Thank you for the reviews on the interlude!
Racing a storm here, hoping to get the chapter up quickly. If there are typos, apologies.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Welcome to the Real World
"…not sure he's not a Dark Lord, anyway."
Harry turned around as he and Draco left the Great Hall, craning his neck to listen to the two chattering Ravenclaw students. He couldn't be sure they were talking about him, no more than the girl who spoke could be sure about the Dark Lord identity. But he was afraid they were.
You're paranoid, he told himself sharply, and faced forward again. Everybody's not really focusing on you and talking about you. You just think they are. And if someone does mention you, so what? Those damn newspaper articles and your teaching the dueling club are enough to keep their eyes on you.
Harry was more tired of the articles than he would care to admit. It seemed that every headline in the Daily Prophet still referred to him, and they were raking over minor details of his childhood now that Harry couldn't think were of interest to anyone but the Wizengamot members—if them. Skeeter's articles were probably the best of the bunch, since they did do something other than remind people that he had been abused at some point in his life, but Harry wanted all of them to just stop talking about it.
Or maybe you're nervous because there's a week to go until Voldemort's attack on the equinox, and you don't have a better plan than the one you've come up with, yet, he tried to reason with himself.
"It's all right, Harry."
Harry jumped sideways when a hand settled on his shoulder, and whipped his magic up around him. He winced when he saw the incredulous expression on Draco's face, and shook his head, shoving his power back behind the barriers that he most often used.
"It's all right, Harry," Draco repeated, and then laughed a little. "Though I guess it really isn't, if you flinch like that." Behind the joking tone in his voice, his eyes were bright with concern, and he watched Harry with an intensity that hadn't been there a moment before.
"Sorry," Harry said. "I just feel like everyone's staring at me, and I wish it would stop."
"Harry."
Harry started, this time because he hadn't expected Headmistress McGonagall sweeping up to him. Her face was flushed and hectic—no surprise, really, since she carried so many burdens on her shoulders now—but she was smiling, too, and Harry felt his curiosity stir.
"What is it, Headmistress?" he asked.
"I've managed to divine how to reverse the Transfiguration spells on that little wooden dog you gave me, Harry," said McGonagall, lowering her voice as a few curious students, heading in to dinner late, passed them. "I'm just about ready to bring him back. Would you like to be up in my office to meet him?"
Harry felt his worry drain away into relief, of more than one kind. Finally, finally, Regulus would be free, and Harry would get to meet him, and this was a welcome distraction from the crawling fear that filled his skin. "I would, Headmistress," he murmured. "And could Draco come, too? Regulus should have some family there to welcome him, and I don't know if you want to wait until I could owl Narcissa."
McGonagall pursed her lips and looked at Draco for a long moment. Draco tried to appear ingratiating, but that had never worked on McGonagall when she was only Transfiguration Professor, and it wasn't working now, either.
"Very well," she said, and Harry exchanged a grin with Draco. When the Headmistress swept towards her office, they both hurried right behind her.
Harry's heart beat erratically. Some of it was concern—the Transfiguration could still go wrong, of course, especially since they were dealing with Voldemort's magic. Some of it was curiosity—what would this man he had known for so long only as a voice in his head look like? And some of it was hope.
Perhaps Regulus can be an ally, someone not affected by the newspaper articles and the temptation to whisper about me. He knows everything already. No need for him to get all excited.
"The re-Transfiguration was easy enough once I started paying attention to the construction of the spells," McGonagall was saying as Harry and Draco stood in front of her desk. She placed the small wooden dog carved with Regulus's initials on the floor next to the desk. "The preservation spells weren't there to keep him from bleeding to death, and I would have seen that sooner if I hadn't been so convinced they were." She made a face to show how disgusted with herself she was, then went on. "They were to keep him looking exactly the way he did when You-Know-Who—" She took a deep breath, bit her lips, and said, "Voldemort. When Voldemort Transfigured him."
Harry, distracted from his visions of Regulus emerging from the dog, jerked his head up and stared at her. "You mean—you mean that he still looks nineteen, then?" Harry assumed that Regulus would be nineteen, at least, or perhaps twenty, given how long he had managed to stay free before the Transfiguration.
McGonagall nodded. "He hasn't aged," she said quietly. "It's one of the reasons that reversing the spells is so difficult." She closed her eyes and said, "I must have absolute quiet for this, boys."
She pointed her wand at the wooden dog, and Harry guessed that she must have uttered a nonverbal incantation. The dog shuddered, and a blue glow spread around it, a sharp, slicing color of blue that Harry had never seen before. The white outlines of letters, Regulus's initials, stood out from the dog's belly. Harry wondered if Regulus would bear them as scars when he returned, and then tried not to think that, lest even distracting thoughts keep McGonagall from doing the best she could.
"Cieo!"
Harry jumped at the sound of the Headmistress's voice, cracking down like a whip. Then he looked at her in awe. He had never heard one voice sound so—focused was the only word he could find for it. McGonagall still had her eyes tightly closed. Writhing strands of light were dancing around her, lazily forming pictures. Harry stared for a moment before realizing that the strands were all red and gold, Gryffindor colors, and that a complementary light was coming from the dog, silver and green, the colors of Slytherin.
The silver and green lights wrapped around each other, nudging slender, tapered heads like the heads of serpents together, and then abruptly struck towards McGonagall. She opened her eyes and glared at them, and they collapsed uselessly to the floor, Transfigured into ribbons without so much as a word.
The red and gold light spread down and enveloped the wooden dog, and McGonagall repeated, voice as stern as when she'd encouraged Harry to tell her about his past in second year, "Cieo. Cieo Regulus Black."
The dog was now the center of a maelstrom of light, and Harry saw other dark ropes burn into being and then vanish, seemingly consumed by the Gryffindor-colored radiance. McGonagall was reaching deep, he thought, and her magic sang with finesse, perfectly balanced and perfectly controlled. Harry was impressed. McGonagall might not be as good at Potions as Snape, or as strong as Dumbledore, but she had made Transfiguration her absolute specialty, and Harry highly doubted that either of the two wizards could have challenged her in this branch of magic.
"Transformo!" was McGonagall's next incantation, and then she murmured, gently, as if coaxing the toy to yield up the man who had occupied it for so long, "Catellus ab viro!"
The toy appeared to turn in on itself. Harry leaned forward, his hand clenching into a fist, and felt a jab of phantom pain from the imaginary left hand that he sometimes seemed to carry on the end of his stump. Draco gripped his arm as if to keep him from going closer. Harry sent him an impatient glance. He knew not to go close. He was just bracing himself not to scream if he felt more pain of the kind with which Regulus had first introduced himself.
But no pain occurred, and the dog, lifting from the floor now and turning somersaults inside the writhing light, didn't scream. Instead, with what sounded like a cough more than anything else, it whirled and became a silhouette, and that silhouette was suddenly much larger than it had been, panting and bowing its head, with four limbs that were definitely arms and legs.
The light faded. McGonagall slumped to the side, catching herself on her desk. The signs of spell exhaustion glimmered on her face. Harry gave her a concerned glance, but couldn't quite convince himself to look away from Regulus for long.
If it was him. Quite apart from the afterimages burning in Harry's eyes, thee was the fact that this man was kneeling with his head bowed, a long curtain of tangled dark hair falling over his face and concealing it.
"Regulus?" Harry whispered.
The man whipped around, moving quickly, and then halted, staring at him. "Harry?" he whispered. "Merlin, it feels so strange to see you from the outside. It's been more than a year since I have."
Harry didn't respond, because he couldn't. This man was definitely Sirius's brother, and the sight of those familiar Black features, accented and turned slightly different by the fact that they were relatives but not the same person, had stolen his breath. Harry stared into gray eyes larger than Sirius's, a nose slightly longer than his, and, of course, features younger than his had ever been in Harry's conscious memory. Regulus really was a young man of nineteen or twenty, just the way that the Headmistress had said he would be.
"It feels strange having a body back, too," Regulus commented, and patted at himself with his hands, small, fluttering motions, as though he were trying and failing to wake himself from a vivid dream.
That made Harry step forward. He might feel hesitant seeing Regulus with a memory, and his voice sounded different from the one in Harry's head, but this was still the man who had shared his head for over a year, who had comforted him and seen his worst memories and offered Harry what help he could and told him when he was being an idiot. Harry hesitantly held out his arms.
Regulus closed his eyes, released a sigh that had more than a little relief in it, and then grabbed Harry around the waist and hauled him close for an embrace. Harry stiffened in surprise for just a moment. Then he decided that, sod it, Regulus needed the hug even if it made him uncomfortable, and let himself relax.
"It's so good to really meet you at last," Regulus whispered, finally letting Harry go and sitting back so that he could look at him. He shook his head, and smoothed Harry's hair away from the lightning bolt scar. "You need a lot more sleep than I thought you did, from the looks of your face."
Harry was not prepared to listen to silly speeches about dark circles under his eyes or the like, because a polite cough at his shoulder had reminded him that someone else was still in the room, someone who had only heard Regulus's voice in his head once or twice, during the times he was mentally connected with Harry. He pulled Draco forward. "Regulus, may I present Draco Malfoy, your—well, cousin of some degree, anyway." He didn't know the Black family tree well enough to say just how related Regulus and Draco were.
Regulus smiled and held out his hand to Draco, who was obviously drawing on polished pureblood manners as he clasped it. Harry doubted he was actually prepared to meet a cousin who had spent a good portion of his life as a wooden dog, and there was probably no pureblood ritual that covered it, either, but Draco did his best, using the greeting that would welcome back an exile. "Greetings, cousin," he said. "You have long wandered in the spaces between the stars, and we are glad to have you back in the starry spaces with us."
Regulus grinned. "No need to be that formal, cousin. I feel like I know you, too." He ruffled Draco's hair, which made Draco blink and lift one hand as if to make sure it was still there. "You've been an enormous help to Harry, and that makes you a friend in my book. Even better than a cousin, considering what some of my cousins are," he added darkly. Harry knew he was thinking of Bellatrix.
He rose to his feet, brushed off his clothes—which had once been Death Eater robes, Harry realized abruptly, though now they were tattered almost beyond recognition—and then turned and bowed to McGonagall.
"Headmistress," he said softly. "I can never thank you properly for everything you've done for me. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I have already determined to aid you all I can in your war to recover Hogwarts' respectability. I have few formal duties of my own, other than protecting Harry—"
"What?" Harry asked blankly. He knows that I don't need another guardian. At least, I thought he did. And he's only a few years older than I am, so he's too young to be a guardian anyway. I think.
Regulus merrily ignored him. "And I would be interested in seeing that Dumbledore's new reputation does not damage Hogwarts unnecessarily. The happiest years of my life were spent here." He grimaced and rubbed his left forearm. Harry found that he could just see the edge of the Dark Mark under Regulus's sleeve. "I don't have much political influence just at the moment, but I have the Black fortune, and the Black family estates. Please consider their aid yours."
McGonagall nodded, a dazed expression coming over her face. Harry waited a moment to be sure that she was not going to speak, then leaned forward. The words about the Black estates had reminded him of something. "Regulus," he said, and had the small thrill of seeing another face look back at him, rather than just hearing an answer in his own head. He suspected it would took him some time to get used to that. "Now that you're back in your body, you should raise the wards on Wayhouse, if you can. I don't know if they'll listen to you, but I know that Narcissa found Bellatrix there, and if she thinks she can get in any time…"
Regulus closed his eyes. Harry felt a brief ripple of power travel over him, and then into him, as if members of the Black family had their own private, personal web. Regulus opened his eyes, grinning. "That's so much easier and more satisfying when I have a body," he murmured. "And yes, they listened to me this time, Harry. Right now, the only people who can pass the wards into any of the houses are you, me, and Narcissa."
Harry nodded, happy that Regulus now trusted Narcissa enough to permit her free access to the Black estates; there was a time not so long ago when he hadn't. "I should owl my allies," he murmured, mind jumping to what kind of difference this might make in their plans for Voldemort's equinox attack. "They'll want to meet you, and of course, now that you're back, we know that we'll have some safe places to retreat to." He paused and eyed Regulus. "If you trust them enough to let them into the houses. I suppose that's another reason to have you meet them."
"I can already tell you that I don't trust all of them," said Regulus promptly. "But I think it's a good idea to have a meeting, Harry. Some of them might improve with a closer acquaintance. And Merlin knows, I'd like the opportunity to talk to Lucius and Narcissa again." His gray eyes gleamed. "And Severus, of course."
Harry blinked for a moment before he realized Regulus was talking about Snape. "You were both Death Eaters at the same time," he said. That's one bond that they'll share.
Regulus gave him a searching glance. "And he hasn't told you anything more than that?"
What more is there to tell? But if Snape hadn't mentioned it so far, then it probably wasn't a story that Harry was supposed to ask about. Instead, he just said, "No."
"Then I suppose I'll leave it up to him to tell you," said Regulus. "But we can also talk about guardianship for you, Harry. I don't want to force Severus to give up custody of you. He's been doing too good a job of protecting you. Since he still holds the formal legal guardianship, however, I'll need his permission to make you the Black heir. And—"
"Wait a moment." Harry held up his hand and his stump. Regulus's gaze darted to the stump, and his lips tightened. Harry lowered his left wrist hastily. If Regulus turns out as overprotective as Snape, then I really will have to scream. "Who said anything about your making me Black heir?"
"I did," said Regulus. "I distinctly just heard myself say it."
Draco snickered. Harry turned to glare at him. Draco simply grinned back. "I think I like him, Harry," he said. "And there's the solution to your money troubles solved, as well as another place that you could be safe when you aren't in school."
Harry shook his head with a scowl that he meant to take in everyone in the room, possibly including McGonagall, if she also thought this idiocy was a good idea. "Regulus, you can't make me your heir."
"Well, not yet," Regulus admitted, finally showing a small sign of doubt in a thoughtful frown. "I told you, there's Snape to agree with me first, and I'll have to convince the Ministry I'm not dead, and that I am who I say I am—though that shouldn't be hard, with the Black wards all responding to me—and then I'll have to sign the papers, and we'll have to do something about the singing creature in Grimmauld Place, so you can visit safely, and—"
"I just—there are blood heirs of the family alive," said Harry. "What about Narcissa? What about Draco?"
"I'll be Malfoy heir, Harry," said Draco, who sounded like he was enjoying all of this enormously. "That's enough for me. I never expected to get the Black estates and monies, anyway, since Cousin Sirius was still alive, even when I thought Cousin Regulus was dead." He said "Cousin Regulus" with a sort of sadistic glee.
"I'm sure Narcissa will agree," said Regulus, with an idle flap of his hand, as if he thought that wouldn't be a problem. "And what Bellatrix thinks doesn't matter anyway. I'll set some money aside for Andromeda and her daughter, of course, but they wouldn't want to live in Grimmauld Place or any of the other houses, anyway, not if I know Andromeda." He smiled at Harry. "So that's all settled."
"Look," said Harry, fighting down the urge to scream. Being around self-satisfied people who insisted on giving him gifts outside the boundaries of a truce-dance or other ritual was not his idea of a good time. "What if you want to get married and have children of your own, or if you adopt a magical heir? You're still young, Regulus. You could do it."
"Yes, but right now I don't have anyone in mind," said Regulus. "Stop fighting this, Harry. I made up my mind during all those days I was getting reacquainted with my preserved body and had nothing else to think about. You do best when you have some responsibility that you don't feel you can shirk, and you need a home and a vault that can be absolutely your own." He sneered suddenly, and Harry shivered at the way the expression looked on his face. "I don't think that you'd really want anything your parents deigned to leave you, anyway."
Harry waved his hand, trying to make Regulus understand what he didn't have the words to encompass. "It's too much. I could understand if you wanted to leave me a few artifacts, Regulus, or—" No, even a place like Wayhouse is too much. "Or something," he finished lamely. "But not all this."
"And that's your only objection?" Regulus sounded interested, but not really worried, which only irritated Harry all over again.
"Isn't that enough?"
"No, not particularly," said Regulus. "I can still make my will out to whoever I like. People do, you know, even when one child wants to be left out of the inheritance altogether. If I die in the War and it's yours, then you can do whatever you like with it, Harry. I would never bind you to dispose of it in any particular way, or to keep it if it really bothered you. But I do want a responsible heir, and one I trust and want to honor, and you're it." Regulus grinned at him. "I assure you, the burden's not really so heavy as you make it out to be."
Harry just closed his eyes and shook his head, not really sure what else he could say to refuse the estates and money, and horribly tempted to just give in. At the very least, he wouldn't have to worry about purchasing his school supplies for the rest of the time he was at Hogwarts, or buying ingredients to brew for the Wolfsbane Potion.
And why was he struggling so much against this, anyway?
Maybe it's irrational, but it makes me uncomfortable, he thought, then opened his eyes and looked at Regulus. "I'll owl my allies," he said. "I'm not sure how long it will take them to get here." He hesitated, and looked over at McGonagall, who had recovered from the spell exhaustion and was simply watching them with a distantly amused expression on her face. "And, of course, I need the Headmistress's permission to bring them onto the grounds at all," he murmured.
McGonagall shook her head. "It's all right with me, Harry," she said. "In fact, I should attend the meeting myself, if only to represent Hogwarts."
Harry nodded, and looked back at Regulus. "I am happy that you're here," he said, feeling he needed to emphasize that. "I would be just as glad to let you keep the money and the houses, though."
"I like sharing," said Regulus.
Harry eyed him in resignation, once again hearing Draco snicker behind him. Just what I needed. Another bloody guardian. And one who maybe knows me even better than Snape does. Joy.
Harry sat bolt upright in his chair next to McGonagall's desk, aware that he probably looked as if he were going to levitate at any moment, but unable to relax. Most of his allies had answered with unexpected swiftness, and though it was now Saturday, and only two days after he had owled them, he was expecting them for a meeting in the Headmistress's office.
Regulus had spent the day before wandering around the school, talking with Snape about Merlin knew what, and Apparating to the various houses to make sure all the wards were holding. He had also apparently gone to the Ministry. That was the one journey Harry really wished he could have shared, if only to see the expressions on the record-keepers' faces when they realized just who was standing before them.
Harry had spent the day before not relaxing. The lead article on Friday morning had been particularly inflammatory, running under a byline Harry didn't recognize, and strongly hinting that Dumbledore had been right in suspecting that Harry might become a Dark Lord. Harry had seen the stares and the scowls directed his way all morning and all afternoon. It had been enough to put him off his appetite entirely, and he had retreated to the Slytherin common room during the evening.
That was when he had realized that one of the Slytherin seventh-years was gone, and when he asked about her, everyone else averted their gazes.
She went to join Voldemort. Of course, he probably wants as many people with him as possible when he makes his attack on the equinox.
Harry hadn't slept much last night, and not due to visions. The overwhelming weight had crashed down on him, and he'd spent hours drifting in and out of various restless dozes. In his waking periods, he fought against the temptation to creep across the bedroom and wake Draco up, or to go and find Snape, or Remus. He wanted to talk to someone.
About what, though? They know everything already.
That thought had kept him just where he was, and now…now his allies were coming, and he was jumpy.
"It's all right."
Once again, Harry started violently as Draco's hand came down on his shoulder, but he didn't jump out of the chair. He forced himself to relax as Draco leaned over from the chair next to his and rubbed his back roughly.
"You'll take them all down, Harry," Draco whispered. "I know you will. You've done harder things than this, and lived through it."
Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself to lean back into that touch and those murmured words, just for a moment. Then the door to the Headmistress's office opened, and he slid smoothly down from the chair to resume his feet. It wouldn't do to be sitting when his allies entered. It was too great a sign of disrespect.
Henrietta Bulstrode, to Harry's utter unsurprise, was the first one who entered. She had a faint half-smile on her face, which only deepened when she saw Draco scrambling to mimic Harry.
"Potter," she said. "Am I to understand that we are finally plotting our first attack in this war, rather than making vague plans about the Black estates and the weapons that might or might not be lying around in them?"
"I mean to answer our enemies' attack on the equinox, yes," said Harry, with a quick inclination of his head to the people entering behind Henrietta—Ignifer, Honoria, and Mortimer Belville. "I believed it was time that we formalized our strategy."
"Such strong words," said Henrietta softly, taking the chair across from Harry's. The chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing him, but Harry realized abruptly that, like it or not, he'd set it up so that he was separated from his allies, along with Draco, McGonagall, Snape, and Regulus. Henrietta seemed to notice at the same moment, and her face brightened with amusement. "You really ought to have a gilded throne," she told him conversationally, "to complete the atmosphere."
"What a good idea," said Honoria, and waved a hand. Illusions curled around Harry's chair, turning the wood to apparent gold. Then Honoria frowned, and the gold brightened to diamond. She nodded, pleased, as banners draped the back of the chair—the crests of all the families allied with him, Harry realized with growing horror. Honoria turned a bright, expectant smile on him when she was done, waiting for praise.
Harry realized he had a few choices here. He could drop his head and flush in embarrassment, or he could make the choice that would allow his allies to respect him. He had to worry about impressing more of them than just Henrietta. Mortimer's eyes, and those of Charles, who had just entered and made his way to the end of the row of chairs, were too sharp, too calculating.
"It still needs a cushion," he told Honoria. "Could you make one that has Voldemort's face on it?" Everyone in the room flinched, and Harry lifted his chin, with a small smile and growing confidence. "I rather enjoy the idea of sitting on him."
Honoria laughed in delight, and waved a hand. Harry glanced over his shoulder, and saw a cushion forming with an exaggerated face on it, more snake than human. It wasn't at all what Voldemort looked like, but then, he could hardly expect Honoria to know that. It was a good enough approximation.
"Thank you," he told her earnestly, and then motioned for Edward Burke and Thomas Rhangnara, both hesitating in the doorway, to come in. The Malfoys followed behind them, and then Hawthorn and Adalrico. Adalrico inclined his head when he saw Harry.
"My wife sends her apologies," he said. "Marian is sick, and she must stay home with her."
Harry frowned. "The illness isn't serious, I hope?"
"It is not, thank Merlin," said Adalrico, and Harry realized he was attempting to keep a grin off his face. "Merely a bit of accidental magic expression that wearied her and made her vulnerable to a cold." He was darting glances around the room, to see, Harry supposed, who was taking notice that his daughter could perform accidental magic so young. Harry smothered a grin, and then studied the door, knowing that more people had yet to arrive.
He was quietly satisfied when Arabella Zabini stepped into the room and sank into a full-blown curtsey. When she stood up again, the bells in her hair rang softly. Thomas was staring at her in rapt fascination, and he actually started talking before Arabella could get a word in edgewise.
"You're a Songstress, aren't you?" he asked. "How long did you train?"
Arabella gave him a cool glance, seemingly torn between pleasure that someone had recognized her and consternation that he had. "Sixteen years, in total," she said. "And I consider myself still in training. I learn something new every day."
Thomas clasped his hands together. "What a wonderful philosophy! I consider myself the same way. When I made the decision to Declare for Dark, it was the result of long years of careful consideration. When I—"
Harry cut Thomas off, regretting that his wife wasn't here to curb him. "You're most welcome here, Mrs. Zabini," he said. "I hope that you can aid us in our endeavors to counter Voldemort."
"I will most certainly try," Arabella said, and took a seat on the far end of the row, near Charles. He was staring at her, too. Harry hoped he didn't try Legilimency on her. He didn't want to have to settle disagreements like that among his allies.
Snape, Regulus, and McGonagall arrived in short order. Harry was amused to see Edward Burke lean forward the moment Regulus took his seat on the other side of Harry from Draco and eye him in slowly dawning shock. The shock turned to recognition when Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Permit me to introduce my newest ally, Regulus Black."
Surprise, shock, interest, and amusement in various degrees showed up on the faces across from him. Burke was the only one who actually dared to demand—or perhaps the only one rattled enough to demand—"How is this possible?"
"The Dark Lord Transfigured me into a wooden dog," said Regulus, sounding far more pleased with himself than Harry would have thought advisable in the circumstances. "I was bound to my brother's mind for a time, but when the Dark Lord possessed him, he knocked me loose, and I latched onto Harry, as the person in the area most strongly affected by—Voldemort's magic." He had to take a deep breath before the name, but he said it. "I've been a voice in his head for the past year. Luckily, he finally located my body, and I've been restored to myself by the good offices of Headmistress McGonagall." He bowed to McGonagall. "And I am heir of the Black estates."
"I don't believe it." Burke's voice was quick, rapid. "Prove yourself."
Regulus grinned at him. "I filed the paperwork at the Ministry yesterday. I'm sure the story will be in the Prophet by this evening or tomorrow morning. You can read all about it there."
"That doesn't prove anything." Burke glanced around at the other allies, as though looking for support. "Why do you think Potter's trotted this impostor out?" he demanded. "To prove that he has some kind of claim to the Black estates, when everyone knows that by right of descent they should go to me."
"Not as long as I am alive, Burke," Narcissa said, in a flat, calm voice. "And after me comes my son."
"You know very well that if the Ministry officials had listened to reason half a century ago—" Burke began.
"Be that as it may," Regulus cut him off, "I'm the eldest son left alive in direct line of descent. And I've made Harry my heir."
Henrietta narrowed her eyes and gave Harry a look more calculating than ever at that. Honoria giggled and clapped her hands in delight. Most of the others again wore some expression in the middle of surprise.
Burke went mad.
Leaping to his feet, he pointed one trembling finger at Harry. "This is a lie," he breathed. "The Black estates should go to me. Everyone who actually matters knows that. I will not tolerate this—"
"Shut up, Burke," said Harry. He didn't realize how hard his voice would be until he said it. Burke stared at him in shock, and Harry went on, not daring to back off now that he'd started this, keeping his tone low and measured. "If you cannot accept that Regulus Black is who he says he is, and the rightful heir of the Black estates, then you may leave, and consider our alliance officially broken. I see little to no value in an ally who chooses to bring up obscure legal disputes on the eve of battle, let alone one who will not listen to reasonable explanations."
Burke's face went through several different colors in the space of half a minute. Then he sank slowly back down in his chair, and stared at the floor.
"I do want to matter," he whispered. "I do want to be part of this alliance."
Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "Then control yourself," he hissed, and glanced at the others. "Does anyone else have a problem with this?"
None of them did. A strange half-smile lingered on Henrietta's face, but other than that, there was not even a halfway objectionable expression. Harry nodded, and took his chair, finally.
"Voldemort is attacking the Muggles through their underground system," he said, deciding to lay it out in blunt terms, so that no one else could raise more objections to imaginary obstacles. "He's using wooden disks to do so—disks that will crack apart the stone at the easiest points between the Muggle and the wizarding sections of the tunnels, to permit his Death Eaters entrance. I've spoken with the southern goblins, and they did agree to use their magic to protect the tunnels. But I don't know everything about Voldemort's plan, like why he's attacking Muggles in particular, and I think we should be on our guard." He hesitated, but decided that he had to reveal the next piece of information. If he didn't, then he might get some of his allies killed. "I've also heard, though not confirmed as yet, that Voldemort is attacking Muggleborn children who are too young to attend Hogwarts. He got their names thanks to Mulciber entering the school last year. He can drain their magic and make his own stronger."
"No, he can't," said Mortimer, rather pompously. "There were no reports of that during the First War."
"How would you know?" Charles asked, his voice soft and dangerous. "You weren't in the country at the time."
Mortimer flushed, and Harry decided that it was time to intervene again. "His draining ability has grown stronger since his resurrection," he said. "As I said, I haven't been able to confirm this as yet, but it could mean that he'll be considerably stronger than we ever expected. Retreat, if he's there. Leave him up to me."
"Potter."
Harry glanced questioningly at Ignifer, who was leaning forward. "Why are you so confident that you can handle him?" she demanded. "We're your allies. Let us help you."
Harry sighed. He would have to bring this up, too, it seemed. "I can do the same thing, if need be," he said. "I've swallowed some of his magic in the past, and made it part of my own."
"Then you could take power in the same way," said Mortimer. "Find a few willing volunteers of your own. Problem solved."
Harry saw his older allies—the Malfoys, Hawthorn, Adalrico—shake their heads sadly. Harry tried as best he could to keep his temper while answering. Mortimer was valuable mostly as a contact point among other families, Narcissa had told him, since he was the heir of an important pureblood line, fop though he was. That meant Harry had to treat him well. It didn't mean that he had to have any real respect for his intelligence, only seem as if he had. "I would rather not do that. No wizard or witch would like having his or her magic drained, and I don't think as many would be willing to become volunteers as you think."
"If it's for the good of the wizarding world, they should," said Mortimer.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you volunteering?"
Mortimer recoiled. "I am a pureblood heir," he spluttered. "I was thinking—Muggleborns or something." He waved a hand. "Someone who doesn't matter all that much to the future of our world."
"I don't see a difference between Muggleborns and purebloods," said Harry mildly. He was aware of several of his allies' gazes sharpening. He did not care. He would make this clear, too. In a way, he found it hard to imagine that they hadn't already known it. "I would take magic only from someone like Voldemort who's proven himself all but irredeemable, or from someone who willingly offered it to me. I've only ever used my draining ability to defend myself. It will stay that way."
A silence succeeded his words. Then Ignifer asked, "So what exactly do you want us to do, Potter?"
Harry let out a small sigh. No open complaints. That's progress, of a sort. "Work with me," he said. "We need to set up a strategy to confine the Death Eaters if they do break through. I need to know more about what each of you can do, beyond the obvious, to know where best to put you."
Ignifer volunteered first, as Harry had suspected she would. "I am best with fire magic," she said softly. "I can call flame hot enough to burn stone, if that's necessary."
"I'd like to have you at one of the entrances to the London Underground, then," Harry told her. "If worst comes to worst, we might need you to bring one of the tunnels down on the Death Eaters' heads. Do you have any objection to working with goblins?"
Ignifer shook her head. Harry nodded back. "I'll owl the hanarz and ask her to fix you a position, then."
"Illusions are my strength," said Honoria. "And I can—well, I can pass very quickly between point and point, if that's what you need someone to do." She looked pleased with herself, and disinclined to reveal what about her might permit her to do that.
Harry glanced at Snape, whose eyes were narrowed. Snape gave him a barely perceptible nod. He'd used enough Legilimency to see that Honoria wasn't lying or exaggerating, then.
"You're messenger," Harry told her, and Honoria squeaked as if that pleased her. "Secondary line of defense." He turned expectantly to the others.
Slowly, he worked out where they would be best placed. Most of them would be best guarding the critical junction points in the tunnels, Harry decided. The biggest problem was that they had no idea how many points Voldemort might strike at, and he would certainly have more Death Eaters than Harry had defenders. So they would keep their strategy light and fast-moving, with everyone ready to retreat and call on the goblins for help if too many Death Eaters managed to break through, and they would stay connected by means of Honoria and a messenger spell that Lucius quietly offered to teach everyone else. Regulus and Snape would act as guards for Harry. Harry wasn't happy about that part of it, but had the sense to keep his objections quiet, since he knew neither Regulus nor Snape would be moved.
Regulus was grinning by the time they were done, his gray eyes sparkling in a way that reminded Harry painfully of Sirius's. "I have some toys at home that might just help," he mused.
Harry could feel himself relaxing, just a bit, as the realization that they had a strategy pushed into him. It still wasn't perfect. Voldemort would still be hard to defeat. But Harry thought now, with some hope, of everyone actually managing to survive the equinox, and the Muggles being safe.
If everyone just does as we hope they will do. If we can manage to hold this together.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Regulus told him casually, as the rest of his allies were filing out the door, "I thought you should know that Severus agreed to let you become my heir."
Harry shot Snape a betrayed look, and got a flat glare in retaliation, which promised detention if he opened his mouth. Harry huffed, and kept quiet, but he was already thinking up ways to convince Regulus otherwise.
It's one thing for me to have guards in the middle of battle. I'm probably Voldemort's primary target, by now. But for Merlin's sake, Regulus needs to get over this silly idea. He could still meet someone whom he wants to marry, or a child he wants to adopt.
I was right. It is like having two guardians, and neither one of them listens to me.