Author's Note: There's been a great deal of amazing HP fic to consume thanks to quarantine, and it's inspired me to write more. I'm not sure if the pace will continue, but hey! Another chapter :D? All my favourite Slytherins, together at last.

Essence of Dittany and Murtlap, flobberworm mucus, wormwood, it all swirled uselessly behind his eyes until he felt dizzy. Harry had brewed healing potions before, including a Wiggenweld Potion even Hermione had respected under the Prince's - Snape's - guiding hand. According to Snape, these were all basic recipes that would likely underperform when faced with Voldemort's worst curses, and poisons, and other various methods of horrific torture they would no doubt soon be facing.

Harry left class feeling like his insides had been churned up into a paste and shoved back into his body to rot. Malfoy left with a similar expression, though Harry had no idea what troubled him. He'd been a teacher's pet to Snape for years now. He'd had access to whatever notes he pleased, probably.

They were supposed to be mine, and mine alone!

Was this possessiveness his or Tom's? Could the distinction even be made anymore?

"I should Firecall my parents soon," Malfoy said. Harry realised he'd been staring rather obviously, and Malfoy had taken it for a need to explain. "They'll be finishing with supper now. They dine with the Dark Lord every night." Malfoy swallowed. "He'll leave them alone until the morning afterwards."

"He's probably writing reviews about your cooking." Malfoy tilted his head at the joke, puzzled. Harry shrugged. "He's somewhat of a culinary connoisseur, apparently."

"The house elves have been serving us for generations," Malfoy said, successfully distracted from his dark mood. Harry didn't even know why he was doing it. Trying to be helpful, and to Malfoy of all people. It was in his blood, he supposed. Deflecting cruelty with the sheer bull-headed determination to be the most annoyingly helpful person possible, even if he was notorious for cocking it all up. "He should have no complaints, I'd expect."

"Ah, Draco, dear boy," came Dumbledore's voice as he left the classroom. It had a lilt to it that reminded Harry awfully too much of his twinkling eyes. This was always a bad sign, Harry was coming to realise. "Might we join you in your call? I do believe your parents might be seeking a little more authenticity if they are to be convinced."

"What? All of you?"

"Yes. All of us, including Harry and his Horcrux."

"He's not mine," Harry protested.

"They cannot be traitors if they arrive under the orders of the Dark Lord himself," said Snape. "That justification should be sufficient to persuade them."

"And if it gets out I'm a Horcrux?" Harry asked. Snape's eyes widened in surprise. Too Slytherin a question for someone as dull and Gryffindor as Harry to ask, he suspected. "What then?"

"If you need them to, they can make an Unbreakable Vow," Malfoy said. "But we're not going to have anyone to tell."

"You could tell other Slytherins in the castle."

"Those loyal to the Dark Lord would have to reconcile being loyal to you, as well, but they would manage. It's the ones on your side you'd have to worry about. They wouldn't trust you."

"Exactly!"

"And what do I have to gain from that?" Malfoy huffed. "You're the only one who can vouch for us, in the end. No Slytherin trusts the Headmaster." He flinched slightly. "Sorry."

"Quite alright," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," Harry said, stupidly. "Okay, then. But why should they trust me?"

"You're the idiot Gryffindor. What use does an idiot Gryffindor have for lying?"

Snape's mouth twitched at that. Harry couldn't tell if it was from genuine humour or because Snape had been subject to a great deal of Harry's deviousness over the years. "Indeed. What use?"

Probably best not to go into detail on that account.

"You're sure they'll believe us?"

"It's not completely unprecedented," Malfoy said, chest puffing up in pride. Merlin, what an insufferable, pompous little git he was. "Father was given the Dark Lord's diary to protect, after all."

"And that went well, didn't it?"

"That's not what I-"

"I don't blame him," Harry interrupted quickly. He was finished with pointless arguing for tonight. "He didn't know what the Diary was and what was about to happen. It was stupid and shortsighted, but who in their right mind expects a giant snake in a children's school? There's no way to prepare for something like that." He turned to stare directly at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore took the criticism in stride. "I believed the Chamber was permanently sealed off."

"Nobody could've accounted for Horcruxes, either," Harry conceded. "Especially not seven of them."

"Merlin," Malfoy muttered, looking sickly. "Seven."

Snape didn't look so well himself. To Harry, numbers were less relevant, seven Horcruxes or two, he still had to learn to bind them to Voldemort's corporeal form regardless. True, he had more hunting on his hands than he had ever imagined, but missing magical artefacts had been the subjects of his problems since his first year. The more Horcruxes to collect, the more insight into the soul he was tasked with reforming, at least. Even if he did get tormented and teased by all of them. "Only three more to go!" Harry said cheerily. It was petty and vindictive, but it felt good.

Snape and Malfoy only paled further.

Dumbledore led them to the fireplace in his own office to make the call. The gargoyle paused to stare at Malfoy suspiciously before allowing them entrance. The Castle seemed to hold grudges.

Malfoy looked sick again. Perhaps everything was finally sinking in. After all, up until this moment, he could still have crawled back into Voldemort's clutches and feigned ignorance, begged for forgiveness, claimed to be a spy, anything. But once he and his family were whisked away, hidden in an Order safehouse, there was no going back. And Harry could convince Tom to spare lives with enough pleading, but he didn't have the same sway over the main incarnation.

The metal chain, glistening with blood, his blood, in pale hands, fingers like spiders' legs closed around the glittering S, bone-white against gold, green, and dripping red.

No. Not much sway at all.

Malfoy loosed the powder with a slightly unsteady hand. "Malfoy Manor, Upper Wing, Master Bedroom." Obligingly, the flames turned green and inert. Malfoy peered in hesitantly. "Mother? Father? It's me. It's Draco." He leant back. Swallowed. "Are you there?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the flames sputtered and hissed. The haggard face of Narcissa Malfoy appeared, panic etched into her usually elegant features. "Draco! My love, are you safe? Are you unharmed?"

"I'm well, Mother." Relief brought back the aristocratic beauty in her face. "But there's been a change of plans..." The relief shattered.

"A change of plans?"

Draco's gaze strayed from her face and onto some nondescript vase in the corner of the room. He shifted. "Yes. I haven't... I didn't..."

"We failed to account for a technicality," Snape interrupted. "Draco has not killed Dumbledore, and neither have I. But as I am still protecting him and aiding him in a task given to him by the Dark Lord, the Vow remains in place."

Narcissa's eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror for a split second, before she quickly schooled her expression into something bland and uncaring. "Do you mean to tell me the Dark Lord no longer wants Dumbledore dead?"

Dumbledore knelt down beside them. "Good evening, Narcissa."

Her face remained blank, save for a slight twitch of a perfectly coiffed eyebrow. "Dumbledore. I trust you understand why my son was ordered to... dispose of the problem you presented."

"Naturally," said Dumbledore, completely unmoved at discussing his own attempted assassination. "Tom Riddle is an intelligent wizard, and an intelligent wizard prepares for every possibility. As you are aware, even the complete destruction of his body does not lead to his death. This is because he has separated elements of his consciousness and placed them elsewhere." Narcissa's brow furrowed. "He usually has control over the locations of these... elements. There has only ever been one exception, in this case. That of Harry Potter."

"The Dark Lord's connection to him..."

"Yes, part of Tom Riddle's consciousness resides within Harry. He is the one who has changed his mind regarding my continued existence."

Narcissa shook her head. "What reason could he possibly have to do so?"

"He doesn't like what Voldemort - your Voldemort - is doing," Harry cut in. Narcissa blinked at his sudden appearance incredulously. "Or, rather, he doesn't like how he's doing it. He wants a more... restrained approach, a treaty of sorts. He's been trying and failing to send that message for a while now."

"But… then, the Dark Lord cannot communicate with these other parts of his mind?" Narcissa swallowed. "He doesn't know that Draco's actions were undertaken according to his own plans?"

"They can't communicate with each other, but I can communicate with him," Harry said. "And each of them. I'll let him know as soon as I can. In the meantime, you've got to come with us. We can't protect you from him while he still thinks you've disobeyed his orders, not unless you're here under our wards." Harry felt his face twist into a scowl. "And your husband, too," he added, trying and failing to keep the contempt out of his tone.

"I must hear it from the Dark Lord himself," Narcissa said. There was a slight tremble to her tone. A wavering songbird. "I cannot believe you're telling me the truth if I have no way to confirm the Dark Lord agrees with your plans."

"Of course, nothing less can be expected from my followers." Tom's voice drifted into the room, filling in like a radio being tuned to the right frequency. His visage followed soon after. He manifested now in plain and unadorned black robes, looking more distinguished than the picture of youth and harmlessness a Hogwarts uniform would've painted. "You may ask."

Much like her son, Narcissa dipped her head demurely at the mere sight of her master. "My Lord, the Malfoy family is honoured to do your bidding. We are your faithful servants. Is this truly your will?"

"Indeed," Tom said, a raised eyebrow conveying how little merit he put into Narcissa's statement. "Until I can converse with my counterpart, I will place you under the protection of our trusted colleague, Severus Snape." Harry could see the cold flame of delight that kindled in Tom's eyes at Snape's obviously uneasy reaction to being called Voldemort's trusted colleague. "He has already Vowed to watch over your son, after all." At this, Narcissa nodded meekly. "And of course, my dearest Harry."

Harry flushed, and then refused to think about why.

"My Lord?"

"He is now mine to protect, as our consciousnesses are linked. The Prophecy evidently has not been correctly interpreted, which is rather unsurprising to me, given the woman who delivered it."

"O-of course, My Lord. We are yours to command."

"Dumbledore-" Tom said the name with no small measure of disgust, "-will give you a set of Apparition coordinates. We will meet you there with a Portkey that will take you to a safe location. You must not disclose this location to anyone."

"It will be done."

"Where will we be staying?" Draco asked.

"I think you'll find it to be quite recognisable upon arrival," said Dumbledore in that twinkling lilt of his, which did not bode well for Harry in the least.

He had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he might not want to know the answer at all.

They Apparated into an otherwise unremarkable field. There was the chirp of crickets and occasional hoot of owls, but all else was still. In the moonlight, Tom's eyes glittered, mismatched gems, ruby versus emerald. Snape blended in well - perhaps too well - with the shadows, and Malfoy's white marble skin and silver hair glowed somewhat unnaturally. Harry backed into the arms of Hermione and Ron, disturbed by his strange, otherworldly entourage of snakes.

There was the whip-like snap of further Apparition, and the overwrought, exhausted forms of the rest of the Malfoy clan were standing with them on the dew-soaked grass. Dumbledore cleared his throat politely. "Good evening to you both."

The Malfoys did not return the greeting. Their eyes were affixed to Tom, who wore a smug grin that stretched wrongly across his cheeks, like an alien trying to mimic human emotion. They trembled as they stepped forward, which only entrenched the grin even further. He was delighting in their suffering.

Harry hated Lucius Malfoy with a great, seething passion, but seeing him shaking beneath the gaze of a superior predator just made him feel sick, not pleased. "Stop it," Harry hissed.

Tom's grin disappeared, just like that. He was angry, Harry could tell. He was thoroughly alone here, truth be told, and he knew it. Beside him was Dumbledore, his greatest enemy, Snape, his greatest betrayer, and the Malfoys, his greatest disappointments. And Harry himself, who was not lending him even an ounce of sympathy.

Not outwardly, anyway.

Tom had spent every moment of his life alone, from his first breath in tandem with his mother's last, to his hollow alliances with people he had to terrify into submission. Harry had plans to change this, but the cost of a true alliance was that he would never hesitate to speak his mind.

"My Lord," Narcissa said. "We are honoured to be chosen to help you."

Tom's eye twitched at the sycophantic, pleading tone. "The Portkey," he said, turning to Dumbledore.

"Of course." Dumbledore reached into his robes, a particularly garish shade of violet, and pulled out a large pot, something Harry expected to be bubbling with stew, not taking them to an Order safehouse. "Borrowed from the lovely Mrs. Weasley," he said. "Now, if you could all place your hands on the Portkey on my mark, please. I'll count down from ten to give you enough time to get situated."

Everyone gathered themselves into a tight circle, shoulders touching, some still trembling. Upon reaching zero, they grabbed onto whatever piece of copper they could find, and were flung unceremoniously over a cold, damp street.

As Harry wrestled with the Portkey for a sense of balance, he smelt petrol and cigarettes, telltale city air, and caught flashes of giant clockhands towering in the night sky. London. The safehouse was in the middle of London.

When the whirling, dizzying sense of being hurtled thousands of miles in an instant finally faded and Harry could make out his surroundings properly, his stomach curled in dread. Dread and recognition.

Grimmauld Place.

Dumbledore was housing the Malfoys in Grimmauld Place.

Harry's home. Harry's home that Narcissa Malfoy, neé Black, and her weasel of a son no doubt thought they had a right to. It was of equally little doubt that Walburga's hideous, screeching voice would bury the idea into their minds if Harry's suspicions turned out to be unfounded regardless.

"What are we doing here? Dumbledore!" Harry growled. "You wouldn't put them in- in my-"

"Grimmauld Place is the only Order safehouse that can offer sufficient protection, Harry. I am sorry to repurpose your home in this way, but as you well know, blood wards offer some of the greatest magical security there is. Returning to their ancestral home will allow Narcissa and Draco to properly evade Lord Voldemort's capture."

"And Lucius?" Harry sneered.

"Marriage bonds are family bonds. But rest assured, Harry, that a member of the Black family leaving the house to you is no insignificant act, either. The house's magic recognises your legitimacy just the same. So, it would be quite helpful indeed if you could open your heart to letting them stay. The house can sense when its owner is unhappy. Best not to trouble the poor thing with conflicting loyalties, wouldn't you agree?" Dumbledore hummed. "In any case, it's bad for the plumbing."

Harry grimaced. "Right. The plumbing." He sighed. "Are you sure we can't send them somewhere else?"

"Potter, surely you must know nowhere else would take us." Malfoy sniffed. "We're hardly in their good books."

"And why d'you think that is, then, Draco?" Harry snapped. He lowered his head. "Fine, whatever. If the leftover doxies bite them, it's not my problem."

Dumbledore waved a hand over the door, which unlocked with a series of clicks and heavy thunks. It swung open, old wood creaking and groaning with the effort, to reveal the dusty hallway inside. Kreacher appeared with a pop and landed on his arse on the rug, struck dumb with shock at the sudden arrival. Harry snickered. At least some things were still funny.

Kreacher's eyes widened when they landed on the Malfoys. Then, they practically filled with stars.

All traces of Harry's amusement faded away.

"Oh! Masters Narcissa and Draco! Kreacher is so happy to see you! Thought he might never see you again, he did." Tears dripped down his wrinkled cheeks. "Welcome back to your home at last! It is so good to have you. Oh, what Kreacher's mistress would say."

Draco preened like one of his bloody peacocks. Narcissa just smiled demurely, as usual. "Oi!" Harry said. "Master Harry is here, too."

"Yes," Kreacher agreed. "With the blood traitors and the filthy mud-"

"Silence," Snape cut in, immediate. His deep, booming yell was intimidating enough in the classroom, but hearing it echoing through the empty halls of Grimmauld Place was perhaps worse. Harry shivered and pulled his robes closer to his chest.

Kreacher was silent. Tom took that opportunity to stroll leisurely around, appraising each dozing portrait and the intricately carved wainscoting. The Malfoys watched him with bated breath. The disgusting desperation for his approval made Harry want to retch. "There's something about this house…" Tom murmured. "Something I can't quite put words to. It seems to welcome me with open arms."

The words had Narcissa, predictably, fawning. "My Lord, it is our pleasure to offer you a place to stay in my late aunt's home. It would have been a great honour for her to know you liked it."

"It's my house, actually," Harry snapped. "And it figures you would like it. It always creeped me out."

"And now?" Tom asked, oddly intent. "With a fresh pair of eyes, does it seem more appealing?"

Harry looked around. It wasn't any different from the last time he'd visited, really, still cold and dirty and falling apart. But there was an odd twinge in his heart at the thought of turning tail and abandoning it, despite its eerie atmosphere.

Was that the house's magic, calling to him?

Harry shrugged. "It still looks kind of depressing right now. I'd like to liven it up a little, make it cozy. It just seems all wrong when it's been left to rot like this."

Dumbledore seemed very pleased by his acceptance of the house. "I think having some visitors will restore it to its former glory, don't you?"

"Yeah, definitely." Harry nodded. "Visitors," he stressed.

Draco scowled and headed in the direction of the sitting room. His mother just hung her scarf on the coat rack like she hadn't heard at all.

Harry clenched his fists. He had a long few nights ahead of him.