Disclaimer: Once upon a time Miss J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter. Then I wrote Names. Guess which one belongs to who.
A/N – this chapter is dedicated to two friends of mine. One of them has just found her motivation for life and I'm so proud of her. The other's feeling kind of sad right now, so I'm hoping this will make her smile. You guys know who you are.
And a big hug to all my regular reviewers, and more hugs to all you people who are reviewing for the first time. You make me smile.
Reality
"This is a Horcrux, then?" I asked.
"It is indeed," Potter confirmed. The goblet lay in its open box, the dim morning sunlight which filtered in through the grimy windows reflecting softly off it. The embossed badger was a true work of art; delicate and lifelike, the lines still as clear as they must have been the day they were made. The cup didn't look old; the gold was polished and gleaming; the handles proud and dainty, the silk lining of the box it nestled in still soft and shimmering. It looked new. In the half-light it looked almost alive.
"Can I touch it?" I asked. He nodded.
"You probably won't notice anything. At least, when I held the diary I didn't feel that it belonged to him, and I'm usually pretty sensitive about that sort of thing." I reached into the box and tentatively hooked my index finger through one of the handles. It lifted easily out of the silk and hung there, swinging slightly, deceptively light. This holds a part of the Dark Lord's soul? I wondered. A seventh, Potter had told me, but the whole process with which the Dark Lord had split his soul (as explained to me by an irate Granger) left so many questions. He had made seven Horcruxes. Seven! But the first one…had that contained a half of his entire soul, and then the second one a half of the remaining soul and so on? Or had he, each time, carefully siphoned off a seventh of his soul into the Horcruxes? It was a worthwhile question, because if some Horcruxes contained more soul than others then one should prioritise their destruction, but if each was equal then it would not matter what order they were destroyed in. Already over the past few days I had been thinking tactics, musing to myself in my room, zoning out at mealtimes. I had a purpose now, and that gave me no time for petty social formalities like conversation. Unsurprisingly, I was not the most popular house guest in the Order of The Phoenix, and only Potter really bothered to talk to me for more than to ask me to pass the marmalade.
I turned the cup slowly in my fingers, running my eyes over the unblemished surface. What had I expected? To be able to sense his presence? Yes, privately, I had expected the cup to be warm or feel evil or something like that. Something to give me a sign that I had at least achieved something in the fiasco that had left me homeless and motherless.
"This could just be any cup," I murmured.
"It's the real thing," Potter confirmed. He took it from me and turned it upside down. There on the base, neatly engraved, were the initials H.H. "It belonged to Helga Hufflepuff," he continued.
"Seriously?" I asked, breathless. And we have to destroy it? I took it gently from him, cradling it in my hand. "This is priceless. A piece of Hogwarts history. A piece of magical history. It connects us to our past. We… we can't destroy it!" Potter cocked his head. "What?" I demanded, seeing his gaze. He smiled sadly.
"That look in your eyes, Draco. I've seen it before." He retrieved the cup from my grasp and replaced it in its box. "What use are the trinkets of yesterday compared to the lives of tomorrow?" He didn't understand! This was our heritage, and he didn't understand. But I needed him to trust me, so I did not press my point.
"So how do you destroy it?" I asked.
"We don't know," a voice behind me answered. I turned to see Granger standing in the door way. Her eyes looked slightly puffy, as if she had been crying, and her face was set into a rigid, expressionless mask , but her voice was steady. "We don't know how to destroy it. And without access to a library it's not clear how we're going to find out."
"What are you talking about?" I snorted. "Why don't you just go to Slaythen's Library?" Her face lit up like a beacon.
"You've been there?" she whispered.
"What's Slaythen's Library?" Potter asked. I extended my hands to the heavens in mock horror.
"Will no one save me from the unworthy and the ignorant?"
"Slaythen's Library is the wizard's library up in London," Granger breathed, enraptured, the sulky expression gone from her mouth. What's that phrase again? Simple minds, simple pleasures. She was absolutely transported with delight. "It's the largest collection of magical books in one place. I've never been there." She frowned. "It's really prejudiced though. You can only get an account and borrow books if one of your parents is a witch or wizard. The books aren't allowed into muggle houses."
"Anti-mudblood discrimination!" I gasped. "Simply shocking!" Potter shot me a warning glance.
"Can we go there, Harry?" Granger asked. "There's bound to be something on Horcruxes."
Potter placed the lid on the Horcrux's box, his brow wrinkled in a 'thoughtful' expression.
"If we go Draco will have to wear a disguise; he's wanted by the law."
"I was promised protection, you know," I muttered bitterly.
"I'm getting around to it," Potter snapped. "It's not easy, you know. The Ministry currently loathes me. They had an article a week ago on how I was a dangerous vigilante."
"I missed that one," I sighed. "A pity. I could have used a laugh."
"If Ron doesn't want to come..." Potter began.
"He won't," Granger interrupted. I took a step back.
"I can see where you're going, and the answer is no. No. NO! I refuse to polyjuice myself into a red headed rodent. I'll take my chances with the dementors."
"That won't be necessary," Potter soothed. "If you object so much, we'll just ask Fred and George to work their magic, and when they're done your own mother won't recognise you."
Half an hour later and she wouldn't have, even on one of her good days. My light brown hair curled softly around my head, my eyes were a gentle shade of blue and my left cheek was marred by a thin scar running down from my nose.
"I think the scar's a bit much," I complained. Twin 1. clipped me around the ear.
"Stop whining, Draco, or I'll give you a matching one on the other cheek." I rubbed my head resentfully. Malfoys are not used to being disciplined by lowlife.
"Besides," Twin 2. chimed in, "you need the scar otherwise you're just too much of a pretty boy." He caught a handful of my brown locks. "If people see you with Harry it's going to reflect badly on him."
"You didn't have to make me so damn girly," I grouched. They exchanged amused glances, and I wanted to hit them both.
"Well, Draco," Twin 1. began.
"We used our most masculine disguise sweets," Twin 2. said, waving the wrappers under my nose (I felt sick after eating four of the wretched confections in rapid succession).
"But they just weren't enough to combat your nature," Twin 1. finished.
"Oh shut up," I growled, lurching out of my make-up chair (try being five inches shorter than usual. You'd lurch too) and tripping over the hem of my trousers, now far too long. "Oh bugger."
The three of us apparated to Slaythen's Library together (that's Potter, Granger and me wearing a pair of Potter's trousers because he's such a shorty. Kill me now, please). Slaythen's Library is in the centre of London, near the theatre district. An uninviting big grey building permanently under scaffolding, it loomed threateningly. I led them through the doorway (which appears to be boarded up to the muggle eye) and we were transported into the library. Beside me Granger gasped in shock. The vaulted ceiling arched high above us, lavishly decorated with frescos depicting scenes from our history. Egyptian shamans tamed the crocodiles of the Nile above our heads, whilst priestesses danced in white robes, wearing masks of gold. But the truly spectacular feature of the library was its size. Think Westminster Abbey. Think bigger. You'd be close to the size of Slaythen's. Over a thousand book cases, in one single room. They'd had to install silencing spells everywhere, otherwise the slightest whisper would echo around for hours.
I trotted over to the Reception desk (at my current height a trot was necessary to get up any speed) and requested a leprechaun guide to help us. Leprechauns stand at about four foot, so I felt more comfortable about my height when compared with the line of them. The ones in Slaythen's had eschewed the colour green (the dress code for Slaythen's uniforms is a blue and white striped surcoat) and beards (all Slaythen's staff are clean-shaven), but still retained their mops of carrot hair. It was disconcertingly like viewing a whole row of mini Weasleys.
When I returned, with the emphatically non-Irish Herman in tow ('Not all leprechauns are Irish, son. Very few people know about us London leprechauns, but we've been here since the Great Plague') I found that Potter and Granger were still standing their with the mouths open in the foyer. I grabbed their hands, breaking the spell.
"Could you two act any more like a pair of muggles? It's just magic." I turned to Herman and smiled prettily (not hard when one appears to be more girl than boy). "My friend here would like to research Horcruxes."
"Ah wha-, yes," Potter said wittily. Herman stiffened.
"That's a restricted area, son. We don't just show anyone the Horcrux books." He smiled, revealing gold teeth (even non-Irish leprechauns are still addicted to the colour of gold). I pulled Potter forward a little and added a whine to my voice.
"Harry, Harry, tell him you have to read about them." The laprechaun's eyes widened, as his gaze flicked up to Potter's forehead.
"Harry Potter?" he asked. "Forgive me, I did not realise it was you." Funny, I realised. Even though the Ministry of Magic was trying (again) to blacken Potter's name, the general public still liked him.
"Yes, it's me," Potter admitted. He subconsciously flattened his fringe. "If you would be so kind as to allow me to read about Horcruxes I'd be most grateful. It's a current homework I have, for my Defence Against The Dark Arts studies." Deftly done, I noted. Politeness, a plea for assistance and a touch of flattery. Neat. Herman executed a small bow and led us through the main body of the library. Frustratingly, I found myself scurrying to keep up even with him, and wondered just how long I'd have to endure my revised height.
We passed the many aisles of bookshelves where witches and wizards browsed, the silencing spells swallowing our footsteps. I didn't recognise any of the people we saw, but several of them pointed at Potter and hissed his name (I caught the whispers just before the spells blanketed them). For once I felt sorry for him. Even better known than me, I wondered if he'd rather be in disguise as well.
Herman used a heavy key hanging off a ring on his belt to open a door into a claustrophobic anti-chamber about the size of a standard classroom at Hogwarts, whose walls were lined with shelves of books. In the centre of the room were a reading desk and several armchairs. The leprechaun bowed again.
"This is where we keep our books on the section of the Dark Arts relevant to the area you are interested in." He waved a hand, indicating that there were at least a thousand volumes. "If you could tell me in particular what you are looking for, I might be able to direct you to more relevant books." I glanced at Potter, who frowned. It was a gamble, letting the purpose of such a well-known and widely reported figure be known. I was certain he didn't wish to alert the Dark Lord to his activities. It was Granger who answered.
"Well, Harry, we've both researched how to make a Horcrux, so perhaps we should start with how to break one." Hemran frowned.
"A narrow and widely disputed topic," he said, pulling several volumes from lower shelves, and then nipping up a ladder to select a tatty tome from higher up. He set a pile of eight books down on the reading desk. "These ought to help you, although breaking Horcruxes has always been a vague practice, due to their rareness."
"Thanks." Granger's smile was fixed. Herman nodded.
"I'll have to lock you in, to protect the books. No eating or drinking in the library, no naked flames and no spells that may damage the books if you ever wish to return." He smiled, showing his teeth. "As for defacing the books, well, not even the Minister of Magic could save you from the Head Librarian's wrath." He left us.
"Finally!" I squeaked. Did I mention my voice was shrill? No? It was shrill. "Now let's read the books, find the answer and get me home before I die of shame at my own squashability."
"Shut up, you little twerp," Granger said grumpily, effectively squashing me. She reached for a book.
"Looks like someone's in a bad mood," I retaliated. "Well, before you inundate yourself in self-pity, have a thought for the person who's lost their mother and is bravely struggling on." She gave a strange half sob, and Potter stepped between us.
"Look, can we just find the way to break a Horcrux, please? No fighting."
"Why didn't Dumbledore tell you?" I asked. "Bit of an oversight on his part."
"Well, he didn't." Since no further answer was forthcoming, I selected two books and retired to my own corner to peruse them.
It was tiring and tedious. Wizards who write for posterity tend to forget little things like indexes, so I had to use the chapter titles to judge whether to read a section. To skim the entire volume of cramped, miniscule writing would have taken the whole day, and often I misread words and had to return to them. It was Granger who found what we were looking for. I guess all those years of living with books had given her some sort of affinity with them, or at least improved her reading speed dramatically, because she exclaimed loudly after only an hour or so.
"Gotcha!"
"Let me see," Potter said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Some people simply have no stamina. Granger passed it to him and his eyes flicked over the print. He smiled.
"That sounds doable. Draco." He passed me the book and I glowered.
"I've told you not to call me that." It was a large volume, ungainly in my smaller hands, and I balanced it on my knee with difficulty as I read.
"Potter, it says we have to exorcise the Horcrux." He nodded. I read on. "No potions, no spells. Bloody hell, this is dangerous. You have to damage the Horcrux irrevocably, whilst at the same time pit yourself mentally against the soul inside and oust it." I felt ill. "We have to go mind to mind with one seventh of the Dark Lord." Potter shrugged.
"I managed it in our second year, and I didn't even know what I was doing. That diary had a part of sixteen year old Voldemort in it."
"And how old was he when he made the cup Horcrux?" I asked. "As a wizard grows older, so his power increases."
"He has a point, Harry," Granger said. "At sixteen, even brilliant Tom Riddle was far less powerful than Voldemort today or Voldemort when he made the cup Horcrux."
"Then we'll break it together," Potter said. "Or maybe I'll be able to do it alone; I'm stronger than when I was aged twelve, too." You are, I thought, remembering his mind walls. At twelve he hadn't even heard of Occlumency, and now he was obviously an accomplished legilimens.
"Whatever we decide, we should do it back at Grimwauld Place, where we won't be overheard," said Granger, showing a rare flash of sneakiness. Potter knocked on the door and Herman unlocked it a moment later and let us out. We thanked him profusely for his help (that is to say, Potter and Granger thanked him whilst I admired the ceiling) and left through the front door, before apparating back to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Evening was drawing on, and tantalising aromas wafted up from the kitchen. I had other things on my mind.
"Right, Twins. Make me me again." They put their hands on their hips together and considered me.
"Are you sure, Draco?"
"You look ever so nice like that, Draco."
"Besides, Draco, we're not sure…"
"That we remember how to do it, Draco."
"Stop saying my name and fix me now!" I snarled. They wore identical expressions of hurt.
"That's not very nice, Draco."
"If you want us to help you, Draco…"
"Then you should be more polite, Draco." I ground my teeth and swallowed the impulse to curse them both. Now was neither the time, nor the place.
"I would greatly appreciate if you two would be kind enough to undo the effects of your disguise magic on me." They grinned.
"There, Draco. All you had to do was ask." Calm thoughts, calm thoughts!
We resolved not to attempt to destroy the Horcrux until the next day, but the morning post at breakfast drove all thoughts of that clean out of my minds. It was Daddy Weasley who read his edition of the Daily Prophet first (about five different copies were delivered to 12 Grimwauld Place daily. This demonstrates the lack of co-ordination and organisation inherent of Weasleys), and who coughed hard into his mug of tea.
"Dad, what's wrong?" Weasley R. asked. Short of air, Daddy Weasley had turned a shade of mauve which clashed horrifically wit his hair.
"Page three," he spluttered. There was a rustling as everyone turned to page three. I glanced over Potter's shoulder, but grabbed the paper from his hand as soon as I had read the first words.
GRIEF STRICKEN FORMER DEATHEATER JOINS HARRY POTTER
Draco Malfoy, whose Mother is missing, presumed dead, has recently allied himself with Harry Potter. Cleopatra Fama can reveal that Draco, who is said to be 'hiding his pain behind sarcasm and bitter banter', has infiltrated himself into Harry Potter's organisation, the legendary Order of the Phoenix, which Harry inherited from the recently murdered Albus Dumbledore. Lucius Malfoy, 41, Draco's father, has recently escaped from Azkaban, and Draco may be trading information on his whereabouts with Harry, in exchange for the protection of the Chosen One. Draco Malfoy is also said to be seeking revenge for the disappearance of his mother. Narcissa Malfoy, 35, went missing after an attack on her sister's house. Her sister, the infamous Deatheater Bellatrix Lestrange, 40, is missing as well, but the body of her brother-in-law, Rudolphus Lestrange, 41, was discovered in the rubble of the house.
Harry Potter's well-wishers can only hope that he chooses his friendships carefully and will not be stung by this unlikely alliance.
A strange hollow feeling settled on me. Seeing it set down in print made it strangely real. The façade I had built, the lies I had told myself; they were all shadows next to reality. Reality I had been fleeing from, reality I was too scared to face.
My Mother was missing.
My Father surely believed I had turned against him.
The Dark Lord had marked me down as a traitor, and would kill me the first chance he could get.
I was stuck with the guy least likely to get life insurance in the entire wizarding world.
My Mother was probably dead.
I stood up unsteadily and ran from the table, into the downstairs toilet. I ripped up the seat and vomited hard, my meagre breakfast burning my mouth and lungs and making me gasp.
The gasps turned to sobs.
Reality was that I wasn't as smart and witty as I liked to make out.
Reality was misery.
Ok, this is a plug. Here we go. COME AND HAVE A LOOK AT THE ACCOUNT! I am referring to the account I share with XxmookinexX – the link is on my profile. It's got a Fruba fic and soon we will be posting an awesome Harry Potter one (in which Snape's eyebrows will indeed tango).
And in your excitement, don't forget to hit the review button…