The chapter 27 train departs in three… two… one…

Chapter 27 – The Lord's Last Gift

To steer the discussion into safer territory, Harry told them about Draco. Not everything, of course, but as detailed a version as he could manage without giving anything about himself and Sirius away. When he was done, Hermione was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"That sounds awful, Harry. It really does... but... Are your sure that it's a good thing for you to get involved?"

"Believe me, Hermione," Sirius said with a twist of his mouth behind the rim of his teacup, "I've tried talking him out of it several times. It doesn't work."

"I don't need to be reasoned with," Harry objected. "It's the right thing to do. Draco needs help and I'm not going to let the Ministry send him back to Azkaban."

"Harry," said Hermione, carefully, "I know you're probably upset about missing Narcissa's trial. I mean, I guessed you would be as soon as I saw the article but don't you think the Ministry knows best in this case? You're not one of their judges, Harry... You don't know what type of evidence against Draco they have."

"I don't care," he retorted. "I don't. You should have seen him, Hermione. He's not the Draco we used to know. What he's been through must have been dreadful."

"Um, so why exactly are we calling Malfoy 'Draco'?" Ron's ginger eyebrows were on their way to greet his hairline.

"Because that's his name?" Harry told him, sounding slightly more harsh than perhaps necessary.

Ron scratched his chin. "I'm pretty sure Malfoy's name is 'Malfoy'."

"Oh, what does it matter, Ron!?" Hermione exclaimed in exasperation.

"Hey!" Ron held up his hands defensively. "Just trying to follow the conversation."

"Listen," Sirius leaned forwards a little, gently putting an end to their burgeoning argument, "Harry and I have had this discussion a million times before, and he's as single-minded as old Professor Binns." His eyes twinkled teasingly as they brushed Harry's. "You won't change his mind, Hermione."

She sat back with a huff, chin raised in opposition. "Well, if you want to know what I think I don't like it. You should be concentrating on your own life, Harry. Not Draco's. I'm sure the Ministry can handle it. Kingsley is Minister now! We know Kingsley and he's a good man. He was an Order member!"

"I know..." said Harry. "I know all that. But I've been to the Ministry and I wasn't sure I liked what I saw."

That got to her, he could see that. Hermione harboured an almost unhealthy respect for authority but she was not impossible. And she certainly wasn't naïve. Now a small furrow appeared between her brows. "What do you mean?"

Harry pushed his fringe back and shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't know exactly. It just seems a bit... unstable. And I don't like that new Chief Warlock either. I saw him at Lucius' trial."

"Algernon Pod," she nodded in confirmation.

"You know about him?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Of course." She drew herself up a little. "Apparently, he's over one hundred and fifty years old. He was born in India to English parents and began his education there but he moved to London in his twenties. He's been a Wizengamot judge for three periods and was considered the obvious choice for the position as Chief Warlock after the War. He has written seven books on the British magical judicial system and he has been a member of the Amethyst Order for most Venerated Wizards and Witches ever since he was sixty-three. It's a secret society."

"The what?" said Harry.

But Ron who had been looking lost ever since Hermione started speaking perked up at this revelation. "A secret society? Sounds neat! What d'you know about them?"

"Well... not very much at all, really," Hermione conceded.

"Why not?" he frowned at her.

"Because they are a secret society, Ronald?"

Ron snorted. "Helpful, Hermione. Thanks for the input."

Harry exchanged a glance with Sirius who looked as though he was trying to fight a grin.

"Anyway, I don't think it's very interesting," Hermione was saying. "I just mentioned it because a few books and articles bring it up. It all sounds a terribly boring, to be honest. If the rumours are to be believed they do nothing but arrange lectures on various historical magical events and sample different vintages of wine and firewhiskey."

"So how do you get in?" Ron winked at Harry. "Never mind the lectures but I'd like to try the whiskey. Ouch!" He rubbed the place on his thigh where Hermione had swatted him. "No need to resort to violence."

"You have no class, Ronald," she told him.

"Careful, Sirius," Ron grumbled. "She'll usurp your position as Professor in a heartbeat if you don't keep your guard up."

o.O.o

The long corridor lay swathed in shadows. Harry's steps echoed around him as he made his way further down it, past the doors, one by one. He thought about his wand in the slim wooden box. He hated leaving it behind and his fingers itched to retrieve it. But he couldn't. He was fairly sure Draco's cell door would not open to him if he was in possession of his wand. Instead, Harry clutched his copy of the Sunday Evening Prophet twice as hard, if only to have something in his hand. He didn't know if Draco was allowed any papers, or if anyone told him anything at all about the current goings-on in general, but he was not going to risk it. He would not stand accused of lying... or insanity.

The door that lead to cell number 21 was firmly closed. Stepping up to it, Harry barely had time to draw a steadying breath before the lock clicked sharply and the door began to swing open on its hinges. This time it was less of a surprise but even so Harry's heart jumped in response.

Silence greeted him. Licking his dry lips, Harry took a step forwards, slipping into the meagre pool of light that spilled from the cell.

Draco was sitting on his bed, just as he had last time. His eyes widened at the sight of Harry and he opened his mouth to say something but Harry was the quicker one. He tossed the folded paper across the room and it landed on Draco's legs.

"Look at the front page," he said curtly.

It seemed to take ages before Draco moved. There was contempt in his eyes, Harry realised dimly. But in the end a pale hand darted out and snatched up the paper hungrily. He had no more than thrown the most cursory glance at it, though, before shock touched his face. The picture of the raging Sirius was nothing new, but the headline certainly was.

The tension mounted around Harry as he waited for some kind of response and his anxiety was an uncomfortable, cold knot twisting through his stomach. He was still standing in the doorway, fearing to properly enter the cell before Draco had given his permission. After Harry's fervent declarations at home he was not at all keen on returning defeated; if Draco truly never wanted to see him ever again he feared there was not much he could do. He could not force his help on Draco, after all. Probably.

"Is this true?" It was a breathless whisper, of sorts.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Draco's jaw moved, like he was trying to chew the information into edible, comprehensible morsels. "How?"

"Professor McGonagall offered him the job and..."

"How can he be alive?" Draco cut across him abruptly.

"I'm not sure," Harry began hesitantly. He discovered that he was reluctant to tell Draco what he could remember about Sirius' Return. In any case, he was no longer sure what was true and what his mind had invented afterwards. Thinking back on it now was like trying to catch a dream slipping through your fingers. "It was a gift, I think. To me. Because I defeated Voldemort."

There was a twitch in Draco's shoulders at the name and Harry saw him swallow.

"It doesn't matter, though," Harry continued quickly. "He's back, and that's what counts."

Draco turned his face away, into the wall. This, in combination with the bleak overhead light, did nothing to encourage Harry to say something more. Still, he had to if they were not going to end things this way. "He wasn't dead," he said. "Not really. He was just... waiting somewhere."

When Draco turned back to him, his smile was cruel. "Well, lucky you, Potter. You get everything."

Harry bit back the first retort that came to him like a reflex. "I don't, though, Draco," he said instead, trying hard to keep his voice quiet and calm. The heavy door swung closed behind him as he stepped into the room. "I got this, yes. I got Sirius, but... I lost... We lost so much... So many."

Draco said nothing to that. After a while his gaze fell away from Harry's face and returned to the Prophet in his lap. He turned it over and scanned the last page. Then he began flicking through the paper one page at a time, absorbing this shard of the outside world in something that Harry would have named awe had he been forced to put a label on it. When he was finally done, Draco looked up. "I'm going to keep this, Potter," he said matter-of-factly.

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Go ahead."

"I doubt I'm allowed to. Then again, I'm not sure you were allowed to bring it here in the first place so I'll just blame you. Say you dropped it."

"Fine by me." Harry dug into his pocket and produced a folded parchment. "Want me to conveniently drop this too?"

Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is it?"

"I made a list," Harry told him, "of all the reasons for why I think you should be found innocent. And set free."

Draco snorted. "What an extraordinarily enormous waste of time."

"Why?" Harry took a step closer and held out the list to Draco. "I don't think you should go back to Azkaban."

"And that makes you the minority, Potter."

"But it wasn't only us who suffered. Look at you Draco! You suffered, too, at Voldemort's hands."

"Father suffered. They sent him to Azkaban. And mother." Draco's voice was laced with bitterness. "Don't get me wrong, I know what they did. I know what I did."

"Not enough to be found guilty," Harry said sternly.

But Draco's thin lips curved in resentment. "You don't know that. You have no idea." He shifted against the stone wall, matted hair grating against it. "Maybe it's for the best... Maybe I'll just let them suck my soul out of me... take every thought from me, every memory, and leave me empty. That way I wouldn't have to think."

"You can't do that." Harry needed to get through to Draco. "You can't give yourself over to them!"

"No? Oh, but I can..." Suddenly he laughed. It sounded hollow. "I assume you know that they found my father almost dead in his cell on the eve of his trial?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. With everything else that had been going on he had quite forgotten about that. Now all his fears came rushing back. He felt cold all over. "I know," he said, and his voice came out oddly hushed. "Listen, I think maybe someone at the Ministry..."

Draco let out a mirthless chuckle. "No, Potter. Not so." He rolled his eyes. "So quick to suspect treason... But no, it wasn't somebody at the Ministry."

Harry meant to say something but couldn't find the words. Instead, he watched as Draco's eyes grew distant. When he next spoke, his voice, too, had changed. It was strangled now, uncomfortable to listen to.

"It's called the Lord's Last Gift," he said. "It's a complicated spell. It begins in the mind, you see, Potter. And you need to be strong... In spirit. And even stronger in your convictions." His brow furrowed fleetingly. "I suppose my father wasn't strong enough."

Harry swallowed. His throat was dry.

"You never really can practice it," Draco continued. "Not unless you want to... Well, the final stage is crucial. That is when you give in. Give yourself over, as you yourself put it." His empty eyes met Harry's. "The Dark Lord taught it to his most beloved servants. My father learned it long ago."

"How is it done?" Harry asked, barely audibly to his own ears. The chill of the cell was creeping under his skin.

"You turn all of your attention inward. You focus. With all of your might and all of your magic you focus on your heart." Draco licked his lips. "And you force it to stop."

Harry felt sick. "That's not possible."

"Oh, but it is. Because the Dark Lord is within... He is in your blood, in your bones..." Slowly, Draco lifted his hands and peeled back the sleeve from his wrist. In here, the Dark Mark looked like a deep bruise on his skin. "He is inside you. He knows you. And... you have his blessing." Draco turned his wrist into the light, appearing to peacefully contemplate what he was seeing.

"You can't just stop living," Harry protested. He wanted to take Draco by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. To shake the lingering influence of Voldemort out of him.

"But the Dark Lord commands it." Draco looked up at him, head tilted a little to the side. "In the event that Aurors capture you... you are to use this gift to end your life. To escape questioning. To ensure that you do not inadvertently betray Him in whatever way possible. That is why he calls it a gift. Because when you use it, you serve Him. You serve the cause."

"Called," Harry corrected him sternly. "He called it the gift. He's gone, Draco. He's dead."

"I know. That is why father failed."

"He wouldn't have been able to through with it even if he weren't," Harry said decisively. "He wasn't a supporter in the end."

"You think you know so much," Draco reflected. His voice carried no emotion. "I would say that you have no idea what you are talking about but I'd be wrong, possibly." He turned his face away. "I'm tired, Potter. Please leave."

Harry remained where he was for a few moments longer. He wished he could think of something to say that would comfort Draco. It was the strangest thought, he noted distantly, but it was true. He wanted for Draco to feel warm and safe and hopeful about the future. Like Harry did when he lay in Sirius' arms.

It was only when he was halfway out the door that he turned back to the figure curled into itself on the bed. "Maybe, Malfoy, you're wrong about your father," he said casually, making sure his voice was loud enough to pierce the thick, muddled energy that clung to walls of the cell. "Maybe the reason for why he couldn't go through with it wasn't Voldemort's death but his love for you and your mum."

The door had almost closed behind him when Draco's voice called him back with a hint of urgency. "Potter!"

Harry jerked it open and stuck his head in. "Yeah?"

Draco had picked up the newspaper and was holding the front page up for Harry to see. There was a new light in his eyes but he looked faintly disgusted. "Is it true?" he asked, inclining his head at the photograph of the raging Sirius. "Are you really shagging him?"

Harry gave his best imitation of a proper Malfoy smirk. "Yes, I am."

"Well..." Draco eyed him intently. "I'm almost impressed."

o.O.o

His godfather's arms were wound securely around him and Harry never wanted him to let go. He burrowed deeper into the embrace, breathing in Sirius' scent, wishing for a way to melt into him so that they were never able to part ever again.

Sirius was stroking his hair. Now and again he pressed a kiss to Harry's brow but mostly he just kept stroking his hair. The drawing room fire crackled amiably and an unexpected wave of rain was tapping against the windows.

Harry had not needed to ask for it. All he had done was to stumble out of the fireplace and that had been enough. Sirius had taken one look at him and then he had wrapped his arms so tight around Harry and pulled him over to the sofa. Except for a brief moment of practicality during which Harry removed his glasses and dumped them on the table, he had allowed Sirius to enfold him, to hold him, to guide him to safety.

He was drained. And he battled with his guilt because of that. Draco's tale had shaken him deeper than he had thought upon exiting the cell and making for the Atrium. But the reaction had only been delayed and by the time he reached Grimmauld Place, he felt like he had been turned inside-out. But Harry had Sirius. Draco had no one.

Sirius' hand moved down to his back, stroking. Finding his neck... a shoulder blade. He left a new kiss on Harry's brow and then he sighed. "I'm guessing it wasn't pretty."

So Harry told him. He didn't care if it was supposed to be a secret. Draco had said nothing that suggested it was and in any case Voldemort was dead and gone.

When he was done, Sirius spoke in disgust. "That's... Shit, I don't know what to say."

"I have to help him. I'm not leaving him with this."

"Yeah..." Sirius shifted a little and his hand returned to Harry's hair. Gently he tilted his head back and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "I'm so glad you're safe." There was a rough note in his voice.

Harry tightened his hold on his godfather's waist.

TBC