Chapter Text
The crack of apparition is loud as ever. The feeling has Harry stumbling away and buckling to his knees, his arm going to his stomach as he retches. Nothing comes up, he hadn't eaten today, but he still feels like his guts are about to spill out from his throat. A heavy hand settles onto his back, rubbing circles along his shirt.
“Harry, Harry, cub, hey, breathe. Breathe, baby, breathe,” Sirius' voice filters through his clouded mind.
“I'm sorry,” Harry chokes through a sob.
“It's okay, it's okay. It's okay, baby, it's okay. You're safe, love. You're safe. I'm sorry. You're okay,” Sirius murmurs as he turns Harry in his arms and wraps them around Harry's shoulders, holding the boy close to his chest.
Harry's not sure what the breaking point really was, but he falls apart in Sirius' arms, sure that he will be rebuilt later. He knows that he is safe to break into pieces here, protected by his godfather's arms. Harry sobs and sobs until he's sure he won't have any tears left.
When Harry comes back to himself, he's laying on the sofa. There's a soft, cold hand rubbing circles onto his back. He blinks his eyes open and finds himself facing Sirius, who is sitting down on the floor with one of his hands holding Harry's. Harry is on his side, and when he twists his head around, he sees Mrs. Malfoy sitting on the spot of the couch that goes out to form the L. Her hand is the one that is on his back.
“Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry mumbles tiredly.
“Oh, hello, love,” Mrs. Malfoy says kindly. “How are you feeling? You gave us quite the scare.”
But Harry can't deal with her comforting him. Not after what happened to Mr. Malfoy because of him. Sirius had said that Mr. Malfoy is alive, but there is no doubt that he is injured. Sirius didn't answer any of Harry's follow-up questions, and aside from that one letter Draco received from his mother, there's been nothing.
Harry turns away from the woman and sits up. Sirius doesn't let go of his hand as he does, and once he's sat up, the animagus sits down on the couch next to Harry.
“How're you feeling, cub?” Sirius asks softly.
“Where's Draco?” Harry asks, mostly because he doesn't want to talk about himself right now.
“He's up in the guest room with his dad,” Sirius tells him. A pang of guilt shoots into Harry, and he must not do well in hiding it from his face because Sirius sighs and places his hand on Harry's knee. “I told you, Harry. Lucius is alive.”
“You didn't say he was okay,” Harry says, panic seizing his chest.
In those days after the tournament, before Sirius told him that Mr. Malfoy was alive, Harry was being crushed by pounds of guilt. He had no idea how he'd ever be able to look Draco in the eye again if he had gotten his father killed. Harry has no idea what he'll do if anything super serious happened to Mr. Malfoy.
“Salazar, have you been torturing the boy by withholding information?”
Harry springs up from the couch.
Mr. Malfoy is standing in the doorway of the foyer. Harry doesn't waste any time in jumping up and running over to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the man. He hasn't seen him since the graveyard. Since Rasmus Nott had used a curse to fling him to the ground and had asked to be the one to “deal Malfoy what he deserves” after associating with dirty blood such as the Weasleys and Hermione. And, most importantly, Voldemort's sworn enemy: Harry.
Harry pulls away as quickly as he'd hugged Mr. Malfoy, though, because it very quickly becomes very obvious that there is something missing.
Harry stares, horrified, at Mr. Malfoy.
He doesn't…
His left arm, from his elbow down, is gone.
Draco is standing a few feet behind his father. That worried look is gone, but now it's replaced by something so, so sad.
“Mr. Malfoy–”
“Rasmus Nott did not do this,” Mr. Malfoy tells him. He gently grabs Harry's hand with his right one and leads him back over to the couch. He sits Harry down next to Sirius, then sits down on Harry's other side.
“Then… what? How?” Harry asks, at a nearly complete loss of words.
“I did it,” Mrs. Malfoy says.
Harry snaps his head around to her, eyes wide.
“But… why?” he asks.
“As you know, it is my left arm which bore the dark mark.” Mr. Malfoy motions down to the part of his body that is missing. “The dark mark keeps us Death Eaters attached to the Dark… to You-Know-Who,” Mr. Malfoy clarifies, his face pinching when he amends the title. “You-Know-Who can draw upon our magic to increase his own but he can also drain us. Being connected to him as I was, it is… dangerous, and he could have very easily killed me the moment Rasmus told him he failed in doing so. We were able to sequester the magic into one place, then… Narcissa cut it off.”
“I saw Lord Nott,” Harry says suddenly. “At the train station, picking up Theo. He had a scar on his face. It… it wasn't there last time I saw him.”
Mr. Malfoy smirks satisfyingly. “Yes, that was me. Scars from dark curses are particularly hard to glamour away, which I am sure you know.” Mr. Malfoy reaches his hand up and brushes his finger over the scar that travels over Harry's eye and down his cheek. “It was a tough fight, but with no holds barred, I won. Not many can match me in a duel.”
“My dad is a really formidable opponent,” Draco says proudly. He's sitting next to his mother on the L of the couch.
“I immediately went home, where Narcissa was,” Mr. Malfoy continues. “We were together when the summoning came through, and I simply… I simply knew that you would be there, Harry. The very night of the final task of the Triwizard Tournament I am called by my Lord after thirteen years? Too many coincidences. I had no time to alert anyone else, so I went.”
“But what happened? Why are you here?” Harry asks.
“Malfoy Manor has war wards I can activate, which I did, but there is no telling what may happen,” Mr. Malfoy explains. “So, Narcissa and I packed small bags for ourselves and Draco, added my blood wards to the library and our rooms, then we came here. You-Know-Who and the other Death Eaters will be after my blood, particularly Rasmus, and Malfoy Manor is no longer safe.”
“What about the safe-house?” Harry asks, turning to Sirius. “You said you guys were working on setting that up.”
Sirius' face twists into an angry scowl.
“There's only one place so formidable and protected,” Sirius spits angrily, “but there is no need for you to worry about it. We will be going there on the fifth, so in five days. Molly and Arthur, as well as their kids, will come on the 14th. They will be staying there as well.”
“But where is it?”
“It doesn't matter where it is, Harry!” Sirius snaps, and as he does so, the vase on top of the fireplace shatters into pieces, the glass raining down onto the floor. Harry flinches away from Sirius, falling into Mr. Malfoy, who quickly wraps his arm around Harry's shoulder.
Sirius looks as if someone just gutted him; it's identical to how Mr. Malfoy looked almost a year ago when Draco flinched away from him.
“Sirius.”
Remus is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a bowl and cloth in his hands. He looks stern but somehow, he also looks sympathetic. Sirius rises from the couch and marches over into the kitchen, shoving right past Remus, who sighs and crosses back into the kitchen, closing the door as he does so.
“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asks once the kitchen door is closed.
“No, of course not dear.” Mrs. Malfoy moves over to sit next to Harry, her hand dropping down onto his knee. “The place that has been thrown out for the safe-house is the house in which Sirius grew up. And Sirius' parents… this family…” Mrs. Malfoy shudders, a pained expression crossing her face. “They were not good people, and they expected their children to live up to the expectations set out for them. When you did not do so… there were consequences.”
It's clear Mrs. Malfoy is choosing her words carefully, but Harry gets the gist of what she's trying to communicate. And isn't that a bitch? Harry has no clue what he would do if he had to go back to the Dursleys home, and they didn't even have access to magic, which opens a whole plethora of punishments. Not that they weren't creative in all sorts of ways.
“Why can't we just stay here?” Harry asks.
“Dumbledore does not want that,” Mrs. Malfoy says, her tone filled with disdain. She tries to dial it back, but it's still fairly obvious how she feels about Dumbledore's decision.
“But doesn't Dumbledore know about… about how Sirius feels?”
“He does, but he… thinks only of the greater good,” Mrs. Malfoy says carefully. “Plus, Grimmauld Place is still an ancestral home of the Blacks, and Sirius is still Lord of the Black family.”
“But–”
“Harry.” Mrs. Malfoy places her other hand on Draco's arm, stopping him from continuing to speak. “Sirius will be okay. He has Remus, and he has you. He may be a little… on edge and snappy, but he will be okay.”
“Okay.”
They have a relatively small dinner. It's nothing more than noodles and some quickly put together chicken. Dinner is silent. Harry's never noticed it before, but Mr. Malfoy is was left-handed. His fork shakes and his hand trembles as he eats, but he refuses any help offered by his wife.
Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are sleeping in the guest room, and Draco is staying in Harry's room until they move to Grimmauld, as Mrs. Malfoy had called it.
“I'm sorry,” Harry whispers into the silence of his room, only lit up by the sun globe Sirius and Remus had gifted him for his 14th birthday. Merlin, that feels so long ago.
“What are you sorry for?” Draco asks. The blond turns over on the bed. He had insisted on staying in the same bed as Harry, and Harry hadn't had the energy to fight him. He's barely been alone for the past week, and he doesn't want it to start now.
“For your dad,” Harry says quietly. “It's my fault he… he had to… to cut off his arm, and it's my fault that Voldemort and his Death Eaters are going to be after you guys now. I don't even know how this might affect our relationship with Theo, or even Greg or Vince.”
“Their dads were there?” Draco asks.
Harry winces; he hadn't shared that part with anyone. He hadn't shared the names of those Death Eaters with anyone. He recognized every name there, and had felt that indescribable fear when the name “Malfoy” had fallen from Voldemort's mouth.
Mr. Malfoy hadn't moved when Voldemort named him, but Harry could feel Lucius Malfoy's eyes on him. That fear became insurmountable when Lucius jumped between Harry and another crucio, his bone mask flying from his face and his robe billowing out. He was knocked to the ground fairly quickly by Rasmus Nott, who was eager to prove himself once more to his Lord.
When Nott apparated away with a struggling Lucius, Harry had wanted to cry out, but he was too scared to make more than strangling sounds.
“Merlin, this is all too much,” Draco sighs. “It's… likely that their dads will instruct them to not interact with me, and Theo may be able to get away with defying his father in some ways, but Greg and Vince are heirs, they cannot ever.” Draco rolls over onto his back and covers his face with his hands. “And there is no doubt that now that he is back, he will be looking to grow his numbers once more. Older students will likely debate joining him, and, Salazar, they probably will.”
“Seriously? You think they'd join him?” Harry asks, surprised.
“Not all of them will join willingly,” Draco says quickly. “Harry, please, you need to understand that. If this were… were happening in a universe where my father fully supported Voldemort, I'd likely be marked by next year. Not everyone will join because they want to. I need you to know that, Harry. I need you to understand this to be true.”
“I know. I do.”
“You also need to understand, though, that people will join them simply because they want to,” Draco continues. He turns over onto his side once more and places his hand on Harry's arm. Harry turns his head to look at Draco. “You are a Slytherin, and there will be many students in our House, with access to where we sleep, who will want to see V–Voldemort standing proud on a throne of half-blood and Mudblood and Muggle bones.”
Harry's eyes widen when that word comes from Draco's mouth. He'd never heard him say that before. Harry's eyes widen more when he processes what Draco had just said. He's right. There will be older Slytherin students who will want to see Voldemort win, and those people will have access to the place where Harry sleeps. Those people will have access to him.
Maybe he oughta bring out that old Slytherin heir bedroom. Shit, maybe he should give Draco access to it, too, because Draco's in as much danger as he is. His father has publicly stood against Voldemort, and Draco now has that target on his back Mr. Malfoy was trying to protect him from when he went around terrorizing the Quidditch World Cup.
Merlin, Harry feels like he's going to throw up all over again.
“We'll figure it out,” Harry promises. “I–I don't know how right now, but we will figure it out. I swear.”
The two of them lay in silence for several minutes before Draco breaks it again.
“Can I ask you a question?” he whispers into the silent summer night.
“Yeah, anything,” Harry responds.
“Are you still going to declare for the dark?”
“Yes.”
Harry doesn't even have to think. The question is barely out of Draco's mouth before Harry is answering.
“If there is one thing the graveyard taught me, it's that there needs to be options for people like us,” Harry starts slowly, unsure how he wants to voice this. “Not just Slytherin's: all children of the dark. I briefly talked to Viktor before they left, and I told him that he's good, and that I will back him. I told him to tell that to the kids at Durmstrang, all of them. I've been thinking about it, you see, and with our heir study groups this past year and Susan being, well, Susan, I've made a decision.
“I'm not joining Voldemort,” Harry says determinedly, “and I'm not joining Dumbledore either. I know the kind of man Dumbledore is, I've known it for years even if it took me a while to admit it.” Harry sits up against the headboard of his bed. “With everything Hermione is doing and the things that I am going to do, I don't want it to be light against dark or dark against light. I want it to be light and dark. Like the Founders intended, you know?”
“But how would you do that?” Draco challenges clearly.
“I don't know that yet, Draco,” Harry admits, then turns to face Draco, who's lying on his side, head propped up in his hand. “That's why I'm telling you, Draco. You're better at this than me.”
“No, I don't think so,” Draco says softly, “but I'll help you, Harry.”
“I don't want the dark wizards to join Voldemort because they think that they have to,” Harry tells him, recalling what Mr. Malfoy had said years ago when he explained to Harry why he joined Voldemort. “I want them to fight back against him, or at the very least, refuse to join him.”
“But how would you do that?” Draco asks. “They won't fall to your side so easily, and they don't trust Dumbledore.”
“I just said that I don't want to join Dumbledore,” Harry says quickly.
“Okay,” Draco says. “How would you convince the dark wizards to not join You-Know-Who and instead fight for you? Would you give them a whole speech? Tell them they need not bring shame to their family by joining him?”
“I don't know,” Harry stresses once more, then turns his head away so that he does not show his anger to Draco. “Offer them safe haven, maybe? Offer them safety? Assure them that no harm will come to them? I don't think I want people to look to me, Draco. I'm not leader material.”
“You might have to be,” Draco says honestly, and Harry hates how true that is.
Voldemort has some strange obsession with him. It's why he tried to kill him when he was just a baby, but the reasons are known only to Voldemort. Harry's going to be part of this war whether he likes it or not, and he doesn't like it.
“I don't want to sit here all summer doing nothing,” Harry tells Draco. “I feel so helpless. I need to do something, Draco, and if that something is trying to owl people, people we can trust, then so be it. I can't do nothing, Draco.
Harry's voice has become almost small, and while he'd usually hate that, he finds he doesn't mind it here, in the comfort of his room with only Draco to watch him break apart and show weakness.
“We'll make a list in the morning of people that we can trust,” Draco says, “but we have to be completely sure about it. Our plan—whatever it actually is—could crumble if we put our trust in the wrong people.”
“I know,” Harry says. “Have I ever told you that you're amazing?”
Draco rolls his eyes, then turns over onto his side.
“Go to sleep, Harry,” he mutters. “We'll talk more in the morning, alright?”
Harry grins, unable to help himself.
“Goodnight, Draco,” he says. Harry leans up and presses his hand against the sun globe on the shelf above his bed, casting the room into darkness. “I'll see you in the morning.”
Draco doesn't respond, but Harry doesn't mind. He's probably really tired. Harry is too, if he's being honest. Harry pulls his blanket over himself and turns his back to Draco, and before long, he finds himself succumbing to sleep.