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Part Three

"An interesting challenge," Ollivander murmured, leaning forwards across his shop counter.

Regulus smiled. He would rather be seen in the light of an interesting challenge than pitied for the years and life he had missed. "But one that you think you can meet?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Ollivander replied, confidence apparently not dented by the fact that every wand he'd tried out of over a hundred had rejected Regulus. "I may have to craft you a custom wand, but this will work, never fear!" He turned around and bent down behind the counter, standing up with a large device in his arms that Regulus blinked at.

It was a crystalline wheel, with bright silver spokes and small boxes fastened to the ends of the spokes. The boxes appeared to be made of different kinds of wood. Regulus watched as Ollivander touched his own wand to the center of the wheel and it began to spark and spin.

"Look into the wheel, and you should experience your magic pulling you towards one particular kind of wood," Ollivander said in a slow, sonorous voice. "From that, I will make your wand."

"Is this a form of Divination?" Regulus obediently looked into the center of the wheel instead of rolling his eyes the way he wanted to.

"Of a sort. My own invention."

From the sound of it, Regulus wouldn't get more than that. And he could feel Narcissa already radiating disapproval—something she was very good at—from behind him. He leaned a little closer, staring at the wheel, and fell into silence.

It didn't take long before he realized that one of the spokes was dancing with bright sparks, pointing straight at a wooden box revolving too quickly for him to catch more than a glimpse of it. Regulus reached slowly out, only then discovering that Ollivander hadn't told him what to do when he felt the pull.

It seemed it didn't matter. The spoke he'd been looking at came detached from the wheel and extended towards him. Regulus found himself holding a small box of a wood he didn't recognize.

"Holly," Ollivander declared. The wheel had already stopped spinning, and he was storing it behind the counter again. "An inspired choice, if I may say so. One of your cousins wields a wand made of holly."

Regulus blinked. "I would have thought the associations too positive for me."

"Every association with a wand is positive," Ollivander told him firmly. "You need not fear, Mr. Black."

"I wasn't afraid," Regulus began, but stopped when Narcissa put her hand on his arm.

"I will craft a wand of this holly wood with a phoenix feather core, in a likeness of the one that your cousin has." Ollivander held out his hand with the box of holly wood and stared at it with glowing, almost fanatical eyes. "I promise you, it will be such a wand as you have never had."

Regulus shoved aside the temptation to say that he'd only had one wand before, and asked, "You don't need me to choose a phoenix feather the way I chose the wood?"

"No. I know how to craft this wand."

Regulus hesitated, then shrugged. Ollivander was the expert. And it was true that he needed a wand that worked true to his hand to confront Sirius.

His brother was older and might have all sorts of magic learned from the Aurors that Regulus didn't know about. On the other hand, he'd also spent more than a decade in Azkaban and didn't seem to have recovered from that, and now a Horcrux was possessing his mind.

And Regulus had taken to the Dark Arts lessons that their parents had offered them in a way that Sirius never had.

It would be a hard fight. But with a new wand in hand—the kind that Ollivander's eyes seemed to hint at as he stared at the holly wood box—and some rest and recovery and training, Regulus thought he could win.

Draco walked at Henry's side as they made their way towards Transfiguration. McGonagall had said that she wanted Henry to come early so that he could practice the spell they were doing today and not burn desks or smash them to splinters, and Draco was coming along to make sure that he reached his destination in one piece.

Abruptly he stopped and turned his head back and forth. Henry stopped with him, one hand clutching his wand.

"Draco?" he breathed. He knew that since the ritual, Draco's protectiveness made him more alert for threats.

Mother and Father had said that the effect would fade in time. Frankly, Draco hoped it didn't. It had already helped him win a few impromptu duels that had started because people seemed to think Henry was public property.

Just because most of the protectiveness was focused on Henry didn't mean all of it was.

"There's something nearby," Draco said, and shook his wand into his hand. He didn't say that he couldn't tell the direction or nature of the threat. That hadn't happened since the ritual, and it made him more than uneasy.

Henry backed up a step. Draco mimicked him, and their backs ended up pressing against each other's.

Henry glanced over his shoulder and caught Draco's eye. Draco nodded. Right now, it felt as if they had that kind of silent communication the Weasley twins always seemed to exhibit.

"Ready," Henry said softly.

Draco pushed backwards, shoving his brother towards the Transfiguration classroom, and dashed forwards at the same time. It felt right. He didn't know what was going to turn up at the end of his wand, but he knew something was.

He slammed into a hidden body, which grunted and staggered. Draco didn't waste time catching his breath or looking over his shoulder to be sure Henry was safe. He knew his brother was, and in the meantime, he had a hidden watcher to kick in the groin.

The figure made a little dying sound and hunched over. Draco kicked again, although this time he didn't think he got him in the bollocks. At least he crumpled over and curled up, and that was good enough.

"Draco?"

Draco did turn then, since he was kneeling atop the figure's chest—he was a little unnerved that he still couldn't see it—and had his wand aimed directly at its throat. Henry was peering out from behind the shimmer of a ward that Uncle Ted had drilled them on.

Draco nodded. Calmness was settling back over him now that he had the person prisoner. He focused on what must be a complex, layered Disillusionment Charm and murmured, "Finite."

Nothing happened. Draco narrowed his eyes and tried to focus his magic on the charm the way he'd seen Henry focus on the crystals in Uncle Ted's power-draining exercises. "Finite Incantatem."

The air rang around them and shivered as though Draco was breaking through a huge drift of snow. Then it broke, and he was sitting atop Remus Lupin's chest. Lupin stared up at Draco with a golden gleam to his eyes.

Draco bared his teeth. Maybe the charm had been stronger than normal because Lupin had cast it the day before the full moon. It didn't matter, though. Werewolves couldn't turn anyone in human form, and Draco would suffer a few scars to keep his brother safe.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

McGonagall. Draco stood up and stepped away from Lupin, but he also bound the werewolf in ropes before he could run. He couldn't have any pure motivation for stalking Henry through the corridors while invisible, so Draco was going to force the truth out of him one way or the other.

"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall stepped up with the scandalized expression she usually wore when a Slytherin did something rational and raised her wand as if she would untie the ropes.

"What does he think he's doing, stalking my brother under a Disillusionment Charm?"

At least McGonagall listened enough to lower her wand, although she turned to Henry for confirmation. "He was?"

"Yes, Professor." Henry's eyes were wide, and Draco gave him a searching look, but no, he seemed safe enough behind the ward. "We sensed there was a threat, but we didn't know exactly where it was. So I ran to get safe behind the ward and Draco tackled the threat."

"Mr. Lupin is not a threat," McGonagall said, but she seemed to be wavering.

"Then why was he doing it?" Draco insisted.

"I'm interested in that, too," Henry said.

McGonagall sighed and turned to Lupin, weaving Draco's ropes back enough that his mouth was free. "Well, Professor Lupin?"

He's not a professor anymore, Draco thought in annoyance, but he didn't say anything. At least McGonagall hadn't insisted that they address him that way.

Lupin coughed once, and his eyes rested for a moment on Draco, who just glared back. Then he sighed and said, "Albus asked me to get close enough to Harry to smell any trace of foreign magical residue on him. He feared Harry might be possessed."

"What the fuck," Henry said.

"Language, Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall snapped, but Draco thought she was saying it at least partially as a way to give herself a chance to deal with what Lupin had revealed.

Draco laughed in the werewolf's face. Lupin just looked back at him with the same empty, gentle gaze that he'd had when he was a teacher. Draco made a face at him.

"Albus knew that Mr. Malfoy's scar had changed, and that he was having magical outbursts. He was afraid that You-Know-Who's spirit might have possessed him, or else that he'd been through some kind of foreign magical influence that was doing essentially the same thing." Lupin sighed. "I wanted to find out if that was true, but I can't scent any difference in him or any Dark magic."

Draco swallowed a sneer. The idea that Dark magic, which was enormously varied, might have just one smell was stupid. But he probably wouldn't get any points of any kind by saying so.

"If Dumbledore was worried about that, why not just ask me?" Henry's voice was small and hurt and exasperated.

"I don't think he believed that you would tell the truth."

"And what are you going to tell Albus?" It was McGonagall who asked the question. Her lips were pinched together so tightly they had almost disappeared. Draco perked up a little. It seemed that they had at least one professor on their side. Maybe the situation had become too ridiculous for her to make up excuses for Dumbledore any longer.

Lupin glanced back and forth for a moment as though looking for someone to release him from the ropes. Then he shifted to the side so that he was probably a little more comfortable. Draco tensed, but Lupin didn't leap at Henry, just looked at him solemnly.

"I'm going to tell him that I didn't smell anything, and that he would be better served by talking with you. I don't know if he'll listen to me, either, but at least he won't think that I'm possessed or a former Death Eater."

"Father had his arm cut off," Draco snapped. "What's it going to take for Dumbledore to trust him? He's a bloody fool."

"Five points from Slytherin for your language, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco scowled at McGonagall. Honestly, she was probably just grabbing for some familiarity in the middle of all this, but it was still a bloody stupid thing to do.

"I am going to tell Dumbledore that I didn't smell anything," Lupin repeated. "And then I'm going to tell him that I quit."

Henry leaned forwards and blinked. "You're not going to fight Voldemort?"

Draco jumped despite himself, and scowled at his brother. Henry shrugged, his attention divided between Draco and Lupin.

"No, I'll do that. But I'm done running spying missions and the like on you, Harry. You need to be able to live your life and not distrust the people who should be your allies in this war." Lupin sighed. "I'll say the same thing to Sirius."

"Okay," Henry said slowly. Draco nodded. They could let Lupin go since he wasn't an immediate threat—the sense of that had slipped away from Draco like a blanket once he got Lupin tied up—but they would just wait and see if he would actually keep his promise.

McGonagall released the ropes. Lupin rose to his feet, slowly, hands held up. Draco still watched him. He wasn't holding a wand, but a werewolf's immense strength could still rip through stone walls.

"Thank you for the chance to speak with you, Mr. Malfoy," Lupin said, and inclined his head at Draco. "Harry. Minerva." And he turned and walked away, each motion large and exaggerated.

Draco watched him go and shook his head. Better late than never, he supposed, although he still didn't trust Lupin.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Come along to class, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy—ah, the elder—your brother is safe now. I will see to it."

Draco turned around, about to say that he would escort Henry the rest of the way to the classroom door, but found McGonagall holding her wand up in front of her as if she were going to swear an oath on it. He narrowed his eyes and considered her for a long, silent moment.

She was right at the edge of some breaking point, he thought. Maybe a realization, like Lupin's. She desperately wanted to protect Henry, and Draco would take something away from her if he insisted on doing it himself.

Sometimes, you have to take a risk, he thought. And it helped a lot that he wasn't getting the same threat-sense from her that he had at first from Lupin.

"Very well," he said slowly.

McGonagall nodded briskly to him and walked up to Henry. Henry met Draco's eyes, Draco nodded, and Henry dropped the ward and followed the Transfiguration professor to class.

Draco sighed, and then went to Charms, already composing the letter in his head that he would write to their parents.

"But you don't think you could have been mistaken? Not known enough about the scent of possession or a potion influencing Harry to—"

"Headmaster."

Albus blinked. He had been looking off to the side as he talked, more to himself than Remus, trying to come up with some possible reason for Remus's shocking failure. And now Remus was leaning forwards and had spoken his title, not something he usually did.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I don't believe that Harry is under the influence of anything except a loving family. Of course his behavior would change once he discovered that the Malfoys were his parents and brother. Of course he would have to reevaluate his stance and try to accept them. Do you really think that's the result of Dark Arts? I don't."

"That doesn't account for the change in his magic—"

"Would you have been concerned about the change in his magic and asked me to spy on him if you weren't worried about the change in his morals? I agree that Henry Malfoy probably does some things that Harry Potter didn't. But he's not Harry Potter, and never was. I think that's something all of us are going to have to accept."

Albus sat there and blinked, unnerved. Remus folded his arms and stared back.

"I—will take your words into consideration, Remus," Albus said slowly, while his mind tumbled through what felt like a slow fall. "I still—well, I must admit to concern that the Malfoys have influenced Harry without him influencing them in return."

"Didn't you tell me that Lucius Malfoy cut off his arm? That he has been working with the Minister to sponsor bills and legislation that will make things better for Muggleborns?"

"That is only a political ploy—"

"Cutting off his arm is a political ploy?"

"I meant the things he's doing in the Wizengamot."

Remus watched him for a moment, then sighed. Albus had a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time, that of being an unruly student sitting at a wise professor's feet. He didn't care for it at all.

"Does it really matter what his motivation is, if it brings him over to our side and makes Harry happy?" Remus asked softly. "I know that you're worried about Harry, but also worried about the war. It seems to me that you don't need to be concerned about either."

"If Lucius Malfoy cut off his arm so that he could pretend to be on our side, and we trust him, and he hands Harry over to Voldemort at an opportune moment—or, worse, encourages Harry to compromise with Voldemort—then we will lose the war."

"How likely do you think that is?"

"You have met Lucius, Remus. You tell me."

"I knew him in the war," Remus acknowledged. "And I knew him in the first few years after the war. I didn't think he would change then, no. I do think he has changed since Harry came back into his life." He rocked his chair back on two legs. "I think that I won't be part of this anymore, Albus. And I wish you luck in believing that Harry is in danger when I know what I smelled."

"What did you smell, Remus?"

"Love. Devotion."

Albus jolted, and then tried to shake his head and get his thoughts back on track. "Well, yes, I would say that Harry does love his adopted family. It doesn't mean that they have his best interests at heart."

"Not love and devotion on him, Albus. On Draco Malfoy." Remus tilted his head at Albus with his eyes glimmering like amber lit from behind. "I think they probably did perform some magical ceremony, because it's almost unnaturally strong. That will probably fade as time goes on. But I know what I smelled."

"And because of that, you're changing sides?"

"I would never join Voldemort," Remus snapped, a growl on the edges of his voice which reminded Albus that the full moon was tomorrow. "I'll fight with the Order. But if you think that someone who believes in the Malfoys' love for Harry is suspect, then I think you won't have that many allies."

He stood and left before Albus could work out what to say. He sat back in the seat behind his desk and blinked for a moment.

Fawkes gave a soft croon and flew across the room to land on his shoulder. Albus stroked his companion's neck, and Fawkes tilted his head back and gave a trill of song that lifted into the air and fell on the floor like molten gold.

"You think I should give the Malfoys a chance?"

Fawkes leaned so near his face that Albus could hardly focus on his bright black eyes, and warbled emphatically. Then he took off and soared around the office, before landing on his perch and holding out a wing.

Albus squinted, then realized that Fawkes was tugging hard enough on one feather to make it stand out from the rest. "I was aware that one of your feathers is in young Harry's wand, yes."

Fawkes trilled at him again.

"Even those with a phoenix core wand can make mistakes. Even those with a wand core of thestral hair, come to that."

Fawkes flapped his wings and nearly flipped himself off his perch with the force of it. Then he ruffled all his feathers, sleeked them, and began to preen with the dedication that he used when he planned to be busy for the next several hours.

Albus sighed. "All right. I will wait."

In truth, he didn't have any better plans right now. Getting Sirius close to Harry hadn't worked, and the boy didn't have much reason to miss his godfather. Remus was either right or seriously fooled; in either case, he wouldn't be amenable to working with Albus again for a while.

Perhaps Albus could do much worse than wait, observe the Malfoys, and see what happened next.

Narcissa listened in rigid silence as Lucius explained the idea that he'd planned to talk to her about the day she got the letter stating that Regulus was still alive. She stared into the fire the whole time and didn't look at him.

When he was done, she asked only one question. "Why would you want to do such a mad thing?"

"Because the Dark Lord is not revealing himself," Lucius said. "You know that we both expected attacks, more widespread ones than the simple one that Crouch launched at King's Cross. We expected Henry to have more nightmares. We expected him to call the Death Eaters. Instead, he's done nothing."

"Perhaps because he does not have enough followers left to launch such attacks."

Lucius would have liked to believe that himself, but he did not dare, especially since the Dark Lord had managed to work Crouch into the position of the Defense professor last year, and had managed to regain a body with only one servant. "We do not dare leave it like that."

Narcissa turned to him with her eyes bright and hard. "And so you propose to go and—what? How will you lure Crouch out in the first place?"

"By destroying things that matter to him," Lucius said calmly. "I thought I would start with his mother's grave."

Narcissa stared at him.

"Next, the trophies that he collected when he was a Death Eater in the war. He took pieces of his victims' bodies and preserved them, or their possessions if their bodies were too completely destroyed. He told me about his caches. Even if he doesn't still visit them, it will drive him into the open to know that I'm visiting them, let alone destroying them."

"And once you have him?"

"I will take him alive."

"Lucius!"

"I am skilled enough with Imperius to make it less dangerous than it might be, Narcissa. We must find out where the Dark Lord is hiding and what his plans are. Leaving aside what nightmares Henry might eventually have—if he has any, now that the Horcrux is gone—we have no other source of information."

Narcissa's lips pinched shut, and she stared into the fire this time for so long that Lucius felt a tingle of anxiety run down his spine. But in the end, she turned back to him, shaking her head, her face resigned.

"If you will swear to me that you will take every precaution to keep yourself safe, Lucius. And if you will swear to me that you will kill Crouch if there is any chance that he might break your Imperius or you can't take him alive."

Lucius smiled and leaned over to pick up her hand and press a kiss to the back of it. "I never intended to do anything else, darling. Life with you and Henry and Draco is too precious to give up."

Narcissa leaned towards him and kissed him, frantic, desperate, devouring. Lucius leaned closer still and let the devotion of the woman he loved so much more than he'd ever expected to carry him away.