Harry lifted his head and eyed Albus. Albus internally sighed. He still expected those eyes to be green, looking into them. How he wished that Harry had never learned the secret that had turned them grey.
"I don't believe you," Harry said softly.
"Why not, Harry? Please—"
"You will address our son as Mr. Malfoy," Narcissa said softly. "That is the way you speak to children in this school whom you have no personal relationship with, I believe. And your only relationship with him is as his Headmaster. Which may be terminated very shortly."
Albus clenched his hands under the desk. He couldn't let the Malfoys snatch Harry and vanish with him into the Manor. Too much would be lost if that happened, including the chance of defeating Voldemort.
"I understand," he said stiffly. "But the fact remains that Professor Adley wanted to speak with Har—Mr. Malfoy, not kidnap him."
"Why did he?"
"He was curious why Mr. Malfoy did not want to attend his classes. And he also believed that Mr. Malfoy was prejudiced against him because Professor Adley is a half-blood." Albus chose his words carefully. He had gone to visit Sirius in the hospital wing before coming to his office to confront the Malfoys, and that was the story Sirius had gasped out. Albus thought it rather a stupid one, but it was the one Sirius had told Hermione, and Hermione had told Harry, and so they had to stick with it. "When he saw Mr. Malfoy turning away from him, as he thought, out of blood prejudice, he grew desperate."
"He could not have retreated and routed his questions through us?" Narcissa asked softly. "He had to speak with our son right then? He had to disregard Draco's warning?"
Albus was as glad to pick up the new subject. "That is something that must be addressed," he said, and turned to fix a wintry stare on the Malfoys' son. Draco simply stared back at him, eyes like chips of ice. So he inherits this much of his parents. I had hoped he was salvageable. "Your older son injured a professor."
"He was going to kidnap my brother."
"I have told you that he was not," Albus snapped, and didn't bother controlling his hand when it rose to rub his forehead. Let them all see how much of a headache he was getting from them. "And in retaliation for a kidnapping that never happened, you tore Adley's chest and throat to shreds."
Lucius turned a pleased smile on his son. "Did you? Well done, Draco."
"I cannot believe that you are congratulating him for using a Dark Arts spell!"
"From what you described of the spell," Narcissa said, crossing her legs at the ankle, "it was not Dark Arts. The Glass Shield is in fact meant to form a barrier that will deflect some spells and warn enemies away from approaching closer."
"Then how do you explain the fact that Professor Adley is in the hospital wing with cuts to his chest and throat that will scar?"
"Accidental magic."
Albus scowled at her, seeing no need to pretend to neutrality or geniality now, not when all of them knew where they stood. "It was not."
"Can you prove that it was not, Headmaster? I hope you will not say that you could. That would indicate you have been casting the sorts of spells on our older son that are invasive and not warranted except when a Healer or other trusted authority figure uses them."
Albus took a deep breath, reining in his desire to simply shout. That would not win him any allies here. And he had to win them. He had to win the most important one, anyway. He turned to Harry.
"Mr. Malfoy," he whispered. Harry, who had ducked his head, looked up again. "You must see that Professor Adley was an innocent victim of violence. You and your brother mistook his intentions. I promise, he wasn't going to kidnap you."
"How do I know that?"
"Because I have interviewed him, and he said so—"
"Why should I trust him when he grabbed me?" Harry's voice was flat. "When he was acting like he was going to take me somewhere? When he ignored me and Draco and just did whatever he wanted?"
Albus blinked, shocked by the chill tone in the child's voice, and then he understood. Kidnapping would be Harry's greatest fear right now, probably more than fear of being killed by Voldemort. He had been taken to the graveyard via Portkey, after all, and nearly used in a ritual there.
Albus should have thought of the ongoing effects of that kind of trauma and shock. Instead, he had gambled too much on the other kind, thinking that Harry having killed someone last summer would prejudice him against violence and drive him away from a family that continued to embrace it.
"Harry," he whispered.
A Stinging Hex to the hand made him jolt. Narcissa tucked her wand away and stood, shaking her head.
"I do not want Henry to make decisions right now," she said. "Not in the middle of his shock and terror. I do not want him to decide on giving up Hogwarts until later. But if you want him to stay here, Albus, you will get rid of that man." She half-smiled. "Unless you want him butchered and delivered to you in pieces."
"That is a threat, then," Albus said, keeping still and fixing his gaze on her, even though he desired nothing more than to shake his hand out.
"It is," Narcissa said, serenely.
"Such an act would be illegal."
"But the threat is not. No more illegal than grabbing someone's arm." Narcissa smiled more widely, and then turned and escorted Draco and Harry out of the room.
Lucius stood up in the silence that followed and shook back his left sleeve. Albus thought he was going for his wand, and tensed, but Lucius simply turned his arm, displaying his bare skin.
"Perhaps," Lucius whispered, "you should have considered how far we will go for our son. To the point of violence. To the point of chopping my arm off and regrowing it. You would have had to display half as much care for our son as you did for Sirius Black."
Albus's breath caught. Lucius leaned in a little.
"Yes, I recognized him," he said. "From a single glimpse in the hospital wing. And yes, Narcissa will butcher him if you keep him here."
He turned and left.
Albus sagged back against his chair and shut his eyes.
"Henry…"
Harry curled up harder in his bed at the Manor, where they'd gone directly from Dumbledore's office, and shivered. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't know how to turn the churning in his chest and the thunderous noise in his head into any kind of coherent words.
Mother bent over and kissed his forehead. Harry wanted to turn around and hug her.
But at the same time, he didn't.
Mother retreated with a light brush of her hand over his hair. "When you are ready to speak about it, with us or with Healer Letham, we will be here," she murmured, and Harry nodded stiffly from the middle of his tight little ball. He hoped that they would give him at least a day.
At the moment, it felt like he could use a week.
He lay in the darkness, staring at the wall, and shivered. Father had told him "Professor Adley" had really been Sirius Black. Without that, Harry might have shrugged off Draco's suspicions that it was an attempted kidnapping, but with that, he couldn't.
What is it with Black and wanting to kidnap me? Harry thought in disgust.
His eyes drooped shut.
Barty knelt before the fire and reached out his hands. This required unstinting devotion, and he had it to give.
He plunged his hands into the fire.
A scream tore out of his throat, but only because that was the weakness of the flesh, the horror of it. The honor still outweighed the horror. Barty kept himself kneeling, kept his hands in the flames, and the flame surged up and danced around him.
The ritual his lord had planned before, he thought, distant, in a daze, would have required the flesh of a servant. This did, too, but it required the willing sacrifice that Pettigrew could never have given—
Then his strength gave way, and he was rolling on the ground, screaming. His hands were blistered and cracked, but he turned his head and stared at the fire instead of trying to heal them.
A shadow danced in those flames, hidden from view if one were not looking for it. But Barty was. He saw.
The shadow rose and rose, acquiring dimension and form and weight. Its mouth opened, and a low delighted laugh spilled forth. Lord Voldemort stepped forth from the flames, a being of shadow and bone, his skin gleaming white and smooth, flawless. His eyes were blood red, bold. His hair was a shimmering mass of white scales that clung close to his skull and rattled when he moved.
He stooped down and trailed his fingers across Barty's face. "My beloved servant," he said. "I shall heal you, faster and stronger than before. I shall give you the gift of a hand that no one who sees it shall ever forget."
"Master," Barty whispered, and bowed his head, and shivered, and smiled.
Harry woke screaming.
....
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