Sorry this one is so late. I need to start getting to bed earlier, so I'm not too tired to write.
Chapter Fifty-Six: Laying the GroundHarry laid down his quill and blew across the ink of his notes to dry them. Then he sat back and looked carefully at the scroll.
That should work.
It should, Regulus agreed from the corner of his head, if it were possible to tell what you were talking about.
Harry snorted, but had to concede that the complicated diagram and abbreviations he'd used would be beyond anyone who hadn't already read Light Rituals and Ways to Adapt Them. "That's why I'm going to send a letter to Madam Marchbanks asking for a meeting, instead of trying to explain in a letter," he murmured, and then chucked Fawkes under the chin as the phoenix appeared on his shoulder.
I'm still not sure why this should work, Regulus whined in his head. You're relying an awful lot on technicalities.
"So do a lot of rituals," Harry whispered. He had the library almost to himself, since it was early Saturday morning, but he didn't want to test Madam Prince's patience, and someone coming up and listening to him now was cause for concern, as always. "This ritual calls for twelve people, perfectly balanced in three ways. I've got twelve people, and two of the balances pertain throughout them. For the third one, I don't think it'll matter, and it's not like I have much choice—unless you could somehow change your gender."
Regulus snarled at him wordlessly, and withdrew to sulk, which he'd been doing a lot of throughout this procedure. Fawkes remained in place, though, letting out a subdued song. Harry stroked his neck, grinning.
He would have to arrange several meetings, and probably spend a lot of time explaining. But still, he thought this would work.
He was sure he knew how to free the southern goblins now.
Harry received Griselda Marchbanks's response not long after the beginning of breakfast the following day. He leaned back and read it by the rich fall of May sunlight through the Great Hall's windows, scratching the owl gently on the head and offering it a bite of toast from his plate. It was surprisingly polite for a Ministry owl, eating only what he gave it and not trying to snatch any extra treats.
Dear Mr. Potter:
I must admit, I find myself so intrigued at your proposal that I would arrange the meeting from sheer curiosity alone! I have included a Portkey in the letter, a small bottle cap. This will bring you to the meeting place with myself and the two other people you requested. Both of them have agreed to come without protest, which makes me even more curious. I trust that you shall have a good explanation when all of this is over.
Griselda Marchbanks,
Elder of the Wizengamot.
Harry chuckled under his breath, and picked up the Portkey, writing out a short response and handing it over to the owl, along with another bit of toast for a job well done. The owl launched itself into the air, and Harry slid the Portkey into his pocket and returned to eating his breakfast. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. Things were going the way he wanted them to, and though he fully suspected it would take the full month of May before the goblins were free, because of all the meetings, he was sure it would be worth it.
"What are you smirking about?" Draco demanded.
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "That thing I tried to explain to you the other day, and which you said was too complicated for you to follow. I'm getting the cooperation of other people first, before I ask you again. Maybe they can explain it better than I can."
Draco blinked, his face oddly vulnerable for a moment. "You—you would get other people involved, just to explain this to me?"
Harry rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder. "Of course not, you prat. These are the other people who are going to be involved in the ritual." He started on his sausages with a will and an appetite he hadn't felt in a long time. Things were moving forward now. He could do this. It was true that he'd managed to break other webs with less bother and fuss, but those webs hadn't been this complicated, either, or so tied into the functioning of a major wizarding institution.
"A cooperative ritual, Harry?" Millicent whispered from her seat on the other side of him. "Light magic? Whatever will you think of next?"
Harry laughed at her. "It's nothing that's going to damage my standing with your family," he said. "It's about the goblins, and I promise that it won't cause a goblin rebellion, either." He hummed as he swallowed the last of his sausages. He loved mornings like this, full of sunlight and possibilities, even though he was going to Karkaroff's Defense Against the Dark Arts class today and there would probably be a quiz that would bore him.
"Hm. I'll trust to your promise, then." Millicent hesitated, as though wondering whether she should say the thing obviously poised on the tip of her tongue, and murmured, "Your vow. You keep your vows, don't you, Harry?"
Harry lowered his fork to the table with a bang and turned to stare at her. He was not sure what was worse: the way she was looking at him, or the way that Pansy was staring at him, too, her eyes full of sorrow and awful knowledge. They didn't know everything, he thought, but they knew enough.
How did they know?
And then he remembered the memory that had flown along with him on Walpurgis Night, and cursed to himself. Of course that was it. Neither Draco nor Snape would betray him like that, and Dumbledore and his parents would have no reason to do so. They had never wanted anyone to know that he had made the vows to protect Connor. That was the whole point of making the one to hide what he was.
"I can't prevent you from knowing, Millicent," he said at last, when he'd had a chance to get his breathing under control. He was not going to let this ruin his whole mood for the day. He'd done enough brooding and worrying. He had a plan now, a good one. If Millicent and Pansy were part of the group of people who knew something about his training, then he would just deal with it, and move on. "But I can tell you the conditions for knowing. You don't talk about this with me, ever, and you mention it to no one else. You're right. I was very good at keeping my vows, until I came to Hogwarts. I'm better at promises now." He gave her a slit-eyed glance that made her blink and sit back from him, and Pansy blanche. "And I promise that you will not like what happens if you try to act on this knowledge."
"But it's—" Millicent started.
"It doesn't matter," said Harry. "It happened. That's all. It doesn't matter any more than a flood ten years ago matters now." He stood and stretched his arms above his head. Draco rose beside him, looking concerned. Harry nodded to him, showing he was all right. He was. He would not let fear of his past control him. It wasn't fear he had for his past; it was contempt. The Maze had shown him the truth of that. There was no point in paying attention to it, not next to the future. There were so many more important things that needed his attention now.
"Not a good comparison, Potter." Millicent's voice was far more subdued than it usually was when she called him by his surname. "A flood ten years ago can leave plenty of damage. Uprooted trees, for example. If you're carrying around as much damage as it seems that those vows should have caused, then—"
"Shut up."
Millicent went still. Harry wasn't sure if it was the quietly-spoken words that had done that, or the fact that the porridge left near his plate had iced over.
"This conversation is ended," said Harry, and strode out of the Great Hall, one hand clutching the bottle cap in his pocket. Regulus murmured soothingly in his head, and Draco hurried beside him. They, along with the Portkey, reminded Harry of what was important. He shook his head and blew both his anger and scorn away in a great, heaving breath.
It doesn't matter. Let it go. It's ended. And it's not as if there's anything they can do about it, even if they tried. They're bound from attacking my parents through the ritual of the formal alliance.
Think about the meeting on Saturday instead. Harry felt his face smooth out again, into a small smile. I wonder what their faces looked like when they received Madam Marchbanks's message?
Thinking of which, I need to send messages to Lucius and Hawthorn.
Harry staggered a bit, and then looked around the office where the Portkey had brought him. It was a much smaller and neater place than he'd expected an Elder of the Wizengamot to have. The walls were bright with only a single portrait, one of an exquisite young pureblood woman with pale hair and odd lightning-blue eyes. She was holding a cup of some sort in her hand and staring off to the right side of the portrait. She turned and nodded a little at Harry when she saw him.
Harry turned around when someone coughed behind him, and found Madam Marchbanks sitting behind an equally small and neat desk. A chair stood in front of it, for him, and a chair off to each side, where sat the Light wizards he'd asked Madam Marchbanks to summon.
"Thank you for coming," he said simply, and sat down. "I suppose this must have taken you by surprise."
Moody, seated in the chair on the right, grunted and shifted his wooden leg so that it came down with a decisive tap on the floor. "Surprise isn't the word, Potter," he said. "I didn't expect to see you again at all. Didn't think your guardian would like you coming near me." He looked around suspiciously, as though he expected Snape to pop out of the woodwork in a moment.
Harry shrugged. "He agreed to let me come alone." He'd had a shouting match with Snape before obtaining that "agreement," but in the end it had come down to honesty. He'd asked Snape if he thought he could get through a half hour, or even ten minutes, without hexing Moody, with his temper as foul as it had been lately. Snape had admitted that he could not, and added that he would have to trust Harry sometime, and then spent the next ten minutes describing the mayhem he would inflict on the Ministry if something happened to Harry.
Moody grunted again, but said nothing coherent, which Tybalt Starrise seemed to take as his cue to speak. He was leaning forward now, grinning in a way that reminded Harry oddly of Evan Rosier. Wild, Scrimgeour said about him.
"I'm not surprised at all," Tybalt declared. "I knew that you would summon me sometime, and I'm eager to help with whatever you want me to help with." He arched his brows. "I'm only surprised that you didn't contact me directly."
"Because I didn't know if that might be seen as interfering in the Ministry, which the Minister has already chastised me for," said Harry, and shrugged a bit. "I know that the Elders of the Wizengamot have a bit more, ah, freedom in that direction. And though Scrimgeour is in support of me, I don't know if he would back me as far as I want to go on this." He faced Madam Marchbanks and raised his brows in challenge.
The tiny old witch gave him a faint smile. "The Minister has known me most of the decades he's worked for the Ministry," she said. "He knows better than to interfere with me. So, talk, please, Mr. Potter. I have the feeling that this is far more complicated than you managed to explain in your letter." She leaned forward, folded her hands patiently, and fixed him with a stern gaze.
"Yes, madam," said Harry, and prepared to recite the simple form of the explanation.
That's not simple, it's bloody complicated, Regulus whined at him.
It's as simple as I can make it. If you don't like it, go find some other head to inhabit, Harry thought at him in irritation. Regulus was becoming more and more sulky without a body, but, on the other hand, he couldn't come up with any helpful clues either, and he refused to discuss the journal, and Harry had other things to do. If Regulus wouldn't bloody help, then he could shut up.
Regulus shut up.
"What I want to do to help the southern goblins is an adaptation of a Light ritual," Harry began. "It requires twelve participants, just under thirteen." He saw Moody nod, as though only by that sign could the old Auror know the ritual for Light magic. "The participants have three balances between them: Light and Dark, male and female, and their degree of connection to the person initiating the ritual. I have twelve participants who are divided equally between Light and Dark, or I will if all of you agree." He nodded to Moody and Tybalt. Tybalt smiled at him; Moody didn't. Harry wasn't worried. The crusty old Auror owed him a debt, but he wasn't as fond of Harry as Tybalt was. It was one of the reasons that Harry had asked Madam Marchbanks to contact him. "You also all have a different connection to me. The gender balance isn't exactly equal. It will be among the eight major participants, but with the others, I just have to work with what chance has handed me."
I'm not just chance, Regulus sulked in his head.
You're in my head, I have to include you, and it's very inconvenient for the ritual's sake that you're male, Harry responded. He thought he was learning how to handle Regulus. So stop whining.
Regulus went off to whine in silence. Harry faced the Light wizards and witch again, and waited for the questions.
"What is this ritual going to do, exactly?" Madam Marchbanks's voice was calm and clear. "That was the part I did not quite understand, Mr. Potter."
Harry let out a sharp breath. "The web on the southern goblins is bound to Gringotts itself," he said. "The daily business of the bank reinforces and renews it. That means that I can't just destroy it, not without bringing the exchange of money to a grinding halt and irritating a lot of people. But the web can be transferred, via the ritual, to another thing—a construct or copy of Gringotts. That was what the ritual was initially intended to do. It would remove deadly curses and place them on a volunteer who had agreed to suffer the curse in place of the original victim."
Moody uttered a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl. Harry was glad to find that he was a little more expressive than he had seemed at first. "A ritual of sacrifice."
"A lot of things I do are," Harry agreed calmly. "This time, though, it doesn't have to attach to a person. It has to attach to inanimate objects charmed to act in the same way as the transfer of coins in Gringotts, which is the basis of the goblins' web. I'll fool the web into thinking it's still holding on to the real thing, and then the ritual will transfer it." He sat back and looked at them. "Of course, it will help immensely if you would all agree to be part of the plan."
"I will," said Tybalt at once, a wide grin on his face. Harry wondered how he could have missed seeing this man that day in the Forbidden Forest. He took a wild, fierce delight in life. Of course, Tybalt had probably thought it best to play it sneaky when facing a Slytherin. "Not least because it will annoy my uncle like anything." He cocked his head at Harry. "What role do you intend me to play in the ritual?"
"Contracted ally," said Harry. "We've pledged faith to each other, but not gone through any particular ritual. Some of the other people participating in the ritual are ones who have."
Tybalt nodded, as though satisfied. "And them?" he added, lounging back in his chair as he pointed at Moody and Marchbanks.
Harry looked at them carefully. "Auror Moody owes me a debt," he said. "One I'll consider fully paid if he helps me in this," he added, seeing Moody's skeptical stare. "And Madam Marchbanks will be the representative of the southern goblins. They trust her more than they do me, don't they, madam?"
Madam Marchbanks inclined her head. "That is true, Mr. Potter," she said. "You must understand. While they look forward to freedom and have been longing for a vates as impatiently as any of the other magical creatures, they have been betrayed again and again in their long struggle with wizardkind—far more than most of the magical creatures have, because they have been in closer contact with us." Her eyes shone with passion. Harry was sure, then, that she would agree to participate in the ritual. "They trust only proven friends, and then only after a long and hard proving. I have been known to them more time than you have. The webs you have shattered so far speak immensely for your record, of course, but they would still want me there."
Harry smiled at her. "Thank you." He turned and waited on Moody's answer.
Moody's magical eye was fixed on him, while his normal eye stared off to the side in contemplation. At last he said, "I want to know who the other participants in the ritual will be."
Harry let out his breath. He won't be pleased, but better he know now than when the ritual's been set up and we couldn't find someone else. "Minerva McGonagall will be the other Light witch involved," he said. "If she agrees, and I think she will. She and I have a bond of affection, through free choice on either side, and I helped her move into her present position, with more responsibility for the wards of Hogwarts."
"The Dark ones, Potter," Moody said softly. "I want to know about them."
Harry sat ramrod straight in his chair. I am not ashamed of any of them. I will defend them to Moody as I would defend Moody to them. This is part of the price for balancing between them. "Professor Snape," he said, and watched Moody grimace. "My guardian. Narcissa Malfoy. She's risked her life for me on more than one occasion, and she also owed me debts through her family." Tybalt peered at him, but Harry ignored that. If Narcissa wants to tell him about her dancing, that's her business. "Lucius Malfoy—"
"What!" Moody all but exploded to his feet.
Harry made sure to keep a bored expression on his face. "He's my formal ally through a truce-dance."
"Potter, he was a Death Eater," said Moody, stressing both words separately, as though there were somehow a way that Harry wouldn't have known that already.
"Yes, I know," said Harry. "So was Hawthorn Parkinson, for that matter, the other Dark witch I'm going to ask to stand with us. She's an ally of my family."
He didn't quite understand the look that came over Moody's face at that. He wondered if Moody had hunted Lucius and Snape, but not Hawthorn. Perhaps his antipathy for her was not as great as it had been for the others.
"Only you, Potter," said Moody, whatever that was supposed to mean, and sat down again. "Who are the other four?"
"The ones who screw up the gender balance," said Harry, and Regulus whined at him. Harry ignored that, too. "Myself, of course, as initiator of the ritual. Draco Malfoy, the—my best friend." He still didn't think he had another word for Draco, at least not one he was comfortable telling people. "He's from a Dark family, and I'm from a Light one, and he has to be part of the ritual, anyway. I trust him too much for him not to be. And then Fawkes, the phoenix bonded to me, for Light, and Regulus Black, for Dark. Once again, not much I can do about it. Fawkes's bond and Regulus's bond make it imperative that they be included somehow." He held up his hands in a helpless gesture.
Madam Marchbanks was nodding, as though that explained everything to her satisfaction. Tybalt was grinning and bouncing one foot off the floor. Moody was frowning, and obviously looking through a list of names in his head.
"Potter," he said slowly. "Regulus Black was also a Death Eater, and he's dead. I understand that you consider the one no obstacle, but that other should give even you pause."
Harry sighed. If they thought the ritual explanation had been complicated, they were not going to like this.
"Regulus didn't die," he said quietly. "He betrayed Voldemort, and was taken and tortured. Then his body was confined somewhere, with preservation spells on it, and his voice was bound to his brother Sirius's mind, though most people thought he was dead and Sirius was just having bad dreams. When Sirius died last year—" no need to go into all the details of what had happened there "—Regulus's voice was bound to me, because I share a connection to Voldemort through my brother." No need to tell them the nature of that connection, either. "He's here, and he's not leaving. He has to be part of the ritual."
They were all staring at him, now. Harry leaned back and waited.
"I'm still in," said Tybalt. "It will vex my uncle even more when he hears that you have a phoenix bonded to you, Harry. He considers them creatures of highest Light."
"You're going to tell him, aren't you?" Harry asked, still reluctant to cause family quarrels, but resigned to the fact that Tybalt was going to do whatever the hell he wanted.
Tybalt smiled slightly at him. "Of course."
"I am still in, as well," said Madam Marchbanks, with a slight nod. "As long as you think that your allies are likely to agree."
"I still have to speak with Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, and Mrs. Parkinson," Harry admitted, rubbing one hand over his face. That meeting was one that he was not looking forward to, for a variety of reasons. Hawthorn had also been at the Walpurgis gathering. If she had seen something of what Millicent and Pansy had seen…
He pushed the thought away. He would deal with that if and when it came up, in the same way he had when it had come up with his yearmates.
"I am fairly sure that Professor McGonagall will agree," he said, yanking his mind back to the proper path. "As I said, we share a bond of affection. The others already have." Snape had merely stared darkly at him for even proposing to venture into a dangerous situation by himself. Draco had murmured sleepily into his shoulder that of course he would be part of this ritual, and then repeated his vow more fully when he'd woken up. Harry knew he had Fawkes's and Regulus's agreement.
Only because I can't prevent you from doing this damn fool thing, Regulus said.
True.
"Then I stand with you."
Harry stared hard at Moody. He'd expected a much more difficult agreement before the old Auror gave in, and had even thought he might need to ask another Light wizard—perhaps Scrimgeour, as much as he hated compromising the Minister. "Why?" he asked. "My allies' allegiances haven't suddenly changed."
Moody gave him a wintry smile. "I know that. But I also know that this is an opportunity for me to see exactly what you're made of, Potter, and what your allies are made of. You're going to take on the Light role, you said. If you do it well, that will prove something to me. If you don't do it well, that will prove something, too. That you're a sham, for example."
Harry eyed him thoughtfully as Regulus called Moody a rude name. Well, he was blunt, but it also sounded as though he were evaluating Harry as another ally. Far be it from Harry to discourage someone from doing that.
"Very well," he said. "Thank you for agreeing with me, sir." He stood up and looked at Madam Marchbanks. "I'll need to meet with the goblins soon, to discuss where we should establish the copy of Gringotts."
"The hanarz will be glad to speak with you whenever you are available," said Madam Marchbanks, with a slight inclination of her head.
Harry caught Tybalt's eye while Madam Marchbanks enchanted another Portkey for him to return to Hogwarts with, and Tybalt nodded. Harry relaxed. That meant that Delilah Gloryflower, Claudia Griffinsnest, and Fergus Opalline had indeed received the Wolfsbane Potion he'd brewed during his detentions with Snape.
With luck, we can at least make their transformations not a horror to them.
Minerva was glad to invite Harry in for a cup of tea when the boy asked, gladder to listen to something other than the two subjects that occupied her mind all day: the wards and marking. What Harry proposed was something that stirred her interest. She found herself smiling as she considered it.
A switching spell. An adapted switching spell, at that. Tricky. She looked at the boy sitting calmly and proudly in the chair in front of her, and made up her mind. All the more reason for someone experienced to help him with it, and to be available to contribute strength if something goes wrong.
"Of course, Mr. Potter," she said. "I shall be honored to stand opposite you. Or Severus, or wherever you wish to put me."
"Opposite Professor Snape, I think," said Harry, relaxing with a little sigh. Minerva was pleased to see that he didn't have as far to relax as he once would have. Young Draco Malfoy had been good for him, no matter that Minerva cordially detested the boy. "You're the strongest of the four participants in the Light side, and he's the strongest of the Dark ones. Besides, Draco has to stand opposite me." Harry grinned and sipped at his tea.
Minerva nodded, her mind trying to envision how this would work. "What is the pattern that you're using?"
Harry extended a hand casually, and several pins and other small objects on Minerva's desk fountained up and danced into position. Minerva raised her eyebrows. Harry was choosing the pattern called three-lace: four participants on either side of an aisle, facing each other; two at either end of the aisle, also facing each other; and two linked in a circle in the same space as the initiator of the ritual.
"You'll be on one side with the other Light witch and wizards," Harry explained. "The Dark ones will face you. I'll be at the initiator's end, with Draco facing me. Fawkes and, um, Regulus Black will be with me in the circle." He paused and looked nervously at Minerva.
She accepted the information with a shake of her head. Nothing is ever normal with him. Why should this be? And after what she had learned about Albus, his phoenix bonding to Harry was no great surprise. "I'll want the full tale of that someday, Mr. Potter," she said. "But for now, yes, that is acceptable."
Harry nodded to her once, and then said, "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but I have another meeting to attend." He paused, studying her face. "And you look as if you should get some rest."
Minerva bit her tongue to keep from taking points from Slytherin for impertinence. It was only true. "I shall, Mr. Potter. Attend your meeting."
Harry smiled at her, and slipped out the door. Minerva allowed herself to lean back in the chair and close her eyes then. Her mind returned to the wards again, and the absolute mess she'd found when she started digging into the older ones that guarded the original parts of the school.
Albus, Albus, what have you done?
The wards that should have recognized her did not. The ones that should have transferred easily fought and snarled like Minerva would if someone tried to confine her to a traveling cage in her Animagus form. The ones that were simple accumulations of defensive spells had had an extra twist and fillip added to them, one that marked them as Albus's, not anyone else's, and made them of a piece, almost, with the Headmaster's own magic.
Minerva was deeply angry, and not only because she was trying to take part of the burden of the wards on herself. If Albus had died suddenly, the school might well have refused to recognize her as Headmistress. Albus had bound himself to Hogwarts as if he expected the school to remain his forever, and Minerva hated the idea of that.
The man I loved and followed is gone.
She was untangling the mess, but slowly, so slowly, and it gave her headaches and invaded her dreams. Minerva gave a little shudder and sat upright in her chair. She would go on because she had to, and her fury gave her strength, but the weight of her rage made her breathless sometimes, too, as did the weight of weary, grinding, endless sorrow.
"You are doing well."
Minerva did pick up her wand. The woman who had called herself Acies stood in a corner of the room again, and this time Minerva could catch a glimpse of long, pale hands. Acies continued before she could speak a spell, or indeed anything else.
"You will be needed. Needed so badly. And when the storm comes, you are one of the reasons we will give battle well."
"Will we win the battle?" Minerva asked, because she had to discount the rest as superstitious nonsense, as usual. But battles were great events, ones that distorted the weight of history and sometimes inspired more correct Divination than the flow of ordinary, everyday life. Sometimes, of course. When Divinations were not superstitious nonsense altogether.
"I did not say that," Acies whispered. "When the storm comes. That is the important thing, Minerva. Already the wind is blowing. It will come to a head in two great storms. One, you will be powerless to affect. The other is a storm of Light, and that is your element, and it will be your day. Oh, not this one, but the next."
"You make no sense, at all," said Minerva.
"You will learn to know me better when the time comes," said Acies, and flickered like a shadow caught by a lifting lamp, and vanished.
Minerva lowered her wand, and reflected whether her life was better or not for the intrusion of mysterious babbling figures. On the one hand, she could not hex Acies as she could Trelawney, and that made it unsatisfying.
On the other hand, this had inspired her with enough irritation to push her fatigue away and go to work on the wards again.
Minerva smiled grimly, and began.
Harry tilted his head back and absorbed the gentle warmth of the deep spring night into his skin. He stood near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where he'd agreed to meet Lucius, Narcissa, and Hawthorn, and the darkness around him sprang and sang with deep green rustlings that hadn't been there a month before.
It's almost a year since Sirius died.
Harry swallowed, a little, and pushed the thought away. Sirius had died beautifully, died in reckless abandon, died like a Gryffindor. He would not want Harry to let the thought of his grief distort something this important.
"Harry."
Harry turned and smiled as Narcissa emerged from the trees, holding out a hand to him. He took it, and bent to kiss it. "I trust that the trees gave you no trouble this time?" he asked.
Narcissa laughed softly, but it was Lucius who answered, stepping out and putting one hand on his wife's shoulder. "Not this time," he said, as he gave a cool nod to Harry. "It would seem the old fool has learned his lesson."
"I hope so," said Harry, turning to Hawthorn as she came out to Lucius's right side. He studied her eyes, but saw only the same concern that she always had for him, not anything new. He relaxed a bit. She didn't see anything, or Pansy didn't tell her, and she won't push. That's good.
"What did you want to speak with us about?" Lucius asked, direct and calm. "I was reading a rather interesting book, and while what you describe sounds equally interesting, the explanation was rather confused."
Harry explained as he had with everyone else, and had the satisfaction of seeing their faces tighten in thought before they gave their answers. Narcissa and Hawthorn agreed before Lucius did. He tilted his head, fixing his eyes on the Slytherin badge on Harry's robes, and hissed his answer in Parseltongue, presumably to keep it private.
"You understand that this goes beyond the obligations of being your formal ally?"
"Of course it does," said Harry, blinking a bit, and then surging into amusement. Does Lucius want me to feel his independence? "I wouldn't expect you to participate if you don't want to, Mr. Malfoy." He was not as worried about finding replacements for reluctant Dark participants as he was for Light ones. Adalrico Bulstrode would do as well, if Lucius refused.
Lucius considered that, then nodded and moved his eyes away so that he spoke in English. "I accept."
Harry let out a little sigh. "Thank you," he said, and felt a shining burst of happiness that he could count on people like this, that he didn't have to search for a way to end the bonds that tied them the moment their obligations were made. And these were Dark wizards, two of them former Death Eaters, to boot.
With the feeling that the world was a strange and wonderful place, Harry bowed to them and then turned to walk back to Hogwarts. Draco and Snape would be missing him, for all that they'd agreed to let him go to this meeting alone; Snape's presence, in particular, would have been an insult, an implication that Harry did not trust his allies. This dance was still delicate, for all that Harry felt he understood most of the moves better than any other circumstance of his life.
"A moment, Harry."
Harry blinked and looked over his shoulder at Hawthorn. And this time there was extraordinary concern on her face, and he felt himself flush and fall back a few steps into a defensive posture.
"What?" His voice was close to a snap. All the while, he told himself that it might not be what he thought it was, that she could have other things to talk to him about, that—
"I feel that we must speak of your past now," said Hawthorn, slowly, but with determination. "There have been clues that all is not right, but now I have images." She took a deep breath and pushed forward. "Harry, I would like to know what those images meant."
She did see the memories at Walpurgis. Harry straightened his shoulders, aware of Lucius's and Narcissa's devouring, inquiring gazes, his mind collecting and ordering the information they knew. There was what he had confessed to the night of Rosier's attack on Lucius, and there were the memories of his training that Lucius had seen that first Christmas at Malfoy Manor, and there was Narcissa's knowledge of his emotional condition after last Christmas.
"They meant things that are over and done with," he said, keeping his own voice calm and polite, as blank as possible. "I thank you for your concern. It shows that you honor me beyond the obligations of formal family alliance. But we need not speak of them."
"I think we must." Hawthorn's eyes shone, but Harry could detect nothing save concern in them, even now. Even still. Why can't she leave me alone? Harry wondered, with a flash of desperation. "Harry, what I saw—it was not right." A growl slipped out of her throat, and Harry realized that she was getting angry.
At his parents, who had been punished enough. At his parents, who were the pitiable things that the Maze had shown him they were. At his parents, who did not deserve to have their lives ruined like this—not to mention the consequences that it would bring down on Connor's life, and on Harry's own. He was not a victim, and he would not allow his allies to make him into one.
And what would it do to my reconciliation with James, to push him like this? Nothing good. If they intend to bring this up in the first place, they won't understand the subtle distinctions I want to make.
"Leave it," he said softly.
Hawthorn growled again, and Harry saw her as she had been the one time he ever met her in werewolf form, a gleaming fawn bitch, her amber eyes wild and resolute. "It is wrong. I cannot."
"I would like to know, as well," said Lucius, all cool, balanced eagerness, and Narcissa's gaze was open and gentle.
"No," said Harry. "I will not tell you this again. Nearly any other sacrifice, you may ask of me. But those that involve harm to other people, I will guard against with all my life and will. That is a promise." He let his magic rise just enough to add a tinge of danger and wonder to the night.
Lucius bowed his head slightly. Narcissa sighed at him. Hawthorn remained studying him, eyes narrowed.
"Doesn't it matter to you?" she asked. "What they did? I never thought you one to oppose justice, Harry."
"I prefer mercy," said Harry, and let his voice take on the snap of breaking ice. "And this is merciful. I thank you for your concern, but this is the end of it." He waited calmly, holding her eyes, letting her think things over. He was sure of what she would choose, even before she dropped her eyes and nodded. They had the future to think of, and the formal alliance, and the affection that she and Harry shared outside the alliance. That trumped the past.
"Thank you," said Harry, and bowed to them a second time, and made his way back to Hogwarts.
Hawthorn followed Harry's departure with troubled eyes. She had given in for right now because she had seen it was no use in going against Harry's will, but that was not going to last for long. Harry had spoken like ice, but already the cracks were racing away from him, breaking apart whatever frozen place he'd tried to store his past in. Merlin knew how many witches and wizards had seen or guessed at the truth on Walpurgis Night. Not all of them would rest in silence. They would all move cautiously, Hawthorn thought, not sure at first what to do with the knowledge, and wary of incurring Harry's wrath, but in the end, they would move.
He is better off trying to control this information than backing away from it.
And so long as he ignores it, she thought, the memory of the vows returning to her, he is still doing what his mother desired him to swear to. He is still hiding a great deal of who and what he is, the strength which it must have taken to survive that.
"It will come out," said Lucius, softly.
Hawthorn glanced at him, and caught his eyes along with Narcissa's. They were united in their purpose of easing the truth into the light, and making sure that Harry suffered as little as possible from it.
Hawthorn saw an extra motive in Lucius's eyes, too, one that she could not enact herself. Lucius had been one of the Dark Lord's best and most inventive torturers. He did not use the pain curses with relish, like Bellatrix, but he was adept at twisting common spells into purposes never meant for them to serve, and his coolness meant he was capable of remaining at an emotional distance from his victims that Bellatrix never could. That made him all the more frightening, and all the more merciless when he did choose to torture someone.
When he found out what had actually happened with Harry, and what measure of responsibility his parents bore for it, Hawthorn thought, he would move. And then—then she pitied the Potters, the more because Lucius would not kill them.
She happened to look at Narcissa, though, and paused. Perhaps Narcissa would get to them first, and while Hawthorn did not know Lucius's wife as well, she thought Lily and James Potter might be more deserving of pity under Narcissa's hands than if her husband made the catch.
As for Hawthorn…
I cannot hurt any of Harry's family, but there is no alliance binding me from going after Dumbledore, she thought, and bared her teeth to the moonlight.