to the serpent and Draco both as the world around them danced with mad, dizzying colors. He hated traveling by Portkey. It never seemed to end, and in this case, with the great distance between Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, it seemed to take an especially long time.
He and Draco sprawled together in a sheltered anteroom that Harry vaguely recognized as the place where Draco seemed to firecall his parents. Harry rolled over and climbed to his feet.
He frowned when he noticed the serpent was now shining blue. That was a color he had never seen before, and he didn't know what it meant. I hope using it as a Portkey didn't damage it.
"My parents should be here soon," said Draco, wiping at a bit of dust on his robes. "They'll have felt us come through the wards."
"We are already here," said Lucius's cold voice from near the door. "Why are you here, Draco? Potter," he added, when Harry turned and met his eyes.
Harry nodded tensely back to him. Lucius was his ally, of course that was true, but his dream tonight had also reminded him that Lucius was the one responsible for his mind getting torn to shreds in his second year, his possession by Voldemort, the death of Sylarana, and the emergence of the phoenix web.
But even that had had good consequences, so that Harry could not blame him as much as he would have liked.
And Draco would be devastated if he died, which was the main reason that Harry had brought them here.
"Sir," he said, "Evan Rosier is coming to the Manor. Voldemort sent him, to see what you did with the diary that you retrieved for him." He paused, thinking rapidly back to the first time he'd met Lucius in the dance. They'd sat and talked until Draco interrupted, and, yes, an owl bearing a message had come to the window. Harry thought now that the message must have been from Sirius, writing in order to relieve the pain in his mind. "That was in the letter you got during my first Christmas here, wasn't it, sir?"
Lucius's lips pinched shut, but he only nodded. "Why is the Dark Lord sending Rosier?" he asked softly. "Evan and I were never close. He could not think that I would believe whatever lie he intends to tell me."
Harry let out a low breath and fixed his eyes on Lucius's face. It was made somewhat easier by the fact that Narcissa, wearing night-robes, had come up behind her husband, her face watchful. "Voldemort already suspects that you aren't loyal to him. Rosier has orders to kill you if you can't answer his questions satisfactorily."
There was a long pause. Then Lucius bared his teeth and said, "I am disinclined to let him do that."
Harry nodded. "I came here because I wasn't sure what he might do, and because it is, after all, partly my fault that you're in danger."
"Might I ask, Harry," said Narcissa, her voice cool and slim as a dagger, "how you learned this information?"
Harry could almost feel Draco smirking off to the side. Well, no way to deny this now.
He sighed and lifted his fringe away from his forehead, so they could see his scar. "This connects me to Voldemort," he said quietly. "It has since the night of the attack on Godric's Hollow. I've had dreams about him and his plans since I came to Hogwarts, but lately they've sharpened. I think my connection to him is growing stronger. I had a vision tonight that warned me Rosier was coming. Voldemort suspects Mrs. Parkinson, Professor Snape, and Mr. Bulstrode of having betrayed him, too."
Narcissa simply blinked at him. Lucius, on the other hand, had turned pale.
"The Dark Lord could do that," he whispered.
"What?" Harry asked, hoping that he sounded ignorant and not shocked.
"The Dark Lord sometimes received—visions, dreams that might have been prophetic." Lucius shook his head, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "He ascribed it to being a Legilimens, however, someone who had trained his mind so well that he might catch glimpses of the future from reading the likely course of other people's thoughts. You cannot have developed your own skill so far. What are you?"
It says something about how frightened he must be, to have asked that. Harry shook his head. "The explanation is long and convoluted, and we don't have time for it right now. Rosier—"
An owl flew into the room before he could finish, a large bird bearing straight for Lucius. Lucius raised a hand and steadied the creature with a frown. The owl flopped its wings weakly, urgently, as Lucius took the letter from its leg.
Harry stiffened, remembering the spell that Rosier had used to send an owl through Lux Aeterna's wards.
"Don't open the letter—" he started.
Something inside the envelope, or else the letter itself, must have been a Portkey. Lucius vanished with a pop, and the dying owl fell to the floor.
Narcissa closed her eyes at once. "I can still feel him, somewhat," she said. "He's outside the wards. Furious, but alive. The wards would have let me know if he'd died."
"Rosier must have pulled him there so he could have a little private discussion with him," said Harry. He took a long step forward, and grabbed the letter, which Lucius had let drop to the floor.
"Harry!" he heard from a combined shout of two voices, Draco and Narcissa.
Harry ignored them both. He had to get to where Lucius and Rosier were, that much was obvious, and he didn't think that sitting around in the antechamber and twiddling his thumbs would help matters.
This time, the dizzying pull and the maddening colored journey were short. He rolled to his feet in a little dip of ground that he recognized vaguely as being part of the empty land around Malfoy Manor. Now, it was naked, and glittered with snow in the light of the moon.
And it was dangerous. Lucius and Rosier were already dueling.
Harry lost his own breath for a moment, caught up in the sight. The wizards involved were both Dark, and so there was none of the holding back that there might have been in a Light duel. Rosier was throwing hexes and curses meant to wound and torture, and Lucius was responding with ones that would kill Rosier if they touched him. Both used defensive spells that, like the one Draco had employed on the stands during the day of the First Task, were meant to drive back an enemy, and not just block his attacks. The light of the many contrasting spells slamming into each other and canceling each other out showed the hatred carved on Lucius's face and the amusement on Rosier's, and their flying hair and bodies made shadows on the snow.
Then Harry shook his head and decided that he'd spent enough time watching. "Protego!" he declared, and the air in front of Lucius firmed and hardened into a glittering wall. Lucius stopped firing hexes at once, but Rosier had already tossed one off. The Shield Charm reflected it back at him, and Rosier hissed as it slashed a long line down his leg.
Harry forced himself to stop thinking that the hex would have hit the femoral artery if it had struck Rosier just a little higher, and then he'd be bleeding to death. He stalked forward instead, and let his magic escape his body a bit, clapping its wings. "You might as well face me, Rosier," he told the Death Eater. "Since you've been so eager to all those other times."
Rosier laughed, his face reflecting a lean and hungry joy. "Oh, Harry, Harry, I hoped you would come," he said. "You couldn't leave your ally to suffer, could you? Of course not." He moved forward, his face a mask of pleasure now, his eyes never letting Harry's go.
"One thing you aren't," he whispered, "is boring."
Harry did his best not to react to those words. He didn't really think anyone would suspect that his visions of Voldemort existed unless he told them, but Rosier was crazy and paranoid enough to suspect anyway, and perhaps wild enough to guess until he got it right.
"You could always give it up, you know," Harry told him, as he backed into a circle, and lured Rosier into it with him. "Just turn yourself into the Aurors and accept the inevitable. The Dementors are gone from Azkaban, and you can't run forever. The Black estates are closed to you now."
"You don't really understand," Rosier murmured. "Such a heart, Harry. There was a poet once, another of those who called himself a Muggle, though magical blood had descended into him through his mother. He drowned. Such a sad story. But they burned him on the beach where he washed up, and the one thing that did not burn, the one thing that his magic preserved, was his heart. Can you imagine, Harry? The flames die, and in the middle of it all is this heart, no longer beating, of course, but still present and whole. Can you imagine what they must have felt, those Muggles? Do you think they knew they were in the presence of magic?"
Harry performed a nonverbal Blasting Curse. Rosier dismissed it with a nonverbal spell of his own. Harry wasn't even sure which one he'd used to counter it. He narrowed his eyes. That's what not learning the Dark Arts before this does to me. I don't know how my enemies defend themselves.
"The One remains, the many change and pass," said Rosier, his voice soft. "Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; life, like a dome of many-colour'd glass, stains the white radiance of Eternity." He smiled at Harry, and cocked his head to the side as Harry tried a spell that would cause unconsciousness, and his shields bounced it. "Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, if thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!"
His wand flicked, once. "Cor cordium flammae!"
Harry felt the flame start in the center of his chest this time, a burning, many-colored thing, and then expand, as if it would chew away at the lining of his muscles and throat. It hurt. It was not a quick pain this time, not like the Blood-Burning Curse, but a slow one that would take hours, and torture him exquisitely.
And, once again, it had got inside his shields.
Harry narrowed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on Rosier, who was watching him in fascination. He did not know the countercurse for this spell, but, more importantly, he thought that Rosier might get bored of watching him suffer any moment and turn back to Lucius. He had to make sure he left.
He focused all his will and his magic on the single goal of getting Rosier to leave. He didn't know what spell to use for it, so he didn't try to convey his intentions in the framework of an incantation. He just concentrated instead, pouring all of himself into this one goal.
Rosier blinked, and looked astonished in the moment before he vanished with a pop, slingshotted back to Voldemort. A spray of blood from his torn leg plumed outward and fell onto the snow.
Harry felt his magic roar away from him, and called it forcibly back again even as he sagged to his knees. The curse was still spreading outward from his heart. He forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly, and concentrated, this time, on stopping the anguish.
It would not end. The fire went right on crawling, and even grew stronger, as though everything Harry flung at it was so much oil or air to feed it. Harry dragged out a breath full of panic and pain, and went at it again. Perhaps he just wasn't focused enough, because it hurt so much.
"Finite Incantatem," said Lucius from above him, and the burning sensation in his heart stopped growing. "You can't do that yourself," he added, as he knelt down beside Harry. "The Burning Heart Curse is simple to end, but the victim is the one person who can't affect it."
"Stupid for him to use it, then," Harry forced out between gritted teeth. The pain was as slow to fade as it had been to expand. Harry kept one hand clasped on his chest, and hoped, fervently, that if he ever did die of a heart attack, that it was a quick one. "Since I had someone else with me."
"It is traditionally used in situations where the victim would be—largely bereft of such help," said Lucius, and then held out a hand. "You can stand, I hope, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded, and jerked himself to his feet, using only the lightest grasp on Lucius's wrist. He looked up, and met a pair of eyes several times cooler than Draco's, though no less curious about him.
"I think," said Lucius, slowly, judiciously, "that you should come back to the Manor and tell us how you learned Rosier was coming, and why you have the link that you do to the Dark Lord, and other things that I have wondered about."
Harry couldn't see a way to escape it, so he simply nodded, and followed Lucius back over the snow-covered clearing to the start of the wards.
Lucius watched Harry Potter with a gaze that he knew would not unnerve the boy—that was not his purpose—but would conceal his own emotions. If it did that, then he would account this a victory.
It had been a very strange night.
Narcissa had sensed them the moment they were back inside the wards, of course, and come out to meet them. Draco had been behind her, but only for a short distance. Then he'd come flying out, and Potter had received a truly astonishing amount of yelling. Draco had been genuinely angry, Lucius knew. He'd even started to utter obscenities, at least until he remembered that his parents were watching him and nearly swallowed his tongue. He'd bowed his head, and all but shoved Potter into the house, where he insisted on hearing the account of the battle, and criticizing Potter, and talking about what he would have done better had he been along.
Potter just bore it all, his head tilting towards Draco every few seconds, when it wasn't bent over the mug of hot chocolate that Narcissa had had the house elves make for him.
They were gathered in the antechamber where the boys had first landed now: Potter and Draco on a divan, he and Narcissa on another. Lucius watched, while his wife asked the questions. Potter trusted her more. He would reveal more to her.
He was, oddly, gratified to see that Narcissa had been right about what would bind his son together with the Potter boy in a short time. His wife had always been more perceptive about that kind of thing; she'd been the one to predict all the marriages and joinings among their set when they were just engaged themselves.
At least Potter has honor, and loyalty. And the magic!
The magic, Lucius had to admit, was the main reason he had even considered being the boy's ally.
Narcissa asked first, "How did you know that the Dark Lord was sending Rosier after my husband, Harry?" Her hand wandered sideways to him. Lucius clasped it. They didn't often demonstrate their affection for each other, and they often argued, but that didn't matter. Theirs was simply a relationship of the strong to the strong, and it was how they had always functioned.
"A vision, as I told you," Potter said. "I've had dreams like this for years now, but they've sharpened and clarified and homed in on Vol—"
"Do not say the name," Lucius interposed.
Draco glared at him, but Potter only glanced, and then nodded. "The Dark Lord," he said. "He's been their focus since this summer. He's returned to Britain, and Bellatrix and Rosier have been with him, though he sent Rosier off to negotiate with the giants for a time. I don't know where the other Death Eaters are."
"And you never saw fit to inform us of this?" Narcissa's voice had dropped several degrees.
"I couldn't, without revealing how I got the information," Potter responded equitably. "And I didn't want to do that."
Narcissa sat in silence for a time. Lucius watched his son again. Draco looked rather the way Lucius himself had when he caught Narcissa playing a dangerous game with her sister in their seventh year, a game that could have ended with her disfigured, Transfigured, or dead. Plainly, he thought Potter should have been talking about the dreams much earlier.
Yes, he should have, Lucius thought. And why didn't he? My darling will ask that, of course.
And Narcissa did. "Why, Harry?" she asked. "Why didn't you inform anyone of this? It counts as danger, and we are your allies. We would have protected you, as you have striven to protect us."
Potter's chin briefly rose. "I have—grown used to considering myself independent," he said. "Partly it was my training, you know."
Lucius half-lidded his eyes. He had glimpsed some of Potter's memories the first Christmas the boy visited the Manor, nearly three years ago now. They had indeed shown an extensive education and training, but he wondered that the Potters should have taught their elder son all about pureblood dances and yet failed to instill in him a sense of connection to the allies he would make using them.
There is something there that he is not mentioning.
"And partly, I thought that you would think I was the same as the Dark Lord, or a plaything of his, having this connection to him," Potter added.
Narcissa leaned forward. "What are you to him, Harry?"
Potter's body stiffened. Draco laid a hand on his shoulder. Potter glanced aside to Draco, and he gave a tiny nod.
Potter blew out his breath and looked at Narcissa. "Someone whom I trust very much said that with the attack on Godric's Hollow, I became the Dark Lord's magical heir," he said. He touched his forehead again and brushed the fringe away, revealing the lightning bolt scar. "He cast the Killing Curse at me, and gave me this. He transferred powers that he didn't mean to transfer, too, like Parseltongue. It's not complete, but that's part of the connection between us."
And he might have inherited the Dark Lord's ability to dream prophetically, too, Lucius surmised. Or perhaps, since the dreams concern only the Dark Lord's doings, it is a result of the connection of the curse scar.
Those were the thoughts on the surface of his mind. Underneath ran a quick, fiery exaltation that he was reluctant to define even to himself.
Well, most of it, at least. He knew that some of it focused around the words the Dark Lord's magical heir, and the impulse to laugh at how wrong both of them had been, the Dark Lord and the old fool, and so many others, who had thought that they understood what had happened that night at Godric's Hollow.
He could see the future, now. It was much more full of his own laughter than he had ever thought it could be.
Narcissa broke the deep silence that Lucius only then realized had engulfed both of them. "So you are the Boy-Who-Lived, then, Harry?"
Lucius returned abruptly to the present.
Potter closed his eyes tightly. His fingers were twined in Draco's, the cup of hot chocolate sitting alone on his knee. A house elf appeared without a sound, took the mug, and left again. Potter didn't appear to notice.
He let out a long, soft breath. "In a manner of speaking," he said, opening his eyes and focusing on Narcissa.
Lucius sincerely thanked whatever fates had planned for Potter and Narcissa to be looking at each other, and his son to be looking at Potter. He was sure his face would have revealed his glee if anyone glanced at him now.
"Why is this not known?" Narcissa whispered. "Why not publicized?"
"Because no one did know." Potter sounded exhausted. "Our parents were gone that night, and then they thought my scar was an ordinary one, caused by a bit of fallen ceiling. They believed that Connor was the one who had destroyed the Dark Lord, since his scar was obviously a curse one, and it fit—it fit certain parameters that Dumbledore believed in."
Lucius could feel his nostrils almost twitching. Narcissa turned and looked at him, and he could see from her face how much he and she were in accord. There was a deeper mystery here, one they could smell, one that would change everything, if they could only figure out what it was.
"Yet you know the truth now." Narcissa's voice was a light, jabbing one, a feint, meant not to let her opponent notice the truth of her attack until it was too late. "You said that someone you trusted told you this. Why have you not brought it to the papers? What they could make of this—"
"I don't want them to."
Potter's eyes had opened, and Lucius caught his breath at the coldness in them. Magic swelled around him, filling the air with a low snarl, a thrum of power. Potter cocked his head to the side, his scar flaring like a bolt of fire or blood on his head. Come to think of it, there were trails of dried blood down his face, which appeared to lead from his brow. A consequence of the dreams?
"But you must see that it's for the best, Harry." Narcissa's voice was gentle, persuasive, patient. She'd given up the sneak attack as a bad idea, then. "There are thousands of people who would rally to your side if they realized what you were going through, that they'd been supporting the wrong Boy-Who-Lived all along. Think of the alliances you could forge if people knew the truth."
Potter growled under his breath. Lucius felt the air grow colder. He was reminded of some times when his lord had been enraged, and he followed the instincts he'd developed then. He sat perfectly still.
"The truth is bound up with other truths that would make them despise me," said Potter. "Being the Dark Lord's magical heir isn't exactly something that would thrill a lot of people into following me. And telling the truth would lose me the support of people who believe the lie, as well as make me even more of a target for the Death Eaters than I am already. I don't think the wizarding world can afford to polarize itself in some kind of stupid civil war around which Potter twin killed Voldemort the first time."
Narcissa was silent again. Lucius felt unusually close to her, and could tell exactly which twists and turns her mind was making. What other truths would make people despise him? And who is he protecting? He isn't selfish enough to want his brother to suffer the brunt of attacks, from the Dark Lord or not, just so that he could escape.
"Harry—" Narcissa began again.
"No. I won't do it."
Potter's eyes were blazing, the air around him wild with magic. Lucius lowered his eyes and extended his hands in an open-palmed gesture of surrender. Narcissa repeated the motion beside him.
Draco only leaned nearer to Potter and whispered something in his ear.
Potter relaxed abruptly, every muscle in his body falling loose. Then he laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, but the magic had dissipated, and Lucius knew that meant the worst was over. He began to breathe again.
"No, Mrs. Malfoy," Potter repeated a moment later, his voice much lighter. "I don't want to."
"That is your choice, Harry," said Narcissa. Lucius knew her well enough to read the determination beneath the words. Any truth Potter was hiding might somehow concern Draco, too, if their lives were to be bound together. Narcissa would seek it out, whatever it was, and make sure it could not hurt her son. "I hope that you will at least consider our assistance in getting back to Hogwarts."
"That would be brilliant." Potter rubbed at his eyes, and as his aura calmed completely, he seemed very much a child. "Thank you."
Lucius cleared his throat. "I do intend to come and visit you on Yule, Potter. I hope you haven't forgotten? The evening of Christmas Day, we shall conclude our truce-dance."
Potter's eyes came back to his with gratifying alertness and awareness. "I remember, sir. I'll see you then."
Narcissa escorted the boys to the fireplace to Floo back. Lucius remained where he was, intent on dealing with his own emotions.
It is not often that the future changes in a single hour.
Not often, but Lucius had been through a few such hours before, including one on Halloween thirteen years ago. He could get through this one.
And revel, always, in the knowledge that he had made the right choice. It was pleasant to know that, when forced to commit instead of watch and wait and hover between decisions as he liked to do, he had chosen the winning side.