Disclaimer: Harry Potter - not mine. Draco Malfoy - not mine. Quirky Draco Malfoy - mine!
A/N – Yes! This chapter took its time coming, but what can you expect with chapter 13. Not that I'm superstitious…
Ok, so here you go. Hope you like.
And a plug – if you like Names you'll probably like my sister's amazing new story – "The Killing Curse". He name is Kaluki – there's a link to her account in my profile. Her muse exists on a diet of reviews and needs feeding!!
Regulus
Harry Potter fights for his life!!
This week the entire wizarding world must hold its breath as the boy hailed as 'The Chosen One', destined to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named, struggles for his life.
Two days ago Harry Potter was horribly weakened through a magical accident, Cleopatra Fama reports. Sources close to him reveal that he was working on a way to defeat You Know Who, and that, although damaging, his experiments were successful.
However, the cost of these experiments was heavy, as Harry Potter is now bedridden and 'very ill'. He has not entered St Mungo's Hospital, but is instead resting and recuperating in the Headquarters of the legendary Order of the Phoenix (for a full list of the Order's activities over the past year turn to page 4).
Blah blah blah… wait…
Among those helping Harry to recover is rumoured to be the renegade Deatheater, Draco Malfoy, whose allegiance remains a subject of speculation for the entire wizarding world (for a closer look at Draco Malfoy's recent activities turn to page 5).
"AAAARRGGHHH!" I screamed, tearing the paper in half. "Where the hell is this woman getting her information? And why does she insist on drawing Voldemort's attention back to me every five minutes? Why can't she let people just forget about me?"
"Be grateful," Potter remarked. "She's made me out to be at Death's door. At least her accounts of you are fairly accurate." He was sitting up in bed, propped by a mound of cushions.
"How?" I demanded. "How the hell does she know all this stuff?" Potter shrugged.
"Someone's telling her, Draco. This isn't the first time, remember?"
"That bitch," I snarled. "Cleaopatra bloody Fama. It's her fault. With her first article she told Voldemort I'd helped you." I gestured violently at the ripped paper. "It's her fault my mother is dead!" Saying the words reopened the wound I thought had healed, and I swallowed, barely able to choke out the next words. "How is she allowed to do this? How can she? Publicising your movements? The Dark Lord knows everything we're doing, as does the rest of the world, thanks to her!" Potter sighed.
"Shacklebolt talked to her recently, in an attempt to ask her to discriminate between what should and should not be printed. She threatened to take him to Court, defending her right to Free Speech. She's not interested in anything except the next sensation."
"I'll give her a sensation all right," I snarled. "I'll tear her fingers off and make her write about that!" Potter smiled. "What?" I snapped.
"Am I doing something?"
"You're smirking, and you know it."
"Me?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Want me to practice my finger breaking technique on you?" He laughed.
"No. But it's just… nice. To see you alive again. You'd become so dead after you came here." I snorted.
"What do you expect? Forcing me to live with the wretched Weasley horde…Was I expected to flourish in this environment?" The smile left his face.
"They are my friends."
"I said I'd be your friend, not theirs," I warned. "And I'll reconsider that if you start demanding that I get on with them."
"Could you at least be civil to them?" he asked. His green eyes were anxious and sad and wistful all at once. Inwardly I groaned. It shouldn't have touched me, seeing that expression on his face, but it did.
"Fine," I replied grudgingly. "I will attempt to be polite, but only on the condition that they are civil in return." He smiled again, and the concession didn't feel so bad.
I stood and stretched.
"I'm going for food and a walk." He laughed.
"You're not going to offer to bring me chicken soup?"
"Don't push it," I warned. Smiling, I left the room and walked downstairs. As soon as I entered the kitchen I felt the change in the atmosphere. A wall of icy hostility hit me hard. Sitting at the kitchen table were Daddy Weasley, Mummy Weasley, the werewolf Lupin, Madeye Moody and the Auror Tonks. I was pinned against the wall as they all turned their stares collectively on me. That's five pairs of eyes, all focussed on me. Self conscious? Moi? Never…
"Malfoy, there's something we need to talk about," Daddy Weasley began. My mind flicked back to our previous conversation two days ago, and I got that queasy sensation in my stomach that meant my breakfast wanted to make a bid for freedom. I didn't want to be accused again, I didn't want another confrontation. Striving for patience, I nodded.
"About what?" Moody held the Daily Prophet in his hand and waved it under my nose.
"About this, Malfoy. About what the word secrecy actually means."
"The Order of the Phoenix obviously has a mole," Mummy Weasley said, more gently. "Someone is leaking information, Draco."
"And who else could it be, but that slimy son of a Deatheater?" I snapped.
"No one's accusing you yet, Malfoy," Lupin began. "We're just trying to reach the truth."
"The truth?" I was yelling now, having lost all vestiges of self control. The pain I had been struggling to cope with hit me hard, and I hated them all, for doubting me when I'd done nothing wrong. "The truth is that the first article Cleopatra bloody Fama wrote damaged me! And the second one was exclusively about me! Or has that slipped your minds? If anyone's being targeted by the wretched woman, it's me!"
"He does have a point," Tonks murmured. "The first one she wrote was about how he helped Harry."
"Something which only he and Potter knew about," Moody growled. "Doesn't let him off the hook."
"Are you mad?" I asked. "Firstly other people knew; all you Order of The Phoenix chappies. And secondly, that article wrecked my life! I was forced to run from Voldemort! I lost my mother and my uncle! My aunt's still missing, my father's disinherited me, Voldemort wants to torture me and to cap it off I'm reduced to slumming it with-" I stopped hurriedly, biting my tongue. I'd promised Potter I wouldn't insult them, although I was certainly being provoked.
"Yes?" Daddy Weasley's tone was dangerous. "Would you care to finish that sentence, Draco?"
"Forget it," I muttered. "My point is, if you read her other two articles you'll see that I am most certainly not your leak. The first one called me a 'turncoat'." I continued, spitting out the words that were burned into my soul. "'Disgraced', 'Grief-stricken former Deatheater'. Does this sound like I'm working with the bitch?"
"Draco, we're just trying to stop this from happening again," Lupin placated me. "We're not only targeting you; we've already asked Mundungus, Ron and Hermione about this." Mundungus? I dismissed the name as irrelevant. "And we've sent an owl off to Fred, George and Ginny. But since they no longer live here, it seems highly unlikely that they are involved."
"Any of those you asked confess?" I asked bitterly. Mummy Weasley bowed her head. "I thought not. Useless."
"Draco, whoever this is has been very clever. Ms Fama keeps mentioning 'sources', but none of them have any personality attached to them, rendering whoever it is untraceable." I held up my hands at Tonks' words.
"Just leave me out of it, ok? That's all I ask. Just leave me alone."
I walked out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind me, then knelt down and placed my ear to the keyhole.
"Any Malfoy can lie," Moody said angrily. "His father could convince a snake it had legs and was dancing."
"I think Draco is telling the truth," Lupin said.
"So do I," Tonks agreed. "He's right, you know. He certainly has suffered because of what this woman has written."
"Yes, but if it's not him then who is it?" Mummy Weasley asked.
"We don't know," Daddy Weasley said grumpily. "And as long as we don't, this will continue." There was a long, thoughtful silence, and then one of them coughed apologetically.
"I'm afraid I have a favour to ask of you," Lupin said softly.
"What is it?" Mummy Weasley asked.
"Tonight is a full moon, as you probably know. I have learnt how to make the potion which restrains me myself, but still I need a safe place to transform. My current bolthole is no longer an option. I was rather hoping that I could use the attic."
"You want to transform… here?" Mummy Weasley's voice sounded strained. "What about the children?"
"He won't hurt anyone," Tonks said protectively. "And I'll stand guard outside the door, to make sure he stays in there. It will be perfectly safe."
"Well…" Mummy Weasley sounded extremely reluctant. I left them to it, and greeted the announcement at dinner that Lupin and Tonks would be staying the night with no surprise.
They didn't bother to wake me the next morning, so I found out the news second hand. Typical, isn't it? Next to Potter, I was the one most involved in this whole Horcrux hunt and I was the one who had the most to win or lose (until Voldemort was a pile of ashes I could not re-enter the wizarding world, but had to spend my time skulking around in a house teeming with Weasleys), but no one bothered telling me when we hit a breakthrough.
And so it was that when I rolled down to breakfast I was greeted by a deserted kitchen. Ok… it was not like Weasley R. to miss the opportunity to stock up. And Granger was not the slinky little creature some girls aspire to be (mind you, I couldn't stand those bloody skinny girls at Hogwarts who made a show of eating a single grape for breakfast. Damn skeletons in uniform. Who wants to sleep with a skeleton? Ouch). But there was no sign of either, nor indeed of Mummy Weasley, Daddy Weasley, Tonks or Lupin (whose howling had kept me awake half the night). Strange.
Actually not so strange; it didn't take a genius to guess where the gathering was taking place. I grabbed an apple, turned my back on the kitchen and loped back upstairs to the landing I shared with Potter. Instead of turning into my room I went into his. Soft babble hit me as I pushed the door open. As predicted, there they all were, ringed around the bed where Potter was sleepily blinking behind his glasses, looking for all the world like a little Scops owl. His messy hair even formed two roughly equal tufts, like the owl. As I watched he yawned, then smiled when he saw me. Funny, how a year ago I'd have assumed that a smile from him directed at me was always mocking, and would have longed to wipe it off. It was only now that I knew him better that I could appreciate how genuine his smiles were, the way he looked truly glad to see you, the warmth that spilled from his eyes. He's been through so much, and he's still more human than me. I shook myself, surprised by the thoughts. Get a grip Draco. Next you'll be falling in love with that smile.
I returned his greeting with my own poor smile. Teeth which beamed, eyes chilly. I'd gotten out of the habit of showing my emotions a long time ago, and it took more than a month (had I really been here that long?) with someone like Potter to melt the shield of feigned disinterest.
The others around the bed greeted me with varying levels of affection. Tonks actually smiled and said, "Good morning Draco." Granger acknowledged me with a 'oh it's you' look. Weasley R. gave me an 'I don't like you, bugger off' glare, which was distinctly unfriendly. Daddy Weasley's look was openly hostile, whilst Mummy Weasley's was somewhat softer. She likes me now, I realised. And why not? With the exception of a few tantrums I had made a point of behaving myself perfectly in the presence of all but Potter. I was easy to feed, capable of amusing myself and undemanding. The perfect unwanted house guest.
Lupin was too busy looking at whatever was in the box he held in his hands to notice me at the beginning, until Tonks' greeting (why she said that I don't know. I had barely exchanged two words with her in those few times we met).
"Morning all," I said cheerfully, to hide my annoyance at being left out. "Pray tell, what is the raison d'être for this impromptu symposium?" All of them gaped at me, except for Granger, who rolled her eyes. Inside I laughed. As the Weasleys gape, thus the ants must stare at us as we tower above them, incomprehensible to their tiny minds. "I asked why everyone is gathered here."
"Lupin found something," Tonks said.
"Oh yes?" I pushed past Weasley R. and Granger and sat on the side of the bed. Harry met my eyes with his steady gaze. I mean Potter met my eyes with his steady gaze. "And qu'est qu ce the object of interest?"
"You speak French?" Potter asked. I shrugged modestly.
"We have a villa on the Southern Coast. Not going this year was a decision with many unforeseen consequences. But enough about me and my fabulous wealth. What's Lupin got there?" Potter glanced up.
"Lupin, why don't you show Draco?" The werewolf nodded, and bent down, bringing the box in front of me. Inside, nestling in a cushion of cotton wool, was a golden chain. Next to it were three pieces of golden metal, which, when brought together, would form a thin box: a locket. Inscribed on the fragmented locket was a broken 'S'.
"A bit bulky for my taste," I commented. "What is it?"
"This," Potter said, and he was grinning, "This, my dear Draco, is the remnants of a locket which originally belonged to Salazar Slytherin." My heart practically stopped.
"And why is it broken?" I asked, barely breathing. "Do you have this mania where you just can't leave priceless relics alone, Potter?"
"Harry didn't break it," Granger said. "He'd probably be dead if he tried."
"You see," Potter explained, "This is another of Voldemort's Horcruxes. And it's already been broken for us!"
"Yes," I said miserably. "Into three bits, and I doubt even the best jeweller could fix it properly." I reached down and gently ran my finger across the jagged edge of one of the fragments. It had not been a clean break, as if the locket had resisted the force which sought to tear it apart. I could feel the violence that had destroyed it, even after Merlin knows how many years.
"This is an amazing stroke of luck," Daddy Weasley breathed.
"Yes," Lupin agreed. "Four Horcruxes down, two to go."
"Two?" Weasley R. queried. "He split his soul into seven. That only makes six."
"And one part in his body, to do all the important things like torturing and killing people, idiot," I reminded him. He flushed an unattractive scarlet, whilst his nose remained white. I swallowed the impulse to laugh.
"How did this come to be in our attic?" Mummy Weasley asked.
"Oh, so you found it?" I asked Lupin. He nodded.
"I don't remember much from when I was changed, but I do remember that this smelt wrong. Very wrong. The feeling it gave me was strong enough for me to be able to locate it instantly as soon as I changed back." I noticed that he was sitting stiffly, with a fresh bruise colouring the side of his neck, but declined to comment.
"But how does a Horcrux containing part of, of You Know Who's soul come to be in Sirius' attic?" Mummy Weasley asked. Potter visibly paled. Still can't bear to hear that name? Aunt Bellatrix moved on a long time ago, Harry, and you should too. There was an awkward silence.
"What about my relative, Regulus Black?" I asked, breaking the tension. Potter nodded.
"Sirius' brother." To his credit, he kept his voice steady. "I researched him, with Hermione."
"His full name is Regulus Appolonius Black," she said softly. "We think he was R.A.B."
"Who's R.A.B?" Daddy Weasley asked, frowning. Potter yawned and kneaded his eyes.
"When I went with Dumbledore, the night Snape k-killed him we were looking for this Horcrux." Looking angry at the way his voice had quavered, he rolled over in bed and opened a drawer in his bedside table. "'Scuse me Ron. Ah, here." He pulled out a smaller locket, obviously cheaply plated in gold, on a long chain. "Dumbledore drank a horrible potion left by Voldemort which nearly killed him, in order to reach the Horcrux. We got this instead." Using his thumbnail he delicately opened it and pulled out a folded square of paper. Passing the cheap locket to Daddy Weasley, who examined it curiously, he then carefully unfolded the paper and smoothed it with his fingertip.
"To the Dark Lord," he read out. "I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. It's signed R.A.B."
"Regulus Appolonius Black," Tonks murmured.
"The writer calls Voldemort the 'Dark Lord'," I observed. "Sign of a Deatheater. And Regulus was." Potter frowned then smiled.
"You know, Draco, I'd never noticed that before." Weasley R. snorted, but I ignored him.
"Regulus Black was murdered by Lord Voldemort for attempting to desert him," Lupin said softly. "I remember being there when the news came in that they had found his body."
"Desertion," I repeated. "What if it wasn't just desertion? What if Regulus was murdered for actually plotting against Voldemort?"
"Can't imagine that You Know Who would be very happy if one of his Deatheaters started smashing up his Horcruxes," Weasley R. contributed.
"And where better to leave the fragments than in his family home, heavily shielded from all, including the Voldemort?" Granger said.
I laughed, and the others looked at me with surprise.
"Oh the irony! Regulus is heralded by all Deatheaters as a coward, as a fool, as a craven who got in too deep and wanted out. But you don't get out with Voldemort. And then in real life he's been plotting against the Dark Lord. He discovers the location of the Horcrux, he faces Voldemort's barriers, he steals the locket. He even, shock horror, breaks the locket, rendering Voldemort more vulnerable. Well of course the Dark Lord can't let people know how mortal he really is; that he can be hurt. So Regulus is killed 'for cowardice', and everyone is keen not to emulate him. Very clever of Voldemort: he removes a major threat and conceals his vulnerabilities in one stroke."
And what will they say when I die? Draco Malfoy, killed for believing that what the Dark Lord did was wrong, for wanting to find another way. Or Draco Malfoy, incompetent coward, executed for desertion?
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