Lucius stood outside Henry's bedroom with his eyes fastened to the small figure in the bed and listened to his son breathe.
It mixed in his mind with the ringing of the bell on the twin of the charm embedded in Henry's skin. When he had heard the bell ringing and known that Henry was in life-threatening danger, danger that should not have been able to catch up with him within the first turning of the maze—
Lucius bowed his head, and listened again to his son's breathing until the internal sound of the bell died away.
Part of him felt helpless, frozen, the way he had after Henry had disappeared when he was a baby. What should he do? What could he do? No matter what they did, Henry was never safe. He was part of a prophecy that made him a target for the Dark Lord Lucius had once served. Sirius Black still wanted to kidnap him. Dumbledore still wanted to manipulate him. And he had been kidnapped, again.
Another part of him was filled with such freezing rage that he'd already destroyed three portraits and broken part of the Manor's wards simply by walking along corridors or entering rooms where he couldn't see Henry.
So he was here now. Where he could see his son and remember, again and again, that he had been kidnapped, but they had him back. Lucius had come to rescue him from his second kidnapping and destroyed the Dark Lord's magical construct body and the snake he had been riding on, which Lucius now suspected was another Horcrux. Sirius Black and Dumbledore were being held at a distance by both wards and Henry's distrust of them.
And Lucius would destroy anyone who touched his son.
A house-elf appeared with a glass of water that contained a Stamina Draught. It would replace sleep and food and keep him from feeling the pain of standing for at least a day. Lucius swallowed the water and returned the glass to the tray the elf had. It disappeared again.
He would pay for that later. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now but Henry.
Lucius leaned his shoulders against the wall and went back to his vigil.
.....
Harry huddled under the piled blankets, far more luxurious than anything he'd ever had before he found out he was a Malfoy, and felt as if he was freezing.
Again and again, he saw Pettigrew dying in front of him. Again and again, the blood spurted from his throat. Again and again, Pettigrew crumpled and lay staring at the sky, someone who would never breathe again because of Harry.
Harry told himself, when he could listen to his own thoughts and not just see the images, that it had been a justifiable killing. Pettigrew would have sacrificed him, probably, to bring Voldemort back. Harry had overhead the whispered conversation his parents had had with an Auror that there'd been a huge cauldron in the graveyard and the ingredients for a necromantic ritual scattered all around it.
He knew that.
It didn't matter.
Not against the sight of that spurting blood.
At least when he'd killed Quirrell, he'd never seen what actually happened.
Harry tried to lay one memory against the other, to tell himself that since he'd killed people already, Pettigrew didn't matter. It was a shock, yes, but not this much of one. He ought to be stronger than this.
Then the image of the spurting blood returned to him, and his mind faltered in the face of that. Harry wrapped one arm around his head and went back to sleep.
....
"We have the right to know what's going on."
Remus sighed and reached for one of the glasses of wine that Kreacher had served them. They'd had to cast some detection charms on the glasses so that they could be sure there weren't any poisons or potions in the wine. Sirius would swear that he could still taste house-elf spit, though. "If there's any news, you know Albus will share it with us. As it is, we know that Harry goes back to his family safely."
Sirius scowled at Remus over his own glass. "You know they're not his family, Remus. Not his real one. They don't deserve one."
"But Lily and James are dead, Padfoot. Who exactly are his family otherwise?"
Sirius hadn't told Remus in any detail about the possible necromantic ritual that could turn Harry back into a Potter again. He'd let his best remaining friend think that he'd just wanted to convince Harry to let Sirius recast the illusions that would make him look like James and Lily's son and to start calling himself Harry Potter again. Sirius stared into the fire now and didn't answer.
How had this all gone so wrong?
Sirius had had the best intentions when he'd stolen Harry from the Malfoys. He'd looked at those innocent little babies in their cots, and then he'd looked at Lucius Malfoy—wearing the Dark Mark on his arm by then, although he didn't show it openly, the bastard—and Narcissa, so pleased that she had two more children to raise and indoctrinate. And he'd thought of James and Lily, their marriage dying for want of children.
He couldn't let his best mate be as miserable as losing Lily would make him. He couldn't let Lily fall into despair when he had the chance to make her life better.
And sure, Cissy and Lucius could say that they'd missed Harry, but that was what they'd say anyway, wasn't it? They would pretend to the tenderness and compassion they didn't have in public in case people judged them otherwise, and do it in private to ensnare Harry so firmly that he couldn't escape.
Ask the Muggles who died screaming under Lucius Malfoy's Cruciatus Curse how much tenderness and compassion he has.
Sirius wished with all his soul that the deception had never been revealed. He still didn't know how it had been. Okay, so Parseltongue was a magical language that could show up within a few weeks of birth, and for some reason Cissy's younger son had been babbling in it. So what? They shouldn't have immediately leaped to the conclusion that a kid speaking Parseltongue in Hogwarts was theirs.
That was another reason James and Lily should have lived, other than the fact that Sirius missed them like he'd miss air in his lungs. They would have taught Harry to suppress his Parseltongue, and then his stupid evil family never would have found him.
"Sirius, you aren't thinking of kidnapping him again, are you?"
Sirius slowly shook his head. His trial had actually meant he'd been cleared of the charges of killing Pettigrew and the Muggles. And it had helped that Pettigrew's body had shown up in a graveyard a few months later. Even with missing fingers and a cut throat, it was recognizably him.
Sirius didn't want to go back to Azkaban. The whole of his being flinched from the thought.
So the only way we can get Harry back where he belongs, Sirius thought as he reached for his glass again, is persuading him around to our side.
....
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